Into the fire

Chapter 26

Even as Rynna ran forward, another Ruptish horn blatted, this one nearer, and Beau called to her, "No, wait, Rynna, the Rucks and such are too close! We'll climb down."

Beau turned and stepped to Tipperton. "Come on, bucco, we've got to go."

Tears running down his face, Tip looked up. "They said she was dead."

"Well, she's not," said Beau, taking up his goods and then holding Tip's out to him. "Time to go. Unless you'd rather wait for the Foul Folk to get here."

Tip scrambled to his feet and shouldered his pack and lute. With Beau he stepped to the edge of the crag, his heart to swell near to bursting as he looked down in the moonlight to see his Rynna standing below. And Rynna's hand flew to her mouth, and she wept at the sight of her buccaran.

Yet in that same moment a third Warrow and a cluster of shadows came trotting 'round the flank of the crag, and the buccan called, "Ryn, Ryn, we've got to go! Maggot-folk are on the way!"

Rynna looked toward him. "How many?"

"Too many."

Tip turned to see a mass of Foul Folk in the near distance loping toward the uplift. Horns blatted and were answered by other horns farther away. Shucking his goods, Tip said, "Get out your rope, Beau, we'll have to rappel, else they'll trap us again. We'll tie to that big rock."

Beau dropped his own pack to the flat and fetched his line, and cinched the two ropes together, while Tip tied their goods to the far end. And as Beau anchored the lines to the boulder, Tip lowered the packs and lute to those waiting below. Then, looping the doubled line across his back and under one thigh and diagonally up and over the opposite shoulder and down his back again, Tip turned about and said, "Ready?" At Beau's nod, Tip stepped backward off the rim and dropped down the face of the crag, his left hand high and guiding while the right was down and behind and braced and braking, the buccan fending and footing as Phais had taught him and Beau back in Arden Vale.

Quickly he reached the base of the uplift and called, "All clear. Come on, Beau."

As Beau stepped backwards over the lip above, Tip turned about and Rynna flew into his arms. And he gathered her in and held her tightly and kissed her ever so gently then whispered, "Rynna, my Rynna." It mattered not that a vanguard of Foul Folk approached, nor that somewhere a dreadful Gargon stalked. Nay, all that mattered at this moment was that once again he held his Rynna in his arms. And with tears running down his cheeks, he said, "Oh, my dammia, they said you were slain, that all Warrows were slain at the fall of Caer Lindor, but here I find you alive."

Rynna kissed Tip again and fiercely clung to him. She looked into his face as if she couldn't get enough of the sight of him. And then she gestured to the other two War-rows and said, "Farly and Nix and I were with Aravan and Arnu and Velera at Olorin Isle and then Darda Galion beyond, seeing to the truth of the Rivermen's story. We found it to be a lie, but ere we could return, the strongholt had been betrayed by those same Rivermen-"

"I knew it!" spat Tipperton. "We never should have let them-"

But Rynna silenced him with another kiss and then said, "Oh my buccaran, you thought I was dead, and as for me, I didn't know where you were or even if you lived. Yet when I saw the red flare of the arrow, I did not dare to hope, though hope I did. And when we came, you were here." With tears in her eyes, once again Rynna kissed Tip, and in that moment Beau came to the base of the crag.

"Time for reunions later," puffed Beau, unlooping the line from 'round his body, "the maggot-folk are-"

Abruptly, Beau's words jerked to a halt as he looked directly at one of the small shifting shadows nigh. "Oh lor', but do I see there in that gathering of darkness a Fox Rider? What Phais called a Pysk?"

Before anyone could answer, a horn blatted on the far side of the crag.

"We must run to the sanctuary of Darda Erynian," said Rynna.

"My pack," barked Beau.

"My lute," added Tip.

"Farly and Nix have them," said Rynna, and Tip and Beau turned to see the two buccen, the rescued goods on their backs.

In that moment past the shoulder of the crag a small shadow came racing, and a voice cried out, "Adreem! Ad-reem! A va Naxdow! Va Sleg ra an slait!"

"Run!" cried Rynna, and pulling at Tip, westerly she darted toward the Blackwood, two or three furlongs away, Tip, Beau, Farly, and Nix, and a cluster of small shadows all flying for the safety of the woods.

And from the rear they heard Ruptish voices howling and horns blowing as Spawn sighted the fleeing Wee Folk.

Black-shafted arrows hissed through the air to stab into the ground, some falling short, others flying long, some coming perilously close.

"Adreem!" shouted Rynna to the shadow-wrapped Pysks, "Adreem! Ne ata!" But even though they were riding swift foxes, the Fey Folk coursed fore and aft and aflank the running Warrows, and they did not obey Rynna's command to fly on ahead and escape.

Howling, yawling, on came the Foul Folk, their longer strides overhauling the Warrows, and unlike a time in the past when Tip had fled before Riipt, only those who would slay him pursued, with no one running after to rescue him or his companions from behind. Yet the eaves of the Black-wood were nigh; if they could just reach the safety of that forest…

Tipperton cast a look back. "We're not going to make it," he cried. But even as he did so, a resonant black-oxen horn sounded nearby, and thundering through the moonlight 'round the shoulder of a hill came Jordian horses and Jordian riders, Harlingar spears lowered and charging.

And upon the back of one of the steeds rode a warrior maiden, the white horsehair gaud on her helm flying out behind.

"Linde!" cried Tipperton nigh the eaves of the forest, the buccan pausing in his flight, Rynna and three of the enshadowed Fey Folk stopping as well, while the remainder of the wee force scuttled across the remaining space and into the woods beyond. And as Rynna tugged Tipperton toward the forest, Tip shouted, "Linde, to me! To me!"

But she paid no heed as into the fore of the dismayed Foul Folk crashed the Vanadurin, Rupt crying out in fear and turning to flee, Harlingar spears impaling them even as they ran, Jordian horses bashing down Spawn and trampling them underhoof.

Now at the brim of the woods, "Linde! Linde!" cried Tipperton, as the Harlingar thundered through the Foul Folk ranks and circled 'round to come at the Spawn again.

This time the warrior maiden heard the buccan's shout and she came riding nigh, her horse panting and snorting, eyes rolling wide, the scent of spilled blood in its nostrils snouting that battle was at hand.

"Tipperton, I thought you slain!" cried out Linde, her own eyes wide and flaring. And she looked to see Rynna at Tip's side, as well as three clustered shadows with nought whatsoever to cast them.

"Linde, Linde, there are too many Spawn to fight! Come with us. We run to the safety of Blackwood, for it's not likely the Foul Folk will follow us in."

"You are asking that we flee?" demanded Linde.

"Yes, to battle another day!"

Linde's knuckles turned white.

"Please, Linde. Not even the Vanadurin can fight a Gargon."

Of a sudden Linde's shoulders sagged and the wildness left her eyes, and she glanced in the direction of the battle yet raging.

"Come with us to the Blackwood," pled Tipperton, and he swept a hand toward the forest and the dark galleries within.

Rynna stepped forward and looked up at Linde. "Can you swear an oath to which all your comrades will hew?"

Linde nodded. "Though baseborn, I am cousin to King Ranor, and with Hrosmarshal Hannor dead, I captain this remnant."

Rynna gestured toward Darda Erynian. "Then if you will warrant those you command as well as yourself to secrecy, the Hidden Ones will yield sanctuary." Rynna turned to the shadows surrounding Tip. "And so that you may know our trust…" Rynna signed to the clusters of darkness, and the shadows vanished and three black-footed red foxes appeared, each bearing a small rider astride, none more than a foot or so tall, each with a tiny bow, tiny arrows nocked, and they motioned toward the shadowed forest at hand.

Linde's eyes flew wide in startlement, for beings of legend-Fox Riders-stood before her. She glanced toward the forest and then to the battle and then back to the wee folk afoot with the Hidden Ones at their side, Hidden Ones no longer hidden.

"Please, Linde," Tipperton beseeched, gesturing at the strife. "They are but the vanguard of the Foul Folk. More are yet on the way, and with them comes the Gargon."

Reluctantly Linde nodded and then her look became resolute and she said, "By Adon and Elwydd I do so pledge the Hidden Ones our secrecy, I and the Vanadurin all." Then she lifted her black-oxen horn to her lips and blew a call, the resonant cry cleaving through the clash of combat.

And as the Harlingar responded to Linde's signal to form up on her, from the distance there answered the collective blats of a score or more brazen trumps, Foul Folk responding in challenge.

And a wash of dread flowed over all.

A Gargon was yet unsatisfied with the horrific extent of the slaughter so far.

As the unremitting fear grew ever stronger, into the darkness of Blackwood went the Vanadurin, the Jordians now afoot and leading their steeds and following Nix, that Warrow bearing a small lantern, its distant light bobbing among the trees like a will-o'-the-wisp leading the Har-lingar within.

And while the warriors and horses passed into the woods, with Linde standing at the eaves of the forest and urging them on. Tip and Rynna and Beau and Farly remained nearby and watched the Spawn in the moonlight aslant, the Foul Folk having drawn back from Darda Erynian to shift and stir among themselves and call out with horns to the oncoming Spawn, those signals growing ever closer…

… as did the pounding fear.

Beau had recovered his pack from Nix, and Tip his own goods from Farly, and as they slung them onto their backs, Tip took a deep breath, his heart racing. "If for some reason they come within, I'll need arrows; I'm all out."

"And I'll need bullets," said Beau, his lips drawn thin with dread, "though I do yet have a few rocks from the crag."

"Farly, how many arrows have you left?" asked Rynna.

"Um, three, five, six altogether, Ryn," he answered.

"And I've four," said Rynna. "I'm afraid we're all of us just about out, Tip. And as for sling bullets, Beau, we have none, though not far ahead there's a stream where we might find suitable pebbles." She turned to Farly. "Give Tip three of your arrows, and I'll give him one of mine."

"Now wait, Rynna," protested Tip. "I can't strip-"

"Nonsense," said the damman. "Better that three of us be winging shafts than just two."

The last of the Harlingar passed by, and Linde said, "That's it. Ninety-seven Vanadurin in all."

"Ninety-seven?" groaned Tip. "Then that means-"

"Nine hundred warriors have fallen to the Foul Folk," gritted Linde, "forty-five score. And they will pay, this I vow." She looked with hatred at the Foul Folk beyond, and then gasped in dismay -for 'round the shoulder of the hill trod the dreadful Gargon.

A seething mass of Rucks and Hloks came after the appalling terror, and those who had been waiting gave way before its hideous power, none able to withstand even its muted fear. Surrounded by allies, still it stalked alone, empty space all around, none of the Spawn able to come nigh; not even the seemingly fearless Ghuls could endure its horrid might.

The Foul Folk who had been waiting called out and pointed toward the Blackwood, and the Gargon turned its terrible gaze upon that mighty forest, and dread poured forth in a torrent, whelming all, nearly felling Linde and the Warrows. But then the fear abated.

"Run!" hissed Tip. "It can't see us, though it knows we are here."

Into the shadows of Darda Erynian they fled.

"Oh Elwydd," hissed Rynna, scrambling backwards and down the slope, Tip and one of the enshadowed Pysks scrambling down after, "it's coming into the forest and bringing the Foul Folk with it. Tipperton, we can't stand against a Gargon. Instead we've got to fetch Lark and the others and flee."

"Lark?"

"Yes. She is-"

Dreadful terror swept over them and past, and both War-rows gasped in fear as it raked by, their hearts hammering in horror. And the small shadow cried out, "Af slait! Adreem!"

Rynna grabbed Tip's arm and pulled him after. "We must follow the Fox Rider."

On into the forest they ran, the darkness-cloaked Pysk on her black-footed fox darting ahead, then pausing to let them catch up, then darting ahead again.

And somewhere behind came terror, four thousand Spawn at its back.

Gasping and wheezing, at last the two Warrows caught up with the retreating column, and onward they strode, following the others deeper into the woods.

"Well?" said Beau, dropping back to walk alongside, his face drawn tight with fear.

"It's coming into the woods," said Tip.

"Bringing what's left of the Horde with it," added Rynna.

"I thought as much," Beau groaned.

And again dread swept past them, as if the Terror used its hideous to search the forest for sign of the fleeing foe.

"Look, Ryn," said Tip, "we can't lead the Gargon to the Springwater Warrows or to the dwellings of the Hidden Ones. We can't expose them to such horror."

"The Pysks have a plan," said Farly.

"A plan?"

Farly nodded. "It seems that one of their own managed to slay a Gargon way back near the end of the First Era, or so says Phero."

"And…?" demanded Rynna.

"Phero now rides to the Eio Wa Suk to ask them to send a message far north and find out how it was done. In the meanwhile we are to keep beyond the dread Gargon's stare."

"You mean run, don't you? Just as we are doing?"

"Yes," replied Farly, "until Phero finds out how 'twas done."

At the tail of the column of fleeing allies, on they pressed through the moonshadowed forest, a bobbing lantern far ahead as Nix continued to lead the way; and tiny lights now winked alongside the file, yet whence came these blinking glows, neither Tip nor Beau could say. And still a dread raked across them now and again as the Gargon's terror swept back and forth, the monster seeking prey.

"Look," said Tip, catching his breath after one of these sweeps, "although we can't lead the Foul Folk to the Springwater Warrows, perhaps there is a place we can lure them to; if we can get far enough ahead, mayhap we can make a trap, a spiked pit or some such to slay the Gargon ourselves." As he strode, Tip looked at Rynna in the shadows cast by the half-moon sliding down the indigo vault of the western sky.

Rynna frowned and shook her head. "I can't think of a place where we could be certain that the Gargon would step into-" Of a sudden, her eyes widened, and she glanced at Farly and then back to Tip, saying. "Oh, Tip, there may be another way: if we can cause his escort of Foul Folk to flee, perhaps the Gargon itself will quit this place."

"How would we do that?" asked Tip. "How would we make the Spawn abandon the Gargon, run away altogether?"

"You said it yourself, my love: we lead them, but in this case we lead the Gargon and Foul Folk into a place the Foul Folk fear."

Farly looked at Rynna in puzzlement. "What have you in mind, commander?"

"Eio Wa Suk," answered Rynna.

"Yes!" cried Farly, hope gleaming.

Upon hearing the name again that night, Tip frowned in concentration, trying to recollect. Then his eyes widened. "Eio Wa Suk; Groaning Stones?"

"Yes, Tipperton, Groaning Stojies. There is an aggregate nearby. That's where Phero has gone."

"These are those who make the ground grumble?" asked Beau, his eyes filled with trepidation.

"Yes," replied Rynna.

"Oh my," said Beau. "I am not certain at all I want to walk among things that groan in the ground. It gives me the willies just thinking of it."

"That's what I'm counting on, Beau. -Oh, not you shrinking from walking among the stones, but that the Foul Folk dread them even more."

"Ha!" barked Farly. "They have run from the Stones in the past."

"Do not get your hopes too high," warned Rynna. "With the Gargon among them, it may not work at all."

"Speaking of the Dread," said Tipperton, "will the Gar-gon's fear not hurt the Stones?"

Rynna frowned and called one of the moving shadows to her side, and they spoke for long moments in the Fey Folk tongue. And even as they did so, a sweep of fear passed over all.

Finally, Rynna turned to Tipperton. "Rali does not think so, my love. She says the Eio Wa Suk are but partially awake and fear no thing except perhaps a great shaking of the land."

"Nevertheless…" said Tipperton, "it is a Gargon after all."

Rynna spoke again with the Fox Rider, and off darted the shadow toward the head of the column. The damman turned to the others. "Rali has gone ahead to tell Nix to strike for the aggregate and through. Then she will ride onward and speak with the Stones themselves, and if necessary we will change our plan. But for now, it's through the aggregate we will go and hope the Foul Folk will not."

Beau shivered and said, "If we must."

Ryn looked at Farly. "Farly, you go forward and warn Lady Linde what we are to do, for she and the Vanadurin must keep their horses in check should the Stones rumble as we pass among them. And tell her to relay the word for all to step softly, else the Stones will grumble."

Even as Farly darted forward, the dread of the Gargon swept over them once more, the monster leading the howling Spawn toward slaughter anew.

Among the shadows of lithic giants wended the column of horses, the half-moon low and nearly set, casting long darkness easterly. Here was an aggregate of Eio Wa Suk, a wide vale of enormous Stones, ranging from tall, standing monoliths soaring skyward, some towering upward fifty feet or more, to great boulders half-buried in the ground, squat and rotund in comparison. Huge and rough were they all, the lofty ones looming up in the pale yellow light cast by the sinking moon, the smaller ones-no less imposing- lurking in shadows below. Some of the Stones were barren and dark, others barren and light, and still others were covered with moss or vines or were splotched with dottles of lichen splayed in long runs of greenish white.

And as the column moved among these great rocks, Tip could hear the howls of the oncoming Foul Folk behind, for the entire file of Jordians and Warrows and fox-riding Pysks had slowed to let the Spawn draw nigh. And the dread of the Gargon was now locked onto the hammering hearts of those it would slay, terror coursing through the veins of horses and foxes and Harlingar and Wee Folk and Hidden Ones all, as amid massive Stones they fled.

Twisting and winding and moving apace, among lofty rocks they hastened, the Stones rumbling low at the tread of horses jarring the ground. But the Vanadurin held tightly to the reins near the bits as they trotted before their steeds, pulling the beasts after.

Down this vale of Groaning Stones fled the Free Folk, and up a long ridge out of the dell, where they came to the last of the great rough rocks.

"Go on," cried Rynna to Linde, the hindmost Jordian in line. "We will see if the plan has worked and then come running after."

And as the last of the moon fell away, Linde saluted and over the crest and downslope she went, following after the others, leaving Tip, Beau, Rynna, and two of the Fox Riders on the ridge behind.

"Lor', but I wish we had the vision of Elves," said Beau, tasting fear and peering into the darkened valley, looking back the way they had come. "Then we could see by starlight alone."

"Fear not, Beau," said Rynna, gesturing into the shadows at hand, "we have at our sides the eyes of the Pysks."

His palms sweating, his heart hammering, Tipperton reached out and took Rynna's hand as howls echoed along the vale. "They come," he said, and then amended, "No, what I mean is it comes."

Rynna's breath fluttered in short, rapid puffs. "In moments we will see."

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than there began a groaning rumble.

One of the Fox Riders spoke: "Va Dreeth ar en va dep un visin den Eio Wa Suk."

"The Gargon is in the valley," translated Rynna, "moving among the Stones."

Louder and louder came the groaning, and the howls of the Foul Folk juddered to a halt.

"Mayhap it is working," said Tip, squeezing Rynna's hand.

Rynna nodded, saying, "Aye, mayhap," though doubt dwelled deep in her voice.

Louder and louder groaned the Stones, the rumbling ground itself beginning to shiver, and Beau looked about in dread as if seeking a place of solidity.

And still the Draedan came onward, its terror growing with every massive stride.

"Oh, love, I just remembered," called Tip above the collective moan filling the air, the buccan's voice shaking with dread, "the Gargon, his tread is ponderous, as if moving on massive feet of stone."

Her breath jerking in and out of her lungs, Rynna managed to say, "Good… that will… anger… the Eio Wa Suk."

Now the whole vale shook with a collective deep grinding, a vast unending stentorian groan, the very earth thrumming in response, as if the whole world howled.

Beau clapped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

And from his place on the ridge, Tip could see down in the starlight and among the Stones, where -He screamed in unending terror and fell to his knees and shrieked and shrieked and shrieked.

And beside him Rynna and Beau stood frozen in horror and shrilled, as did the Fox Riders, the Pysks and foxes suddenly bereft of shadow…

Through a gap between monoliths, the Gargon had them trapped in its glare.

Yet as the creature stalked toward the gaze-stricken victims, it passed behind a Stone, and suddenly all were free, though pounding dread yet coursed through their veins.

"Run!" cried Tip, but even as they started to turn, Tip's eyes flew wide for he beheld -one of the huge monoliths tilting, tilting, falling, falling, falling -down -down Whuuump!

– the entire vale quaked with the shock of the thunderous crash -and great waves of unendurable dread blasted outward, and Tip, Rynna, Beau, foxes and Pysks, all were hurled to the ground shrieking, their blood hurtling along their veins, their hammering hearts ready to explode. And screaming in boundless terror they groveled on the ground beyond all reasoning, beyond all control.

And then it was gone.

Completely.

His breath coming in gasps, Tip managed to say, "The Gargon is dead."

And an angry roar rose up from the Groaning Stones, a sound so loud that it rattled the very bones, and the earth itself quaked and trembled under the thunderous blast. Stumbling and falling and rising and running across the shivering land, Rucks and Hloks and Ghflls on Helsteeds fled away in mortal fear, though many did not live beyond a mere few paces, their very beings bursting apart in the bellowing rage below.