Tuck looked and at first saw nothing. He scanned intently, but still could see only the distant dark.
Just as he was about to say he saw nought, a flicker caught his eyes, and at the very limit of his sight he saw… motion, but just of what he could not tell.
"Catch it out of the corner of your eye," said Danner, trying an old night-vision trick.
"I don't know," said Tuck after long moments, looking both sidelong and direct. "Perhaps… horses. A force upon horses, running swiftly."
"See!" crowed Argo. "I told you! That's what I think they are, too, Tuck, but Danner says no."
"Nar, I only said that it was too far to say," growled Danner. "Besides, it could just as well be Hèlsteeds as horses."
"Well, whatever it is, it's gone, lost in the Dimmendark."
King Aurion, again frustrated at not being able to penetrate the murk, cried, "Rach!" and struck the stone curtain with the edge of his fist. Then he mastered his ire and turned to Argo and said, "Pass the word among your Folk: search the very limits of the darkness for this and other sign. Mayhap some Waerling will see what we could not, and then we will know whether it is for good or evil." Doom!
When Tuck crawled wearily into his bed in the King's antechamber, the great Rücken drum continued its leaden toll (Doom!), sounding the pulse of the waiting Horde—but what they waited for, Tuck could not say. His mind was awhirl with the day's events, and though exhausted, he did not see how he could sleep with the Keep surrounded by the enemy and a great drum throbbing. Yet in moments he was in deep slumber and did not awaken when at last Aurion passed through on his own weary way to bed. And all of that night Tuck's dreams were filled with fleeting glimpses of swift dark riders sliding in and out of distant shadows—but whether they were Men on horses or Ghûls upon Hèlsteeds, he could not tell. And somewhere a great heavy bell tolled a dreadful dirge: Doom! Doom! Doom!
Twice more before Tuck returned to the ramparts, movement was seen upon the edge of darkness at the very limit of Warrow vision—yet none could say what made it. These as well as other matters were brought to the attention of the King as he took his breakfast with Vidron, Gildor, and others of the War-council. Rage crossed the King's features when a messenger came bearing the news that the Rukha now plundered the barrow mounds along the north wall. "If, for nought else, they shall pay for this," he said grimly, and Tuck shuddered at the thought of the maggot-folk digging in the barrows and looting the tombs of dead Heroes and Nobles and of Othran the Seer.
To take his mind from the grave robbers, Tuck turned to Danner. "I dreamt last night of riders in the dark, but whether they were Men or Ghûls, I could not say."
"Ar, dreams didn't disturb me. I slept the sleep of the dead," answered Danner.
"I kept waking in the night," put in Patrel, "and, you know, every time I looked up, Gildor was sitting at his window seat, softly strumming his harp. When I asked, he said not to worry, that the sleep of Elves is 'different'—but just how, he did not say."
"I wonder what he meant, 'different'?" Danner pondered, but before they could say on, it was time to go.
They rose and donned their outer winter garb and then strode through the halls and out upon the cobbles. When they came into the frigid air, Tuck was grateful for his snug eiderdown clothing, even though it hid his splendid silveron armor, for he thought that only a fool would exchange warmth for vanity.
As they went toward the ramparts, Danner said to Tuck, "I've been thinking about the pickle we're in. What it all boils down to is that the Horde still waits… for who or what, no one can say; and our own forces stand ready to defend the walls, falling back until we are trapped in this… stone tomb. I don't like it, Tuck, I don't like it at all, this waiting to be trapped. Instead, give me the freedom of the fens and fields and forests of the Seven Dells, and the Horde will rot before they conquer me there."
"I agree with you, Danner," said Tuck. "This waiting is awful. All we seem to do is wait, peering out over the enemy into the darkness beyond, rushing from this wall to that to see something—who knows what—flickering through the shadows, and all the while just waiting, waiting for the blow to fall. I feel thwarted, too, Danner, and trapped, and it's only been one 'Darkday! Lor, what are we going to do if they stand out there for weeks, or months? Go crackers, that's what. But let me point out one thing: we are not waiting to be trapped, we're already trapped. Now we have no choice but to follow Gann's strategy and hope it works. By staying here, we pin the Horde, too. And when the Host comes, the tables will be turned, for then it will be the Swarm who will be trapped."
"Only if the Host comes in enough force, and only if we can hold Challerain Keep," said Patrel. "As the King said, even his Host will be hard pressed to defeat this Horde. And as Vidron pointed out, should the Keep fall, the Horde will be free to strike southward." Doom!
On they went, and Tuck noted that ashes and cinders had been spread upon the paths and up the ramps and along the battlement ways, for the hoarfrost and ice made the footing treacherous. The cold was bitter, and hoods were pulled up and cloaks drawn tightly about to fend off the icy clutch.
At last they looked down upon the Horde, and it was vast and mighty (Doom!) and beringed the mount. Again Tuck felt a bodeful dread as he once more saw the great array. Yet the enemy had moved neither forward nor aback since he had last seen them; instead, they waited. Doom! Doom!
"Arg! That infernal drum!" cried Danner, his voice filled with ire. "If nought else comes of this, I'd like to stuff that Rück drummer inside his own instrument and pound it to a fare-thee-well."
They all burst out laughing at Danner's words, especially Vidron, who found the thought of a Rutch trapped in a drum being whaled by a Waeran hilarious.
Their humor was interrupted by a cry from Patrel: "Ai-oi! What's that? A fire. Something burns."
Far to the north, visible as yet but to Warrow eyes, a blaze burned. Even as they watched, the flames mounted upward and grew brighter, winging light through the Dimmendark. Higher leapt the fire. Doom!
"Look!" cried Tuck. "Around the blaze, riders race." Silhouetted by the flames, the Warrows could see a mounted force raging to and fro in battle, but who fought with whom, they could not say.
"Ai! Now I, too, see the fire," said Lord Gildor, "but not the riders." Bitterly the King and Vidron and other Men on the wall stared with their Man-sight to the north, as if willing their vision to pierce the murk. Yet they saw nought but shadow.
"What size the force?" barked Aurion. "Men or Ghola?"
"I cannot tell," replied Patrel, "for only fleeting silhouettes do we see."
Higher leapt the flames, and brighter. "It burns tall, like a tower," said Danner, "a tower where none stood before."
"Hola!" cried Vidron. "Now I, too, see the blaze— yet faintly, as a far-off candle in a dark fog."
"Or a dying coal from the hearth," breathed Aurion, who now at last could dimly see the fire.
"Hsst!" shushed Gildor. "Hearken below."
The blatting sound of Rücken horn was mingled with the harsh calls of Ghûls, and there was a great stir among the Horde. Tuck could see Ghûls springing upon the backs of Hèlsteeds and riding to the horn blares, gathering into a milling swarm. And then with a hideous cry, they raced away to the north, toward the swirling blaze.
"They ride as if to defend something, or to intercept a foe," said Vidron. "What of the other riders, the ones at the fire?"
"Gone," answered Patrel. "They're gone." Doom!
And Tuck realized that Patrel was right. For nought did he see but a far-off blaze threading upward in the distant shadow, and no longer did the fleeting silhouettes race past the flames. Tuck looked up at the King, who seemed lost in thought. And even as the Warrow watched, a flicker of understanding seemed to pass over Aurion Redeye's features, and he smacked a fist into the palm of his hand, and a gloating "Hai!" burst forth. Yet what his thoughts were, he did not say, but instead turned his gaze once more unto the dim red glow.
; Below and racing north rode the Ghûls through the Winternight. Swift they were, passing through the foothills toward the prairie, and ere long they had ridden beyond Warrow vision into the Dimmendark, streaking toward a distant fire that shone like a solitary beacon through the blotting murk. Still the Warriors watched, and the flames grew dimmer, but at last the silhouettes of the Ghûls could be seen as they arrived at the waning blaze. Doom!
"I can no longer see it," growled Vidron, and the King, too, gnarled, for the fire now was too dim for Man-sight to detect. Yet the Warrows and Lord Gildor continued to watch the light fail. At last the Elf turned away, and not long after, the Warrows, for even their gem-hued eyes could see the fire no more. "Well," asked Patrel, "what do you think it was?"
"Perhaps—" Gildor started to speak, but then: "Hsst! Something comes." Once more the Elf's hearing proved sharper than that of Man or Warrow, for they heard nought. Again Gildor leapt upon the wall and listened intently, turning his head this way and that. "I cannot say what it is, yet I sense that it evil." Doom!
"There!" cried Danner, pointing. "Something looms in the dark."
"What is it?" Vidron's voice was grim. "What comes upon us?"
"Look there, in front!" cried Tuck. "Ogrus! They must be Ogrus!"
And out upon the plains came giant plodding Ogrus, hauling upon massive ropes. Behind them, on great creaking wheels turning upon protesting iron axles, they towed a mighty ram, and catapults, and giant siege towers.
"Ai!" cried Gildor upon hearing the news, "now we know what it is that the Horde awaits—the siege engines needed to assault the Keep. What an evil day this is." Doom!
King Aurion stared through the 'Dark, and though he now could hear the grinding wheels and turning axles, still he could see nought. "Sir Tuck, what see you now?"
"Teams of Ogrus still pull the engines toward us," answered Tuck. "In the fore is a great ram, and then three catapults come next. But behind are four… no, five tall towers, each high enough to o'ertop the walls. 'Round them all rides an escort of Ghûls." Doom!
The King's face was pale in the Shadowlight, yet the look in his eyes was more resolute than ever.
"Hey!" cried Danner. "That's what we must've seen burning out on the plains." At Tuck's blank look, Danner explained, exasperated that Tuck did not see it for himself. "The towers, Tuck, the towers. One of them must have been what we saw burning."
Then a puzzled expression came over Danner's face. "But who would burn the tower? Surely not the Ogrus, for they would not torch their own engine of destruction."
"Lord Galen!" burst out Tuck, the pieces of the puzzle suddenly coming clear.
"Aye," said Aurion Redeye, a look of fierce pride upon his features. " 'Twas my son Galen and his company who did that deed, striking from the cover of the Enemy in Gron's own foul darkness, turning Modru's own vile cover 'gainst his lackeys, then melting away into the shadows ere the foe could strike back."
"Then it must have been Lord Galen and his Men we saw silhouetted by the flames of the burning tower," said Tuck. "And, too, now I think that the glimpses we've had of distant riders slipping in and out of shadow at the limit of our vision also were of Lord Galen's band."
"Just so." Gildor nodded, for he had sensed that the shapes seen afar only by the Warrows were not foe, yet he had said nought.
"I wonder how many towers they burned beyond our seeing?" asked Tuck.
"We know not, yet I would that it had been five more," answered Patrel, inclining his head toward the five great towers creaking toward the keep.
The King called heralds to him and said, "The machines of the Enemy have come, and now his minions will assault the walls of the Keep. Go forth unto all of the companies and have them make ready their final preparations, for the Horde will not long wait." And as the messengers sped away, Aurion Redeye turned to the Warrows. "I am told you are archers without peer. Have you enough arrows for the coming days?" Doom!
"Sire," Captain Patrel answered, "many a bolt have we fletched, for the arrows of Men are too lengthy to suit our small bows—though we could use them in a pinch. Little else have we done both on watch and off, yet the numbers of the Horde are such as to make me wish we had ten times the quarrels."
"We simply shall have to make every one count," said Tuck, "for as my instructor, Old Barlow, would say, 'The arrow as strays might well'er been throwed away.' "
"Hmm," mused Gildor, "your instructor had the right of it."
"Sire!" exclaimed Vidron. "Look! Now I see them come from the darkness."
At last the siege engines lumbered into the view of Man, and Marshal Vidron shook his head in rue, for they were mighty, and cunningly wrought to protect those using them. Forward they creaked, axles squealing—ram, towers, catapults.
"Ai! What a vile bane is that ram!" cried Gildor, pointing at the great batter. Now they could see that it had a mighty iron head, shaped like a clenched fist, mounted on the end of a massive wooden beam. "It is called Whelm, and dark was the day it rent through the very gates of Lost Duellin. I had thought it destroyed in the Great War, but now it seems that evil tokens have come upon us again." Doom!
Though Gildor seemed dismayed by the ram, it was the siege towers that frightened Tuck. Tall they were, and massive, clad with brass and iron. He did not see how Lord Galen's company could have set one afire. Yet inside was wood: platforms, a frame with stairs mounting up, ramps set to fall upon the besieged battlements—bridges for the foe to swarm across.
" 'Tis well that this castle is made of stone," said Vidron, "but I fear that the catapults will prove the undoing of the city below, for they are terrible machines and will fling fire. Much will burn to the ground." Doom!
Vidron's words made Tuck realize that they each had looked upon a different engine as being most dire: ram, tower, and trebuchet. Tuck wondered if Man, Elf, and Warrow—or other Folk for that matter—always viewed the selfsame scene through the eyes of their own People; or did each person instead see things through his own eyes? Tuck could not say, for he knew that individual Warrows saw a given event differently, yet he also suspected that each type of Folk shared a view common among their kind.
Slowly, the siege towers and catapults were drawn by the mighty Ogrus to places spaced 'round the mount, while the great ram, Whelm, was aimed at the north gate. The sound of the Rücken drum pounded forth (Doom! Boom! Doom!) and the ranks of the Horde readied weapons: for the most part, cudgels and War-hammers and crescent scythes and great long dirks were brandished by the Rücks. The Hlöks held flails and curved scimitars, wicked and sharp. The Ghûls, upon Hèlsteeds, couched barbed spears or bore fell tulwars. And great Troll War-bars were clutched in the massive hands of the Ogrus.
Yet the Horde did not attack. Instead, a blat of horns sounded, and a Ghûl and one other rode forth upon Hèlsteeds, while at their side loped a Rück bearing the Sun-Death standard. Toward the north gate they paced.
"They come to parley," said Lord Gildor.
"Then I shall go forth to meet them," responded Aurion, turning to the ramp.
"But, Sire, I must protest!" cried Vidron. "There are two upon Steeds. It is a trap to lure you forth."
Aurion looked to Gildor, who in turn gazed long out upon the field with his sharp sight. "One is no Ghûlk," he said at last, "and he bears no weapon."
"Then he is Modru's messenger and speaks for the Evil One," said Aurion, "and the Ghol is his escort."
"Sire, let me go in thy stead." Vidron dropped to one knee and held the hilt of his sword forth to the King. "If not that, then at thy side."
"Nay, Hrosmarshal," answered Aurion Redeye. "Put thy sword away, until it is needed defending these walls. This I must do for myself, for I have been pent here too long—and I would have words with Modru's puppet."
"But, Sire, I beg thee, take one of us." Vidron's hand swept wide, gesturing to all the warriors upon the rampart.
Aurion turned. "I shall need sharp eyes at my side: Sir Tuck, you shall bear my colors." And as Vidron
looked on in dismay, the King strode down from the wall with a wee Warrow running behind, legs churning to keep the pace.
And thus it was that Tuckerby Underbank was chosen to accompany the King; and he rushed to the stable and saddled his grey pony and rode down with Aurion, the young buccan bearing the High King's colors: a golden griffin rampant upon a scarlet field.
Down the mount they rode, passing through the gateways of the upper walls. To the north gate of the first wall they came at last, and King Aurion bade the Warrow to give over his bow and quiver of arrows to the gate guard—for standard bearers at parleys are honor-bound to carry no weapons, else treachery would be suspected.
A small side-postern was opened, and the two rode forth: Aurion upon grey Wildwind, prancing and curvetting, the horse's proud neck arched, hooves stepping high; and Tuck upon a small grey pony, plodding stolidly at the War-steed's side. And scarlet and gold flew from the staff held by the buccan. As they approached Modru's emissaries, Tuck's blood ran chill at the sight.
In the Rück, Tuck saw what Gildor had described: a foe who was swart, skinny-armed, bandy-legged, with needle-teeth in a wide-gapped mouth, bat-winged ears, yellow viperous eyes—a hand or three taller than Warrows. Though repelled by the Rück, Tuck felt no fear, yet the Sun-Death standard planted in the frozen snow gave the buccan pause.
But it was the Ghûl that set the Warrow's heart to pounding: Corpse-white he was, with flat dead-looking ebon eyes. Like a wound, a red mouth slashed across his pallid face, and his pale hands had long grasping fingers. Tall he was, Man-height, but no Man was this malignant being, clothed in black and astride a horselike creature.
As to the Hèlsteeds, Tuck was prepared for the cloven hooves, but when the great rat-tails lashed about, the buccan saw that they were scaled; and the eyes of the beasts bore slitted pupils. Yet neither Tuck nor his grey pony nor even Wildwind was prepared for the foetid maisma that the creatures exuded, a foulness that made Tuck gag and caused his pony and Aurion's horse to shy and skit. Only the firm hands of Warrow and King kept their mounts from bolting.
The Dark Tide Page 17