Dragondoom

CHAPTER 2

Late Summer, 3E1602

[The Present]

Again the panic-stricken squeal of a terrified steed rang out, filling the sudden silence, yet the tall, thickset marsh reeds blocked Elyn’s view, and she could not see more than a few feet ahead. Too, her vision was hampered by long shadows cast by the setting Sun. She was still some unknown distance from the far edge of the Khalian Mire, and had no time for distractions; for this was a place of dire repute, and she needed to be beyond the eastern marge ere full darkness fell, else she would be stranded here within these malevolent environs. Yet this sounded like a horseling in distress, and she was Vanadurin.

Gripping the saber she had instinctively drawn at the sound of the scream, Elyn leaned forward, ducking below long grey strands of a foul moss adrip from the lifeless branches of a nearby dead cypress that twisted up out of the clutching mire. “Hup, Wind,” she whispered to the mare, lightly touching her heels to the grey’s flanks, gently urging the mount ahead. And in the marsh about her, all the chirruping and neeking and breeking had stopped, as if the startled dwellers waited with bated breath to see what terror was afoot. Only the incessant cloud of gnats and mosquitoes and biting flies that swarmed about her head and shoulders seemed unaffected, their blood-hunger now and then driving one or two out from the horde and in through the pungent fumes of the gyllsweed to land biting on her or the horse. These Elyn managed to ignore as, fully alert, her attention was locked ahead.

Slowly the grey stepped forward, and again the terrified squeal sounded, and Wind could not suppress a gentle Whuff!

Now the reeds began to thin, and from the fore came the slosh of an animal thrashing in a quag. Too, there came “Kruk! Dök, praug, dök!”-the sound of a gravelly voice venting oaths.

Gradually the rushes thinned, and Elyn found herself on the edge of a small slough, perhaps thirty feet across. And there near the center floundered a terror-stricken pony; and behind, mired up to his chest, struggling and cursing-Elyn’s eyes narrowed in a sudden rush of hatred-thrashed a Dwarf!

As Wind stepped forth from the reeds, suddenly the pony stopped its struggling. The Dwarf looked up, and his gaze locked with Elyn’s, his eyes narrowing-just as hers had-at the sight of this tall, fair, leather-clad, steel-helmed, green-eyed, copper-haired Woman!

Steadily the twilight deepened. Long, tense moments fled as they stared in loathing at one another, neither saying a word.

Should I, can I, rescue one of Them? Elyn’s emotions churned, her mind in a turmoil. But as her hand strayed toward the rope at her saddle-

“Think not to help me, Woman, for I’d sooner sink down through this quaghole to Neddra itself, than to be aided by a Rider.” In his mouth the words Woman and Rider sounded as oaths, and hostility glared forth from the Dwarf’s shadowed eyes, his gaze still locked with hers.

Sheathing her saber, Elyn flicked Wind’s reins, turning to go. Faugh! I was a fool to have ever considered saving a Dwarf in the first place. But just as the mare started fetching about, the pony began to thrash again, grunting, snorting, eyes rolling in terror. Grinding her teeth, Elyn swung Wind back once more, loosening the rope as she did so. “I cannot let a steed die by my neglect, Dwarf; I am Vanadurin.” Now it was Elyn whose mouth formed an oath, as she spoke the word Dwarf.

Fashioning a noose, Elyn cast the loop toward the pony’s head, but missed as the panic-stricken horseling thrashed back and forth. Elyn drew in the rope and cast again, this time landing fair ’round the struggling pony’s head, only to be thrown off by the steed’s wild tossings.

Snorting with disgust, pulling and hauling on the saddle trappings, the Dwarf managed to flounder to the pony’s left fore. “Here, Woman, the rope,” he haughtily commanded.

Elyn cast the line again, and the Dwarf slipped the loop over the pony’s head, setting it low ’round the neck.

Elyn took two turns of the rope around the fore cantle, and called, “Back, Wind! Hup!”

And with Elyn holding tightly to the clinched line and calling out to her mount, and Wind backing and hauling, and the pony thrashing toward safety, and the Dwarf floundering as well through the sucking mire, pulling up behind using the steed’s tail, standing, shoving, at last the horseling was free.

And so, too, was the Dwarf.

Elyn could not see just what the detested adversary looked like, for he was covered with muck and slime, and a cloud of insects darted about him; and he smelled of marsh gas-the foul odor of rotten eggs rose up from him and the pony and assailed her nostrils, and she was near to gagging upon the stench of it. Yet, like all Dwarves, he stood somewhere between four and five feet tall-four seven or eight, she judged-with shoulders half again as broad as a Man’s. Other than that she could tell nought, for twilight had fallen unto gloom, and he was but a vague silhouette ’gainst darkness.

Elyn sat high upon her horse and stared down in loathing at this hated Dwarf, her hand on the pommel of her sword; and he stared up at this hated Rider, a warhammer and double-bitted axe at hand. And neither said aught.

What would have happened next is not told, for at that very moment, with a squeal of terror, the pony reared up and back and would have bolted had it not been for the rope.

Sss! Shssh! Seemingly out of nowhere, black-shafted arrows sissed past, hissing of Death in their whispering flight. Wild howls shattered forth from all sides, and a crashing of reeds.

“Wha-?” cried Elyn, unable to see the deadly bolts sissing through the dark, yet recognizing the sound for what it was; while at the same time “Squam!” shouted the Dwarf, leaping to the pony’s saddle, casting the rope from the horseling’s neck. “Fly!”

Easterly they bolted, Elyn unaccountably in the lead, drawing her saber. Dark shapes rose up before her: Foe! Armed and attacking!

Shkkk! Shkkk! Elyn’s saber rived, and black grume spurted forth from wildly swinging enemy as they fell before her blade, dead ere they struck the earth.

Wind burst through the ring of steel, and suddenly was running free through the rushes. Behind, Elyn could hear the ancient Dwarven battle cry: “Châkka shok! Châkka cor!” And she could hear the Chnnk! of Dwarven hammer smashing through bone, as the pony won free of the ambush as well.

And in the distance hindward she could hear howls of pursuit.

Shsss. . hissed the reeds, slicing like supple swords along Wind’s flanks and Elyn’s legs, as if trying to cut these intruders, to wound them, as horse and rider fled through the dire marsh.

As they plunged headlong through the thickset rushes, cursing, Elyn cast loose the rope wildly trailing behind from the forecantle horn, fearing that the line would snag to bring down horse and rider alike.

Elyn could see nought but black on shadow in the hurtling darkness, vague ebon shapes flying by. I can’t keep up this breakneck-

— Suddenly Wind was floundering belly-deep in water!

Rach! Hauling hard on Wind’s reins, Elyn pressed the mare back toward the shore. At that moment, the pony galloped up, the Dwarf tugging leftward and back on the halter, stopping.

“Kruk, Woman,” the Dwarf’s voice rasped out from ebon shadow, “they are hard on our track! You ride as if you are blind!”

Elyn kicked her heels into Wind’s flanks, shrieking, “You stupid jackass of a Dwarf-”

Ululating howls split the night. Shsss! Ssszzz! Sisss! Again, black-shafted arrows hissed through the darkness, just as Wind gained the shore.

“Follow me, Rider; Châkka eyes see better than yours.” The Dwarf spurred the pony forward, straight into the face of a dark shape leaping out of the rushes to bar the way. Chnk! Dwarven warhammer bashed through tulwar to crush the foe’s helm and skull.

Elyn spurred Wind after the racing pony, as an unseen arrow glanced off her helmet.

Twisting and darting, the pony ran a zigzag course through the foetid swamp, always bearing easterly, seeking to escape, seeking the far edge of the great Khalian Mire. Elyn did not know just what obstacles the Dwarf dodged, be they sloughs, mires, quags, quicksand, bogs, whatever, and she did not know why she followed, given the circumstances in which she had first found him, but follow she did. Only at times in the flying black did Elyn catch a darkling glimpse of the Dwarf and pony on the twisted course they ran, darting and veering this way and that through the slashing rushes ebon in the night. But it was Wind, not Elyn, who followed; and it was all that the mare could do to keep up with the careening nimble pony.

Off to the right, Elyn could hear the yawling of enemy voices, and the splash of running pursuit. Through this foul bog the foe knew the way, and they took the short route, seeking to cut off their quarry.

Again, the pony caromed left, then right, Wind sheering after. Off to the east before them, Elyn could see the Moon rising above the trees, its pale rays glancing silvery across the Mire. Her eyes welcomed the argent orb, for now she could recognize some of the shapes for what they were: hummocks, gnarled trees hung with moss, clumps of tall flowering weeds and clots of rushes in an endless sea of rushes. Too, she began to see what obstacles the Dwarf and pony avoided, as the ever-growing light reflected a-glance from glistening surfaces to right and left, although here and there ’twas not mirrored gleams she saw, but instead the eerie glimmers of spectral will-o’-the-wisps, called ghost-candles by some.

Breek! Neek! Bra-The voices of the denizens of the swamp fell into silence as the pony and horse splatted past, and a long time passed ere they took up their night song once more.

Again the pursuing howls grew louder, and now Elyn heard the splash of running feet, ahead to the right and drawing nearer, on a collision course, she gauged. But the Dwarf and pony flew headlong and veered not, for there was the glimmer of water to both sides, and Elyn could only hope that they would dash past the intercept point ere the Spawn got there.

But that was not to be, for black shapes crashed out of the dark surround, across their flight and behind as well, yawling and shrieking, swinging cudgel and blade. And in the moonlight, Elyn for the first time saw the foe: Rutcha! Rutcha armed with scimitar and tulwar and cudgel and club!

Each of the Spawn was four-foot high or so, swart skinned, yellow eyed, bandy legged, akimbo armed, batwing eared, leers showing wide-gapped pointed teeth; and they boiled across the course of their victims.

The Dwarf spurred his pony and Elyn her horse, for there was nought left but to try to smash through.

As Elyn bore down upon the fore group, Rutch cudgel bashed into her leg, and her right foot fell numb. Too, she took a tulwar cut across her left arm, and she could feel hot blood runnelling with the sweat beneath her leathers.

Shkk! Elyn’s saber sheared through the elbow of the Rutch grasping at her stirrup, her aim deadly in the pale moonlight, and he fell away howling and clutching a gushing stump. Two more jumped in her way, but she spurred Wind and ran trampling over them, and once again burst through the ring of iron. Ahead of her fled the pony and Dwarf, his hammer asplash with dark blood.

Thrice more that perilous night did Rutcha bar the way, for to intercept them the Foul Folk took byways not known to the twain, whereas the two of them twisted along a tortuous route in the grip of a sodden land, avoiding bogs and such. And each time set against, the pair charged through, shouting battle cries and smashing and riving, hammer and saber, horse and pony scattering the Rutcha. Oh, they did not come away unscathed, for though unskilled, still the Rutcha got in many a telling blow, and the two were sorely assailed in the final encounter.

Yet at last, battered and bleeding, they broke free of the clench of the great Khalian Mire, coming upon its eastern edge, where pony and mare could run free across the Aralan lowlands, on the road to Destiny.