“We are not apt to meet a Troll in the pass or a Khol on a Helsteed, for that matter,” said Brekka. “Ukhs and Hroks are more likely.”
“Rucks and Hloks, eh?” asked Pipper, and he took a deep breath and turned to Binkton. “Well, then, you’d better fetch your bow and arrows, Bink, and I my sling and bullets.”
Binkton nodded, and together the Warrows stepped out to the coach and climbed atop and unlashed their chest enough to open it. Binkton took up a bow case and quiver, while Pipper grabbed a pouch and looked inside. Satisfied, he tied the pouch to his belt, and then he and Binkton closed the chest and lashed it down once again.
Early the next day, a candlemark before dawn, the Red Coach pulled out from the station, trailing horses behind. Two additional footmen were atop, and all were armed.
And up through the remaining foothills they fared.
Sometime just after sunrise, the sky began spitting tiny flakes, for even though the days were not quite verging upon mid autumn, at these heights winter came early.
“In a fortnight or two,” said Brekka, “this pass will be closed by snow.”
“What’ll happen to the Red Coaches then?” asked Pipper, and quickly, before Binkton could say ought, Pipper added, “What I mean is, how will they fare between Caer Pendwyr and Challerain Keep?”
“Up the Gap Road and through Gunar Slot,” said Brekka, “and then along the Old Rell Way to Luren, until that route becomes snowed in, in which case the coaches will not cross through the Grimwall at all.”
Just then they reached the jagged maw of the pass, and one of the footmen atop swung down and rapped on a window, startling Pipper and Binkton along with other passengers. As Brekka lowered the sash, “Be alert,” said the footman, and then scrambled back up as Brekka cocked his well-tempered, steel-armed crossbow and loaded a quarrel.
Brekka and Binkton were the only ones with bows, and so they took stations on opposite sides of the coach.
There was one female among the nine passengers, a nineteen-year-old named Rebecca, slender and black-haired and blue-eyed and quite pretty. They placed her in the midmost position, and two of the men mistakenly tried to place Pipper beside her, but Brekka said that a Warrow with a sling was almost as valuable as one with a bow. “Besides, I would remind you that the most deadly warriors in any combat are Waerans.”
Pipper nodded sprightly and said, “Tuckerby Underbank slew more than eighty Foul Folk in just three days.”
The men looked at wee Pipper and Binkton in wonder, and none made any further suggestions that the buccen remain anywhere but at the windows.
And as they entered the looming dark walls of the slot twisting upward through the mountain chain, Pipper looked out at the grim frowning stone and said, “Lor, but I wish we had Bane with us.”
“Me, too,” said Binkton, his bow in hand and an arrow held loosely.
“We left before dawn, and it will be after nightfall when we reach the far end,” said Brekka, “but most of the journey will be made under the sun, and the Grg hate the light of day. Nevertheless, be on guard.”
On they fared up into the pass for mile after mile after mile with sheer stone rising to either side, and the sun rode up into the sky. And still no threat appeared. Exhausted by remaining so alert, Pipper fell quite asleep, and he slept until the coach stopped to change teams partway along the rise. Here the passengers, cautioned to be vigilant, were allowed to debark and stretch their legs and take care of other needs, Rebecca given her privacy behind a large boulder while Brekka stood ward in front of it.
Soon the horses had been fed and watered and exchanged-the fresh ones now in harness, the others tethered behind-and the coach started out once more.
“You sleep, Bink,” said Pipper. “I’ll call you should the need arise.”
Binkton looked at Brekka and received a nod, and so he curled up next to Pipper. But he tossed and turned-“Gah! I can’t sleep!”-and after a while gave up and resumed his watch at the window.
It was a mark or two past noon when they crossed the crest of the pass, where again they took care of needs and changed the teams, and then started down the opposite side.
Pipper fell asleep again, and Binkton looked at Brekka and pointed at Pipper and said, “Some sentry, eh?”
Brekka smiled at Binkton and said, “In the never-ending war against the Grg, I have fought alongside comrades who could fall asleep at the drop of a helm, even though combat was but moments away. This I would say: a well-rested warrior is much better to have at hand than one worn down by fatigue. I believe your Pipper will make good account of himself should there be a need.” Then Brekka looked at Binkton and said, “Not that all should sleep, for we do need those who remain on watch to signal should the foe draw nigh.”
Down the long slope of the pass the coach went, the teams working nearly as hard on the descent as on the climb, and the driver stopped a third time to make one more exchange.
Soon they were on their way again, the sun sliding down the sky, and dusk fell as the pass widened and they came in sight of the foothills below and the plains of Gunar beyond.
Even so it was full dark when they came to the way station. And as the passengers debarked, one of the men looked back toward the Grimwalls and said, “Well, that was nothing.”
Brekka looked at him and gritted a warning: “Be glad that this time it was nought. Also be glad not only were there four stage guards atop, but also three warriors inside. And when next you fare through such, I advise you to come well armed-with bow and arrow and a sword or axe-else, somewhere within, you might not live long enough to regret it.”
Two days later in midafternoon, in a small stretch of woods on the way through Gunar, five brigands, armed with clubs and knives, stood afoot by a log they had felled across the road to stop the coach.
As the passengers debarked at the command of the leader of the bandits, Brekka loosed a quarrel to slay that sneering brigand; Binkton took down two more with his bow; Pipper killed one with a sling bullet; the fifth brigand fled, only to be brought down from behind by an arrow from one of the coachmen.
Brekka then looked at the man he had warned and said, “Waerans three, the rest of us two.”
27
Raudholl
FIRE AND IRON
MID AUTUMN, 6E6
Brekka stepped to one of the fallen outlaws and- thuck! – pulled out his quarrel. He also retrieved one of Binkton’s two arrows; the shaft of the second had broken when that man had hit the ground. As for Pip’s sling bullet, there was no chance of retrieving it, buried in the third deader’s skull as it was.
Both Binkton and Pipper looked a bit nauseated, for ere now they had never slain ought but rabbits and other such small game. But even though these were brigands, still they were men, and their deaths sudden and violent, the battle over almost before it had begun.
“I-I never killed anyone before,” said Pipper. “It’s awful.”
Pipper glanced at Binkton, only to see someone whose face was as stark as his own might be. Binkton nodded without looking at Pipper, his gaze fixed on one of the two men he had slain.
“I mean,” said Pipper, “one moment they could be laughing and talking, and the next, they’re just-just dead.”
“Forget it,” said Brekka, holding Binkton’s arrow out to the buccan. “They are nought more than Ukhs.”
“But, Brekka, even Rucks, or Ukhs as you call them, are a walking, talking. .” Pipper’s words fell to silence.
“All Grg are vile,” said Brekka. “They have no conscience, none of them, and act as Gyphon made them long past. And these foul men are even worse, for, unlike the Grg, they have a choice. Hear me, Chakka justice against the Squam is swift and sure, and these”-Brekka made a dismissive gesture toward the slain men-“these dregs deserve no better.”
Binkton took the arrow from Brekka and stared long at it, and finally swallowed, and looked up at the Dwarf and nodded. Then he stepped to the side of the road and cleaned off the shaf
t and point in the grass.
The driver called for all to climb back into the stage.
“Shouldn’t we give them a decent burial?” asked one of the men, gesturing toward the dead outlaws.
“Didn’t you hear me?” growled Brekka. “They are no more than Ukhs. Leave them for the scavengers.”
The man looked at the coachmen, and the driver said to the footmen, “You heard the Dwarf. Drag them to the side and leave them for the crows.”
As the crew dealt with the bodies, nineteen-year-old Rebecca kissed both Warrows on the cheek, and this seemed to cheer them somewhat, but when she approached Brekka, he held up a hand to stop her and said, “It was nothing more than killing vermin.”
The footmen then cleared the log from the road, and the coach got under way again.
That night, as they lay over at the way station, when the two buccen were alone and making ready for bed, Pipper said, “I did not like the feeling I had when I killed that man.”
Binkton sighed and shucked out of his shirt. “Neither did I. But I’ve been thinking about what Brekka said.”
“That Chakka justice is swift and sure?” asked Pipper, kicking off his boots.
“No. That these foul men were no different from Grg. And you know, I think he’s right.”
“How so?”
“Well, Pip, think of all that we have read and heard about Tipperton and Beau and Rynna, and of Tuck and Danner and Patrel and Merrilee, and Perry and Cotton, or Gwylly and Faeril, as well as Cousin Triss and Danby and Kipley.”
“That’s a lot to think about, Bink.”
Binkton nodded, then said, “And then there is Aravan and Brega and Gildor and Vanidor and Vanidar and Riatha and Urus and a whole host of others, to say nought of the many High Kings.”
“What’s all this leading to, Bink?”
“Just this, Pip: none of them hesitated whatsoever in dealing swift justice to evildoers.”
Pipper digested Binkton’s words for long moments as he and his cousin disrobed. Then he sat on the edge of his man-sized cot, his feet dangling freely. “Yes, but those we killed were just highwaymen, robbers. Who knows, they might have been men who had fallen upon hard times and who had turned to banditry simply to feed their families.”
“Perhaps, Pip, yet there are more honest ways of dealing with hard times. No, I think Brekka is right: they were no better than Rucks.”
“But couldn’t we have simply captured them and turned them over to the King’s justice at the next town? – Oh, wait, perhaps that’s not practical. I mean, hauling prisoners all the way to the next gaol.”
“You’re right, Pip,” said Binkton, yawning and pulling his cover up around his neck. “That would have been impractical. Evildoers they were, and swift and sure justice is what they deserved. And listen: dealing swift justice doesn’t mean you have to like it; only that it must be done. Now blow out the candle and let’s get some sleep.”
Pipper snuffed out the flame and darkness descended, but sleep was a long time coming, as both buccen lay in the gloom and wondered if they were merely making excuses for their killing of those men, be they bandits or no.
Three days afterwards, the Red Coach rolled into Gapton, a town at the junction just beyond the Gunarring Gap, a wide opening in the ringlike spur of the Grimwalls. In Gapton the road split and changed names: the Reach Road faring east to Vanar, the capital city of Valon; the Pendwyr Road running southeasterly, toward the Red Hills and past to the Argon Ferry and on to Caer Pendwyr beyond.
Brekka and the Warrows dropped off in Gapton, the Dwarf to rest and enjoy himself, the buccen to try for an engagement at one of the local inns. Binkton and Pipper found that once again their reputation had preceded them, and they made a commitment to the owner of the Red Foal to perform for the next five days, in exchange for room and board and a bit of the good King’s coin.
Brekka stayed at the same inn, and it was he who arranged for the captain of the city watch to be at the very first performance.
Once again Fire and Iron thrilled the patrons, and here, too, Binkton proved no gaol could hold him.
The days flew by, and as time drew near for the buccen to catch the Red Coach and move onward, they debated whether to travel to Vanar, a city of considerable size, or to stick to their original plans and go on to Argon Ferry Town. They asked Brekka for his advice.
“Certainly in Vanar, the Riders of Valon, the Harlingar, would enjoy your show. And I believe you would make a small fortune there. But what I would ask you to consider instead is to come with me to the Red Hills, and perform for Dalek, DelfLord of my Chakkaholt.”
“Put on a show for a king?” blurted Pipper.
“DelfLords are not kings,” growled Binkton.
“I know that, Bink, but he is the leader of a mighty holt, and putting on our show would be just the same as a royal performance, and if that’s not for a king, there’s hardly a whit’s difference between the two.”
“Yes, but he’s not a king.”
Brekka listened to them quibble for long moments, and then called for quiet between the two and said, “I suppose you could say it’s a choice between fame and fortune: fortune in Vanar, fame in the Red Hills, or at least in the Chakkaholt where I was born.”
Binkton looked at Pipper and asked, “What do you think?”
“We can always go to a large city, Bink, but how often will we get a chance to perform before a king?”
“DelfLord, you mean.”
“Oh, all right, DelfLord. But my question remains the same.”
Binkton turned to Brekka. “The Red Hills it is.”
Eight days later and travelling southeast, the Red Coach stopped at a stone-paved spur leading off to the right and into the ruddy hills looming up alongside Pendwyr Road. A flanking pair of Dwarven realmstones warded the pave, marking the boundary of a Chakkaholt. In the shade of a nearby tree a horse-drawn wain stood waiting, the driver, a Dwarf, sitting with his back to the trunk. Binkton and Pipper and Brekka descended from the coach, and with the aid of the footmen, they unladed the chest and their duffles and set them beside the road. The Red Coach then moved on, even as the wain driver stood and led the horses and waggon toward the trio.
“Brekka,” he called.
“Anvar,” replied Brekka.
As Anvar arrived, Brekka introduced the buccen. Binkton and Pipper eyed the second Dwarf they had ever seen. Nearly identical in stature to Brekka was Anvar, though his hair was ginger and his eyes a pale blue. Too, he seemed a bit younger than Brekka, or so Pipper whispered to Binkton.
The two Dwarves laded the Warrows’ trunk onto the wain, Anvar saying, “This seems a bit heavy for the likes of you two.”
“Oh, it is,” replied Pipper. “When we have to handle it ourselves, we unload it and move things piecemeal.”
“It is full of the equipment used in their act,” said Brekka.
“Act?”
“We are Fire and Iron,” said Binkton. He pointed to Pipper and said, “He’s fire; I’m iron.”
“I invited them to put on a show for Dalek,” said Brekka. “They are quite good: Pip with his acrobatics, Binkton with his escapes.”
“No gaol can hold me,” said Binkton, beaming.
Anvar cocked an eyebrow, and Brekka said, “I would hesitate to claim that in Raudholl if I were you, Bink, for you challenge Chakka locks.”
“Raudholl?” asked Pipper.
“The name of our Chakkaholt,” said Anvar. “Or, if you prefer, Redhall.”
They clambered into the wain, and Anvar clucked his tongue and the horses started forward, and up the paved spur and into the Red Hills they went, in among the tors and crags, ruddy-colored stone rising all ’round. Here it was the Dwarves mined iron-rich ore and smelted fine steel in their furnaces to fashion into arms and armor, thought by many to be the finest in all of Mithgar. They made, as well, superior implements: plow-shares and axes and levers and pry bars and saws and other such tools. Dwarf-crafted was a term of excellence
in all of the High King’s realms, and a work of armor or a weapon or a tool bearing the crimson mark of the Red Hills was held to be among the very best.
“How did you know we were coming?” asked Pipper.
Anvar laughed. “I did not. But when the Red Coach is due, north-bound or south-, someone is always assigned the duty to meet it in case there is a need. This sevenday it is mine to do.”
“Oh,” said Pipper. Then he frowned and asked, “Do you often get visitors?”
“On occasion.”
“Well, I am glad that you were at the road to meet us, else Bink and I would have had a dreadful time with our gear.”
Binkton nodded his agreement, and Anvar grinned and said, “Indeed.”
The road wended among the rises, now and then passing a thicket or a stand of old growth clutched up against a slope or huddled in a deep recess. And at one-mile intervals stood rune-laden markers declaring to travellers that they were on Dwarven land.
It was late in the day, the sun in its descent having disappeared beyond the western tors, when around a sweeping turn they came in sight of the Redhall gate, the great iron leaves standing shut. Wide it was, some thirty feet in all, and tall, reaching up twenty feet or so, with an arrangement of arrow slits high up and across the broad expanse of metal. And its surface bore an arrangement of runes, declaring this to be the Chakkaholt of Raudholl, or so Brekka explained. Out before the gate, two Dwarven warders stood, and one stepped in through a side postern when the wain came into sight.
Anvar drove the wain onto the stone forecourt and halted. After a moment, the right-hand portal, a great, thick slab of iron, opened, revealing a large chamber, and in the shadows at the far end stood another gate, this one perhaps but ten feet across and ten feet high.
“Here gather warriors in times of strife,” said Brekka, “should there be a need to charge an enemy at the gates.”
Across this assembly area the waggon went and to the gate at the far end.
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