The King looked up, and his face broke into a smile. "Igon, my son!" he called, and beckoned the youth to him.
The Prince said, "Come," and he led the Warrows down the steps and across the center floor to the foot of the throne dais, where he stopped and bowed. "Sire," he said, "I present Captain Patrel Rushlock and his Lieutenants, Danner Bramblethorn and Tuckerby Underbank, Waerlinga three from the Land of the Thorns."
"Waerlinga!" breathed King Aurion, rising to his feet as the Warrows deeply bowed. "Welcome, though I would that times were better." His voice was firm, and his one eye glittered blue and clear.
Igon turned to the Princess as she gracefully rose to her feet. Slender she was, and small. "My Lady Laurelin," he said, inclining his head. Decorously she curtsied as the Warrows bowed to her. Tuck looked up and gasped in wonderment, for she was most beautiful—high cheekbones, wide-set grey eyes, delicate lips—and her dove-grey eyes caught his and she smiled. Tuck blushed, flustered, and looked down at his feet.
King Aurion presented the golden-haired stranger. "Lord Gildor, once of Darda Galion, the Larkenwald beyond the Grimwall, now a Lian Guardian who brings us news from Arden Vale and from the Weiunwood, though grim it is."
Tuck again gasped, this time in astonishment, for the bright Lord Gildor was an Elf, with green eyes atilt and pointed ears 'neath his yellow locks. In the shape of these two features, eyes and ears, Elves are much the same as Waerlinga. Yet, unlike the Wee Folk, Elves are tall, being but a hand shorter than Man. In this case, the slim, straight Gildor stood at the same height as the young Prince Igon.
King Aurion stepped down to the Warrows. "But come, let us sit and talk. You must be wearied by your travels," he said, and led them all to a small throne-side alcove, where they each took a comfortable seat.
"Grim news?" asked Prince Igon, turning to the Elf. "It seems to be a day of ill tidings, for the Waerlinga's news is dire, too. What sinister word do you bear, Lord Gildor?"
At a nod from King Aurion, Gildor spoke: "The Dimmendark marches down the Grimwall Mountains, the abode of ancient enemies, freeing them from High Adon's Ban. Even now Arden Vale lies deep in Winternight, and the 'Dark stalks south, into Lianion called Rell, and, on the far side of the Grimwall, it sweeps along the margins of Riamon. I fear Modru has in mind to strike at Darda Galion, for this he must do ere plunging into Valon, and beyond to Pellar. But though my heart calls me to rush to aid Darda Galion, here I have come instead, for here I can best serve Mithgar, at Aurion's side." Gildor fell silent and for a moment nought was said, and Tuck saw that others, too, had had to choose between love of home and duty to the Realm.
"You know that you have my leave to go," said Aurion, but Gildor gave a faint shake of his head.
"Your pardon, Lord Gildor," said Patrel, "but it was said that you bear news from the Weiunwood, home of our distant kin." Weiunwood lay to the east of the Battle Downs, some thirty leagues south of Challerain Keep.
"Ah yes," answered Gildor. "Your Folk of the Weiunwood have allied with the Men of Stonehill and a small band of Lian Guardians from Arden. Even now, hidden holts are being prepared and plans laid for battle should Modru's Horde come."
"Who leads the Warrows?" asked Danner.
"Arbagon Fenner," smiled Gildor, "and a feisty Waerling is he." But the young buccen shook their heads, for none knew him. "The Men are led by Bockleman Brewster, owner of the White Unicorn Inn of Stonehill. Young Inarion leads the Elves."
King Aurion spoke to the Prince. "And your ill tidings, Igon: what grim news do you bear?"
At Igon's indication, Patrel spoke to the King. "Ten nights past your herald arrived at the Boskydells, bearing word of the muster here at Challerain Keep. Unbeknownst to us, pursuers followed, and while crossing Ford Spindle he was Vulg attacked. Though the foul beast was slain by Tuck, here, still your Man's horse fell to the ice and broke through, and herald, horse, dead Vulg, Tuck, and one of our comrades named Tarpy were all swept under the ice by the swift river current. Only Tuck survived, thanks to Danner's clear thinking in that time of crisis." Patrel paused, and Tuck could feel the Lady Laurelin's soft gaze upon him, sympathy in her eyes. "Though your herald is dead, still the word goes forth across the Bosky," Patrel continued, "borne by the Thornwalkers; hence, in this, Modru has failed to stop the call from spreading through the Seven Dells. Four Vulgs did he send to haul down your messenger; we slew them all. Yet I am told by Prince Igon that this was the second herald sent to the Boskydells, and that Modru's hand must have stopped the first. That explains why the word came late, for Warrows in the Bosky had wondered why no call had come, though rumors of War nested in every tavern. I wonder if other messengers to other Lands have failed to reach their goals, but instead have been intercepted and slain by the foul beasts of Modru, like the Vulgs we slew."
"Aye," said King Aurion, and though his mood was somber, still he looked with admiration upon these casual Vulg-slaying Waerlinga in Thornwalker grey. "Many a herald did we send, but few nations received our first summons, though here and there now the muster begins. We are reduced to playing a sham at night to make our forces appear larger than they are, though whether or not the Enemy is deceived I cannot say. We will know that we have succeeded if we are given enough time for our armies to come ere the storm strikes.
"Yet it is not only armies we await at the Keep. Waggons have been summoned to bear our loved ones to safe haven, whether or not they desire to go." Aurion cocked his shaggy white brow at Laurelin, but she did not look at him, keeping her eyes instead upon her folded hands.
"My Liege," her voice was soft but unyielding, "I cannot flee whilst my Lord Galen yet roams the Dimmendark. He is my betrothed, but even more so, he is my beloved, and I must be here when he returns."
"But you must go, Lady Laurelin," said Prince Igon, "for 'tis your duty to see to the needs of the people above all else, and your presence will buoy up their hearts and spirits in a time of great distress and darkness."
"You speak as if Duty o'errules all else, my Lord Igon," said Laurelin, "even Love."
"Aye," answered Igon, "even Love; Duty must go before all."
"Nay, Prince Igon," interjected Gildor. "I would not gainsay thee, yet I think that Honor must go above all, though each of the three—Love, Duty, Honor—must be tempered by the other two in the crucible of Life."
"Naytheless," said King Aurion, touching his brow above the eye-patch, "when the waggons arrive, refugee trains will be formed to take the old, the halt and lame, the children, and the Women hence from here, including you, my daughter-to-be." Laurelin would have protested but the King held up his hand. "It is my royal edict that this thing be done, for I cannot wage a War where the helpless and innocent are caught in the midst of raging combat. I cannot have my warriors battling with one eye on the foe and the other upon their loved ones, for that is a road to death.
"Yet this I will do, though it goes 'gainst my better judgement: You may delay your departure till the very last caravan, but then you must leave with it, for I would not have you fall into the Enemy's clutch." The thought of Laurelin in the grasp of Modru made Tuck shudder, and he futilely strove to banish the image.
"But now, my friends," said King Aurion to Lord Gildor and the Waerlinga, "you must excuse my son and Princess Laurelin and me, for, you see, this is the final market day, the last before all are evacuated from the city—if the dratted waggons will ever get here, that is. We three must needs make an appearance at the bazaar, for, as Prince Igon has so succinctly put it, 'tis our duty. The folk expect to see their good King Aurion Redeye, and the handsome Prince, and their Lady-to-be."
"So that's the answer!" burst out Tuck, striking the table. "Oh… er…" He was embarrassed. "I mean, well, we were wondering at the large crowd in the market square, what with the city being half deserted, as it were. Now you have answered our question: it is the last market day, for some time to come, I ween… sort of a 'Fair' one might say, though a dark event it is you celebrate."
"Wit
h darker days yet to come, I fear," sighed the King, standing, and so they all rose. He turned to Lord Gildor and the three Waerlinga. "I thank you all for your news, though ill tidings it is. We shall speak again in the days ahead. My Lady." He held out his arm, and Princess Laurelin took it. He led her from the hall, and they were followed by the Princess's Ladies-in-waiting.
"I'll meet you at the gates," called Igon after them and turned to the Warrows. "But first I must lead you back to your barracks. Lord Gildor, are you quartered?"
"Yes, the King has given over the green rooms to me," answered the Elf. "Here, I'll walk with you as you go, for it is on the way."
The next morning at breakfast, again the Warrow company chattered like magpies as they ate, for they had much to talk about. Tuck, Danner, and Patrel had spoken to all at length the previous day upon returning from the King, and the news they bore fired the furnaces of speculation. But though the ore they smelted was high-grade, much dross was produced for every pure ingot. The gathering War dominated all thought, and the conversations turned ever to it, as iron pulled by lodestone.
Patrel's meal was interrupted by a page, summoning him to attend Hrosmarshal Vidron. As before, Patrel took Tuck and Danner with him. Again they were led through a maze of passages in the labyrinthine Keep, yet this time Tuck paid more attention to their route, recognizing parts of it. They were brought up the steps of one of the towers and left on a bench at the door outside the Kingsgeneral's quarters. They could hear angry voices behind the door, muffled, but the words were distinct.
"I say, Nay!" cried a voice. "I remind you, I and my Men are not in your command. Instead I take my instructions directly from the King and none else. And we are sworn to but one duty, and that is to protect the person of the High King. I will not remove any from that charge and place them at your behest, Fieldmarshal."
"And I tell you, Captain Jarriel, it is already decided!" thundered the voice of Marshal Vidron. "You will reassign forty Men from the duty of guarding Challerain Keep to field duty under my command."
"And what? Replace the forty with those pipsqueaks? With those runts?" Captain Jarriel shot back. "You lief as well just hand the King over to Modru himself, for all the good those mites will do under an attack."
"Hey, he's talking about us!" exclaimed Danner angrily, leaping to his feet; he would have stormed through the door except he was restrained by Tuck and Patrel.
"May I remind you, sir," boomed Vidron, "that these Folk are renowned for their extraordinary service to the Crown. Or have you forgotten their role in the history of the Ban War, the Great War itself, when last we faced the Enemy in Gron, the very same Enemy, I might add?"
"Faugh! Hearthtales and legends! I don't care what fables you might believe about these Folk, for I intend to take this matter up with the King, himself. Then we shall see!" The door was flung open, and a warrior in the red-and-gold tabard of the Kingsmen strode angrily out and past the Warrows to disappear down the tower steps.
Just as angrily, Danner strode through the open doorway and into the Fieldmarshal's quarters with Patrel and Tuck behind. Vidron was sitting on the edge of his bed, pulling on a boot while an orderly hovered nearby.
"Pip-squeaks and runts we are?" Danner demanded. "Just who was that buffoon?"
The Kingsgeneral looked at the spectacle of a fuming Warrow: feet planted wide apart, clenched fists on hips, jaw thrust out, all three feet seven inches aquiver with rage. And then Vidron burst out laughing, falling backward on his bed, his foot halfway into the boot. Great gales of laughter gusted forth, and every time he tried to master his guffaws they would burst out again. Tuck and then Patrel and finally Danner could not help themselves, and they laughed, too. At last Marshal Vidron struggled upright. "By the very bones of Sleeth, each time I meet you three, humor drives ire from my heart. It is not every day that I am brought to task by an angry Waldan, bearded in my very den, as it were. Ah, but you are good for my spirit."
"And you, sir, are good for ours," replied Patrel. "Yet Danner's questions remain, and I'll add my own: Why have you summoned us?"
Grunting, Vidron pulled the boot the rest of the way on and stood. The orderly held the Fieldmarshal's jacket as Vidron slipped his arms in. "Well, Wee Ones, for your information, that 'buffoon' is Captain Jarriel. His company wards the Keep, the castle itself, that is, and guards the person of the King. A loyal Man, he is, and one I would gladly have in my command, but he stubbornly sees only one way to perform his charge of office. Because of his duty, he disagrees with the assignment I have for your company of Thornwalkers, yet had he but listened, I would have told him that High King Aurion himself suggested your assignment."
"And what, prithee, is it that we 'pip-squeaks' and 'runts' are to do?" asked Patrel, smiling.
"Why, patrol the Keep. Guard the King. Keep watch from the ramparts of the castle," answered Vidron.
"Just a moment, now," objected Danner. "We are here to tackle Modru, not to hide away behind the walls of some remote castle."
"Ah, as much as we all would like to brace that foe, each and every one of us cannot," said Vidron. "Heed me, Danner: think not that there is but one way to perform a duty, for to do so would make you the same kind of 'buffoon' as is Jarriel. Hearken unto this, too: by your company of Waldfolc warding the castle, forty Men can be freed to take the field against the Enemy, and forty Men on horseback can range farther faster than forty Waldana on ponies, whereas forty Waldana on Castle-ward, clear of eye and skilled in archery, are as good as, nay, better than forty Men in the same assignment. It is as simple as that."
Danner seemed unwilling to accept the argument until Patrel spoke. "Well said, Marshal Vidron. And if I have understood you aright, the King has so ordered, correct?" At Vidron's nod, Patrel said, "Then it is settled. To whom shall we report for duty, and when?"
"Why, to Captain Jarriel, of course, and this morning at that," answered Vrdron, pulling a bell cord. "Now, now, before you object, Jarriel is a fair Man, just stubborn. Give it a try. Should it become unbearable, try harder—then see me. After all, by then I'll need a laugh or two. Ah, here is your page now."
With misgivings, the Warrows left Hrosmarshal Vidron's quarters, following the page to Captain Jarriel's command post, located centrally within the castle at the junction of two main corridors. They had to wait a short while, for Captain Jarriel was not there.
"Perhaps he is seeing King Aurion," suggested Tuck, but there was no way of knowing. At last the Captain arrived, and the Warrows were summoned. Tuck expected Danner and the Man to exchange angry words, but, true to Vidron's appraisal, Captain Jarriel spoke only of duty to the King when he met with the Warrows, dealing with them as if the dispute had never occurred.
A page was assigned to show all the members of the Waerling company the ins and outs of the castle. They were to become familiar with its layout, at least the major corridors and rooms, as well as the ramparts and battlements. Then they would take on duties alongside the Men of the Castleward.
All that day and the next, every moment was spent learning the environs of the Keep. Also on the second day, they visited the King's armorers to be measured for corselets made of overlapping boiled leather plates affixed to padded jerkins, these to wear as armor while guarding the walls of the Keep. On the third day, the day watch on the north wall was assigned to Tuck's squad, while Danner's took on the south rampart.
"Har!" barked Argo as they overtopped the ramp alongside the bastion gorge and came upon the banquette behind the crenellated battlement. "I said it before and I'll say it again: these walls were not meant to be patrolled by Warrows. Cor, I can't see over the merlons at all, and only by walking along the weapon shelf can I look out through the crenels."
"Ar, but what would you see?" asked Finley, who then answered his own question: "Nothing but that black wall out there, and who wants ter see that? Nar, we're here to feather the Horde, if and when they try to climb these walls." Finley walked over to a set of machicolations, sighting through
the holes where they would rain arrows down along the ramparts should the enemy attempt to scale them.
Tuck spaced the young buccen along the stone curtain, relieving the Men warding the north wall. True to Argo's word, they walked along the weapon shelf to see out upon the land. And far to the north, darkness loomed.
Even though the Sun marched across the sky, still time seemed suspended, for nothing moved upon the snowy plains beyond the foothills. It seemed as if the Land held its breath, waiting… waiting. And Tuck's eyes were ever drawn toward the far Dimmendark.
In midwatch, Patrel came to take the noon meal with Tuck. And as they sat eating, Tuck said, "I keep thinking about Captain Darby's words back at Spindle Ford, when he asked for volunteers to answer the King's call. 'Will you Walk the Thorns, or will you walk instead the ramparts of Challerain Keep?' That's what he asked us. At the time I didn't consider his words prophetic, yet here I am, upon the very walls he spoke of."
"Perhaps there's a bit of a seer in each of us," answered Patrel, taking a bite of bread. He chewed thoughtfully. "The trick is to know which words foretell and which don't."
They ate in silence and gazed upon the land. At last Patrel said, "Ah, it looks so dangerous, that black wall out there. And who knows what lurks in the darkness beyond? But this we must do: tonight, and every moment off duty that can be spared, have your buccen fletching arrows, for there may come a time when we will need all the bolts we can get." Tuck nodded without speaking as he and Patrel watched the brooding land.
The Sun continued its slow swing across the sky, and in late afternoon Princess Laurelin and one of her Ladies came to the north battlement. The Princess stood gazing far over the winter snow, her eyes searching along the edges of the foreboding black wall, the distant Dimmendark. She was wrapped in a dark blue cloak, its hood up, concealing her face so fair, though a stray lock of her flaxen hair curled out. She seemed to shiver, and Tuck wondered if the cold stone chilled her, or was it instead the far dark loom.
The Dark Tide Page 11