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likely that Grg would bother the Boskydells or the Waerans of Weiunwood near
Stonehili, for that matter."
"Wull, that's where you might be wrong, Littor," asserted Cotton. "I mean, we
fought the Spawn in the Bosky during the Winter War . . . and over in
Weiunwood the maggot-folk tried more than once to invade but the Ruckslayer
drove 'em out, he did."
"Ruckslayer?" asked Caddor.
"That's what he was called," answered Cotton. "His real name was Arbagon
Fenner. He led the Warrow force in the Battle of Weiunwood and drove the Rucks
and such out; that was back in the time of the Winter War too. The Ruckslayer
must have been quite a buccan: why, they say he once even rode a horse into
battle and 1 don't mean a pony, I mean a real horse."
At this second mention of horse riding, all the Dwarves again uneasily glanced
at and then hastily looked away from the silent hom that Cotton now carried in
plain view a horn no longer stowed out of sight in the Warrow's pack. An
irredeemable pall fell upon the conversation, and Cotton soon started back
toward the head of the column.
The Dwarves at Dusk-Door toiled without pause, and slowly the great rock pile
diminished. The stone itself was used to build cairns for the fallen against
the Great Loom. All Dwarves worked hooded out of respect for their dead
kindred, but they
64
DEMttl5 L McKIERNAh
took not the time for formal mourning, though grief-stricken they were.
Several cairns also were made near the broken dam for those killed by the
Krakenward during the drilling. Gaynor's remains were recovered and put to
rest, as well as were the slain Drillers and Hammerers and the members, of the
fireteam broken by the clutch and slap of great tentacles. The Monster itself
had been crushed by stone, and now it, too, was completely covered by rock,
all Dwarf companies and Brytta's scouts having tumbled blocks down upon it.
Late in the afternoon, Farlon, a Valonian scout, rode in from the south. Not
finding Brytta, he located Prince Rand to report that good pasturage with
hearty grass and sparkling water lay in a wide vale but eleven miles
downchain. After giving his report to the Prince, Farlon swept his eyes about
the flood-whelmed valley and noted, "Much seems to have happened here since
yesternoon, when last I saw this vale as if a great stroke has hammered this
land. The stream that was dry now flows again. The falls that were not, now
tumble free. The dam that was whole is now shattered. A foulness lingers on
the air. And gone are my comrades, and Marshal Brytta. Where are they? Where
are the Vanadurin? And what has befallen this vale?"
Rand now realized mat Farlon had ridden south at noon the day before to look
for fair pastures for the horses. Hence, the scout knew nought of the events
concerning the battle with the Monster, nor of the discovery of the Host by
the spying bands of maggot-folk. And so the Prince told the horseman of the
struggle with the Warder of the Dark Mere, while Farlon stared with eyes wide
with wonder at the broken dam and the black crater, at the Duskrill and the
Sentinel Falls, at the Great Loom of Aggarath and the pile of rubble over the
Door, at the toiling Dwarves, and at the cascade-shrouded mound of stone
covering the creature's carcass.
Then Rand spoke of the prying Spaunen and explained Brytta's mission, and
Farlon railed at the Fates for separating him from his brethren on this thrust
to intercept the Ruck spies. Even then Farlon would have ridden to join the
Vanadurin, and he strode resolutely to his horse. But ere he could mount,
"Hold!" commanded Rand. "Your fellow horsemen are by now too far toward the
pass for you to overtake ere nightfall, when the Yrm begin to stir. And a lone
THE BREGA PATH
65
rider running at speed in the dark or by moonlight perchance would spoil any
ambush set for the Foul Folk."
Farlon began to protest, but his words were cut short by Rand: "Horse rider,
think! Would you gamble our quest 'gainst your desire to join your comrades in
battle?" At Farlon's sullen silence. Rand spoke on: "In sooth, horseman, we
have more need of you here than there, for someone must lead the wounded south
to the haven you have found.''
"Gam/" growled Farlon, "I'm a warrior, not a nurse-maiden."
Cotton, who had been listening to the exchange, flushed with anger. "Warrior?
Nursemaiden?" he cried, stepping in front of the scout. "Those words have no
meaning in this! Ally! Helper! Friend! That's what's needed now! Come with me,
warrior, and look!" And the small enraged Warrow grasped the Man by the wrist
and stormed off toward the white waggons standing nearby, hauling die
astonished rider in tow. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]