Then Aurion turned to the guests. His voice was firm and all heard his words: "This is the eve of the twelve days of Yule, a time of celebration, for it marks the ending of an old year and the beginning of the new. Tomorrow, First Yule brings with it the shortest day and longest night as the old year lays dying, and some may take that as a bleak omen in these dark times. Yet I say unto ye all, First Yule is also a time of new beginnings. Hearken unto me, though Twelfth Yule is reckoned as the first day of a new year, I ween that First Yule marks its true beginning; for it is thereafter that the days grow longer as the land begins the slow march toward the shining days of summer, and that is a bright omen of hope.
"But First Yule also has brought us great grace and beauty—the Princess Laurelin. If there be omen seekers amongst ye, look upon this Lady in blue, and ye can do nought but see good fortune in your rede."
King Aurion led the Princess to a throne to one side, where she was seated and flanked by the armored Waerlinga. The King turned to his guests and proclaimed, "Let the celebration begin." And there rose up a great cheering in the Hall that made the very rafters ring.
Spectacle and entertainment filled the Hall as the grand party got under way, with jugglers and wrestlers, dancers and buffoons, prestidigitators and a Man who spewed fire from his mouth, and others, all strutting in file through the doors and around the floor to be seen before they were to perform.
Next, servants bearing platters laden with food paraded into the Hall. There were roast pig and lamb, beef and fowl, and vegetables such as carrots, parsnips, beans, red cabbage, and peas, and great pitchers of frothed ale and dark mead, and apples and pears, and even the strange new fruit from Thyra, orange and tangy and full of juice.
The tables were set and groaned beneath the weight of the feast. The Warrows' eyes grew big at the heaped mounds of food, for trenchers were they all, but never had they seen such a spread of banquet.
The King stood and escorted Princess Laurelin to the royal table, and Prince Igon, Lord Gildor, Marshal Vidron, and Tuck, Danner, and Patrel accompanied them. The Princess was seated, and King Aurion raised a horn of honey-sweet mead; so did they all. "Yule and Lady Laurelin!" he cried, and a great shout went up: Yule and Lady Laurelin! And the Princess's eyes were bright with tears as she signed for the feast to begin. And so it did.
Food and drink and entertainment occupied Tuck's senses as the party pulsed into the night… and good conversation, too:
"We celebrate this same festival in my Land of Valon," said Marshal Vidron to Tuck as they watched a juggler. "Only there we call it Jöl rather than Yule. But that is because the old language, Valur, still names many things in the Valanreach, though the Common Tongue, Pellarion, makes up our everyday speech. Ah Valur, a language rich in meaning, once spoken by many, but now known only to my countrymen. Yet Valur will live forever, for it is our War-speech, the battle-tongue of the Harlingar, the Vanadurin, Warriors of the Reach!" Vidron raised his cup in salute and took a great gulp of mead.
"Yule has had many names in many tongues," said Lord Gildor, his Elven eyes aglitter, "yet it always has been the same twelve days of winter festival throughout the years. And though days, months, and years mean little to my Folk, memories are important to us. And many a happy memory centers about Yule, or Jöl, Yöl, Ule, or whatever it may be called. Yes, I can remember a time such as this when it was still called Geol, and we celebrated even though Modru threatened the Land in that Era, too."
"You can remember?" exclaimed Danner, hushed awe in his voice. "But that was… that was back before the Ban, four thousand years…" Danner's words trailed off in wonder.
"Yes," smiled Gildor, his voice soft, "I can remember."
A roar went up from the guests, and nothing more was said as they watched wrestlers grapple on the central floor. At last, one of the young soldiers hefted the other and spun him about and flung him to the mat, pinning him. Great shouts of praise rose up from the assembly.
"Ah, if I am not mistaken," said Aurion to the Princess, "that young Man, the victor, is from Dael in your Land, for I have seen him wrestle before. He has great strength and agility, as many in Riamon do."
Laurelin smiled brightly, but behind her eyes loomed sadness. "What a grand party," she said to the King, "yet many of this gay troupe will be on the waggons with me on the morrow."
"And I ride with the escort," said young Igon, glumly, "when I think it would be better that I return to the Dimmendark to stand beside Galen against the foe."
"My son," said Aurion, "I need you in Pellar. You but ride with the escort to Stonehill, beyond the range of Modru's Vulgs. Then you will leave the train behind, and with six fast companions you will go apace to Caer Pendwyr to rally the Kingdom to our aid."
"Sire, I will obey thy command," replied Igon, his speech now courtly, "though I think thee but try to place one of thy heirs temporarily beyond harm's way." King Aurion's face flushed, and he glanced at Vidron as if to a conspirator. Prince Igon spoke on. "I think others, Captain Jarriel for one, can do this deed thou hast given me as well as I if not better, whereas I have fought and slain foe in the bitter Winternight and that is what I am suited to do. Aye, 'twas perchance by accident that we stumbled across the enemy, still that does not alter the fact that Galen and I slew five between us. It is this task I would return to: to stand with Galen against the foe."
"Son, you spoke that others could do this deed I have given you," responded Aurion, stonily, "and you name Captain Jarriel, for you know I send him south as your counsel. But this I say unto you: Captain Jarriel cannot command the jealous generals of rival factions to set aside their pettishness. Only one of the Royal Family can fire the will of the armies with the resolve and unity needed to meet and do battle with Modru's Horde. And that is the command I have thrust upon you: to muster the forces and return unto me with them."
"The commanding of that army, Sire, should be Galen's task, not mine, for he is elder, by ten years," answered Igon.
"But he is not here!" snapped the King, his voice rising, the flat of his hand slapping the table, setting cups atumble. Then his look softened, and his speech became as courtly as was Igon's. "Ah, mine son, in thy veins flows the same blood as mine own, yet thine is made hot by youth. I know thou wouldst sally forth to join thy brother and meet the foe, for that is a hard thing to resist. Yet set aside thy rashness at this time, and see that a royal hand is needed to bring mine Host northward apace. Thou knowest that the first heralds were Vulg slain, and perchance the second, and only slowly doth the word go forth unto the Land. Hence, the muster has not yet truly begun. This, then, is the eleventh hour of our need. Thou, or Galen, or I must go and return with that which will whelm the Enemy." King Aurion placed a hand upon Igon's. "Fate hath decreed that it is thou who must gather mine Host, for Galen is to the north, and I must remain here to take the field if Modru comes. This, then, is my charge unto thee: Bring unto me mine Host."
The youth bowed his head to the King and placed his free hand upon Aurion's. "Sire, I am at thy command," said Igon, acceding to Aurion's reasoning. And the King stood and raised up Igon and embraced him, and then they each drained a horn of mead.
Prince Igon turned and spoke to the Princess. "It seems, my Lady Laurelin, that we are to be travelling companions, at least for a while. Hear me now: I take upon myself a sword-oath to ward you to safety on our travel to Stonehill; let the Enemy in Gron beware."
Laurelin smiled radiantly up at him. "I am most pleased to have you as a protector, Lord Igon, though I would that neither of us had that journey to make."
The feast went on. A sleight-of-hand artist made doves appear from kerchiefs, and flowers from empty tubes, to the delight of all. Then one came who swallowed swords—making Tuck's stomach queasy—and threw knives with wondrous skill. Finally a harper played, but his song was of love lost and sad unto the heart. Patrel looked at Laurelin and saw that tears glistened upon her lashes, and he nudged Tuck and Danner, who saw her sadness, too.
The small gold-clad Warrow took a great draught of ale and called the harper to him. "Have you got a lute?" Patrel asked. "Good! May I borrow it?" In a trice the Wee One held a fine lute in his hands, and he turned to the Princess.
"My Lady, it is nearly mid of night, and in but a few moments you will be nineteen. We of the Boskydells have nought to give you as a present on this your birthday eve, yet there is a happy song, really nought but a ditty, that perchance will cheer you. It is called The Merry Man in Boskledee, and practically every Warrow in the Boskydells knows it and the dance that goes along. I propose that Tuck and Danner and I perform it as the Warrows' gift to you."
Tuck and Danner were both thunderstruck. Had Patrel actually proposed that they sing a simple Warrow song before all of these Warriors?
"Patrel!" hissed Danner, "you can't be serious. This hardly seems the time or place for a nonsense tune."
"Nonsense!" roared Vidron, his mood jovial. " 'Twere no better time than now for a happy jig."
"Oh yes, please do," begged the Princess, turning to Tuck and Danner, "for I need the cheer."
Tuck looked into the pleading eyes of the Lady and could not refuse, and neither it seemed could Danner. And so, after a good stiff glog of mead, they most reluctantly stepped down upon the central floor and walked to the fore center.
King Aurion himself called for quiet, and a hush fell over the guests. Patrel plunked the strings, tuning the lute, and said under his breath to to the other two, "Give it your best go." At their nods his fingers began dancing over the strings. And such a bright and lively tune sprang forth that it immediately set toes to tapping and fingers to rapping, and lustily the Warrows began to sing:
Oh—Fiddle-dee hi, fiddle-dee ho, Fiddle-dee hay ha hee.
Wiggle-dee die, wiggle-dee doe, Wiggle-dee pig die dee.
Once there was a very merry Man
Who came to Boskledee. His coat was red and his horse was tan,
And mittens, well he had three.
He was so tall but his horse so small,
His feet dragged on the ground. He didn't dismount when the steed was tired,
He simply walked around.
A great roar of laughter rose up from the assembly, and here Tuck and Danner, silver- and black-armor clad, danced a simple but rigorous to-and-fro jig to the beat of the tune, occasionally linking arms to wildly circle oppositely.
Oh—Ho ho ho, ha ha ha,
Higgle-dee hay hi hee. Har har har, ya ya ya,
Giggle-dee snig snag snee.
He tumbled hand springs, wore seven rings,
Shot fireworks in the air. His pants were orange and his shoes bright green,
He cried, "Let's have a fair!"
He strummed upon a six string-ed lute
And sang so merrily. His voice, it broke with a great loud croak,
And he laughed in happy glee.
Again the warrior Captains howled in mirth and banged the tables with their mead cups. Laurelin and Igon ran down hand in hand, and they joined Danner and Tuck in dancing the jig. To and fro, back and forth they danced, bright smiles upon their faces. Blue, red, silver, and black, all whirled and stepped to the notes played by gold. And the assembly roared its vast approval.
Oh—Har har har, fa la la,
Cackle-dee ha ho hee. Ho ho ho, tra la la,
Giggle-dee turn ta tee.
He disappeared with a flash and a bang
And maybe a puff of smoke. He left behind his clothes and his lute,
His steed, and a couple of jokes.
And now there is in old Boskledee
Fireworks at the annual fair, Where we wear bright clothes and ride ponies
With gay songs filling the air.
Oh—Tiddle tee turn, ho ho ho,
Tra-la-la lay la lee. Fiddle-dee fum, lo lo to,
Ha-ha-ha ho ha hee.
Oh—Fiddle-dee fum, lo lob,
Ha-ha-ha ho ha hee. Tiddle tee turn, ho ho ho,
Tra-la-la lay la lee—Hey!
And with final Hey! Patrel twanged the lute and the fling stopped, the four dancers embracing and laughing in joy and panting with exertion. A great, wild cheering broke out, with whistling and cup banging and stomping and clapping. Marshal Vidron roared in laughter, while King Aurion banged his cup and Lord Gildor clapped. Laurelin and Igon, Danner and Tuck, and Patrel all bowed to one another and to the crowd, and Laurelin's eyes fairly danced with happiness.
But then:
Boom! Doom! The great doors of the Feast Hall boomed open, echoing through the chamber like the knelling of doom, and a begrimed warrior trod into the Hall, his left arm gashed and bleeding. Smiling countenances turned toward him, but gaiety fled before his unyielding pace. Silence clanged down like the stroke of an axe blade upon stone, and the only sound to be heard was the hard stride of the Man down the long floor. And as the soldier passed the Warrows and Laurelin and Igon, and strode toward the King, Tuck Was whelmed by a dreadful foreboding, and it seemed as if he were rooted to the floor. All eyes were locked upon the warrior as he came unto the throne dais. He struck a clenched fist to his heart and knelt upon one knee before the King, and blood dripped upon the stone. And in the hanging quiet, all heard his words:
"Sire, on this dark Yule Eve, I bear thee tidings from my Lord Galen, though ill word it is: The Dimmendark now stalks this way, the Black Wall moves toward Challerain Keep. And in the Winter-night that follows, the Horde of ravers marches. The War with Modru has begun."
CHAPTER 5
THE DARK TIDE
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A great uproar filled the Hall, and hands grasped futilely at weaponless girts, for all had come to the feast unarmed. Shouts of anger boiled up, and clenched fists struck tables in rage, and some tore at their hair. Tuck's heart thudded in his chest, and a cold chill raced through his veins, and from his confused wits one thought rose up above all: It comes!
At a sign from Aurion, a steward struck a great staff to the floor three times, and the knell of the gavel cut through the din. At last quiet returned to the Hall, and the King bade the warrior to speak on.
"Sire, I did but come from the Dimmendark five hours past," he continued. "Two of us were entrusted by my Lord Galen to bring this word. Three horses each had we, and all were ridden unto foundering. Yet I and my last steed were all that won through, for my comrade was Vulg slain along the way, and I am Vulg wounded."
"Modru's curs!" spat Aurion, his fists clenched in fury, and the scarlet patch upon his left eye seemed to flash anger. Shouting wrath filled the Hall.
"Oh my, your arm!" Distress was in Laurelin's voice, and she moved at last, rushing to the soldier's side. She gently took his arm and called out through the roar for a healer, sending a nearby page darting from the chamber after one.
Tuck's own paralysis was broken, and he joined Laurelin. Together they used the warrior's dagger to cut away his tattered sleeve, revealing a long, ugly gash. "This scratch was made at the very gates of the first wall," grunted the soldier, gratefully accepting a horn of mead from Patrel and quaffing it in one gulp. Danner refilled the cup from a pitcher. "Why, you are Waerlinga!" he exclaimed, seeing for the first time that he was attended by Wee Folk.
Again the gavelling of the steward's staff cut through the clamor, and slowly quiet was restored. "Your name, warrior," called Aurion, as Igon moved to stand beside his father.
"Haddon, Sire," answered the Man.
"Well done, Haddon! You have brought vital news, though dire it is. Say you this: How much time have we ere the Black Wall sweeps unto Challerain Keep?"
"Perhaps two days, three at most," answered Haddon, and a grim murmur ran throughout the assembly.
"Then we must make final our plans," Aurion called out to the gathering, and all fell silent. "It is now mid of night. First Yule steps into the Realm, and Princess Laurelin paces forward into her nineteenth year. Good times lay behind us, and better time yet lay ahead, but in betwixt will fall drear days. Modru's Horde now strikes south. Here at these w
alls they must be held. Go now unto your beds and rest, for we must be in the fullness of our strength to meet this foe." Aurion swept up a goblet from a nearby table and raised it on high. "Hal!" he cried in the ancient tongue of the North. "Heah Adoni cnawen ure weg!" (Hail! High Adon knows our way!)
And the assembled raised their own horns and cups. Hal! Aurion ure Cyning! (Hail! Aurion our King!) And all drained their goblets to the bottom as through the doors returned the page with a sleepy healer in tow, nightcap still aperch his head. But all sleep fled from his eyes as he examined the wound.
"Vulg bite?" The healer's voice was startled. "Foul news. We must get this warrior to a cot. The fever has begun, and we need blankets, hot water, a poultice of gwynthyme, and…" His voice sank into mumbles as he rummaged through his healer's satchel. Laurelin sent pages scurrying to fetch the healer's needs.
With the healer and young buccen following, the Princess led the warrior through a postern behind the drapes in back of the throne. The door led to an alcove where there was a divan and fireplace and several chairs. Haddon's cloak and armor, jerkin and padding were removed, and he was made to lie down, though he protested that he was too grimy for the couch. A page bore hot water in, and the healer laved the wound as Laurelin spoke with Haddon.
"My Lord Galen, is he well?" she asked.
"Aye, my Lady," answered Haddon, pride in his voice. "He has the strength of two and the spirit of ten. And cunning he is, clever as a fox, for many a trap of his has the foe sprung to their woe."
"Does he say when he might return here to the Keep?" Laurelin filled a basin with water, exchanging it for the one now tinged red with blood.
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