But the swift little pony was not to be headed, and the duo hammered through the intercept point just a hairs-breadth ere the first foe came to it; and as the pair dashed beyond, black-shafted arrows did siss upon their heels, most to fall short, albeit one or two stabbed into the ground ahead. But horse and horseling ran onward, leaving the enemy behind, and only yawls of frustrated rage overtook the riders.
Once they had passed well beyond the range of Wrg arrow, Elyn and Thork slowed their mounts to a steady trot, allowing the steeds to catch their wind and recover from their dash to freedom. Each looked back, gauging whether pursuit drew near.
“They mill about,” rasped Thork, “as if undecided as to what to do. Regardless, they follow not . . . at least for now.”
“I think perhaps something evil is after one of us”—Elyn’s voice was grim—“why I cannot say. Yet for three nights running we have been attacked.”
“I was about to say the same,” Thork responded, “yet this I know, Woman: I was not attacked ere you came.”
“So you blame me,” flared Elyn. “Heed me, Dwarf, I rode in peace until I had the pleasure of meeting you.”
A chill silence fell between the two as easterly they fared. And none said aught for a lengthy while. At last Thork cleared his throat. “Why, Woman, did you not ride on ahead when the Grg sought to cut our track? Your steed can easily outstrip mine. You could have passed beyond ere they made half the distance.”
Elyn’s answer was a long time coming: “Mistake me not, for I wish no partnership. But list, even though you be a Dwarf, I made a compact with you, unspoken to be sure, but a compact still. And that was to ride a ways together, should we meet a common foe. Then we did meet such a foe, and I would not desert my word, though what you said be true: Wind can run as her namesake, and we could have fled past ere the enemy came nigh, but there would be no honor in that.”
At the mention of honor, Thork looked long and hard at the Warrior Maiden as pony and horse drew steadily eastward, yet he said nought in return. At last he turned his gaze away from her countenance, and there was a dark brooding upon his brow.
Again they rode long in silence, and once more it was Thork who at last broke it. “Warrior, I deem you right in that evil dogs our heels. And I would be rid of this thing that seeks to cut our wake. Let us ride through tomorrow day as well; perhaps we can shake it off our track. For evil shuns the Sun, and mayhap it will lose our line in the brightness of Adon’s light.”
“Ah me,” sighed Elyn, “already I am weary, and now you propose that we become more weary still. Yet I, too, would shake this vileness. But it pursues us in a manner I cannot fathom, and may find us in the darkness still, regardless of what we do. Yet I have no better plan than yours, for we must try to throw it from us; perhaps a trek through the Sun will do so.
“But heed: we will have to walk much of the time; the steeds cannot bear us forever, and must at times be unburdened. Had you a horse, then we could take up the varying pace of a Jordreich long-ride, and we would place much ground ’tween us and any pursuit. Yet you have not, and so we will do the next best thing: I will step Wind at what I deem is the gait of a pony long-ride. Beyond that, we will at times walk, at other times pause and rest. Would that we had remounts, but we do not, and so it is afoot for us as well.”
Sunrise found Elyn and Thork leading their steeds across the grassy plain; they had not been attacked again that night, although each had felt the unseen eyes of the malevolent force peering through the dark. True to her word, Elyn had been pacing their eastward trek to put as much distance behind them as she deemed prudent, while at the same time preserving the strength of the steeds as well as that of the riders.
And so they walked as the Sun slid above the horizon, both still limping slightly from the wounds received three nights past while in the Khalian Mire. At last they came upon a bubbling stream. “Here we rest an hour. I will sleep while you watch. Next will be your turn.” Elyn lay down in the grass and was instantly aslumber.
All day they traded off, riding, walking, resting, ever faring eastward. Small portions of grain were fed to the mounts, while the two riders ate the remainder of the marmot meat. Water was plentiful, for occasional streams crossed their path, flowing down from the distant chain of tors to the left, to the north, foothills of the Grimwall far beyond. As to additional food now that the meat was gone, each rider had rations of crue, a tasteless but nutritious waybread common upon Mithgar; thus, sustenance for the warriors was not now a concern. But Elyn pointed out that the mounts could not last forever on the meager rations they were getting. Horses and horselings on a journey need much grass and grain to sustain them, as well as water; yet short rations for the steeds would not become a factor until one or two morrows hence, though afterward they would need time to recover.
Still, eastward they fared throughout the day as the Sun rode up and overhead and down, and protected them from the Foul Folk. But nothing warded them from the weariness that crept throughout their bones. For their trek was unremitting, even though they rested one hour in four.
There came a time when they stopped at a stream where Elyn treated her still raw wounds; and so too did Thork tend his. And Elyn passed her white healing salve to the Dwarf, and lo! received a dark salve in return.
And as Thork stripped his jerkin and squatted by the water, washing his arms and chest, how like iron knots seemed his muscles, and leather cords seemed his thews.
At last the Sun fell below the horizon, and darkness crept upon the land. Now would they see if their long journey into night had shaken off the vileness, the day chasing it from their track to be lost.
And in the twilight distance far before them they could see the dark face of a forest. It was the Skög, the woodland lying on the border between Aralan and Kath. They had indeed come far in their long-ride.
On they pressed, an hour or more, drawing nigh the now black timberland.
“I deem we must rest ere we enter yon woods,” growled Thork, “for we know not what awaits us within.”
“Then let us not ride therein until the bright Moon rises to shed its light down among the trees,” suggested Elyn; and Thork grunted his assent.
And so they dismounted, making one last stop before plunging into the unknown.
Elyn rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes. “I will never get used to sleeping during the day, and living my life at night.”
“I catch your meaning, Warrior,” responded Thork. “Within a Châkkaholt, the day visits only through stone windowshafts, and mayhap a gate or two; still we keep time by the Sun, ordering our lives to its movement.”
Elyn shifted uneasily at this mention of the living habits of Dwarves, yet she said nought, and Thork did not continue.
Long they rested, horse and pony cropping rich grass, and at last the Moon rose. “Let us wait a bit, say, a half candlemark or so,” suggested Elyn, “then will the moonlight shine down into the wood.” Thork’s silence noted his assent.
And so they waited as the Moon crept upward, until at last Thork stood and Elyn followed, and they stepped toward their steeds.
Of a sudden, Wind snorted, pulling back upon her tether, eyes rolling in terror. Thork’s pony, too, danced hindward in fear, squealing in panic. And in that very moment, evil skittered o’er the minds of Dwarf and Warrior Maid.
And they heard a strange rending of the ground.
“Aie!” cried Thork. “To the south! The earth! The very earth!”
And flowing at them like a huge dark wedge came a buckling heave of the ground, as if a great long something, massive and evil, was hurtling at them beneath the soil, some monster under the earth rushing upon them.
“Fly!” cried Elyn, her voice hoarse with fear, her eyes wide in horror. And she cut the tether and leapt upon Wind, spurring toward the woods.
Thork astride the pony raced after, the horseling running in sheer panic.
And behind them the very surface of the world wrenched and tore, sod
fracturing upward, thrust aside from below, the rending soil crying out in splitting agony, and still the heaving wedge surged after the fleeing twain, something hideous drawing closer and ever closer, leaving a long broken mound of tortured earth in its wake.
“Run, Wind, run!” cried Elyn, leaning forward over her saddle, urging the grey onward, glancing aback to see Thork falling behind, the pony racing at its uttermost, yet the thing under the soil closing in upon the fleeing horseling. “Rach!”
Hauling leftward hard upon the grey’s reins, the Warrior Maid raced in a great circle to come aflank the Dwarf, and both now fled but strides ahead of the erupting earth behind, the unseen thing overhauling its intended prey.
“Right! Bear right,” shrieked Elyn, “or we are both foredone!”
Thork sheered rightward, diverging from Elyn’s line, his pony running in full, as Elyn in turn hauled back upon Wind to fall behind, maintaining her straightward course, the speeding heave under the soil racing upon her track.
Close it came and closer, now nearly upon her. Elyn leaned forward in the saddle. “Now, Wind,” she cried, giving the grey free rein, “show this monster your heels!”
And Wind leapt forward with a burst of speed, but so too did the rending earth, and across the grassy plain they ran, flying steed and hidden pursuer, heading toward the nearing forest.
It was a race for life.
It was a race for death.
And Thork on his pony on a different track, ran for the wooded haven as well, no longer quarry of the hunter, no longer prey in a deadly game. ’Twas Elyn that had kept him from falling to an unknown fate, and his eyes sought to see her, and the thing upon her heels. “Ride, Warrior Maid, ride!” his voice jerked out ’tween gritted teeth. Then “Elwydd, shield her,” his prayer rose up, and in that moment his dappled steed hammered under the eaves of the darkling wood.
Swift he turned, now running northward, the agile pony dodging among the trees, guided by sure Dwarven hands, steered in the night by Dwarven sight. And through the trees shuttering by, he could see the desperate chase out upon the plains.
Now Elyn raced Wind in a great wide circle, the mare flying before the thing, the Warrior Maid seeking to gain ground by deft maneuvers, yet the gap did not appreciably widen. In a loop she ran, coming at last to the uptorn earth left in the wake of the pursuer, Wind hurdling the mound.
Doosh! the earth exploded upward as the thing crossed its own track, still upon the heels of this mare flying before it.
“To me, Warrior, to me!” cried Thork, riding into view.
And Elyn veered slightly, racing toward the place at the edge of the forest whence had come the call, and now her eyes saw the pony sidle-stepping in panic, held only by the strong hand of Thork.
And behind her, soil ripped upward, sod rending as something below rushed through the earth, driving to overtake the fleeing steed.
Thork turned the pony, spurring him forward as Elyn drew nigh, and together they plunged into the Skög, Dwarf leading, Warrior Maid following, twisting through the wood.
Yet behind them trees fell crashing, as the thing below came after, uprooting forest giants and saplings alike in its quest to kill. While before it fled the twain, now drawing ahead, Dwarven eyes and agile pony leading the way.
Steadily they left the pursuit behind, yet both knew that it still followed, the thing perhaps slowed by roots and rock, or mayhap now it could not as easily sense the whereabouts of its victims here among the trees. Even so, still the two did not slow their pace, for any number of things could cause them to come to grief: a ravine, a bluff, anything to block the way. Yet Thork was skilled in the lay of land, and followed an uphill route when choice was given. At last they came to a great granite outcropping, shield rock, scarred ages agone by the endless ice that then covered the north.
“This way,” rasped the Dwarf. “It is bedrock here in this high clearing.” And he led them out of the woods and onto the open knoll, steel-shod hooves of the steeds clattering upon the stone. They rode to the center and stopped.
“Dismount, Warrior,” grunted Thork. “Yet be prepared to ride. For I know not whether stone will stop that which follows.”
“What is it?” asked Elyn. “Know you what it be?”
“Nay, Warrior, I do not,” answered Thork, shaking his head. “No lore, no knowledge, no myth speaks of a thing that pursues under the soil. And to my mind, only the Utruni live deep within the earth, though tales tell that other things dwell deep within as well.”
“Utruni? Do you mean the Giants?” asked Elyn. “Could it be one of them that follows? I always thought them to be allies, at least in the Great War, or so I am told.”
“Aye, allies,” responded the Dwarf. “And you are right: they are not evil, the Utruni, the Stone Giants—this thing on our track cannot be one of them. Even so, still it splits the earth; let us hope that whatever it is, it will not be able to get at us upon this stone hillock.”
And off in the distance they could hear the rending of trees, the sounds drawing nearer.
To the east the Moon sailed serenely up the star-spangled night, its argent light glancing down upon the huddled four: Elyn, Thork, and two steeds. No notice did the silvery globe seem to take of the desperate drama unfolding below, and it shed its platinum radiance as always, as it had done since the world and Moon were made.
Elyn examined Wind, and then the pony, cooing softly as she did so, Thork listening to her gentle words. “What name you this stouthearted steed of yours?” she asked the Dwarf.
“Digger,” answered Thork after some hesitation, as if the naming of a pony somehow revealed a weakness.
“Well, Digger,” she said to the horseling, “you are weary, as are we all, and needs must rest; yet stand ready, for we may have to flee again, and without you and Thork leading the way, tcha, Wind and I would be in the clutches of that monster, if clutch it can.”
The sound of uptorn trees falling to ground caused the pony to shudder, yet Elyn’s voice seemed to calm it some.
At last the earth heaved and trees toppled at the very edge of the stone, first this way then that, as if the unseen thing quested for a scent, a track, but could find none. Elyn and Thork held tightly the reins of their steeds, keeping the animals calmed in the face of this vile hunt, the horse and horseling flinching and shying with each crashed-down tree. And still the earth swelled and split, wherever the seeker turned, the tortured sound of upthrust soil grating through the night. Once or twice the rock hillock trembled, as if it had been struck a heavy blow, perhaps blundered into by a leviathan creature, yet nothing came upon the stone to get at them. And in these moments Elyn reached out and tightly gripped Thork’s hand, seeking comfort from an honorable foe, giving comfort in return.
A long time passed, and the Moon rode up the sky, and still the earth hove and buckled; and once Elyn thought that she had seen hideous ropy things writhing up out of the ground among the trees, but when she called Thork’s attention to them, they were gone.
At last the thing turned and made its way from the Skög, timber falling in its wake.
They spent the night upon the shield-rock tor, taking turns dozing, taking turns at watch, for they knew not whether the thing had truly left them, or was merely laying a trap. And when the Sun rose at last to an overcast day, they girded themselves and mounted up, preparing to leave the protection of the stone hillock, preparing to venture out upon the soft earth.
“Follow me,” Thork said quietly, pacing the pony forward. And when they had come to the eastern edge of the shield rock, “Yah!” he cried, kicking Digger in the flanks, and the small steed sprang forth from the stone and onto the soil of the Skög, racing once more among the trees, Elyn and Wind chasing after.
They ran this way for some distance, and nothing pursued, the forest quiet. And so at last they slowed to a walk, saving their mounts, hoping to come across water and a place where they could camp.
Eventually at the foot of a hill they came upon a s
tream. As their steeds took on water, Elyn unlaced the waterskin from the cantle and squatted at streamside, uncorking and submerging the leather, a thoughtful look upon her face. She spoke at last: “Thork, it is clear that the evil which pursues us was not shaken off by our sunlight trek. I deem that these attacks are directed—Adon knows how—by some malevolence I cannot name, but nevertheless is real. Whether it seeks you or me or the both of us, I do not know. Yet this I do know: I would now be dead if it were not for you, and you can say the same. So I propose that we stay in each other’s company till our paths come to a natural parting, then will we go our separate ways; for the quest I am on is mine to do, and the road you follow, your own. Foes we are, yet we can be friendly, until it is time to become enemies again.”
Thork’s response was a long time coming. “You have travelled with me in honor. You have shared your food and skills. You have saved my life more than once, and I am in your debt. And at last you call me by my name.
“Would that I could call you friend, Elyn, and perhaps I will for a while, for in other circumstance, friends would we be. And you are right: the evil that dogs us is real, yet together we have managed to defeat it. I will ride in honor with you till our paths part.”
Elyn capped her waterskin and stood, and for the first time there was a smile on her face as she looked at Thork. “Then let us find a campsite, friend, for I am weary beyond reckoning. My bed of last night was rock hard, yet I did not wish to step from it for I think a monster lay ’neath.”
At these words, Thork burst out in laughter, shaking his head. “Monster under your bed indeed.”
This day in camp, neither stood watch, for they had decided that the evil came only in the darkness, and they were bone weary. They had found an open glade within the woodland, grown with clover for the steeds to crop, and had pitched camp there. Tethering horse and pony upon long ropes—Elyn using the line flung at her a time apast by Thork—the warriors had eaten a bit of crue, falling asleep thereafter.
Dragondoom: A Novel of Mithgar Page 11