They stood and watched as the waggon train toiled up the slope. Tuck threw an arm over Danner's shoulders. "Were the waggons filled with strangers, mayhap the pace would seem right. Or if the Dimmendark came not this way, we would believe the caravan swift. Yet I think we see it move at a snail's pace because someone we care for rides in the last wain."
"Of course you're right," said Danner, "but knowing it does not help." The taller young buccan watched long moments more and then struck his fist to the cold grey stone. "Move faster, you slowcoaches, move faster!" he hissed through clenched teeth. Then, shrugging Tuck's arm from him, he turned and slumped down on the shelf and sat, letting his feet dangle from the ledge, his back to the cold stone merlon, refusing to look at the caravan. Another half hour passed, then nearly an hour, and Patrel joined them. At last Tuck said, "There she goes, the last wain, over the hill." Danner scrambled to his feet, and the three of them watched as Laurelin's waggon slowly disappeared beyond the distant crest. And the white prairie lay empty before them.
Late in the day, Tuck and Patrel stood again at the north rampart as the Dimmendark inexorably drew closer. Often their eyes had intently scanned the edges of the Black Wall, but nought of note did they see as the 'Dark stalked south across the plain toward them. Tuck secretly hoped to see Lord Galen's troop ride forth upon the snow and come unto Challerain Keep, for he longed to meet this Prince who had won the heart of the Lady Laurelin. But no one came, and he, like Laurelin, began to fear that something had gone amiss. Yet Tuck told himself that Haddon the messenger had seen Lord Galen alive and well less than a day past. Has it been such a short time? he wondered. Less than a day since we were having a grand birthday party? Ar, but it seems as if that happy time were years agone, and as if the dread of the coming Black Wall has been forever, instead of but a single dismal day.
"Ai-oi!" Patrel's exclamation of puzzlement broke into Tuck's thoughts. "Look, Tuck, at the base of the 'Dark! What is it?"
Long did Tuck look, yet the distance and the failing light of the setting Sun through the overcast did not let him see clearly. "It looks like… like the snow is boiling all along the base of the Black Wall."
"Yar," agreed Patrel. "Boiling or swirling, I cannot say which."
"Swirling, I think, now that you've said it, Captain Patrel," confirmed Tuck. "But what would cause that? A wind, do you think?"
Patrel merely grunted, and the day faded into night, and they saw no more. At last the Warrows trooped wearily to their quarters as the Castle-ward changed.
The next morning the great Black Wall was less than ten miles distant and drawing closer. Each time Tuck looked at the looming darkness, his heart would thud anew, and he wondered at his courage: Will I be strong enough when it o'ertops these ramparts, or will I run screaming?
Now they could see that a wind blew wildly all along the Dimmendark front, as if the air were being violently shoved, plowed before the moving Black Wall. Like a tempest-driven ocean breaking upon an enormous black jetty, great boiling clouds of swirling snow were lofted high into the air. As to the 'Dark itself, the blackness rose from the plains, darkest near the ground, fading as it went up; yet high into the sky it reached before it could no longer be seen, perhaps a mile or more. And though the day was bright and the Sun shone golden, its light seemed consumed as it struck the Black Wall, as if swallowed by some dark monster.
Aurion, Gildor, Vidron, and the War-staff came often to the rampart, yet neither did their sight penetrate the churning snow or looming black, nor did aught emerge from the ebon wall.
The Sun stood at the zenith when at last the Dimmendark came upon Mont Challerain. Tuck stood braced upon the rampart and watched with dread as the Black Wall rushed forward. Before it the howling wind raced, and with it came the hurling snow. The Castle-ward was buffeted and battered by the shrieking gale on the rim of the Dimmendark. Tuck pulled the Elven cloak about his shoulders and the hood over his head, but still the swirling snow was driven into his squinting wind-watered eyes. The Sun began to grow dim as the dark tide swept on, as if a black night were swiftly falling, though it was yet high noon. Rapidly the sunlight failed as the Dimmendark engulfed the Keep: through dusk into darkness the day sped in but a trice, and night fell even though the Sun stood on high.
The shriek of the howling wind faded to but a distant murmur as the Black Wall swept on, and then even the murmur stilled. The lofted snow quietly drifted back down upon the ramparts and the ground. Tuck looked about in wide-eyed wonder. The Keep now lay in dark Winternight, and a bone-numbing chill stole upon the land. Above, the disk of the Sun could but faintly be seen, and then only by knowing exactly where to look. Yet a spectral light, a Shadowlight, shone out of the dark, as if from a bright Moon; but the source of the light seemed to be the very air itself, and not the Sun, the Moon, or the stars. Ebon shadows clotted around the feet of rock outjuts and seeped among the trees and hills, and vision was hard-pressed to peer into these pools of blackness. And even out where the land was more open, sight became lost in the Shadowlight, snubbed short by the spectral dark.
Tuck walked up and down the rampart, saying, "Steady, buccoes, steady." But whether he was trying to buck up his squad or was talking to himself, he did not know. Once more Tuck took up his position at the central bastion, and he stared out across the foothills. His eyes felt strange as he peered through the Dimmendark, as if the Shadowlight somehow contained a new color, perhaps a hue of deep violet, or beyond. Toward the open snowy plains he looked; he could see but a few miles through the ghostly 'Dark, yet still nought of any movement did he espy. And neither did Patrel, who joined Tuck in his vigil.
The awful cold crept into the very marrow of the bones, and Tuck sent his squad five at a time to their quarters to don their quilted down clothing. Patrel, who had gone, too, came bearing Tuck's togs, and Tuck quickly pulled the winter garb over his shivering frame.
"Trews and shiny armor are fine for birthday parties, but eiderdown is needed to withstand this cold Winternight," Tuck said as he slipped his jacket over the silveron mail and again affixed the Elven cloak 'round his shoulders, and cast the hood over his head. Slowly warmth returned to his body, and he and Patrel once more looked out upon the cold dark land.
At last the Warrows were relieved by the Men of the Castle-ward, though no one could tell when the Sun had set in the grim cold, for only near noon could the faint disk be seen, and it faded beyond sight as the orb fell toward the unseen horizon.
Time now was measured in candle marks and by the water clocks and sand, and though it was now reckoned to be nighttime, neither Moon nor stars shone through the Dimmendark from the skies above. Yet still the harsh land below could be seen in the spectral Shadowlight.
After a troubled sleep, the Warrows arose to, as Danner put it, "A dawnless 'day,' if time in the Dimmendark can be measured in 'days,' that is— though Lord Gildor says that the days have now fled, and the 'Darkdays are come upon us."
Dread filled the mess hall, and voices were grim and hushed. And after breaking their fast, once more the young buccen took station upon the walls of the Keep and gazed out upon the darkling land, out into the Shadowlight. Time wearily passed, and the stone of the walls grew bitter, for the cruel grasp of Winternight clutched full upon the hills and plains, and hoarfrost crept upon Challerain Keep, and ice rimed the battlements and glittered coldly.
King Aurion with Lord Gildor came once more unto the north rampart, riding caparisoned steeds into the bastion gorge below. Now they were armed and armored, with the King bearing a great sword at his belt and a spear in his hand. Lord Gildor had a lighter sword at his own girt, with an Elven long-knife to one side. They were clad in chain mail and capped with helms of steel. The King wore red and gold, Lord Gildor, Elven grey. The King's grey horse, Wildwind, and the Elf's white-stockinged chestnut, Fleetfoot, pranced and sidled as they came into the gorge, but stood quietly as the riders dismounted.
Up the ramp strode the two to join Tuck and Patrel, and Aurion
stared out into the spectral dark, but little did he see in the ghostly werelight.
"How far see you, Lord Gildor?" asked the High King.
"To the fifth rise, no more," answered the Elf.
"Ai, that is a far sight in this icy shadow," said King Aurion. "Mine own one eye is accounted good among Men, yet I but see to the first, nay, the second rise. Perhaps a mile or two at most."
Aurion turned to Tuck and looked at the strange Warrow orbs, and even in the Shadowlight the young buccan's tilted eyes were bright and sapphire blue. "How far see you, Wee One?"
"Sire, I see north one hill further than Lord Gildor and even beyond a bit, out upon the plains, but after that I see nought but darkness," answered Tuck.
"Ai!" cried Gildor in wonderment. "Never before have the far-seeing Elven eyes been bested at sight. Yet here in this baffling shadow it happens. The vision of your strange eyes now proves to see beyond those of the First Folk in this Shadowlight. Yet, it is said among my kindred that the Waerlinga have talents not easily seen, and now I find it is true. Perhaps there is more to the tale of your Utruni eyes than I had thought true."
"Utruni eyes?" asked Tuck, puzzled. "Do you mean Giants?"
"Aye," answered Gildor. "It is believed among my Folk that the Wee Ones have in them something of each of the other Free Folk—of Elf, Dwarf, Man, and Utrun. In this case, even though the shape of Waerling eyes is the same as Elvenkind's, the hue is like that of the jewel-eyes of the Utruni."
"Jewel-eyes? The Giants had jewel-eyes?" blurted out Patrel.
"Yes," answered Gildor. "Great gems of eyes: ruby, emerald, opal, sapphire, amber, jade, and many other gemstones did their eyes resemble. Once I saw an Utrun with eyes of diamond."
"You saw? You saw an Utrun?" Tuck was astonished. "But I thought the Giants were no more."
"Nay, in that you are wrong." Gildor's own green eyes looked sad. "Though it has been many long seasons since I last saw Utruni, they exist still, but deep within the living stone of Mithgar, moving through the solid rock far below, toiling in their endless fashion to shape the Land. Aye, they live, but it is not likely that they will ever again help us surface dwellers in our petty struggles."
"Oi!" said Patrel, sharply. "I just remembered: there's an ancient Warrow legend that we are of the Giants."
"Ar, few would say they believe that hoary tale," said Tuck. "I mean, how could the smallest of Folk come forth from the largest?"
Gildor answered Tuck's question with a question of his own: "Who knows the way of Adon?" The Elf paused, then said: "Have I not said there seems to be in you something of each of the High Folk, even the Utruni? Mayhap that is why you see farther than Elves in this Shadow-light, for Utruni eyes are strange, too."
"And you say that we have eyes like theirs?" Patrel asked. "Gemstone eyes?"
"Nay, Captain Patrel, I say only that the hue of your eyes resembles theirs," answered Gildor. "The clear eyes of the Waerlinga are emerald green, or golden amber, or sapphire blue—three bright colors only, as you well know. Utruni eyes have many more hues, and seem to be the actual gemstones they resemble; moreover, they see by a different light than we, for it is told that they can peer a distance through solid stone, and that we are but insubstantial shadows to them. How they came to notice us in the Great War against Gyphon, only Adon knows, though fragments of lost legends have it that here, too, Waerlinga played some unknown but key role in gaining their aid."
"Are they as tall as I've heard?" asked Tuck.
"I know not what you have heard, but twelve to seventeen feet the grown ones reach in height," responded Gildor. "Yet wait, we could speak many days upon these strange Folk, and perhaps a time will come when we can talk at length about the Stone Giants, but now we must lay that aside and wrench our talk back to this War.
"King Aurion, I think we must turn the far-seeing eyes of the Wee Folk to our good. We know not how distant the eyes of the enemy forces can peer through this darkness sent by Modru, yet if the Waerlinga can see farther than the foe, then that will give us great vantage: advantage to set our forces beyond their vision and watch them come into our traps. Then we may strike swiftly and with deadly force, falling upon them out of the cover of their own dark myrk."
King Aurion struck a fist into his palm, and a fierce smile broke his frown. "Hail! At last a ray of hope. If you are right, Lord Gildor, if the Wee Folk can see farther than the eyes of the enemy, then they will prove to be the key to our tactics, for we shall place Waerling eyes throughout our forces and swoop down upon the Horde like hawks upon rabbits."
"Hsst!" Gildor suddenly held up a hand for silence, his head snapping up, and he listened intently. "A drum tolls." Swiftly Gildor drew sword from scabbard and held the weapon high, and lo! set within the blade was a rune-carved blood-red jewel, and deep within the gem pulsed a ruby light! "My sword Bale whispers that Evil comes," said the Elf, and he leapt to the wall and turned his head this way and that, trying to locate the drum sound. Tuck, too, as well as the others listened attentively, but they heard nought. "From the north it comes," said Gildor at last. Long moments fled, and all the while the faint glow grew within the scarlet jewel. Tuck knew that he looked upon one of the "special" Elven weapons forged long ago by the House of Aurinor. And the jewel-fire signalled that Evil came near, so they peered through the murk and listened, all eyes and ears.
"Hoy," breathed Patrel, "I hear it now."
So, too, did Aurion. And at last Tuck detected the faint pulse of a distant drum: boom, boom, boom. All about them on the walls, others, too, heard the regular throb: boom, boom, boom. Slowly, ever so slowly, the leaden pulse became louder. Boom, boom, boom! And Tuck's now-racing heart kept double time to the beat:Boom! Boom! Boom!
"So ho! Tuck!" A call from Finley sounded above the ominous pulse. "Look out beyond the hills!" Boom! Boom!
Tuck and Patrel peered intently to the north, and Tuck's heart leapt to his throat, and his blood surged in his ears. Boom! Boom! Doom!
"What is it?" cried Aurion Redeye, his own sight unable to pierce the murk. "What see you?" Yet the Warrows did not immediately answer, waiting to be sure of their words ere speaking, and the beat of the drum came onward. Boom! Doom! Doom!
At last Patrel turned. "Modru's Horde," he said, his voice grim, a fell look in his viridian eyes. "Modru's Horde is come and their numbers are endless." Doom! Boom! Doom!
And out on the prairie vast arrays marched toward Challerain Keep, file after file emerging from the black Shadowlight, like a great flood of darkness pouring forth over the snowy plains, covering it with thousands upon thousands of Modru's ravers. Before them loped the evil black Vulgs, and within the ranks marched dark Rücks and Hlöks. Upon Hèlsteeds amongst the Horde rode the corpse-white Ghûls. And they came to the pulse of a great War drum: Doom! Doom! Doom!
Into the foothills they came, flowing toward the Keep, and now Gildor's vision could see the.m, too, and his eyes glittered in the Shadowlight as he watched them pour forth, and now the ruby flame from Bale's blood-jewel flickered along the edge of the blade.
Doom! Doom! Doom!
King Aurion peered intently, and he struck the stone curtain in frustration. "Still I cannot see them. What are their numbers? The arrangement of their march? What kind of forces?"
Patrel spoke: "Thousands do I see. I cannot guess at their number, yet more come through the 'Dark behind. They are spread on a wide front, perhaps a mile or so. Most are what I take to be Rücks, though among them stride the taller Hlöks, while one in a hundred are mounted Ghûls, and Vulgs range wide to fore and flank,"
Aurion's face turned ashen to hear such dire figures, for his forces were meager compared to the Horde. "Is there aught else?"
"Nay, Sire," answered Patrel, "except that more march out from the 'Dark."
Doom! Boom! Doom! Boom!
The sound of drum was answered by a stirring call of Valonian horns, and Tuck looked down and saw the army of Challerain Keep march out to take up positions upon the hills be
low: pikemen to the fore with archers behind, foot soldiers with halberds and swords and axes came next, and mounted riders of Valon in back, with spears that would be couched for the charge through lanes when the enemy hove to.
"But Sire," protested Patrel, "they are too many and we too few to meet them in open battle. We have not one tenth their forces. It would be senseless sacrifice to set our handful 'gainst their Swarm."
"Pah!" grated Aurion. "Could I but see them, then would I know whether to strike hard or withdraw. Rather would I cleave into their ranks in fury than to fight like a cornered badger." He turned to Gildor.
"I think, Sire, that Captain Patrel is right," said the Elf as he sheathed burning Bale. But Aurion said nought in return, and Tuck's spirit wrenched in desperation as he watched the vast array inexorably march through the hills toward the King's forces. Yet Tuck, too, said nought, though his eyes brimmed with tears of distress.
Doom! Boom! Doom! Boom! Onward came the enemy. Vidron strode up the ramp and stood beside the King. At last the Horde hove into the range of Man-sight, and Aurion Redeye blenched to see the Swarm in all its numbers. With a groan, the High King signalled to Vidron, "Sound the withdrawal. They are too many to meet upon the field."
Vidron lifted his black-oxen horn to his lips, and an imperative call split the air: Hahn, taa-roo! Hahn, taa-roo! (Return! Return!) From the distant force below came a faint horn call. "Sire," rumbled Vidron, "Hagan questions the order."
Doom! Boom! Doom! Doom!
"Ah, Vidron, your Captains of Valon are brave, yet bravery alone is not enough to whelm that Horde. Only the numbers of mine own Host can even begin to challenge such a might, and they are yet far south." King Aurion looked weary. "We have no choice but to follow the War-council's plan to defend the walls."
The Dark Tide Page 15