Voyage of the Fox Rider

by Dennis L McKiernan

  A distance hindward came Aravan, and with him both Tivir and Tink, for these three were the slenderest of all the Eroean’s complement. And they were accompanied by three more of the tiny riders faring to fore and flank. Aravan carried rope and cord and a crossbow with a quiver of bolts fastened to its stock, and on his thigh was strapped a long-knife. And each of the cabin boys bore a crossbow and quiver and a cutlass girted to the waist, and each bore as well one of the small brass and crystal Dwarven lanterns, its phosphorescent glow well shielded. Too, both Tivir and Tink carried long, forked sticks carven from straight alder saplings. And across the center of the isle they fared.

  Westward a half mile or so, another trio of the shadow-wrapped scouts sped toward the island rim, and striding after those three went Jamie and Slane, armed and bearing lanterns, the two sailors warded ‘round by the last three of the Pysks.

  Thus did twelve Fox Riders, two Men, two slender lads, and one Elf cross the island above, while sixteen Men and forty Dwarves sailed westward in the dark ‘round the isle below.

  To the east-northeast a waxing half Moon rode just above the horizon, and high in the northeastern sky among the turning stars silently fared the Bright Voyager, the Red Warrior on its heels.

  It was the last night of October—eighty days after the destruction of Rwn.

  Jinnarin flung up a hand, while at the same time bringing Rux to a halt. Farrix stopped on her right; Anthera on her left. They had come to the edge of the isle.

  “Somewhere below,” hissed Jinnarin, and all three dismounted. The Pysks spread out and waited, now and again peering over the edge of the cliff and down at the foot of the bluff, where the Sindhu Sea washed against adamant stone.

  Rux turned his head and peered inland, as did Rhu and Tal, and out from the darkness came Aravan and Tink and Tivir, escorted by Bivin, Reena, and Galex on their foxes.

  Aravan held his amulet and paced back and forth along the rim of the bluff. At last he stopped at a point and whispered, “Here the stone seems coldest. I ween the window is warded and virtually below.” He stepped five paces easterly. “This should put us slightly to the side.”

  Aravan uncoiled the slender cord and tied one end to a boulder. Then he nodded to Farrix who whispered a command to Rhu, and the fox slipped beyond seeing back among the crags. Farrix shot a smile toward Jinnarin and then slid a hand through one of the many loops tied along the length of the free end of the heavy twine.

  Down Aravan lowered the Pysk, while all the others peered over the edge and watched as Farrix descended to the ledge below. When he reached the shelf, he stepped away from the line and crept along the stone, listening. After a while, he signalled up to the watchers, and then he backed away and sat down.

  “Good,” breathed Anthera. “He hears the warders. Now we know where the window lies.”

  “Jinnarin, keep watch o’er Farrix. Tivir, to me. All else, take ease,” murmured Aravan.

  As Aravan and Tivir began pacing easterly, Jinnarin lay on her stomach and peered down at Farrix. Anthera and the remaining Pysks spoke commands to their mounts, and the foxes fanned out to watch the approaches. Some two hundred fifty feet easterly, Aravan and Tivir marked a place on the rim with a circle of stones, then they came back to the group. And while the Pysks knelt and inspected their weaponry for perhaps the thousandth time, and Aravan looked over the rim at Farrix below, Tink and Tivir warily peered into the moonlit darkness, their eyes searching—for what, they did not know.

  And they waited.

  The Moon had crawled the width of its disk up the eastern sky, when the foxes on the western approach signalled an alert, and the Pysks took up a defensive stance—bows strung with deadly arrows—even though they knew who probably came. The cabin boys, too, stood with their crossbows in hand, their breathing coming in suppressed gasps.

  Finally six clusters of shadows slipped through the moonlight and to their side: it was Kylena, Rimi, Fia, Dwnic, Lurali, and Temen. And Fia whispered, “They are ready.”

  Aravan nodded and pulled up the cord, while the Pysks sent their foxes away to hide among the crags. Aravan then gestured to Jinnarin, and she slipped her hand through the very end loop on the line. Aravan lowered her two feet or so then gestured to Anthera, and she slid her hand through the second of the loops. One after another, the Pysks slipped their wrists through loops in the line, and like pearls on a string they were lowered down to join Farrix.

  Carefully a rope was lowered, then, silently, Aravan came sliding down, Tink quietly after, the lad bearing a lantern and one of the forked sticks. Tivir remained above. Tink took two lengths of yellow yarn from his pocket and gave one to Jinnarin and the other to Farrix, along with a small bit of spirit gum for each, the adhesive wrapped in paper.

  “Listen,” breathed Farrix, tying the yarn about his waist, and all could hear a rattling and a muttering mixed now and again with guttural curses. Yet what was said, none knew. “They speak, in Slûk,” murmured Farrix. “I think there are two, and they play at casting knucklebones.”

  Aravan nodded, then lay on his stomach, and with Tink anchoring his legs, Aravan leaned out and looked under the overhang. Slowly he moved along the ledge, looking, listening, turning his head this way and that, trying to see where stone ended and illusion began, yet the glamour was such that the stone appeared natural, the cracks and crevices unbroken as they passed across the face of the bluff. Even so, he used the sound of the muttered curses to site the window slit. Quietly he drew back and pointed straight down and moved five feet to one side. Cord in hand, again he lay on his stomach, and as Farrix slid his hand through a loop, Aravan took the stick from Tink. Then leaning over the ledge once more, Aravan lowered Farrix a ways, and with the fork of the carven branch he maneuvered the Pysk to a slender ledge—no more than two or three inches wide—running along the rough face of the bluff. When Farrix gained his footing, he turned with his back to the wall and slipped his hand loose from the loop. And while Aravan drew up the cord, Farrix strung an arrow to his bow.

  Moving westerly three strides or so, Aravan repeated the feat, only this time it was Jinnarin who was maneuvered to the tiny ledge, her position slightly higher than that of Farrix, for the ledge ran at a shallow angle from him up to her.

  When she was ready, Jinnarin nodded to Farrix and then gathered shadow unto herself, and with her heart pounding, slowly she began moving toward him—and he to her—Jinnarin cautiously feeling the wall as she went.…At last her fingers passed through seemingly solid stone.

  She had reached the window slit.

  She stepped back and flattened herself against the wall, and dropping her shadow she signalled Farrix. Trying to quell her racing heart, she waited while his shadow sidled toward her, Farrix moving more quickly now that he knew the approximate location of his side of the slot. And all the while the muttering and cursing rose and fell within the lookout post.

  At last Farrix’s fingers dipped into the illusory stone. He backed away and his shadow disappeared and he nodded at her. Cautiously, silently, together they explored the dimensions of the window, trying to find the sill, for it was critical that they know where it lay. Sliding her hand down the side, she could not find the threshold; it was somewhere below where she stood.

  Jinnarin looked down the rough face of the cliff, seeking a shelf beneath, one she could climb down to…but the only ledge below was clearly too far down.

  Jinnarin signalled [Wait], and she lay upon the narrow ledge, and using her bow as an extension of her arm, she quietly slid the tip along the edge of the window slot and reached down as far as she could, trying to find the sill…to no avail. But Farrix, somewhat lower and using the same method, found the brink at the full extent of the reach of his bow. Now they knew exactly where the threshold was.

  Standing again, she strung an arrow to her bow and moved to the window end of the ledge, readying for her leap. With her heart wildly thudding, she glanced over at Farrix. He, too, was in position, his own bow ready, and he nodd
ed to her and then gathered shadow, as did she.

  Silently, the gloom of Farrix sprang from the ledge and disappeared through the stone. One, two, Jinnarin counted, and then followed, springing through the illusion to the opposite side. She landed on the sill, the dark cluster of Farrix front and to her left. Before her in the torchlit lookout chamber, a kneeling Ruch clutched at his throat, while a second kneeling Ruch was just beginning to turn toward the slot. Jinnarin aimed and loosed, her wee arrow hissing across to strike the turning Ruch in the side of the neck. He spun on about and his gaze widened and he opened his mouth to shout, while at the same time he clutched desperately for the bugle draped by a thong ‘round his shoulder—but his eyes glazed over and he toppled sideways to the stone floor, his comrade collapsing as well.

  Silently, the Pysks slipped the yarn from ‘round their own waists, and while Farrix stood ward, Jinnarin, with a dab of spirit gum, fixed one end of her yellow floss to the corner of the sill and cast the free end out the window. She moved to the opposite corner and did the same with Farrix’s yarn. Now the window ledge was marked to outside eyes. And in but moments, Anthera came through the illusion and slipped her hand from the cord loop. Quickly she was followed by Bivin, and together they leapt down from the sill and sped into the narrow passage leading into the holt.

  Reena followed and then Galex, and they, too, moved swiftly down the corridor.

  Kylena, Rimi, Fia, Dwnic, Lurali, and Temen came after, but stayed within the lookout post, fanning out to take up positions to either side of the passageway entry.

  When all were in, Jinnarin and Farrix leapt down from the sill, and Aravan wriggled through the narrow slot, then pulled in his crossbow and quarrels tied to the end of the rope, then he gave the line a tug.

  Outside, Tink pointed his lantern up toward Tivir above and momentarily cracked the hood, signalling him that the Pysks and Aravan were safely within the lookout chamber.

  With a brief flash of return light, Tivir acknowledged the signal, then turned and sent a signal westward. A half mile away, Jamie flashed Tivir a recognition, then turned and signalled the boats below.

  And the warband set sail for the illusion-covered entrance to the understone lagoon.

  Jamie and Slane then sent a flash of light to Tiver, and he in turn to Tink, and moments later Tink slithered into the chamber and nodded to Aravan. And the Elf and the lad dragged the dead Rucha to the side of the chamber.

  And they waited.

  Time passed.

  Finally Tivir came wriggling in through the window, for Jamie and Slane now stood watch above.

  And again they waited as time limped past.

  Finally Aravan sissed and pointed; by moonlight the warband sailed the waters below, eight dinghies in all—forty Dwarves and sixteen Men.

  Turning from the slot, Aravan silently gestured to the others, and into the narrow passage they went.

  Standing on the rim at the circle of stones, Jamie flashed a signal down to the boats, then slightly cracked the hood, dim illumination leaking out.

  In the lead, “Down sail and unship oars,” whispered Bokar, and Châkka warriors moved quietly to obey, the boats behind following in kind.

  Guiding on Jamie’s light, toward the cliffs they rowed, for somewhere in the shadows beneath his dim beacon stood an illusion.

  Quietly they rowed, listening for the hollow echo of the surf which marked where they would find the undertone lagoon, seeking to see where the waves rolled through seemingly solid rock. At last they found it, and through the glamour and into the channel they slipped, one after the other.

  Once past the illusion they could see the dim glimmer of torchlight afar. And as waves swashed against the distant walls, down the strait and into the cove they fared, dipping their oars carefully even though the murmur of waves and boom of surge filled the vast hollow with a tumult of sound.

  Now by the torches burning in their cressets at the far side of the stone dock, they could see the whole of the lagoon…and moored at the quay rode the black galley, a hundred dark feet in length, her oars shipped in, her mainmast stepped down, her shorter foremast yet mounted, the lateen sail unfurled.

  Nodding in silence, Bokar gestured toward the steps at the end of the landing, and toward these they rowed. Quietly, they came to the stairs, and Bokar along with six others crept up and to the black galley, and they slipped over the side.

  Moving in stillness, they searched the ship, and below deck they found a single sleeping Ukh and silently they slew him. They then returned to the deck, where Bokar signalled to the remaining boats. While the armsmaster and his squad brought galley oars topside and laid them on deck alongside the larboard rail, swiftly the remaining boats landed, one after another, and Châkka debarked and came up to the black ship, carrying the ballistas and crates of lances, lading all aboard. As they did this, the sailors behind rowed the emptied dinghies away from the quay and into concealment on the lagoon side of the galley, where they cast lines upward to be tied to the craft, and the sailors then clambered aboard, Jatu the first one over the rail.

  But as the last ballista was laded, there sounded the loud, raucous blatting of a Squam horn, filling the cavern with its harsh blare. Bokar whirled about, trying to spot the Grg blowing it, sounding the alarm. Again it blatted, again and again. Of a sudden, Arka raised his crossbow and—Thnn!—let fly with a quarrel, and with a skrawk, the bugle ceased, the Ukh plummeting from the foremast crow’s nest to smash down on the deck.

  And from the corridor leading into the caverns beyond the quay, there came the blattish answerings of an Ukkish horn within.

  As the boats of the warband sailed past in the waters below the window slot, Aravan, Tink, Tivir, and eight Pysks slipped down the narrow passageway toward the main corridor of the understone holt. Some hundred feet from this central passage they came upon Reena and Galex, two clusters of shadows hiding in folds of stone along the passage. They had been stationed here to bring down any Rucha or Loka who might have gone toward the lookout post, and who might have managed to escape Aravan’s party waiting there and come fleeing back down the way. And somewhere ahead were Anthera and Bivin to stop any who might get past these two.

  As Aravan and party came to Reena and Galex, these two made themselves known, and here Aravan stopped.

  And they waited for Bokar’s signal that all was ready.

  Time eked by.

  How long they stood in the dark cleft, Jinnarin did not know, but of a sudden she heard the distant raucous sound of a Rûptish horn.

  “Vash!” hissed Aravan. “We are discovered! Quick, Tivir, Tink, now may be the time of our contingency. Remember, if it comes to it, ye must run fleetly!”

  Toward the main corridor they moved, coming to the place where Anthera and Bivin waited. And as they reached them, with a squawk the horn was silenced.

  Moments passed, and then they heard the sound of another Spaunen horn, this one from the interior caverns. Peering up the hall, they could see torchlight emerging from the Trolls’ quarters, and then they heard a ponderous treading. Trolls emerged, monstrous creatures, twelve feet tall, broad and brutish. And they filled the wide corridor and looked up the passage away from the quay, up to where the trump blared.

  “Well, Cap’n,” said Tivir, “looks loike we’re on. Tink, y’ ready naow?”

  Tink swallowed and nodded and leaned his crossbow against the wall next to Tivir’s. Then he glanced down at Jinnarin and she smiled at him, but her eyes were filled with fright. Tink flashed her a fleeting grin, then looked up at Tivir. “Let’s get to it, boyo.”

  With a nod to the captain, the cabin boys stepped from the narrow cleft and into the main corridor. They silently ran a few steps down the passageway. Then, throwing the shutters of their Dwarven lanterns wide, “Hoy!” Tivir shouted. “Y’ big lummoxes! Here we be, y’ stupid gobs!”

  “Yah, y’ bloody arses!” shouted Tink. “Catch me if y’ can!”

  Trolls turned, their eyes flying wide at t
he sight of the lads.

  RRRRAAAWWWW! bellowed a Troll, roars of the others thundering after, rage echoing down the stone corridor. And then the monstrous Spawn lunged toward the two. Tivir and Tink turned on their heels and raced toward the quay, Trolls plunging after, gaining with every stride.

  “Brekka! Dett! Cut the lines!” barked Bokar. “All others, grab oars! Shove off! We may save this mission yet!”

  With axes, the lines were severed. And using the ship’s oars, sailors and warriors shoved against the stone quay. But the ship was massive and moving thwartwise in the water. Sluggishly it responded as straining Châkka and Men pressed mightily to push the galley sideways away from the dock.

  And all the while deep within the caverns there sounded the blatting alarm of a horn.

  Slowly the ship drifted free, moving out from the landing.

  And now they could hear the ringing of shouts, and a vast roar, followed by more shouting and the hammer of running footsteps, and the massive thud of lumbering feet.

  Of a sudden, Tink came running, Tivir at his side, huge Trolls roaring and thundering in pursuit, more Trolls plunging after. And Tink ran straight while Tivir veered to the left, a Troll chasing each, the monsters reaching out to grasp the lads. But both boys made running dives, knifing into the black waters of the lagoon. The Troll chasing Tivir bawled in fright and tried to stop, but could not, and he skidded off the stone quay to fall into the brine and plummet from sight in the dark sea. But the Troll chasing Tink made a prodigious leap over the open water between the quay and the black galley and crashed into the side, and with a desperate grab he managed to clutch the top wale of the ship, the craft listing with his weight. And leering at the Dwarves, the monster clambered aboard as Dwarven axes and Jatu’s warbar bounced off his stonelike, green-scaled hide.

  Wrapped in shadow, Jinnarin watched as Trolls thundered by, her breath coming in gasps, for these were terrible monsters. And she prayed to Adon that Tivir and Tink had escaped, and that Bokar and the warband had managed to free the galley before the alarm sounded.