The Brega path

CHAPTER 5

Forty hours before Durek spoke the words of opening at the Dusk-Door, the horse column of the Harlingar quickly moved out of the Ragad Valley. The warriors rode two abreast with spears bristling to the sky; favors fluttered from the hafts, while in the lead the War-banner of Valon snapped and cracked in the breeze. The dark helms of the Vanadurin threw back no glints, yet gauds of horsehair and wings and horns flared from the steel. Swiftly they passed, yet not at full gallop, for they had far to go and must needs save their mounts. And the earth trembled at their passage.

Brytta rode in the fore with Arl at his side, and all cantered at the steady ground-devouring pace of a Valanreach long-ride. And no rider spoke as their grim eyes swept the bleak high wold for sign of movement but saw none. The column rode thus as the Sun clambered up through the winter sky, and miles fell away beneath the hooves. Slowly the land changed as they went, the rolling western wold yielding to rugged hills, which in turn gave way to a rough, broken region of shattered rock and deep defiles, of high stone walls and jagged slopes, and of flint-hard paths twisting through a splintered land, as if the world's crust had been thrust asunder by the towering mountains bursting forth from the fettering rock below.

Brytta's force rode with relentless determination to succeed in this desperate mission to intercept the two bands of spying Wrg ere they could reach the hidden High Gate in Quadran Pass, for the Spawn were carrying to Gnar word of the Dwarf Army at the western Door. And but a bare four hours of daylight remained; and then the Sun would set and the Foul Folk would again take up their dash for the Gate. And the riders had yet some leagues to go to reach their goal: the road to the Gap.

The land now consisted of huge upjuttings of red granite, striated in places with hued bands of layered stone. It would have taken great skill for the Harlingar to track the Rutcha through this tangle of rock, yet early on Arl had unerringly led die column to find Eddra's wake: Eddra, who had trailed the Spawn throughout the previous night, leaving clear Valanreach signs indicating the Wrg path for the pursuers to follow. And the Vanadurin had now followed that track for hours.

'Mid the red crags and rudden bluffs wended the riders, strung out in their long column of twos, their gait slowed to a mere picking walk through the tumble of shattered stone. As Nightwind stepped through the broken rock, Brytta, seeking some tactical advantage over the foe, reflected back upon the tale Arl had told him during other slow passages such as this, a tale not stripped bare as would be a scout's terse report but, rather, one told in full:

"Three days agone, after the Legion marched away from the fork in the road toward mat… mat dead vale, back there"-Arl gestured toward the Ragad Valley-"Eddra, Wylf, and I took the other fork and rode like the wind to me small watch-mountain, Redguard, where we set vigil o'er the pass. We huddled atop that cold stone peak for what seemed an endless time, wood for the balefire ready but unlit, awaiting the coming of a Wrg army. And we burned no cainpfire at night, for that would signal our presence to enemy eyes.

"And cold we were, so cold… A bitter, rimed grip was upon the land; and the very stone cracked under heel-frost-riven, broken by that dread clime's grasp. Even Wylf's luck at finding comfort failed, and we lurked there among the icy rock in the long, bitter nights; and the cruel wind cut like sharp knives as we huddled shivering, urging on the mom so that we could men light a small campblaze for its feeble warmth. At times we even japed that should a Rutchen army come, we then could kindle the balefire and warm by its flames; yet it did not happen. For two nights nothing happened.

"But, on the third night-last night-thirty or so Rutcha

bearing torches came marching down from Quadran Col just after sunset."

"Hold!" interrupted Brytta. "Whence came they? How far up were they? Did you see them come from the High Gate?"

"I have thought long upon that," answered Arl, his brow furrowing, "and this is the way of it: the first we saw of their torches, they were nearly at the snow line, high up on the roadway o'er the Gap."

Brytta grunted, then motioned for the young rider to continue his tale, and so Arl did: "Though we had hoped for some action to fire our blood, when the Spawn came all thoughts of discomfort, all longing for warmth fled in our dismay, for we knew that here could spell the doom of the quest. There were only thirty or so of them, but still it could mean discovery of the Host. Yet down the flanks of Stormhelm they tramped, and turned south. And while they marched, we considered our course.

"Because there were so few, we did not light the balefire, for that signal was meant to warn the Legion of the coming of a full Wrg army, not just a mere squad. Too, a beacon would only serve to warn the Spawn that something was stirring on this side of the mountains. Yet it seemed likely that their spying eyes had seen our Army bear south along the Old Rell Way, and this force had come to see what was afoot.

"They marched for two hours, or a bit more, going perhaps six or eight miles, down from the snow line and passing below us on the east flank of Redguard. Yet suddenly they stopped, seeming to mill about in fear or confusion, and we wondered at the cause. Then we, too, saw what had affrighted the Foul Folk, and we ourselves were taken aback, for it was indeed a bodeful sight: that great cusp of a stone wall at the head of the Valley of the Door…" Arl turned and swept his hand back toward the hemidome of the Great Loom, which, through the granite crags behind, could be seen towering up the side of Grimspire, "that wall was flaring and blooming red and orange and yellow in the night, like the very forge of Hel, and great dark shadows were guttering and twisting and writhing up the mountain flank and into the blackness, as if some vast fire was ablaze in Ragad Vale."

"Indeed, 'twas a great conflagration," verified Brytta, turning Nightwind through the jumble of rock, "set ablaze atop the dam last night to thwart the evil Warder as the Dwarves strove to break the stone and loose the lake. But that is a tale to be told later, after yours is finished. Speak on."

But at that moment the land opened somewhat, calling for a faster pace. Arl shifted the banner spear from the left stirrup to the right, couching the haft butt in the cup there, and spurred his horse to a swift canter. They rode thus for a time before coming again to shattered land where the column had to slow. And when the pace dropped back, Arl continued as if there had been no break in his narrative: "We were filled with foreboding, whelmed by the unknown yet dire portent of the flaring upon the Loomwall. It seemed as if some great battle perchance raged in the Valley of the Door while we three on Redguard stood mayhap a less necessary duty. We argued whether or not to ride to the vale to help; yet we knew not the cause of the flaming, thus could not easily decide upon our course: at hand directly below us was the given threat of a small, perhaps unimportant, force of Wrg; while far off was the sign of a great raging effort of some unknown action, which for aught we knew could be entirely peaceful, though we three thought elsewise."

"Arn!" snorted Brytta. " 'Twas anything but peaceful, yet I interrupt. Go on."

"In the end," continued Arl, "we chose to hew to our original duty-to watch the Gap for a Rutchen army-^-but also to watch the track of mis Wrg band below us. In any event, in spite of the fact that we would rather be at our comrades' sides in any conflict, we knew that surely the Host could face any foe and fare as well without us as with us, though it goes against the grain to admit so. On the other hand, we alone knew of this squad of ravers. We knew, too, mat should they espy the Host at the Dusk-Door, then Gnar would be alerted, to me ill of our quest."

"You chose aright," commented Brytta, "though difficult h is to forbear rushing to the aid of arms-mates."

"After a time," Arl went on, "the Spawn once again started south, toward the valley, and we came to the decision that one of us should ride to warn the Host, mayhap to set a trap or to divert the Foul Folk if it seemed they were near to discovering the Army. Yet, to set a trap, we needed to know their goal; and to divert them, if that became necessary, we needed to be on their track. The ravers had just passed beyond sight within the foothills., and we were not certain as to their course.

"In haste, we drew lots. Wylf lost, pulling the short twig, and was left atop that cold Redguard Mountain while Bddra and 1 rode down to trail the Spawn. I had drawn the long stick and would be the messenger to warn the Host should the need arise.

"Ahorse, we followed their path along a rocky trace, and in the full moonlight we set a goodly pace. Soon we came to where we could again see their torches, and we lagged far behind, trailing their slow march southward. After the mid of night, as if a vast fire had been drowned, the Great Loomwall suddenly went dark, and again the Wrg milled about in confusion or fright, as if they were undecided as to what course to follow. And both Eddra and I were sore beset with doubt, for we knew not the meaning either, but we guessed yet again that something dire was happening south in the Ragad Valley. But we knew our duty was to follow the Spawn, as we had planned.

"Once more the Wrg started toward the Ragad Vale, and again we trailed them. Some time passed, and we covered two leagues or so. They drew nigh to the Valley of the Door, and Eddra and I knew we had to decide soon on how we would act: to ride among them, shouting, and then away to draw them off; or to wait to see their goal, and then warn the Host. But ere we could act, a second torch-bearing gang of thirty more came through the night-but they came from the direction of the valley. The two bands clotted together and shouted and snarled and cursed one another, and the two leaders argued; but then with a lashing abouf of thongs, the Droken leaders turned the Rutcha back toward Quadran Pass.

' 'Moving quickly now, no longer uncertain, loping at Rutch-pace, they began running toward the Quadran Gap, coming straight at Eddra and me. We quickly stepped our mounts off the path and into the surrounding dark scrub and rock, and we dismounted, holding our steeds' muzzles to prevent a challenge. The returning Wrg loped past without seeing us, and among their words both Eddra and I heard one of them snarl something about '… we tell Gnar of the dam-breaking lake-draining army of foul-beards at the buried door!' Though we knew not what all overheard meant, we did know that the Host had been discovered by these Spawn now on their way to the High Gate to warn Gnar.

"As soon as they were beyond hearing, Eddra told me to ride to warn the Legion while he stayed behind to trail the Wrg and leave Valanreach signs along their track for pursuers to follow. And we parted, Eddra following Rutcha and Drokha north while I hastened south.

"Swiftly I rode, and the Moon was bright; yet I could not fly apace until the coming of first light, and then at last Firemane could see to run in full. And as I rode, I knew that only the Vanadurin would be fleet enough to intercept the two bands of Wrg ere they reached the pass-if they have not yet attained that goal. But I think the dayrise will have found them short of the Gap, and they will be holed up awaiting nightfall-at least I hope their Wrg-lope was not fast enough to carry them to Stormhelm before the coming of the Sun.

"And you know the rest of the tale, Sire." Arl fell silent, and onward they rode, following Eddra's well-placed markers.

Thus had Arl told his full tale; and now, miles later, Brytta reflected upon the scout's words for some shred, some scant fact, that would give the Vanadurin added advantage over the foe-but beyond knowing their number and dieir goal, the Reachmarshal found nought he could use.

Once more the column of Valanreach riders came, upon an open flat, and again the pace quickened as swiftly they coursed north, and the high stone of the flanking-mountain ramparts flung back the thunder of their passage, and the plateau drummed beneath the driving hooves.

Ahead they could see a towering scarp rear up from the land and stand athwart their path, and a great dark crack jagged upward into its flank. And toward this yawning split, Eddra's signs pointed. Black it looked, dark though the Sun still rode the sky. And the closer they came, the more dreadful it seemed. And into this fissure, Eddra's track plunged.

The column rode into the forbidding cleft, now single file, for the walls were close upon them. Though it was daytime still, a shadowy muffled murk clutched at them, and the rays of the Sun fell dim and feeble into the cold depths. Splits and cracks radiated away into the flanks, their ends beyond seeing, lost in darkness. Horses shied and started at the black gap-ings, sensing the disquiet of the riders they bore as they passed these holes. Ancient Vanadurin legends told of the haunted Realm of the Underworld, where dwelled the living dead; and ever in these hearthtales, heroes came to woe and grief and unending agony. And always these paladins had entered into the halls of the dead through caves and rifts and clefts in the land, ignoring the warnings of a loved one to stay clear of these fissures. Hence, for those accustomed to open skies and grassy plains, these dark legends gave rise to inchoate yet palpable feelings of dread whenever a dark pit yawned before them. And the Vanadurin column now rode through the dim light at the bottom of a black abyss while splits and cracks and holes without number leapt at them from the looming stone walls; and the pits cast back shattered echoes, reverberating hollowly like laughter from Hel.

These dim legends scuttled on spider claws through Brytta's mind as he felt his hackles rise, but he dismissed them, for warriors believe they have long since cast aside the hearthtales of youth. Still, the thought of being underground was dire, and the prospect of fighting a War below earth-as the Dwarves were wont to do-caused Brytta to marvel at the Dwarves' staunch courage, and unformed feelings of apprehension rose within his own heart. But uneasy or not, the column rode ahead, as Brytta fleetingly thought of Hel. And his sight darted from hole to hole. And it seemed as if he could feel the presence of hundreds of malevolent Rutchen eyes glaring out at the passing horsemen-if not the Spawn they were pursuing, then perhaps others; for despite Durek's assurances to the contrary, the Valanreach Marshal was more than convinced that the walls of this region were riddled^with a thousand secret bolt holes to the great Black Hole of Drimmen-deeve-a thousand places for sudden assault or surreptitious spying or swift escape. Yet even if there were not here secret shafts boring away to the Black Maze, still Brytta felt watched. Were the eyes of the undead staring out from die blackness? Hel's spawn?

Shaking his head to dispel these fey thoughts, Brytta squinted up the looming wails to the jagged rift of sky far above, knowing that if fou! Wrg or aught else lurked in the splits of this dreadful crack, the wan light of day dimly reaching these depths was not enough to keep the creatures pressed back into the dark shadows at the deep roots of the riven fissures.

The walls of the cleft twisted tortuously, and the long path before the line of horsemen began to rise. Slowly they rode up out of the stifling narrow crack, to come at last to another open plateau. And as they came out upon the high plain, out into the cold crisp air of day, the sense of cloying suffocation left Brytta and he breathed freely again. And the wisps of fables and lurking Wrg fled Brytta's mind, though he still marveled at the courage of the Dwarvenfolc.

"Sire!" Arl exclaimed and pointed. Far ahead they could see a dun horse standing near several huge boulders where yet another bluff lunged upward, and again a great split fissured away into blackness.

"It's Eddra's mount," growled Brytta, and his heels clapped into Nightwrnd's flanks and the great black horse sprang swiftly forward. "Sound no horns," Brytta ordered as the column matched his stride.

As they rode toward the towering cliff, Eddra stepped out from the shadow of a boulder and hand-signal led that all was well. The Marshal felt a surge of relief that his scout was alive, for Brytta, seeing what appeared to be a riderless, abandoned horse, had fleetingly feared the worst. Yet Eddra was hale, in fact was less weary than his brethren, for he had dozed under the Sun while awaiting the Harlingar, whereas none of them had rested for nearly two days: Arl had ridden throughout the preceding night, while Brytta and the others had struggled without letup in the battle with the Krakenward.

"H amp;l!" cried Eddra, pleasure upon his features, as the riders wheeled 'round him in a semicircle and brought their steeds to a halt, half to the left of Brytta, half to the right.

Brytta dismounted and signed to the others to do the same, for they had been long in the saddle. "Hal, rider! Clear was your track and long have our eyes sought you. How fares your mission? Where be the Spawn?"

"The Wrg spies lie up in yon crack," answered Eddra, gesturing at the dark split in the face of the bluff, "waiting for the westering orb to fall." Many glanced at the late-afternoon Sun, and but two hours or less remained before it would set. "Far did they run through this broken land, and weary was I with the chase. Yet there they lurk in the deep black shadows, soon to fly out the crack's far side.

"Still we may head them, for to the west but a ways lies a path around this dark cranny, where we may pass beyond them without their knowledge. North, too, is water for'the horses. A short ride, then, will bring us to a deep stony defile through which they must pass, for it is upon the road to the Quadran Gap and the secret High Gate, a defile with steep walls where we may entrap mem and they cannot escape our spears."

"Hai!" cried Brytta, and his dour features broke into a wide smile, and he clapped Eddra upon the shoulder; for his warrior had scouted the lay of the land and had found a snare for the foe, a place where at last the Harlingar could stand athwart the fleeing Spawn's padi. "Let us spend no more time in idle chatter," he grinned. "1 would as lief be on our way. Lead, fair Eddra, and we shall follow."

Once again the warriors mounted, and this time their hearts sang, for now they had the knowledge that they were not on a shadow-mission-a mission of little or no hope-for each had secretly feared that they would be too late, and now they knew they were not.

Following Eddra, swiftly they rode to a narrow path pitching shaHowly up the face of the bluff. Along this slant the horses went, steeds and riders seemingly oblivious to the steep fall on their left. And at the top they came out upon the last plateau. In the distance before them they could see the road leading up to the Gap of Stormhelrri. To the west lay Redguard Mountain, and they knew that even now Wylf, at its crest, watched them ride forth into the open and toward the col. They pressed ahead and at last came to the side of the road, and here and there an ancient pave-stone could be seen, though most were buried and a few were thrust aside by weed and hidden in the tangle. And at roadside, a spring thinly crusted with ice bubbled down from the snows in the pass; and they paused long enough to water the steeds and to refresh their canteens.

Slowly the Sun sank, and just as it lipped the earth, they came to the defile spoken of by Eddra. The sides were steep and the canyon long; Quadran Road wended upward through

its flanks, to pass beyond sight at a far turn, rising toward the Gap. Up to the turn they rode, there to lay their trap for the Wrg.

Brytta gathered his riders about him, and in the dimming dusk he set forth his plan. And when he was done, each knew his assignment and was pleased, for Brytta was a mighty Captain, and his strategy suited their nature. He spoke in Valur, the enduring Battle-tongue of the Valanreach, which hearkened back even unto the ancient days when their forebearers had ridden free on the high northern steppes, a time long before any had come south to the grassy plains of Valon. And as darkness fell, Brytta repeated an elder benediction of the Vanadurin:

4'Arise, Harlingar, to Arms! Fortune's three faces now turn our way: One smiling, one grim, one secret; May the never-seen face remain always hidden.

Hal, Warriors of the Spear and Saber! Hal, Warriors of the Knife and Arrow! Hal, Warriors of the Horn and Horse! Ride forth, Harlingar, ride forth!"

And in the gathering darkness, the fierce Valanreach warriors, their hearts pounding and spirits surging, mounted and rode to take up their battle positions to await the coming of die Spawn.

Brytta, far up the defile, sat his horse and stared down the dark road rising up to meet him. Riders four abreast formed a long column behind their Marshal. And as they held, the horses were calm, occasionally shifting their weight; and saddle leather creaked and the thicket of upright spears stirred to and fro.

The night deepened and the stars shone forth. To the east beyond the range, the bright Moon climbed up the star-studded sky, and at last the silver rays spiiled through the gap between Grimspire and mighty Stormhelm, bathing the defile with pale, glancing light. And sharp-edged blackness clung to boulders and crags and streamed darkly away. To the west, Redguard's peak jutted up out of the shadows of the range and into the moonlight, and past Redguard lay the western wold stretching beyond sight to the River Caire. The air was cold and crystalline, and the night was still, and the breath of horses and warriors alike rose in white plumes.

And the spears of Valon waited.

Ppfaa! Nightwind suddenly snorted and tossed his head, and Brytta listened sharply. At first he heard nothing; then dimly came a sound, faint: a scrabbling, like a chitinous scuttling. Stronger it grew, resolving at last into the distant slap of iron-shod Rutch boot.

"Stel! [Steel!]" hissed Brytta, reining to the side, and the lances in the first row dropped level, held steady by firm grips, and clear eyes watched the far turn. Louder came the sound of running, and now all could hear the clack of harsh voices, cursing and snarling, whining, panting, grating, the speech foul. Louder it came, and louder still, nearly upon them. Suddenly, a ragged loping column of torch-bearing Rutcha burst into view, scrambling around the turn below, and they jostled and jolted and elbowed and railed at one another as they swarmed up the road.

"Tovit! (Ready.'!" Brytta hissed a second command in the Valonian Battle-tongue, and the horse-column seemed to bunch itself, as a tautly drawn bow ere the arrow is loosed. Yet tense and quivering, still they held their places; and onward came the Spawn, as yet unaware of the danger ahead.

And when it seemed mat the Wrg must at last see the Harlingar, a flat homcry sounded from below, from behind the Foul Folk, as the Vanadurin posted there took station upon the road when the last of the Rutchen column passed by.

And the trap sprang shut!

"Vttacku! [Attack!"] barked Brytta, and swift as an arrow loosed at last, the first four riders charged forth, spears leveled, thundering death.

"Stel!" called Brytta, and the lances of the second row dropped level. "Tovit!" His voice was sharp and clear, and he paused but a moment; then: "V'ttacku!" And another line charged forth, havoc upon four horses, ten running strides behind the first.

"Stelf" the command came again, and again, and again, and rows paced forward, and lances lowered, and file after file of swift-running doom was launched down the road, down from the high ground.

At first the Spawn did not realize their plight, and when the Valonian horncall sounded from behind them they quickened their pace, fleeing unknown pursuit. And it was not until the last moment that those in the fore saw by moonlight and torch flare the first strike swooping down upon them, and then it was too late as wave after wave of lethal spears, hard driven by full-running horses, shocked into and through and over the Rutchen column. And screams rent the air as victims fell underfoot to be trampled, and lances impaled others, some spears to shatter in the impact. Sabers were drawn and slashed to and fro, felling foes, and Valanreach battle cries burst forth:

Hal Vanareich! [Hait Valon'.J

B'reit Harlingar! (Ready, Sons of Had!J

Kop'yo V'ttacku Rutcha! [Now whelm the goblins!]

A few Rutcha tried to flee, but the walls of the defile were too steep to clamber, and the dreaded horsefolk were both before and behind them. Yet most of the foul breed, though taken by surprise, fought with feral savagery, for they were cornered: Torches were thrown in the faces of horses, and steeds shied and reared. Iron bars were swung with cunning force to crack across the forelegs of several charging coursers, and they fell screaming among the enemy, and the riders were set upon by the Wrg. Yet other horses, riderless, trained for War by the Vanadurin, lashed out with sharp hooves, felling Rutcha with their crushing blows. And warriors rose up out of piles of Spawn and cast the foe aside, and many Harlingar sang as they slew, a terrible burning light in their eyes.

Into the fray came Brytta, hewing left-handed with his saber, slashing Death borne upon Nightwind's back. And it

was a mighty slaughter, and Bryttars arm grew weary with the reaping of Rutcha. Yet the battle raged on, for the Foul Folk were savage. And lance pierced, and saber slashed, cudgel smashed, and hammer crushed. Scimitar clashed with long-knife, and flashing hooves struck o'er iron bar. Grunts and screams and oaths and cries filled the air, and so, too, did the harsh clang of steel upon steel. And the struggle swept to and fro. Yet slowly the Vanadurin prevailed, and the Wrg numbers dwindled.

All Rutchen torches had been flung aside, or at riders, or at their steeds, and now only the bright Moon illumed the battleground, though here and there a brand sputtered on the road. Surviving Spawn flicked in and out of dark shadows, striking quickly then leaping back into blackness.

And slowly the fight became a grim stalking, as the Vanadurin dismounted and took up torches and spread across the road and searched each cleft and shadow. And the Foul Folk were found, sometimes singly, sometimes clotted together in pockets. And no quarter was given.

Brytta sat upon Nightwind, looking down the defile; he watched as the Harlingar sought living Spawn in the blackness, and made certain that those lying upon the ground were dead and not feigning. It was long-knife work, and saber, too; and struggles were short and fierce. And as he looked, a stone rattled down from above.

On the wall! A Drokh! No, two! Flitting through the shadows above Brytta were two Drokha who had managed to scale up a cranny to a high path along the south wall of the defile, a path running to the top. And now they were fleeing along it, escaping the defile, fleeing for the High Gate.

With effort, Brytta strung his bow, cursing the pain and clumsiness of his broken right hand. Another rider was nearby; "Didion! To me!" cried Brytta. "Wrg! On the wall! Your bow!" And as Didion rode to him, Brytta set an arrow to string and tried to draw the weapon with his broken hand. A low agonized groan hissed between his clenched teeth, and with the bow but half drawn the arrow fell from the weapon and clattered to the ground. "Rack!" Brytta cursed, and changed hands, shifting the bow to his clumsy right, reaching for arrow with his left. The Drokha now scrambled the last few steps toward the top of the wall, an open plateau-and if

they reached it, they were free!

Again Brytta set arrow to string, this time drawing the bow against the heel of his shattered right hand and gritting against the grinding pain while beads of sweat burst forth upon his brow. "Take the right, Didion, I'll take the left," he gasped, and as the Drokha momentarily reappeared from the shadows, two arrows hissed through the air, one well aimed, the other less so. Now at the top and just entering the shadow again, one of the enemy flung up his hands and a piercing scream rent the air as he plunged backward down the defile wall to land with a sodden thud in the roadbed. The, other Drokh pitched forward into the blackness, and if he was arrow-struck, they did not see.

"Didion, after him! He must not escape!" Brytta barked. "Ged!" he called to another rider coming nigh. "Go with Didion! Drokh on the height!" And Ged leapt from his horse and scrambled up a cleft behind Didion, finding the steep climbing no easy task.

And the search for Rutchen survivors went on.

Night passed and the Moon set, and dawn crept upon the land to find stricken Harlingar: exhausted, for they had spent two nights without sleep; wearied by struggle, first with the Krakenward, then with Wrg; drained, for some, weeping, had had to slay their own steeds, legs broken in battle; afflicted, for nearly half the warriors bore wounds, some serious, some minor, now bandaged; filled with heartgrief, for five of the Vanadurin would never again answer home all. Thusly did the dayrise find the riders of the Valanreach.

Earlier, a count showed mat three and seventy Rutcha and one Drokh had fallen to the riders; and in the predawn the carrion were dragged down out of the defile and flung into a ravine, where the coming of the Sun would shrivel them to dust, as Aden's Ban decreed. The Wrg weapons were gathered, and in dull rage the riders snapped the blades and shattered the hafts and bent the iron bars beyond repair, and these, too, were cast into the ravine.

In midmorn, Didion and Ged returned to the defile and sought out Brytta. "Sire," said Didion, drawn and weary,

"long we hunted, and this we found." He held up an arrow, broken in twain, covered with dried black Wrg gore. Brytta examined it closely and grunted; it was his. "Yet," Didion went on, "no Drokh did we find, not near nor far; and by dawn's light we searched even unto the snow line. At the first, a spotted trail we followed, and quickly found the arrow. Soon the trail diminished, at last to disappear on the edge of a deep crevasse with a black still pool at bottom. Ged, here, climbed down while I cast about, but neither he nor I found aught else."

"Skut!" spat Brytta, flinging the fractured arrow from him and looking bitterly at his broken hand. "The Drokh may have been but fleshwounded, snapping the arrow in twain and pulling it through himself. As to the Wrg's fate thereafter, we know not whether he pitched off into the crevasse by accident, or while dying, or not at all. He may have escaped entirely; if so, then even now word goes forth to Gnar.

"Yet you have done all I could ask, and though, no Drokh was found, feel no blame; the hand that failed was mine." And Brytta dismissed the two and cast himself to the ground. And he sat with his back to the wall, and his brooding stare bore into the stone opposite him. His mood was black and bitter, and in his eyes lurked fault.

Yet after a long while of smoldering thought, he again stood and gathered his warriors to him: "Vanadurin," he spoke, "I deem we must remain on guard in this defile, for other bands of ravers may be about the land. Yet all must come through this slot to reach the secret High Gate. And though this is the night appointed when King Durek will attempt the Dusk-Door, still it may not open, for the Squad of Seven may be delayed.

And it is in my mind that other trials may come, and we stand at guard here at the Dwarf Army's back. Even now, word may be going forth to Gnar, and he may set a Rutchen army on the inside of the Door to await the Dwarves. And in that event, if the Squad be delayed, then likely they will not be able to penetrate Gnar's waiting Swarm to reach the Door hinges. And if the Squad cannot reach the inside of the Door, then who will let Durek's Legion within?

"Too, there may be other doors, other gates, through which Gnar may launch an attack upon the Host. Yet the secret Gate in yon Quadran Gap is the only one we are certain of. And if an army marches down this way, then we with quick slashing strikes must bait and harass and divert their energies aside for as long as our War-skill permits, to give the Squad and the Legion precious time to ope the Door.

"And so, here we must stay, both foreguarding and hindguarding the Dwarf Army. And a long wait it may be, for we know not when the Door may yield: tonight, tomorrow, in a seven-night, or never.

"Yet even though we wait, there is still much to do: Place our slain comrades 'neath stone cairns, until proper burial. Tend your steeds. Then rest, for you are weary. Go now, and know you stand a vital duty."

And the warriors saluted Brytta-Hdlf-and turned to take up their tasks.

"Hogon," Brytta called, "set forth a ward of eight: four upslope, four down, two-hour watches."

And while Hogon selected the guard, Brytta turned to a flaxen-haired youth: Brath, Brytta's bloodkith. "Brath, sister's son, to me," he said wearily as he sat down upon a small boulder.

The younger Man, his left arm bound in splints and held in a sling, stepped to his kinsman's side. "Sire?"

"Your arm is shivered and your leg gashed," observed the Marshal, a Fierce pride in his eyes, for Brath had accounted for many of the Rutchen slain. "Were we in other times or other places, I would send you to the hearth." Brytta held up both hands, forestalling the protests leaping to the young warrior's lips. "Instead, I would have you go to yon mountain"-he pointed to Redguard-"and relieve Wylf, for he is hale and we need his strong arm. In mis, go with honor, for we must have one to tend the balefire, to signal the Host if need be. Take an extra overgarment, for Arl said it is cold; his cloak will do, for he needs it not and would give it gladly could he say."

And Brath went forth, and Gannon went with him, for both of wounded Gannon's hands were shattered, and he could no longer bear arms, though his vision was sharp and he could set watch.

And temporary cairns were made for the slain riders, to shelter them until they could be brought forth to the wide

grasslands below and laid to rest 'neath turves. The Vanadurin withheld show of their grief for their fallen brethren-though it cut to the quick-for it is the custom of the Harlingar to mourn not until the final burial.

The Sun climbed high and passed overhead, and warriors rested. Two hours ere sunset, Wylf rode into the quiet encampment. He sat in the afternoon Sun, basking in its warmth as Brytta slept. Wylf spoke to one of the warders, and in the Valonian War-tongue the companion told the tale of the Krakenward, the Rutchen spies, and the battle in the defile; and Wylf listened grimly, and his eyes took on a steely glint.

In foredusK the camp awakened, and a quick meal of waybread and dried venison was taken, and the horses were gathered from the sward downslope. And warriors girded themselves for what the eventide would bring.

Night fell, and again the devastating trap was set, ready to spring shut should Spawn come. This time the Vanadurin posted a bowman upon each wall of the defile, to stop Wrg from fleeing that way; yet Brytta thought that this was latching the stable after the stallion has fled, for it yet burned within him that perhaps a Drokh had escaped to carry word to Gnar, to the great ill of the quest-a Drokh that he, Brytta, should have slain; and the Marshal again glanced with bitterness at his broken hand.

The darktide deepened, and stars wheeled above. Again the Moon shone silvery, full and bright. And the warriors spoke quietly of the Dusk-Door and wondered if it would open, for this was the night.

Time crept by at a slow-moving gait, and each moment seemed frozen in stillness.

Yet of a sudden the twelfth hour was upon the land. Now was the time for King Durek to say the words of opening. Silent moments fled and mid of night passed, and Brytta yearned to know what befell at the Door, and his heart felt taut with foreboding. And again time plodded.

Suddenly the bowman upon the south steep shouted in wonderment: "Ai-oi!" he cried, his voice loud in the hush. "Sire!" he called to Brytta, "at the Great Loomwall in the Valley of the Door, a balefire flares!"

"What? Balefire? At the Dusk-Door?" cried Brytta. "A recall beacon! Spawn! Or does it mean the Door opened? If so, was the Host met by friend or foe? Or have the Wrg fallen upon them from another gate? Fie! Whether or not we knew the which of it, it is of no moment, for we must ride!"

And Brytta sprang to Nightwind's back and raised his horn to his lips and blew a mighty blast that rent the air. And Nightwind reared and pranced and curvetted with sidle-steps, eager to answer the Valonian night to arms. And Brytta called to the Vanadurin: "Mount up, Harlingar, and ride! Ride to the Dusk-Door! Let any who fall behind come at their own pace, for we are summoned! Forth, Harlingar, ride!"

And he clapped his heels into Nightwind's flanks, and down the shadowed road they sprang, hooves thundering, horn pealing, racing through the moonlit night. And so went alt the Vanadurin, bursting forth from Stormhelm Defile, sparks flying from steel-shod hooves. And the fierce horns of Valon blew wildly.