The Dark Tide

by Dennis L McKiernan

  As Patrel led the weary Warrows to the tents of his squad, they could hear Thornwalkers calling farewell to Gammer Alderbuc as the granther prepared to ride back to Northdell, to set out on his journey back to the town of Northdune along the Upland Way. They could also hear Captain Darby giving orders to summon the squad leaders to the headquarters building to tell them of the Vulgs in the Bosky and to lay plans.

  Late in the night, Tuck woke up from deep slumber, still exhausted. Yet he stayed awake long enough to update his diary by the flickering yellow light of a lantern. Then he fell back into troubled, dream-filled sleep—but what he dreamt, he did not recall.

  "Time for duty, slugabeds." Patrel shook Tuck awake. "It's midmorn. Stir your bones, break your fast, meet your squadmates." Danner and Tarpy sat up, rubbing sleep from their eyes. "I've got our orders. We stand the early nightwatch at the ford— sundown to mid of night."

  With Danner grumbling and Tuck and Tarpy yawning great gaping yawns, Patrel led them to a common washtrough where they broke through the thin layer of ice to splash frigid water on their faces. "Brrr!" shivered Tarpy. "Surely there's a warmer way to get clean."

  "Oh yes," answered Patrel, pointing to one of the tents, white wisps of steam leaking here and there from seams. "There is the laundry and bathing tent. Our squad gets to use it on Tuesdays."

  "Tuesdays?" asked Danner. "Is that all? I mean, just once a week?"

  "Yes," laughed Patrel. "But by the time you've chopped the wood for the heating fire, hauled water from the spring for the tubs, and done all the other work needed to get a bath and do your laundry, then once a week will seem often enough for that privilege."

  "What other chores will we have?" asked Tuck, rubbing his face on the common towel and passing it on to Danner, who looked at it with some dismay before using it, too.

  "Well, each squad is fairly self-sufficient," answered Patrel. "At times, on rotation, each of us will cook for the other members of our squad, and sometimes for Captain Darby, too, though we all pitch in every day to clean the pots and pans. And occasionally we'll help lay up supplies in the storehouse. Everyone cuts firewood, not only for the squad's needs, but for headquarters, too." Patrel continued to name the other chores they would perform, and it soon became clear that each Warrow was expected to care for his own needs, in the main, but that there were several jobs shared by all.

  Patrel's squad consisted of twenty-two young buccen, including Tuck, Danner, and Tarpy, who were introduced at the breakfast campfire. The three were accorded smiles and nods and a friendly wave or two. Little was said as they ate, and Tuck's eyes were drawn to the Great Spindlethorn Barrier looming near. Dense it was; even birds found it difficult to live deep within its embrace. Befanged it was, atangle with great spiked thorns, long and sharp and iron-hard, living stilettoes. High it was, rearing up thirty, forty, and in some places fifty feet above the river valleys from which it sprang. Wide it was, reaching across broad river vales, no less than a mile anywhere, and in places greater than ten. And long it was, stretching completely around the Boskydells, from the North wood down the Spindle, and from the Updunes down the Wenden, until the two rivers joined one another; but after their joining, no farther south did the 'Thorn grow. It was said that only the soil of the Bosky in these two river valleys would nourish the Barrier. Yet the Warrows had managed to cultivate a long stretch of it, reaching from the Northwood to the Updunes, completing the Thornring. And so, why it did not grow across the rest of the Land and push all else aside remained a mystery, though the grandams said. It's Adon swill, while the granthers said, It's the soil, and neither knew the which of it for certain.

  Here at Spindle Ford, as well as at the one bridge and at the other fords on the roads into the Boskydells, Warrows had worked long and hard to make ways through the Barrier, ways large enough for commerce, for waggons and horses and ponies and travellers. Oh, not to say that the Barrier couldn't be penetrated without travelling one of these Warrow-made ways, for one could push through the wild Spindlethorn. It just took patience and determination and skill to make it through, for one had to be maze wise to find a way, usually taking days to wriggle and slip and crawl the random, fanged labyrinth from one side to the other. And never did one penetrate without taking a share of wounds. No, even though Warrows seemed skilled at it, and legend said that Dwarves were even better, still ways through the Barrier must needs be made for travel and commerce.

  But the work was arduous, for the Spindlethorn itself was hard—so hard that at times tools were made of its wood, such as arrow points and poniards, fashioned directly from the thorns. And the wood burned only with great difficulty and would not sustain a blaze. Yet again and again, over many years, Warrows cut and sawed and chopped and dug, finally forming ways through the Barrier. And as if the Spindlethorn itself somehow could sense the commerce, the ways stayed open on the well-used routes; but on those where travel was infrequent, the 'Thorn grew slowly to refill the Warrow-made gap. Some had, in fact, been allowed to grow shut. But here at Spindle Ford, the way had remained open, looking to all like a dark, thorn-walled tunnel, for the Great Barrier was thickly interlaced overhead.

  All these thoughts and more scampered through Tuck's mind as he took breakfast and gazed at the Barrier looming at hand. But his reflections were broken as he took on a share of the after-breakfast cleanup chores. Then Patrel spoke to the others of the events at the Huggs' farm and the fatal attack of the Vulgs at the Rooks' Roost. And when Patrel came to the end of the account, Tuck noted that he and Danner, Tarpy, and Patrel, were being eyed with a high respect akin to awe.

  Patrel assigned one of the squad members, Arbin Digg—a slightly rotund brown-haired blue-eyed young buccan from Downyville—to show Tuck, Danner, and Tarpy where things were around the camp, and especially to show them Spindle Ford.

  " Ar, so you actually fought with Vulgs, and killed some, too," said Arbin as they strode toward the gaping, tunnel-like hole arching away into the Spindlethorn Barrier toward the Spindle River and the ford. "Good show. Gilly, over in the third squad, he thought he might've seen one about two or three weeks ago, but he wasn't certain. Here now, let me ask you, are they the great brutes we've all heard about?"

  "Nearly as big as a pony," answered Tarpy, "though who'd want to ride one, I can't say."

  "Asking a Vulg for a ride would be like begging a Dragon to warm your house in the winter," snorted Danner. "He'd warm it, all right—right down to the very ashes."

  "Are you saying that the only way you'd get a ride from a Vulg is on the inside?" Arbin asked.

  "Perhaps, Arbin, perhaps," responded Danner, "though I don't know what they ordinarily eat. The ones we met seemed to kill just for the joy of slaughter."

  "Wull then, I don't believe I'll ask a Vulg for a ride," said Arbin, "or a Dragon to warm my house, either." He led them into the Barrier.

  Although the day outside was bright, the light sifting through the entangled Spindlethorn to the roadway fell dim unto the eye, and the sounds of the Warrow encampment faded away and were lost. Only the muffled footsteps sounded within, and Tuck had visions of walking in a dagger-walled cave.

  "They say in the summer when the leaves are asprout that torches are needed to light the way through, just as if it were night," said Arbin, looking at the tangled thorn-weave overhead. He had shown them the brands set in rows at the entrance—wooden stakes, with oil-soaked cloth layered over one end, to be used as torches for wayfarers to light their way through at night. "In autumn, when the leaves fall, they make a roof in places. Snow, too, can pile up and make solid ceilings overhead here and there. But sooner or later, leaves or snow, it works its way through, and the road must be cleared at times."

  On they walked, through the wan light, a mile, then two. Ordinarily they would have ridden ponies to their posts, but first-timer Thornwalkers always were taken afoot, to get the "feel" of the passage. At one place, Arbin pointed out sections of a large movable barricade, now set to the side, made of Spindletho
rn. "There's one of the barriers. I suppose we'll be putting it in place one of these days, and start warding it, now that there seems to be trouble Beyond, Outside. It's one of several Thornwalls that we can put up, though only two, one on each side of the ford, are actually in place now." Arbin pointed ahead. "Ah, look, the end is in sight."

  Ahead they could see an archway of brightness, where the daylight shone at the end of the Spindlethorn tunnel. Shortly they came to the Beyonder Guard barrier, and with shouts of greetings all were welcomed by ten Warrows warding there. At roadside, a string of ponies stood, munching grain from nosebags. Arbin explained to the guards that they'd come to see the river and beckoned the three to follow him, slipping through the thorns of the barricade where it was slightly ajar. "This here is the aft-guard. Over there is the fore-guard, where there's another wall like this one, just on the other side of the river, just inside the tunnel," he said, as he led Tuck, Danner, and Tarpy out blinking and watery-eyed into the daylight.

  All told, two and a half miles they had walked, and had come at last to the edge of the river, the shallows of Ford Spindle. Wide it was, and ice-covered, although here and there, both upstream and down, dark pools swirled as the river rushed and bubbled over and around upthrust rock, the churn keeping the water ice-free.

  Across the ford they could see the mouth of the tunnel as it continued on through the 'Thorns growing on that side, where the Barrier reached another two miles before the Realm of Rian began.

  Out onto the ice Arbin led them, to stand at river's center. They looked up and down the frozen length to where it curved away beyond seeing, a white ribbon wending between two looming, fifty-foot high, miles-wide walls of thorn. Overhead slashed a bright blue ribbon of sky, impaled upon the long spikes, tracing the course of the waterway.

  "It's a wonder, ain't it?" asked Arbin, pointing both ways at once, his arms flung wide. "Kind o' gives me the shivers." Tuck had to agree, for a more formidable defense he had yet to see. "Come on, buccoes," said Arbin, "I'll show you the fore-guard."

  On they went, over the ford to just inside the tunnel, where they came to another barrier. Ten more of the squad stood at this post, the barricade shut, though a small crawlway twisted through, with a barrier set to drop and plug it. Ponies stood near.

  "Who's up the road?" Arbin asked one of the warders.

  "Willy," came the reply.

  Arbin turned to the three. "The Beyonder Guard always has a point buccan, one with sharp eyes, good hearing, and a swift pony, out at the far edge of the Spindlethorns, out where the Bosky ends and Rian begins. If someone approaches, then he'll come pelting back here ahead of 'em to warn us. If it looks like trouble, and if there is time, then we'll open the wall and in he'll gallop and we'll slam shut the barricade behind him. But if they're right on his heels, then through the crawlway he'll scoot and we'll drop the thornplug to stopper it. O' course, the aft-guard will be signalled so that they can prepare, too.

  "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 shallows, and the buccen alternately took turns standing guard and warming by the fire. On Tuck's turns to warm himself, he jotted notes in his diary by the firelight.

  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. As chance would have it, on this day the fourth squad, Patrel's, was to begin Wolf Patrol, roving wide across the countryside and 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, hence they were to be permitted to join the wide-ranging search. 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 the squad's 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 had 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. But then he 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. 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 at 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 the
m. 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.