“But Vidron at the head of a band had broken free and raced eastward. Catching up Wildwind’s reins, I followed.
“East we ran through the foothills, with Ghûlka hard on our trail. But Hèlsteed has not the speed of horse, and we finally escaped their clutch.
“Far to the east through the Dimmendark we had fled, unto the Signal Mountains, but now we circled southward, heading for the rendezvous to join with any others who might have broken free. Our course swung just to the north of the Weiunwood, and while Vidron bore on west and south, riding for the Battle Downs and Stonehill beyond, I turned aside into the forest to seek tidings from the Weiunwood Alliance and to bear them the news of the downfall of Challerain Keep and of the death of Aurion. There I discovered from one of my kindred that you and Tuck had passed through on the trail of the kinstealers.
“I asked that word be sent to Vidron in Stonehill, and I left Wildwind in the care of my kith, a Lian recovering from a battle wound, and came after you, one ’Darkday behind your track when I started, though I had nearly overtaken you by the time we came to Arden.”
Tuck spoke: “Have you any news of other Warrows: Did any win free: Danner, Patrel, any?”
“I know not, Wee One, for none were with us. The last I saw of any Waerling ere I came to Weiunwood was ’Darkdays past, when we all broke through the sundered north gate.” Gildor’s eyes glittered in the firelight.
Tuck’s heart fell at this news, for he still hoped that others of his kindred had escaped the ruins of Challerain Keep.
Again, long moments fled. Finally Galen returned the red patch to his jerkin pocket. “You say you spoke with a wounded Lian at the Weiunwood,” said Galen. “Many went off to battle with Spaunen when last we were there. Did he say aught of the outcome?”
“Nay,” answered Gildor, “for he knew it not. Yet that explains the empty campsite I came to on the eastern edge of the ’Wood: they had gone to War and I was a full ’Darkday behind, then. I know nought of that battle, for I but followed you.”
Little was said after that and Tuck bedded down and went to sleep. But when his turn at watch came, he spent the time scribing in his journal, recording Gildor’s words.
~
After an uneasy rest, they broke camp and continued southward through Arden Gorge. High stone canyon walls loomed up to either side, at times near, but at other times two or three miles distant, beyond the limits of Galen’s vision in the Shadowlight. Tuck again rode upon the pack horse, trailing behind Gildor as the trio wended through the pines along the frozen river.
Some fourteen miles south they went, enwrapped in snowy silence, saying little or nothing, and Tuck’s mind fell into a state where he was at one with the woods: moving among the evergreens and watching the trees go by, thinking no thoughts of substance, attuned only to the canyon forest. Gildor’s voice fell unexpectedly upon his ears, breaking into his state of accord:
“We are less than a mile from the end of Arden Vale,” said the Elf. “Around the bend we will come to the camp of my kindred standing Arden-ward. We shall take a meal with them under the shelter of the Lone Eld Tree.”
“Lone Eld Tree?” asked Tuck, trying to remember what he’d heard about these legendary forest giants. “Aren’t they the ones said to gather the twilight and hold it if Elves dwell nearby?” At Gildor’s nod, Tuck was surprised: “But I thought that was just a myth.”
Gildor laughed. “Then, Wee Waerling, if they are myths, you had better not let this Eld Tree know it, for it might vanish, and so might the entire forest of Darda Galion.”
Tuck smiled at Gildor’s reply and wondered at his own ignorance as onward they went.
The river curved ’round a bend and now a distant roar of falling water could be heard as they rode through the pines. Gildor pointed ahead and there Tuck could see that the gorge squeezed to a narrow cleft that seemed to be filled with a white mist streaming up into the Winternight sky. Gildor pointed again, and Tuck’s eyes fell upon an enormous tree, pine-like but with broad leaves and not needles; and even in the Shadowlight, the Warrow could see that the leaves were dusky, as if unaffected by the Dimmendark but shining with a soft twilight of their own.
“Lor, what a giant!” exclaimed Tuck, his tilted eyes wide at the sight of a tree looming hundreds of feet into the air. “Are there other Eld Trees in Arden?”
“No. Just this one. That is why we call it the Lone Eld Tree,” answered Gildor. “It was brought here from Darda Galion by my sire when it was but a seedling and planted in the rich soil of Arden Gorge soon after this hidden vale was first discovered by my people.”
“Planted by your sire: By Talarin: But this giant must be thousands of years old . . . “ Tuck’s mind boggled to think of the age of Elves.
Galen spoke: “That tree is the symbol of the Warder of the Northern Regions of Rell, now Lord Talarin. That sigil has been nobly borne into battle many times ’gainst dark forces: green tree ’pon field of grey. Such a flag hangs in the Gathering Hall of Caer Pendwyr, and another at Challerain Keep.”
“No more at Challerain Keep, I fear, Galen King,” said Gildor, “for Modru’s Horde will have rent it down as well as the other flags of the Alliance.”
No more was said as they spurred toward the Elven camp under the branches of the Lone Eld Tree.
~
“Aye, the approach to Crestan Pass is held by the Rûpt,” said Jandrel, Captain of the Arden-ward, “and the Ghûlka, Modru’s Reavers, patrol the Old Rell Way. Somewhere south a Horde marches along the abandoned road. Down out of the Grimwall north of the Pass they came, three ’Darkdays past. Where the Spaunen are bound, I cannot say, yet they march apace. Perhaps they strike for Quadran Pass and Drimmen-deeve, or Darda Galion beyond.”
“We ride for Quadran Pass,” said Galen, pouring himself another cup of tea from the pot hanging on the fire irons above the small campblaze. “If we can cross the Grimwall there, we will warn the Lian in the Larkenwald of this Horde as we pass through on our way to Pellar.”
“Be wary,” said Jandrel, “for not only are there Ghûlka and Rucha and Loka with the Horde, but Vulgs, too. Give them wide berth, for Modru’s evil scouts will smell you out should you come near.”
“Scouts?” asked Tuck. “Vulgs are scouts?”
“Aye, Master Waerling,” answered Jandrel, “scouts. It has ever been so that Vulgs do Modru’s bidding, and at times he uses them on vile missions where their speed, stealth, or savagery suits his ends. But for the most part he uses them to ward the flanks of his Hordes, or to spy out the Lands that he intends to invade.”
“Spy out Lands . . . but they were in the Bosky!” cried Tuck, leaping to his feet, the sense of tranquility he had felt under the branches of the Eld Tree completely shattered. “They’re going to invade the Bosky: I’ve got to get back: They must be warned: Merrilee . . . “ Tuck took several running steps toward the horses, but then jerked to a stop as if arrow-pierced and slowly turned toward his comrades, falling to his knees in the snow and burying his face in his hands.
In six swift strides Galen knelt by the Warrow. “Tuck, if you must return to the Boskydells, you are free to go, though how you will get there, I cannot say.”
“I can’t go. I can’t go,” whispered Tuck. “There are no ponies; even if there were, I’d be too late. And you need my eyes.”
~
Flowing under the ice, the swift-running Tumble River emerged from the last walls of Arden Gorge and fell down a precipice in a wide cataract. Swirling vapors rose up and obscured the view of the cloven vale, and where the mist settled unto the frigid rock, strange twisting shapes of ice formed.
Behind the roar of water the trio went upon a hidden icy road, the stone clad in thick sheets of frozen mist: here was the secret entrance into the hidden valley—an entrance concealed by the fall of water. At last they emerged from behind the cataract and twisted through crags to come at last to the wolds of Rell.
The horses were spurred to a canter, and south they ran, and
Tuck looked back toward Arden Gorge, back at the final cleft where the high sheer stone walls split out of the earth, but the perpetual white mist veiled all beyond Arden Falls: neither pine forests nor stone walls were visible through the mist—not even the Lone Eld Tree could be seen.
Yet Tuck’s bitter thoughts were not on the hidden valley; instead he fretted over the Vulg scouts spying out the Boskydells, foreshadowing an invasion. And he recalled Galen’s words spoken only two ’Darkdays past: ‘These are evil days for Mithgar, and evil choices am I given.’ Now more than ever, Tuck realized the truth of Rael’s words: ‘. . . Evil . . . forces us all down dark pathways we otherwise would not have trod.’ And Tuck thought, Even when I would choose to fight a great evil elsewhere, no choice am I given, for if King Galen does not reach Pellar, then a greater evil will fall upon the world . . . Oh, Merrilee, my love . . .
Tuck turned his face away from the vale, for he could no longer see it.
~
Less than one mile south the Tumble turned westward while the trio bore on; and just after, they passed over the Crossland Road, the main east-west pike reaching far overland from the distant Ryngar Arm of the Weston Ocean to the nearby Grimwall Mountains. Although this tradeway was extensive, most commerce in this part of Mithgar flowed on the watercourse of the Isleborne River, or came by road from south and west.
Beyond the Crossland Road they went, south through the folds of the land, another fifteen miles before they made camp.
Tuck stood at the edge of the thicket, peering to the west, his jewel-eyed vision limited by the Dimmendark. Gildor came and stood beside him.
“West some twenty miles or so lies the Tumble River,” said the Elf. “Beyond Arden Ford is the Drearwood, and beyond that the River Caire. Yet I know your thoughts roam far to the west: beyond Rhone and Harth and to your Land of the Thorns, a fortnight away by swift steed.
“Tuck, the Vulgs have roamed your homeland at the Evil One’s command, and this I think is the why of it: Once before all of Mithgar faced this Foe, and he was overthrown at the last. In his defeat it was your Folk who played the key role, and this Modru has not forgotten; that is why he sends his minions against your Land. I would that it were not so, for the Boskydell is a gentle Realm of peace, ill fitted for a War against Modru’s Spaunen.
“Yet hearken: no Land is well suited to War. And I have seen your kindred in battle. There is surprising grit to be found in your Folk.
“And though you would be in your beloved Bosky, there are those who will stand in your stead. Trust in them to choose the correct course, just as you have chosen rightly.”
Gildor turned and walked back to the small shielded fire, and Tuck said nought. But soon he came and took supper, and afterward he slept well.
~
Although Elves pay little heed to hours and days and even weeks, seeming to note only the passing of the seasons, still they know at all times where stands the Sun, Moon, and stars. And even the murk of the Dimmendark changed not this power of theirs. And though at times the dim disk of the Sun vaguely could be seen as it passed through the zenith, still it was Gildor who kept track of time’s flow for the trio.
Three more ’Darkdays they bore southward, riding parallel to and ten or so miles west of the Old Rell Way, an abandoned trade route, long fallen into ruin. The land they passed through was rough high moor with sparse trees, there being barren thickets or lone giants clutching with empty winter branches at the Dimmendark sky. In the folds of the land grew brush and brambles, and cold winter snow covered all. Yet across the upland they went, bearing ever southward.
Five ’Darkdays past they had left the Elvenholt in the northernmost reaches of Arden Vale, nearly fifty-five leagues behind. Eleven leagues a ’Darkday they rode, more or less, thirty-three miles each leg, for haste was needed in these dire times. Yet though they had pressed long and hard, neither Jet nor Fleetfoot nor the pack horse seemed to be tiring, and Tuck wondered at their endurance.
~
The sixth ’Darkday they turned at last to the Old Rell Way, for now they had to follow its course through the wide gap in a westward spur of the Grimwall Mountains standing across the way.
Tuck sat astride Jet’s withers before Galen, for the road was fraught with peril and the Waerling’s eyes were needed up front to ward the way rather than “in back lolling on a pack animal,” as Galen had said in jest. Yet though Galen had smiled, they were come to a dangerous pass, and if Rûcks roamed it, the way would be filled with risk.
Southward they went, through rising hill country, ten miles before coming to the Old Rell Way where it first entered the wide gap. No enemy did they see, though the snow was beaten down in a wide track made by many feet tramping.
“This wake is fresh, perhaps a ’Darkday old, made by an army moving south,” said Galen, remounting Jet.
“The Swarm Jandrel spoke of,” said Gildor. “Keep a sharp eye, Tuck, for they are before us.”
Into the gap they went and beyond, riding another two leagues; and the land began to fall, the close hills spreading out, while the route they followed swung southeastward, rounding the side chain and heading for the Quadran through rising hill country.
“Well, my Wee One,” said Galen, “it appears that the danger is past, for the land opens up and we can leave this abandoned road once more. Though there be a Horde before us, we will travel beside its course, this time to the east, I think.” Then he turned to Gildor: “We must go swifter and ’round the Spawn ere we come to Quadran Pass, for we would not want them to get there first.” Galen reined Jet to a halt. “Tuck, you may once more ride at your ease upon the cargo.”
Smiling, Tuck swung his leg over to leap to the ground. One last time he swept his sapphirine gaze to the limits of his vision, and far to the south . . .
Quickly, he threw his leg back over Jet. “Hola: Galen King, something afar: down the Old Rell Way in the flats below. Take me closer.”
Jet was spurred forward, Gildor following upon Fleetfoot, leading the pack horse. Swiftly they cantered along the abandoned road to bring Tuck’s eyes into range. And as they went, Tuck strained his vision to its uttermost limits and soon he gave a groan, for there before him down in the flats nearly five miles distant a dark Rûcken Horde boiled southeastward, force-marching down the Old Rell Way. No sound reached up to Tuck’s ears from the Swarm, the distance lending the illusion of a vast army moving along in eerie silence.
“Galen King, it is the Horde,” gritted Tuck. “We must leave this road and swing around them.”
To the east of the Way they slipped aside, riding once more across the open moors. And as they went the land began to rise, for they were bordering upon the foothills of the Grimwall. An hour they rode, and then another, Tuck’s eyes keeping the Swarm just in view as the trio passed behind thickets and hills to the east of the Spaunen.
“We have drawn even with them now,” said Tuck, grimly, as Jet at a walk bore him from behind the flank of a hill and his jewel-hued vision saw the foe once more.
“How many are there?” asked Galen, for his own eyes could not see them.
“I know not,” answered Tuck, “but they flow as a dark flood perhaps three miles in length. How like a plague of ravenous vermin they seem, swarming forth to ravage the Land.”
“It is well that this Realm has been long abandoned, then,” said Gildor, riding beside them, “else this blight would have struck down many an innocent victim.”
“Are there Vulgs?” Galen’s thoughts turned to the dire scouts of Modru.
“Yes,” answered Tuck, seeking and finding the sinister dark shapes gliding o’er the land. “They roam the Horde’s fringes, but I see none more than a mile from the Swarm.”
“Keep your eyes set for them,” said Galen, “for if they scent us, they will bring the Ghola.”
Once more they spurred up the pace, and Jet and Fleetfoot bore them southeastward and the pack horse cantered behind. An hour they rode at a varying gait, for they must needs husban
d the strength of the steeds, and at the end of that time Tuck could no longer see the Horde behind.
“On the morrow we must risk the road once more,” said Galen, “for our pace will be swifter upon its abandoned bed than through this rough hill country.”
“But, Sire, won’t the Vulgs smell us out if we run along a course they will soon follow upon?” protested Tuck.
“That is a danger, Wee One,” answered Galen, “yet we cannot make haste through this broken land unless we soon take to the Old Rell Way; it begins its long run up to the Quadran, and ravines and bluffs will bar our way if we are not upon it. And haste is needed, for not only must we hie for Pellar, we must also try to warn the Larkenwald of the Horde behind us. There is this, too: if we start up to Quadran Pass and find we cannot cross through—because of snow or Spawn—then we will be forced to retrace our steps, coming back down before turning south for Gûnar Slot. And we must not meet up with this Horde on that narrow road down from the heights.
“Aye, Tuck, you are right to think of the Vulgs, and we will not rejoin the Way until we are far ahead of here. Perhaps they will not scent a ’Darkday-old trail. But we must at last come again to the Way to gain greater speed, for not to do so poses a greater risk.”
Through the hills they wended, bearing southeastward, and the land grew rougher as they went. And as Galen had said, ravines and bluffs began to bar their way. And as if the Fates had conspired perversely, ramparts and fissures slowly began to force the trio south, toward the Old Rell Way. Too soon: thought Tuck. Too soon: We go where the Vulgs will scent us: Yet there was nought they could do to change their course as they turned through stone and rounded thickets and rode along the faces of low-walled sheer bluffs.
“I deem we must now strike for the Way and make a run for it,” said Galen, grimly, “for where we ride now, the Vulgs will cut our trail.” And so they turned and deliberately pressed toward the abandoned road, coming down through the ruptured land.
The Iron Tower Omnibus Page 30