The Dark Tide

by Dennis L McKiernan

  Hahn, taa-roo! Hahn, taa-roo! demanded Vidron's black horn. Slowly the meager army of Challerain Keep withdrew, coming at last through the first wall, and the gates clanged shut behind.

  Boom! Boom! Doom! Doom! Onward came the Horde, a dark flood. Now the sharp Warrow eyes could see that among the Hlöks were those who lashed at the Rücks with whips of thongs, driving them forward if any lagged or strayed in the slightest.

  Boom! Doom! Boom! Still the vast Horde poured forth out of the blackness, and among the ranks were carried standards bearing Modru's sigil-a burning ring, scarlet on black, the sign of the Sun-Death. And where the standards were, there, too, rode Ghûls upon Hèlsteeds, pacing the Swarm forth. And they came until they were just beyond bow shot from the first wall, nor could mangonels fling missiles to reach their ranks.

  With a hideous, chilling howl, like that of a Vulg, a Ghûl in fore center flung up his hand, tulwar raised high, and so signalled all the Ghûls. A harsh blat of Rücken horns sounded, discordant and grating, and the ranks of the Horde split, like a vast flood cleaving around a great rock, curving east and west and south again. Once more the chilling Ghûlen howl rent the air, and as if released from a duty, the Vulgs left the Rücken Horde and raced away to the south. Swiftly they ran, as if following the wave of Dimmendark engulfing the Lands afar. At last their black shapes were lost to Warrow sight, and the beasts passed beyond seeing, leaving the Horde and Keep far behind. And still the Swarm curved 'round the mount, at last to come together on the far side, beringing the walls.

  And then the great drum pulsed loudly: DOOM! DOOM! DOOM! and fell silent.

  The Horde ground to a halt and stood facing Challerain Keep, and the only sound was that of a thin chill wind gnawing through the merlons on the ramparts of the besieged mountain city.

  An hour passed, and then another, and still the Horde stood fast, facing the Keep. On the ramparts the King paced back and forth, like a caged lion, and he would stop for long moments to stare down at the silent foe and then resume his pacing. At last he called Vidron and Gildor unto him, and they spoke softly. After a moment he summoned Patrel.

  Tuck, nearby, heard the King's words: "Captain Patrel, we must have sharp Waerling sight throughout the ranks of my forces, for only the strange jewel-eyes of your Folk have the vision to see afar through this myrk. And though it means a separation of kith from kith, friend from friend, and like from like, still I must ask that Waerlinga be at the right hand of as many of my Captains as are your numbers, save this: I would that you and your two Lieutenants remain with me and join my War-council, for I deem it will take all three of you to be our far-seeing eyes throughout the long days ahead."

  Thus it was that the Warrow Company of the King was dispersed among the armies of Challerain Keep, and Tuck, Danner, and Patrel joined the War-council of the High King. Yet, as had been foreseen by the King himself, although the Wee Folk were honored by the special role given them by Aurion Redeye, still they were stricken by the sundering of their company. And Tuck was filled with the feeling that somehow he was abandoning the young buccen of his squad, or that he was being forsaken by them. Too, he felt guilty that he and Danner and Patrel would perhaps remain together while each of the other young buccen would be alone among strangers, the only consolation being that they were all still in Challerain Keep and would at times see one another.

  Lord Gildor turned to Patrel. "Captain, if you will by my sharp-eyed comrade, then I'll teach you the harp while you show me the lute." Patrel's features split in a wide grin, and he inclined his head, accepting the Elf's offer.

  King Aurion cocked his eye toward Marshal Vidron, who said, "Sire, it would please me if Sir Danner would peer through the blackness at my side." At the King's nod, Vidron strode off toward the south rampart to find Danner.

  Thus it was that to Tuck fell the honor of being the far-seeing eyes of the High King. "Come, Wee One, walk with me while I take Wildwind back to the stables; you can lead Lord Gildor's Fleetfoot," said Aurion, and he and Tuck strode down to the horses while Patrel and Gildor remained behind upon the ramparts.

  "Sire," a herald came breathless unto the King, "Lord Gildor sends word: something is afoot along the eastern flank."

  "Sir Tuck!" called the King, and the young buccan popped out of the stall where his grey pony was stabled, a curry comb in his hand. "Swift, to the east wall we go," barked Aurion, and Tuck spun and set aside the comb while snatching up his cloak. Legs churning, the Warrow had to run to catch the King, as Aurion strode rapidly out and across the courtyard. Up a ramp they went and to the mid-gorge of the east bulwark. There stood Gildor and Patrel, while Danner and Vidron came from the south.

  "There," said Gildor, pointing.

  Tuck looked, and a large force of Ghûls, Hlöks, and Rücks could be seen to the east, marching southward. Far they were, just within Gildor's seeing, and no sound came unto the ramparts from their distant tramp. Like a sinister gliding shadow, they flowed through the werelight and across the land. All this Tuck described to Aurion while Vidron listened, for the force was beyond Man-sight.

  Patrel said, "Sandy spotted them about an hour ago. Out of the north they came, and south they go, but where they march, I cannot say."

  "Perhaps they march upon Weiunwood," said Danner. His fists were clenched.

  "Or Stonehill." Aurion's voice was grim.

  "Mayhap they have discovered that Arden Vale is an Elven strongholt," said Gildor, gripping the pommel of his long-knife. "Perhaps they will strike east for Talarin's hidden valley. Yet I think they would assault that gorge from the Grimwall. Aye, it's Weiunwood or Stonehill they march upon."

  Yet wood, village, or valley, none knew where the force was bound; and Man, Elf, and Warrow stood as the buccen watched the distant Horde silently pass once more into the ominous 'Dark. And when none of the Warrows could any longer see it, Aurion sent heralds to call his War-council together. But as the King turned to go down into the castle, Doom! the mighty drum of the Horde sounded. Doom! Again came the pulse, and from the walls Tuck could see a great stir among the Rücken ranks. His heart leapt to his mouth, and swiftly he nocked an arrow to his bow, his eyes never leaving the enemy. Doom!

  "Pah! They break for camp," growled Vidron after a moment, "and not to charge the walls below." The Kingsgeneral sheathed his sword, and for the first time Tuck noted that he as well as Patrel, Danner, and Sandy had put arrow to string. But each one there upon the castle wall had readied a weapon of some sort at the boom of the great beat. Swords and poniards slid with metallic sounds back into sheaths, including Gildor's Bale. As Tuck returned arrow to quiver, he wondered if the others felt as foolish as he did, for even had the enemy charged, the fighting would not have been up here at the fifth wall, but instead down at the first wall, nearly a thousand feet below. Doom!

  "Come," said Aurion, "let us to council." Down from the rampart they went, and into the Keep where pages went before, holding lanterns to show the way, for the pallid Shadowlight of the Dimmendark stole not into the castle. The King led them to a room where a great table stood in the center of the floor with massive chairs around, and maps and charts hung upon the walls. This was the War-council chambers, deep within the castle—but even here the slow beat of the Rücken drum sounded, muffled and distant. Doom!

  Other Men came: Hagan of Valon, young and strong and flaxen-haired; Medwyn of Pellar, grizzled and gnarled but with bright, alert eyes; Overn of Jugo, fat he was, with a great black beard and bushy eyebrows; Young Brill of Wellen, tall and slender, an air of detached inwardness, some said he was a berserker; and Gann of Riamon, taciturn and reserved, perhaps the best tactician there. A mixed lot they were, yet warriors all, and with Vidron and Gildor they formed the High King's War-council at Challerain Keep. Into this company came Tuck, Danner, and Patrel, and Tuck felt as out of place among these soldiers as would a child in a council of elders. Doom! All took seats 'round the table, including the young buccen, who found that they had to sit upon the chair arms to se
e and be seen over the flat expanse.

  King Aurion spoke: "Warriors, we have fallen upon dire times." Doom! "The enemy numbers ten times our strength, and they surround our position: we are besieged. Too, others of Modru's forces move south, and we are helpless to stop them. Would that I knew where mine own Host stands, or when they will come. Even now the Legion may be marching north, yet we know not, for Modru's curs waylay the messengers, and perhaps the muster has not yet begun. But no word has come from the south, and with the Horde 'round our walls, none shall come lest it be borne by the Host itself.

  "When last we met we chose two plans, each based upon the strength of the enemy: in the first we would take to the field and set our force 'gainst Modru's; in the second we would defend these walls, and hold until the Legion arrives. Well now the enemy is come, and his numbers would seem to leave us little choice but to defend the ramparts, for we are beringed by a mighty Horde, and, mark me, they will attack." Doom!

  "I have called you unto me to ask if there be aught we can do but wait for the enemy to strike. Has any seen some weakness in the Swarm we can turn to our vantage? Have we any option but to ward the walls of Challerain Keep? Advise me now, I listen."

  No one spoke for long moments, and, reluctantly, Tuck stood in his chair and was recognized. "I am sorry, Sire, for being so stupid, but I have a question: Why has not the enemy attacked? For what do they wait?"

  The King looked to Lord Gildor, who said, "We know not the mind of the Enemy in Gron, nor the full disposition of his strength. Yet the Horde without surely awaits something." Doom! "I know not what, but something evil, of that you can be certain." Lord Gildor fell silent, and Tuck felt a chill in the very marrow of his bones.

  "How long can we last? Food and drink, I mean," asked Patrel.

  "Perhaps six months, no more," responded fat Overn, "if we can repulse them from the bulwarks."

  "Won't that be difficult?" interrupted Danner. "I mean, our warriors will be spread thinly along the walls. It looks as if they could break through anywhere."

  "Yes, Sir Danner, you are right," answered Medwyn of Pellar. "It will be difficult, especially on the lower walls. In fact, those ramparts we expect to fall." Doom!

  "What?" burst out Patrel. "You expect them to fall?"

  "Indeed," answered Medwyn, "for the lower walls stretch around the base of the mount and our numbers are too few to defend their great length against such a vast Horde. But the higher up the mount we come, the shorter it is around, and the less length we have to defend. Thus, as we fall back to successive ramparts, our strength effectively multiplies, for the primeter of our defense grows smaller. Think of it this way: but a few sturdy warriors are needed to hold a narrow way—such as a bridge or a pass— for no matter how great is the enemy army, they can come at the defenders only a few at a time. Hence, a squad may defy a legion, just as we will defy the Horde—though we may have to fall back unto the last wall itself to do so." Doom!

  Again Tuck's blood ran chill, and his mind was filled with visions of hordes of ravers swarming up and over the castle walls. Doom!

  "But, Sire, I do not comprehend," said Patrel. "You expect to fight losing battles upon the lower walls, ever retreating higher until at last we defend only the castle, where perhaps our perimeter will be constricted enough to withstand this awful Horde. And for how long? Six months at most, for then our provisions expire. Sire, perhaps I do not understand the plan aright, for it seems to me that we but put our heads into a noose fashioned by the enemy, and he will draw it tight until we strangle." Doom!

  "Nay, Captain Patrel," answered Aurion, "you understand the plan perfectly, for that is exactly our strategy, our road to victory."

  "What?" burst out Danner. He leapt to his feet, his face livid, and shook off Tuck's hand, which reached out to restrain him. "A road to victory, you say? A path to destruction, I call it. I say let us cleave into their ranks and engage them in battle. If we are to die, let it be in full attack and not while trapped like cornered rats!"

  Young Brill's eyes flashed hotly, and so, too, did Hagan's and Vidron's. These warriors seemed to agree with Danner, for this strategy suited their bold natures.

  But Gann of Riamon quietly held the floor: "And what, Sir Danner, will such a move gain?"

  "Why… why…" spluttered Danner, "we'll take many of the maggot-folk down with us. Die we will, but a mighty swatch we shall cleave among them." Doom!

  "And then what?" Gann's voice was coldly measured.

  "Then what, you ask? Then what?" Danner ground his teeth in fury. "Nothing! That's what! Nothing! We'll be dead, but so will many of the enemy. Yet we will have died a warrior's death, and not that of a trapped animal."

  "Precisely," said Gann, now standing, "and therein lies the flaw in your 'plan.' You would have us sally forth and do glorious battle with the Horde. Yet you yourself recognize that such a course leads but to Death's domain. Perhaps, though, we will be mighty and slay two or even three of them for each of us who falls. Yet, heed me: when we have all died your 'warrior's death'—each of us having taken our quota of the enemy down into the darkness with us—there will still be a vast Horde left standing, a Horde now free to ravage southward," Gann's fist smashed to the table, "crushing those in its path." Doom!

  Gann's eyes swept 'round the table, and it became clear to Tuck that the Man spoke to Vidron and Hagan and Young Brill as well as to Danner. "Attack? Nay, I say, for that path leads to a roving Horde free to savage the Land. Defend Challerain Keep? Aye, I say, for then we pin the Horde unto this place. And when the Host comes, 'tis the Spawn who will be trapped, and not we." Gann sat back down, and Danner's smoldering amber eyes refused to look into Gann's cold grey ones, for the Warrow could see the clear logic of the Man's argument. But still Danner seemed unwilling to accept Gann's strategy, for it went against his grain.

  "Ah, Wee One," rumbled Hagan, his voice deep, "we in the War-council thought the Horde might be large, though we did not expect the vast number that came. We have argued this plan and others many times. I know how you feel, for I sense we are much alike in this, you and I. It galls the spirit to be ever on the defensive, ever in retreat. Attack! That is our solution to life's ills. Attack!"

  Tuck was amazed at Hagan's keen insight into Danner's nature, for Tuck knew the Man was right. Danner did attack when faced with life's ills, be it fear, trouble, a different viewpoint, or any other adversity: when Danner was crossed, he attacked. Even when it led toward undesired ends, Danner still attacked. Why Tuck had not seen this about Danner before, he did not know, for it now seemed so obvious. It had taken two complete strangers— Gildor earlier and now Hagan—to show Tuck this truth about Danner's nature, and Tuck did not think that either one of them would ever know just how clear his sight had been.

  Tuck's thoughts were wrenched back to the problem at hand as Vidron spoke: "Aye. Gann's words ring true, and his strategy seems sound, for without moving we stop this Horde here in a place of great strength. We hold the high ground, and our defenses are mighty. But there are these problems with the plan: First, we may not be able to hold the walls 'gainst this might. Second, even if we do hold, our own Legion may not come soon enough or in enough strength to defeat this Horde. Third and last, Modru may have other Swarms raving across the Land that are the equal of or greater than that which we face: a smaller one passed to the east, as you well know. Three things I have named, and if one or more of these three are true, then this strategy is not best, though it may be too late to do aught else."

  "Fie!" snorted Medwyn, starting to rise, but Aurion Redeye held up a hand, and reluctantly the Man from Pellar sank back.

  "Let us not again stir up that particular hornet's nest of plans and counterplans," said the King, "for we have been stung too many times by the barbs of argument from both sides. The balm of logic here does little good to soothe away the passion, for there are too many unknowns, and the best way is not clear.

  "Instead, this I ask, for ye have all seen the numbers of o
ur enemy, and they are mighty: Is there aught else we can do, now that we know what we face? Does another plan come to mind we have not already discarded?" The King slowly looked 'round the table, his eye resting upon each one there: Gildor, Vidron, Gann, Overn, Medwyn, Young Brill, Hagan, Patrel, Danner, and finally Tuck. Each shook his head no, and Tuck felt as if he had somehow failed when it came his turn to answer. Doom!

  "Then this War-council is done." Aurion stood, but before leaving he turned to the Warrows. "Sir Tuck, move your belongings into my quarters, for I want you at my side should I need eyes to see through the Dimmendark. Captain Patrel, you'll stay in Lord Gildor's rooms, and Sir Danner, with Marshal Vidron. I return to the walls."

  The three young buccen entered the barracks to find that they were the last to remove their things to other quarters. The hall was empty and silent, abandoned, somehow forlorn. Tuck scooped up his bedroll and pack and took a long look around, and no happy Warrow chatter fell upon his ears, nor did smiling young-buccen eyes look into his own. A great lonely feeling welled up through his being, and his sapphirine eyes brimmed with unlooked-for tears. Without speaking, he turned and trudged toward the barracks doors, and Danner and Patrel walked with him. And as the trio crossed the courtyard, they did not look back.

  Tuck went alone to the King's quarters, bearing a lantern to light the way. He placed his belongings by a couch in the anteroom, selecting it as his sleeping cot. When he returned to the wall, Tuck found the King on the west end of the north rampart. Vidron and Danner were there, too, as well as Argo, now assigned to the Castle-ward company on duty. As Tuck came up the ramp he saw that all eyes were straining northward, and there was a stir of excitement.

  "What's all the fuss?" Tuck asked, joining the others.

  "Out there, Tuck, look," said Argo, pointing far to the northwest. "Nearly beyond seeing. I can't quite make it out. What is it?" Doom!