“If it’s a fight, then we climb up on these stands, and shoot down at them, though we’ve never had to do that yet. Meanwhile, the aft-guard will send a fast rider back to warn the camp and to bring reinforcements. If by some chance the foe breaks through here, then there’s the aft-barrier on the other side of the Ford where we’ll get to. Beyond that is another one, and finally the Deep Plug back at the campsite; and the Deep Plug will cork up this tunnel till Gyphon, Himself, comes back.”
At the mention of Gyphon’s name, Tuck felt a deep foreboding, and a cold shudder ran up his spine as if from an icy wind blowing. But Tuck said nothing of this dark portent, and soon they turned and walked back the way they had come.
~
That night, Tuck, Danner, and Tarpy were assigned with seven others to the barrier on the near side of the Ford. A fire was built out beyond the open barricade, out where it would cast light upon anyone coming across the Ford, and the buccen alternately took turns standing guard and warming by the fire. On Tuck’s turns to warm himself, by the firelight, he jotted notes in his diary.
At mid of night, the watch was changed, and Patrel’s squad rode back to the campsite: Tuck, Danner, Tarpy, and Patrel, himself, riding double with other Warrows of the squad.
~
The next morning, Tuck’s grey pony and Danner’s chestnut were found by a patrol from the fifth squad, but as of yet there was no sign of Patrel’s piebald or the pack pony.
Tuck, Danner, and Tarpy had spent the morning studying, memorizing a section of a map; and at midday the squad Walked the Thorns in that area, going some five miles to the north by pony before returning, searching diligently but vainly for splits and cracks in the land where Vulgs might lie up during the time the Sun was on high. They kept their eyes out for Wolves, too, but saw none. And they inspected the Barrier for breaks, but of course there were none.
~
Again at night they stood Beyonder Guard at the Ford, but nothing of note occurred.
~
For six more days the routine did not vary, except Tarpy was called upon to cook for the squad. As usual, the food was jovially vilified by all, except, since it was Tarpy’s first go at cooking, the jokes were a bit more gentle than would be the case were he a cooking veteran.
~
Patrel’s piebald pony came wandering alone into the camp on the following day, seeming no worse for the wear; and as chance would have it, on this day the fourth squad, Patrel’s, was to begin Wolf Patrol, roving wide across the countryside looking for sign of Wolf, and now Vulg, too. The trio of Danner, Tuck, and Tarpy were pleased, for they had studied hard, and the features of the maps were firmly implanted in their memories. But Tuck was to be disappointed, for he was to be left behind: he had forgotten that he was the cook for the day, and his duty was to prepare a hot meal for their return at dusk.
All day Tuck jittered about nervously, fretting about Danner and Tarpy, and Patrel, and all of his other squadmates, wondering if they were safe, and if they’d seen any Wolves, or Vulg sign, or had found any Vulg lairs. And the day dragged by on leaden feet. At last it was dusk, and Tuck had the meal hot and waiting, but still they had not yet returned, though other squads had.
An hour passed, then another, and Tuck worried about the food, and felt anger that they hadn’t come to eat it when it was first ready, and thought how foolish it was to get upset over a meal when someone could be hurt, or a fight with Vulgs could be raging. But most of all he fretted and paced and stirred and took the cauldron off the cooking irons only to put it back on when it had cooled a bit.
Finally they came, plodding wearily into camp; Tarpy was first, and he slid off the back of his new white pony and tiredly removed the saddle, blanket, and harness and slapped the steed on the rump, sending it scudding into the rope pen to the awaiting hay. The others, too, came stringing in to do likewise.
“We found the pack pony,” Tarpy said to Tuck as he dished up a hot, steaming, thick stew into Tarpy’s mess kit. “Dead. Vulg slashed. Patrel’s lute smashed beyond repair. We searched for hours but found no Vulg dens. Ah, me, but I’m tired.”
~
Another ten days passed, and each day the young buccen saddled up and scoured the countryside, tracking down rumors of Vulg sightings, or starting at farms where Vulgs had slaughtered livestock or had been seen, but to no avail. Neither Vulg nor Wolf was spotted. Someone suggested that perhaps the Vulgs were laired inside the Barrier, and special missions to examine the ‘Thorn forayed out repeatedly, to return scratched or pinked by the spikes: “Ah, it’s no good,” said Tarpy, dabbing at a puncture wound in his forearm as the squad sat supper. “It’s like trying to search out an endless maze. If they’re in there, then it’s one puzzle we won’t solve in a lifetime.”
“It’s a puzzle all right,” said Patrel, “for surely we should have sighted some by now. Oh, perhaps not Wolves, for they have gotten wily, and now hunt their normal game in the woods. But our night patrols should have turned up a Vulg or two by now, and our day patrols, at least one den.” Patrel fell into thoughtful silence.
“What’s needed here,” said Danner, “is for us to lay traps for them. Or to wait for them to come to us. We need some kind of bait, or an advantage of some kind.”
“How about dogs?” asked Tuck. “I’ll wager that dogs’d find the lairs.”
“Ar, they tried dogs over at the Eastdell Second,” said Patrel, “and they had no more luck than we. You know, it’s as if the Vulgs came to the Bosky on some mission, and, having accomplished it, are now gone. But what that mission may have been, I cannot say.”
Neither, of course, could anyone else say, and again, Tuck felt the icy fingers of an unknown doom walking up his spine.
~
The next day at sundown they returned from patrol to find the camp all astir: a waggon train of refugees from Challerain Keep had passed through, following along the Upland Way; their goal was the Realm of Wellen to the west. Danner, who had cook duty, described the train: “Long it was, perhaps a hundred or so waggons, loaded with food and household goods, and driven by Men, mostly oldsters, and Women, with their offspring, too. Big, those Folk are: nearly twice my size, and I’m no tiny dink like Tarpy, here.
“And the escort, soldiers on horseback, with helms and swords, and spears, too. Lor! Big horses, big Men.” Danner paused in reflection, and it was the first time in Tuck’s memory that he’d ever seen Danner impressed. “It took nearly two hours for the train to pass through,” continued Danner, “and the Captain of the escort, well he was closeted with Captain Darby for most of that time. Then he just up and rode off as the last waggon trundled through. And then they were gone.” Danner took a bite of bread and chewed unconsciously, his amber eyes lost in elsewhen thought.
A hubbub of questions and comments burst forth from the squad, washing over Danner, and Tuck was caught up in the fervor, his own supper forgotten, more than a little envious that he’d missed seeing the train. But before Danner could respond to the babble, Patrel came to the fireside and called for quiet. “Captain Darby will speak to us tonight, in less than an hour, so eat up and finish the meal-chores quickly; we are to assemble shortly at headquarters. Hop to it, now, for we’ve little time as it is.”
Hurriedly, Tuck wolfed down his meal and cleaned his mess kit and pitched in with the pots and pans. Soon the chores were done and the squad collected with the others at the main building. Captain Darby was there, his face enshadowed by a lantern swinging from a pole by the door. He spoke to a few nearby, then sprang upon a bench and overlooked the Company. The night was cold and a light snow had begun to fall. Warrows stamped to keep their feet warm, and their breath rose up in a great white plume as if from some huge aggregate creature. Squad call was made, and each was there except the third squad, who had Beyonder Guard duty.
“Buccen,” Captain Darby began, his voice raised so that all could hear, “some of the rumors are true: There is trouble brewing up north, beyond the Keep. High King Aurion prepa
res for War: War with Modru, the Enemy in Gron.” A collective gasp of dismay welled up from the assembled Warrows, for this indeed was dire news, and many muttered grim words and spoke with their squadmates. Captain Darby let the talk run on for a bit then held up his hand for silence, and when it returned he continued: “I had a long talk with Captain Horth, leader of the waggon-train escort; he said that the call had gone forth for the allies of the High King to rally to his aid. Why the summons has not yet come to the Bosky, neither he nor I can say; but I believe that it will, and so we must begin to think upon going: those who will it may take their leave and join the Allies at the Keep; yet the Bosky must not be left unguarded and undefended should the foe come nigh, hence that, too, must be considered.”
Again a babble rose up from the assembled young buccen: Leave the Bosky? Fight a War way up north? High King’s call? Tuck, too, felt a wrenching at his heart, just as he had when Old Barlo had told him he would be leaving Woody Hollow; but this was even more unexpected: he had never dreamed that he might be asked to fight the foe in a strange Land, especially when the Bosky itself was in danger from Vulgs. Yet how best to avenge Hob: face the enemy here, or in a far Land? For it now seemed certain that the High King’s summons would come to the Boskydells, and Tuck would have to answer to his conscience no matter which way he chose; he was caught up in a dilemma: Could he leave the Boskydells to answer the High King’s muster if Modru’s Horde marched this way? But on the other hand, could he refuse the High King’s call-to-colors at the Keep? For if he and enough others answered the summons and went north, perhaps the Enemy in Gron could be defeated ere War came south. What to do? Torn between love of home and duty to King, Tuck realized, but knowing this did not help resolve the question.
“What about Modru? How do they know it’s him?” someone called to Captain Darby, breaking Tuck’s train of thought, and again a hubbub arose, but quietened when the Captain raised his hands: “Captain Horth said that there’s a great wall of darkness stalking down the Land from the north. Eerie it is, and frightening, too, like a great black shadow. And inside the darkness is bitter winter cold and the Sun shines not, though it rides the day sky. And there be fell creatures within that blackness, Rûcks and such, Modru’s lackeys of old, a gathering of his Horde. And it is reported that some skirmishes with the Enemy’s forces already have occurred.”
Shouts broke out among the Warrows: Black shadow? Rûcks and such? Modru’s Horde? This is awful! Legends come to life!
Again Captain Darby called for quiet, but it was a long time coming. At last, though, he said, “Hold on, for we know not whether these things be true, or are common events made dire in the telling. The black wall, for instance, could be but a cover of dark clouds. It does not have to be Modru’s hand at work. But even if it is, till the High King calls we will concentrate on the defense of the Bosky: Beyonder Guarding and Vulg Hunting. Yet when King Aurion’s muster is sounded, then you must choose. But for now, we Walk the Thorns.” Calling his squad leaders to him, Captain Darby leapt down from the bench and strode inside.
Tuck, Danner, and Tarpy trudged back to their tent, each immersed deep in his own thoughts, and Tuck’s entry into his diary that night took longer than usual.
~
The next day the squad was assigned Beyonder Guard, this time on the early shift, mid of night till sunup. As was the case with this shift, on the day before beginning the duty the squad was given no daylight assignment so that they would be rested and alert when their late assignment began. Hence, they lazed the day away in small tasks and idle talk—talk that inevitably turned to Modru:
“Why now?” asked Tarpy. “I mean, well, after four-thousand years, why does Modru threaten now?”
“What I’d like to know is what kind of creatures are in his Horde?” queried Arbin, as he fletched another arrow, sighting down its length. “I know about Rûcks, Hlôks, and Ogrus, or at least what the tales tell: they’re supposed to be all alike, just different sizes: the Rûck being the smallest, a bit larger than we—say, four-foot tall; the Hlôk, big as a Man, I hear tell; and the Ogru, or Troll as the Dwarves call him, twice Man-size.”
Danner, who was the only one there who’d recently seen a Man, and who knew how big they were, snorted. “Hah! Twice Man-size? I think the old legends exaggerate. Why, that’d make the Ogru the greatest creature on the land.”
“Except for Dragons,” chipped in Tuck, “but none of those have been seen for five-hundred years or so—or so they say.”
“You’re forgetting one Dragon that’s been seen recently,” said Arbin, grinning
“What do you mean?” spoke up Tarpy, puzzled. “What Dragon has been seen recently?” He appealed to the others with outstretched hands, palms up.
“The Dragon Star!” shouted Arbin, in glee, having lured Tarpy into his word trap. Tarpy made a face, and the others smiled ruefully, shaking their heads.
“Now there’s a thing folks will talk about for ages to come,” said Delber, a fair-haired young buccan from Wigge, “the Dragon Star.”
~
Delber was talking about the great flaming star with its long burning tail that had come blazing out of the heavens five years past nearly to strike the world:
For weeks before, its light could be seen, appearing at sunset, and it burned through the night. Night after night it grew brighter and larger, plunging through the star-studded sky. And its fiery tail, called “Dragon’s Breath” by some, and “Dragon’s Flame” by others, grew longer and longer. An awful portent it was, for the hairy stars had presaged dire events since the world began. On it came, rising each night, inexorably sweeping closer. Now it was so bright that it could be seen even in the dawn light, as it set while the Sun rose.
But night was its true Realm, for then it silently clove the spangled sky, looming ever larger, ever brighter; and then folk noted that it seemed to be changing course, shifting, for slowly its tail swung behind till it no longer could be seen, as if the Dragon Star had turned and was hurtling directly for Mithgar.
Some folk prepared for the cataclysm: cellars were dug and food was preserved and stored away. The sale of charms against the Dragon Star became brisk, though even the sellers said they were not at all certain that the amulets would work. And it was commonly told that Mithgar was doomed. And onward it came, now an enormous blaze in the night.
And then the last night to live arrived, but in spite of the impending death of the world, most Bosky folks had worked their fields and livestock and trades as usual, though the taverns after the Sun set seemed more crowded than was ordinary.
That night the great Dragon Star rushed across the sky of Mithgar, so bright that books could be read by its light. As if in escort, myriads of blazing, burning points of light seared and streaked across the heavens, brighter than the brightest fireworks. Huge glowing fragments were seen to splinter from the Dragon Star and hurtle down through the sky toward the ground, and great loud blasting booms shuddered over the Land, breaking windows and crockery. One great flaming piece gouting fire and rucketing boom after boom seemed destined to destroy the Bosky, but seared a great blazing south-to-north path, hurtling to smash somewhere far beyond the Northwood, in Rian or perhaps even further.
People wept and cried out in fear, and some swooned while others drank in the taverns. Some fled to their burrows and others took to their cellars. But most simply sat and watched and waited, with their arms around their buccarans or dammias, or about their sires and dams, or their buccoes and dammsels, or granthers and grandams, or uncles, aunts, cousins, or other relatives or friends, for they knew nought else to do.
Yet the mighty Dragon Star hurtled not into Mithgar, but instead rushed past; still, its great glowing tail long washed over the world: it was said to the vast woe of Mithgar. For days upon days the bright glow of the Dragon Star could be seen in the sky, in the daytime now as it sped for the Sun. And the Sun at last seemed to swallow it, but later spat it out the other side. And the Dragon Star hurtled back
into the heavens, now chasing its own tail, or Breath, or Flame, as the case may be, growing fainter every day, until at last it was gone.
For weeks afterward, a day did not pass that the Sun and sky did not show sullen red in the foredusk—blood red, some claimed. At night great blowing curtains of shifting light glowed and shuddered in the sky: Mithgar’s Shroud, some called it. A caul fell upon the face of the Moon, and did not fade for weeks. And a raging fever plague swept the Land; many died. Milk soured, cows went dry, crops failed, hens stopped laying, dogs barked without reason, and once it rained without letup for eight days. It was said that two-headed calves and sheep without eyes were born, and some claimed to see snakes roll like hoops. Wherever Warrows gathered, great arguments arose: Many believed that all of these strange things were the doings of the Dragon Star. Others said, “Rubbish! Most of these happenings are ordinary events; we’ve seen ’em before. And some o’ these stories are just wild tales. Only a few things might be laid at the feet of the Dragon Star.”
Slowly the Land returned to normal: the plague abated and finally died out, Mithgar’s Shroud and the bloody sunsets gradually disappeared, cows came afresh, hens laid eggs, and the crops grew. But no one who had seen the Dragon Star would ever forget it; it would be an event talked about for generation upon generation, until it, too, joined the other epic tales and legends told ’round the hearth, as it was now being talked about around the Thornwalker campfire.
~
“Yar, I seen it,” said Dilby Helk, peering at the other squad members, “but who didn’t? I can ’member sitting on the hilltop near our farmstead with my elden grandam. And she said, ‘No good’ll come of this, Dilbs,’—she always called me Dilbs—‘mark my words. It means the death of the High King, or something else just as bad, or worse.’ And I said, ‘What could be worse, Granny?’ And her face went all ashy and her voice all hollow, and she said, ‘The Doom of Mithgar.’ Wull, I’ll tell you, I was ascared!” Dilby’s eyes were wide and lost in the memory, then he shivered and looked up at the others and gave a nervous laugh. “Ar, but the High King’s alive and Mithgar’s still here, so I reckon as she was wrong.”
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