Chapter 14

Once again they found themselves leaving by the back door, as Talen called it. Following Meledrü the companions left the Dwarvenholt proper heading westward with a long stretch of dark passageways before them. Though these secret ways of the Dwarves would save them the trouble of riding south for Aineachan Pass, the way would not be an easy one, for Silgruin was not able to spare a Dwarven guide to see them through and had instead provided them with maps of the now-unused west wing of Dalathrôn.
      And these were not even engineering maps, Meledrü informed the companions. Such maps would have been very precise and drawn to scale, with exact measurements by which they could judge their progress. But such maps were unavailable, and so one of the Dwarves had sketched the main features of the way on a stained piece of parchment and given it, along with many quickly-spoken words of advise and warning, to a bleary-eyed Meledrü late the night before. It was not, of course, an ideal arrangement.
      Nevertheless, the Dwarf did an admirable job of sniffing out the correct way, and the companions followed patiently behind without so much as a sigh or a groan when on the rare occasion it was discovered they had made a wrong turn.
      They remained on high alert during the lengthy trek, for though these passages had been delved originally by Dwarves and for many centuries had been occupied by them, they now were kept sealed from the main halls of Dalathrôn and were prone to attracting various subterranean pests such as Ghimals, Thornlings, and wild Troells. Though the Dwarves had organised Troell hunts every few years for the twin purposes of cleaning out the place while exercising their battle skills, it had been some time since any such purging had taken place and it was therefore not unlikely that the party would meet at least a few of the beasts.
      The first Troell they encountered ran for his life upon seeing them, for the sight of the enormous Dwarf Meledrü with his shining broadsword drawn was an imposing one indeed. After this the spawn became somewhat bolder, however, and rather more force was necessary to convince the beasts to yield the way. Indeed, the deeper into the mountain the company went, the greater the numbers of Troells and other nasties which they encountered along the way, so that before they had reached the far side of the mount each of the companions had dropped scores of the inept fighters.
      Talen and Falco and Valainis soon found that it was a waste of arrows to feather the wretches, for they could be just as easily dispatched with the blade, and they found the shafts were often broken when they tried to retrieve them from the fallen corpses. Also, Raavan tired of waiting for the three to dismount after every encounter in order to collect their spent missiles, and so it was decided they would save them for the more formidable creatures they were likely to encounter in the days ahead as they travelled into Tath.
      They must have been nearing the far side of the mountain when they realised that they were lost, for they had been travelling westward for a number of hours and they knew the great spur was only so wide. Though Meledrü had followed the map exactly, it had taken them only to a dead end, and the only way they could account for this unexpected barrier was to recall that the drawer of the map was an extremely elderly Dwarf with rather poor eyesight.
      ‘Well, we could blame it on the Troells,’ said Berethir. ‘At least there are enough of them in this place that we all should be able to do a fair job of venting our frustration on them.’
      ‘I’ll bet the Troells know the way out of this place,’ said Burak.
      ‘O, wonderful,’ said Berethir. ‘Well, why don’t we just ask them to show us the way out?’
      ‘Why not indeed?’ said Raavan, smiting his forehead. He did not appear to be jesting.
      ‘Are you quite all right, Raavan?’ asked Berethir.
      ‘I’m fine,’ said the wizard. ‘Now, I’ll tell you what we’re going to do.’
      Once Raavan had explained their plan they turned round and began backtracking, making quite a lot of noise in the process. They sang, yelled, yodeled and laughed, so that no living being within any reasonable distance could possibly fail to hear them. Before long they were (quite predictably) ambushed by a rather large gang of Troells.
      Now, it is a curious fact that by merely singing with great gusto one can cause one’s spirits to be lifted considerably, no matter how low they may be. This is likely the reason that as battle was enjoined with the Troells the companions continued their raucous crooning. Soon they all were caroling in unison the battle song of the men of Pilinon, who on occasion were known to sing proudly as they slew:
       
      Arms and legs and bloody toes
      Pile them high in wheelbarrows
      Heads and necks and fingers long
      Hew them while you sing this song
       
      Hey! Ho! Much ado!
      Lunch today is Goblyn stew!
      Hey! Ho! Grab your shirt!
      Ghakhen pudding for dessert!
       
      Cracking skulls and breaking bones
      Rhythm for melodic moans
      Severing great hunks of flesh
      Hurry while the meat is fresh!
       
      Hey! Ho! Don’t be late!
      Heap the viands on your plate!
      Hey! Ho! That’s the way!
      Stuff your face with spawn soufflé!
 
      Gouging eyeballs, spilling guts
      Ramming spears in Oghor butts
      Poke that liver, squeeze that spleen
      Then lick your bloody fingers clean
       
      Hey! Ho! Pass the Troell!
      And the Oghor casserole!
      Hey! Ho! Pile it high!
      Save some room for Dragon pie!
       
      Frizzled fingers, crunchy toes
      Pile them high in wheelbarrows
      Rib and sirloin roasted long
      Chew them while you sing this song
       
      Hey! Ho! Eat with zest!
      Gremlin pancakes are the best!
      Hey! Ho! Much ado!
      We all love Troell barbeque!
       
      Of course, they all were feeling quite hungry after this, but they still had some business to which to attend, for they had intentionally left one Troell alive in hopes that he would show them the way out. In order to motivate the now terrified creature they tied a rope tightly round his neck, and then Raavan spoke to him in the foul spawn language while Valainis nocked an arrow just in case.
      ‘Shash blatab. Aghai h’aash uth tarkuurz. Krimal-bai?’ said the wizard. Then, pointing with big eyes at Valainis, he continued: ‘Ish nara snark uth tarkuurz, bug názatarküürzum uum faut ol sharkuum durz bair gark. Krimal-bai?’
      With a brief but terrified glance at the Elf the Troell then indicated that he was ready to cooperate. Soon he was leading them eagerly down the dark passageway.
      ‘What did you say to him?’ asked Berethir as they trotted merrily along.
      ‘O, I just explained that we sought the nearest exit,’ said Raavan, ‘and that if he tried to lead us astray Valainis would rip open his chest and eat his heart while he was still alive.’
      ‘Very creative,’ said Berethir, and then after a moment’s thought he added, ‘But do Troells even have hearts?’
      ‘I have no idea,’ admitted the wizard. ‘But he seems to have got the picture.’
      Indeed, so efficiently did the frightened beast lead them out of the dark dungeon to the waiting daylight that they gently unbound and released him on the spot. They watched him sprint back through the dark portal and then they saw no more of him.
      They had passed completely through the mountain and in the process saved themselves a hundred-mile ride to Aineachan and back, but they had still to find their way down onto the plain below, for they had come out some distance up the mountainside. No broad road led the way, but they were able to carefully pick their way down by the foot trails that were there.
      It was late afternoon by the time they had fully descended, and they were eager to make the most of what little daylight remained. They galloped westward with the peaks of the Yultaurons to their backs and marching prominently by on their right. The snow was not deep here and they made good time.
      Soon the light had begun to fade and they now sought shelter for the night. They decided to risk a fire in a partially enclosed grotto below a ridge in the foothills where the flames would not be seen at any great distance. Here they passed the night with Airi and two others keeping avid watch, with no more than the distant howling of wolves to raise their alarm through the otherwise quiet evening.
      In the morning a stiff wind began to pick up, biting at their faces as they were forced by the mountains to turn toward the south-west. A recent dusting of snow was picked up and blown across the bleak landscape or was drawn skyward in little whirlwinds wherever those odd landforms lay which through their shape induced the otherwise invisible eddies. All the world was silent except for the howling wind, and the sun itself seemed to have been frightened away by the demonic moans as behind an impenetrable ceiling of dark clouds it hid.
      Just before noon their path began to turn again toward the west as the line of the mountains did the same. Now the foothills extended further out onto the desolate plain, and rather than riding around them the party ascended instead to their modest heights. The companions concluded that the wind must blow almost perpetually in this place, for most of the snow had been swept from the hilltops into the shallow valleys that lay between.
      It was just as they were emerging from one of these narrow vales that they had their first encounter of the day, for over the rise came galloping a band of sixteen Goblyns on Daonracht. By the time the companions saw the enemy bearing down on them it was too late to flee. Hastily drawing their weapons they engaged the charging spawn, but they were hit hard by the force of the rushing enemy and strove mightily to fend off the attacks. Only Alatar with Noromendor blazing had an easy time of it, for though the Green Flame bit through steel and flesh with ease, the others found it rather harder to dispatch their opponents, who not only had greater numbers, but also held the higher ground.
      Talen found himself beside Valainis, who twice came to the Elfling’s aid when he was nearly overpowered by his stronger opponent. The Goblyn which he fought wielded a long-bladed sword that had a considerably greater reach than Talen’s own modest blade, and the beast was highly skilled with the weapon. For long minutes Talen was able to do no more than parry the monster’s savage strokes, with nary a chance to make a thrust of his own, yet whenever he did so his blade was deflected by the beast’s armour. When finally the chance came to deliver a damaging blow it was in a place which had never before occured to the Elfling: the monster’s bare hand.
      Swinging as hard as he could Talen aimed for the hilt of the Goblyn’s lengthy sword. His stroke cut clean through the beast’s wrist, sending the hand and the weapon it still clutched twirling through the air. Yet, the Goblyn was not defeated, for after cradling his broken and oozing member he urged his steed forward and grabbed with his remaining hand at the Elfling’s cloak. Though Talen beat desperately at the monster’s head with his own sword’s pommel, the icy fingers maintained their iron clutch and the Elfling was pulled from his steed with the Goblyn still attached to him.
      The shock of landing on the frozen ground knocked the wind from the Elfling’s lungs, and for a second everything went black. Yet, he still could feel the spawn’s foul hand clutching his coat as the Goblyn struggled to climb atop the dazed Elfling.
      Now the beast grabbed the Elfling by the chest and thrashed him into the ground. Talen was desperate to do something, but he had dropped his sword and was too dizzy to clearly see what lay about him that he might use as a weapon. He thought that if only he could pick up a rock he might dash his assailant’s brains out and so end this terrible drubbing, but his hand fell on nothing but packed snow.
      When his vision had returned and he saw the Goblyn draw a dagger from his belt the Elfling finally despaired. He felt completely helpless, for his strength had been depleted by the frantic tumult. He watched with wide eyes as the beast held the dirk high above his head.
      Suddenly there was a flash of silver and Talen’s eyes burned as black blood ran into them. Not only was he not dead, but he also sensed that the Goblyn was no longer sitting upon him or even in contact with his body. He wiped his eyes and looked to see that the beast lay dead beside him, his head severed from his body and his dagger arm hanging by a thread. Nearby, Valainis was slicing through the neck of a riderless Daonrach with his ichor-soaked blade. He nodded once to Talen when he saw that the Elfling was all right.
      Quickly Talen gathered his wits and had a look about him. His sword lay in the snow not far away. Looking this way and that for any sign of nearby spawn he scurried over to the blade and scooped it up by the hilt. Now he needed to find Fenfoot. The animal had strayed a short distance from the fray, but he was not too far for Talen to reach him if he ran quickly, for as of yet no Goblyns had seemed to noticed the vulnerable Elfling.
      Reversing the grip on his sword he made a dash for the pony. As he was nearing the animal he saw a mounted Goblyn suddenly approaching from the right, but then Alatar was there with Noromendor. As the man thrust the blade into the monster’s back Talen saw a searing flame burst forth from the Goblyn’s chest. The beast shrieked in pain and then was silenced as Noromendor was withdrawn and quickly sliced off his hideous head.
      Once Talen had regained the back of his steed he rode again toward the fray, but there was little chance for him to help, for only two Goblyns remained. One of these took Burak’s axe Tuin in the chest and then fell to the ground with his black innards showing. Jumping calmly to the ground Burak approached the writhing monster and finished the job by chopping off his head. The other Goblyn soon was staring in surprise and disbelief at Berethir’s sword as it protruded from his well-armoured chest. When the massive blade was withdrawn the beast fell dead to the ground.
      The remaining Daonracht fled and the companions did not consider it worthwhile to chase them. They took stock of their wounds, which fortunately were all minor, and then set about cleaning the black ichor from their weapons and their clothes.
      ‘Thank-you,’ said Talen simply when he found Valainis cleaning his sword in the snow.
      ‘You need not thank me,’ said Valainis as he placed a kind hand on the Elfling’s shoulder, ‘for we are all brothers-in-arms and owe our unwavering allegiance to the company.’
      ‘Be that as it may,’ said Talen, ‘I feel I owe you my life, and if in this lifetime I can repay you for the deed, I will. That I swear.’
      The Elf nodded solemnly to the Elfling, who then left him to check on Falco.
      The other Elfling had had the very tip of a Goblyn blade pass through his ear lobe and was now holding a snowball against it.
      ‘It’s been bleeding quite a bit, but Alatar said that will stop soon,’ said the Elfling. ‘I’m supposed to keep the snowball on it till he comes back to bandage it.’
      ‘He will be fine,’ said the man to Talen as he returned briefly to look again at the Elfling. ‘Just keep that on there a bit longer. I need to look at Burak’s side once he gets his armour off, and then we will bandage your ear. The two of you appear to have fared the worst of us all. Otherwise, it looks like we came out of that quite well.’
      ‘Yes, considering the force of their attack, I’d say we held up pretty admirably,’ said Raavan. ‘Next time, however, we must not allow ourselves to be taken off guard. If their numbers had been half again as large as they were I fear things would have turned out drastically worse.’
      ‘Well, the spawn are only going to become more plentiful as we go west,’ said Burak.
      ‘That is why we must not engage them if we can help it,’ said Alatar. ‘We must stick to the high ground and stay always where we will be able to see them before they see us.’
      ‘I agree,’ said Raavan. ‘Ours was always to be a quest of stealth, and now is the time for us to begin practising that philosophy in earnest.’
      They soon found that this was easier said than done, however, for not long after they had resumed their westward trek they encountered another band of Goblyns, this one much smaller, which emerged suddenly from a grove not far ahead. Though the spawn seemed not to have noticed them at first there was little they could do to avoid attracting their attention, for the companions were plain to see as they rode out in the open. When the party engaged the four mounted Goblyns the Elflings were urged to hang back, for the others were quite enough to handle the spawn.
      As Noromendor flashed and Fheoir and Tuin poked and chopped, the four opponents were quickly reduced to three, then two, and then one. When the sole survivor turned to flee he found he had an arrow protruding from his neck. As he fell to the ground clutching at the barb he was overtaken by Meledrü, who gently removed the arrow at Valainis’ request before savagely hacking the Goblyn to pieces. Every arrow was precious, and the Elf was taking no chances.
      Soon enough they were on their way, and once again they made a conscious effort to be ever more vigilant. Their eyes wandered in all directions as they trotted through the deepening snow, yet they saw no further sign of any spawn till perhaps an hour before sunset. It was then that they spied a large column of Ghakhen marching up into the foothills from the plains below. No mounted Goblyns were seen in their company, however, and so the companions did not become overly alarmed, as they were in no immediate danger from the unmounted horde so long as their steeds remained fleet.
      Shortly before dusk they reached the River Tarmouth, which flowed from the Yultaurons down to the Tiúlmere some hundred miles to the south. This river separated Tolor on the east from Tath on the west. As the companions forded the shallow watercourse they suddenly felt violated, though whether because of the filthy water of the Tarmouth or because they now came into the land of the Deathlord, none could say, though some thought it likely a combination of the two.
      They went only some two miles beyond the river before halting for the night. Finding a shelter proved especially difficult, and in the end they made do with a hollow that had been scooped out by some large animal at the base of an immense rock. Here they lay in silence beneath their thick blankets, watching through drooping eyelids as Athrónath flickered faintly.
      As Talen drifted off to sleep the smell of Goblyn blood haunted his memory. In his early dreams he relived the terrifying moment beneath the Goblyn’s cruel dagger, but later he drifted back to the plain with the moon-lit tower. This time, however, rather than dragging a heavy sword toward the distant tor he dragged the corpse of a headless Goblyn. When he had nearly reached the tower he saw that the body had changed back into a great sword, and though he tried to understand the significance of the transformation, his slumbering mind could make no sense of the matter.
       
       
      They rose before first light. After downing a dry biscuit and seeing to the needs of their horses they continued on their way. Their trek through the open lands was about to come to a welcome end, for Meledrü informed them they were near to the slot that would lead them deep into the mountains. Here they would follow a secret Dwarven way that led to the northern end of the Cothrû Pass. From there they would cross to the far side of the mountains where they would follow the River Ulul nearly to Hélethrôn itself.
      Though Meledrü was not familiar with this secret route he found it with remarkable ease. This, he attested, was due in large part to the fact that the map which he had been provided covering this region was far more accurate than the last, not having been drawn, as it were, ‘by an elderly Dwarf with poor eyesight at two o’clock in the morning.’ For this they were all very grateful.
      The way now led up a steep incline toward a stone cliff that appeared to be but a dead end. When they were nearly to the top they saw however that the face of the cliff was interrupted by a narrow slot that tunneled obliquely into the rock, and into this they now were led by the Dwarf. They rode through a lengthy defile with high walls that arched overhead to nearly shut out the daylight from above. Soon the path began to zig-zag and to climb and fall, though it rose more than it fell. Although the passage seemed to have been formed naturally it had definitely been worked in places and was always just wide enough to admit a single rider.
      In time the slot opened into a secret gorge which they were sure was not visible from the foothills beyond the mountains, for they had seen no hint of it when they passed that way. At the bottom ran a frozen stream, and along this they rode as the widening ravine wound ever so slightly north of west. In time they came out into a great U-shaped valley strewn with many boulders. To the south they could see a great glacier that struggled to squeeze through the narrowing end of the valley to reach the open lands beyond.
      Northward the companions rode round the heaps and ridges of detritus left behind in the wake of the glacier. Burak explained that these moraines were valued by the Dwarves because they sometimes contained rare minerals that had been scooped up and brought to the surface mingled with the other sediment that had previously lain on top. Yet, now they were but a hindrance, for they rendered the land much more rugged, slowing the pace of the travellers as they strove to find their way through the jagged mess.
      Eventually they turned westward again into another narrow gorge and then the going was much easier. They made up for their earlier pace by nudging the horses into a modest gallop. They were not able to keep this up for very long, however, for as the land had been steadily rising over the last ten miles or so the air had become noticeably thinner, so that the steeds felt the effects of their labours more than they normally would.
      As the gorge opened up they saw that many of the surrounding peaks were hid by clouds. They began to feel as though they had entered another world: one of ice and rock, snow and haze. A coating of frost formed on beards and scarves, and on the muzzles of their steeds. The mountain goats had become both rarer and better clothed, for they had now donned thick, shaggy coats of white fur to protect them from the cold. And the companions began to catch glimpses of another beast which they had not seen in the lower lands: the great woolly mammoth. Though they only ever saw this animal from afar, it was plain that the beast was quite immense, and that its enormous ivory tusks made rather formidable weapons.
      By late afternoon they had descended again to lower elevations and were travelling in nearly a direct line toward the north-west. They had not yet reached the Cothrû Pass, though Meledrü assured them that according to his map it could not be far ahead. They picked up their pace once again and covered several miles more before evening began to settle about them. As the last hint of daylight slipped away they finally came to a halt. Yet, Meledrü pushed on ahead for a bit by himself, for he was convinced that the pass must be near.
      His conviction turned out to be correct. He returned within minutes to report that the pass was just over the next slope and a bit. When they had hurriedly remounted their steeds and followed the Dwarf they saw that they had indeed reached the pass, yet they were not at all pleased by what else they saw, for below the high ridge on which they stood were several hundred torch-bearing Ghakhen.