Chapter 15

The companions were quite alarmed at this newest development, for the only way forward was by a narrow path that descended to the road below. From there they had but a mile to go before reaching the end of the pass, and then they would have the open, desolate lands of Sraitheoir before them. Yet, backtracking along the way they had just come would cost them another day at least, and none were so bold as to suggest that they wander off that path and try to find another route through the tortuous mountains to the north.
      ‘Well, there is nothing we can do about it tonight,’ said Raavan when they had retreated some distance from the ledge. ‘We are all very tired, so let’s get some sleep and see what tomorrow brings. Perhaps by then this force will have moved further down the pass and then mayhap we can slip quickly through without trouble.’
      ‘Or maybe they are guarding this end of the pass,’ suggested Burak, ‘in which case they may not move at all.’
      ‘But why would they do that?’ challenged Berethir. ‘Cothrû is of little value to either side. I would have thought that they would just have ignored it completely. Why they are here at all baffles me.’
      ‘Nevertheless they are here and will need to be dealt with,’ said Raavan, ‘but not tonight. The light of morning has ever brought hope to those who saw none during the darkness of night. For now we can hope this will be the case when morning arrives.’
      And so they retreated yet further along the trail. They saw then that the main path went straight while their own footprints led off to the side down a wide slope that otherwise gave no hint that beyond it lay another trail. When they had gone back down the slope and round a bluff they came back with several tree branches and erased their footprints from the snowy slope. In this way they hoped that if the enemy ventured up from the pass below they would not stumble onto the companions’ camp.
      Athrónath glowed dimly through the early hours of night. Alatar and Raavan took the first watch with Airi perched some distance away in a tall conifer. They made do once again without the comfort of a fire, and so once again they each reflected as they drifted off to sleep how grateful they were to Baaragh for the warm clothing he had given them. They closed their fur-lined hoods just enough to cover their faces and still allow them to breathe, while in the distance the howling of wolves came to their ears as a wild, arctic lullaby.
      In the morning they were pleased to see that Raavan’s uncharacteristic optimism of the night before had been aligned with unexpected good fortune, for of the Ghakhen troops there was no sign except for their footprints on the road below. Whether the party would be able to slip unmolested from the pass still lay undetermined, however, for they could not tell from the trampled tracks which way the horde had gone.
      Yet, they had little choice but to push ahead in hopes that the way was clear. They rode northward now toward the end of the pass, which lay but a mile or so hence. Airi was sent ahead to scout the way before them. If any spawn were ahead the owl would see them without raising any suspicions and return with hoots of alarm. In the event that the party could not exit through the northern end of the pass they decided they would try exiting to the south instead, making their approach toward Hélethrôn along the River Atha instead of the Ulul. From there they still would have a chance of finding their way to the secret gates, though they would surely encounter many spawn on the way and would thereby face a much greater possibility of failure.
      They had gone somewhat over a mile when Airi returned to perch with wide eyes at the top of a low pine.
      ‘Are there spawn?’ asked Raavan of the bird.
      Hoot! said the owl in return.
      ‘Drat!’ said Burak. ‘Again our luck has betrayed us.’
      ‘Just a minute,’ said Raavan. ‘I want to see for myself. We must be nearly at the end of the pass. If they are few enough in number we may be able to break through.’
      ‘It’s definitely worth a try,’ said Alatar.
      With that, Raavan and Alatar rode cautiously forward, the others hanging back some distance. At a sharp turn in the road the two dismounted and went ahead on foot while the others remained behind with their steeds. It was not long before the scouts had returned.
      ‘Thirty,’ said Raavan.
      ‘Thirty what?’ asked Burak.
      ‘Thirty Ghakhen,’ answered the wizard. ‘I saw no Goblyns or even so much as a Daonrach.’
      ‘Can we win through?’ asked Berethir.
      ‘It will be tough,’ said the wizard. ‘They appear to be quite alert, and are all well-armed. But I think it is a risk we are going to have to take. The long way round to the south will involve its own share of dangers. We will probably meet ten times as many spawn that way, and though we may outrun some of them, many of them we will be forced to engage.’
      ‘I must agree with Raavan,’ said Alatar. ‘It is a risk, but not a greater one than we can reasonably hope to overcome. And our way beyond should be far safer than would be the southern route.’
      ‘Then let’s do it,’ said Berethir, drawing his great broadsword. ‘We will carve some Ghakh flesh before we are done, no matter the outcome.’
      ‘Well, then I guess I know what we’re all having for dinner,’ said Talen.
      ‘What’s that?’ asked the others.
      ‘Frizzled fingers, crunchy toes, and heaps of Ghakhen casserole... ’ sang the Elfling, to the great enjoyment of the others.
      ‘And don’t forget the spawn soufflé !’ said Berethir, barely able to contain his laughter.
      When their mirth had subsided and all were mounted again they prepared to make their charge. They would gallop together in a tight group, bearing to the left side of the widening road. The archers would feather as many of the enemy as possible before reaching their ranks, and would then draw their blades and fall behind the larger members of the company.
      Once the plan was in place they spurred their steeds on and rounded the final corner before coming into view of the enemy. Talen released the first shaft, followed by Falco and Valainis together. Three of the brutes had arrows in their chests before they knew what had hit them. Yet, the Ghakh was a ferocious beast, far more robust than Troells or Goblyns, and incomparably stronger than either. Of the first three to be targeted by the archers only one fell immobile to the ground while the others merely broke off the ends of the shafts and bared their teeth in heightened rage.
      Three more arrows left humming bowstrings, and then three more. Now the party was nearing the enemy, and the archers fell back to draw their swords. Already four of the spawn were dead, and two more were wounded. Now the three men crashed into the sneering, fanged brutes, their weapons clanking against the powerfully wielded spawn blades. Meledrü swung his broadsword in a powerful upstroke, splitting a Ghakh nearly in twain from his naval to his neck. Burak meanwhile sunk Tuin into another Ghakh’s chest with a sound both wet and crunchy.
      Though Valainis was able to dispatch two of the beasts with his own slender blade the Elflings were barely able to fend off the enemy’s strokes, for so savage and powerful were the Ghakhen that every parried blow nearly sent them from the saddle. Everywhere about them they saw the glistening fangs of the enemy, their bushy eyebrows and tiny eyes glaring at them with fierce hatred as great, muscular arms sent heavy blades swishing powerfully through the air.
      Yet they were making progress, for Fheoir and Noromendor, Tuin and Ardross and Lingwäe and Tochaireámh were indeed carving Ghakhen flesh from the bones like a butcher’s knife carves up a ham, and all the while the companions were pressing forward toward their freedom. A few moments more and they had won clean through.
      ‘Now ride!’ shouted Raavan, and so they did. Down the long slope they rode and on round the long arm of the mountain toward the west, till the pass was no longer even visible to them. Then they halted and gave themselves and their steeds a rest, for they desperately needed it. Once again they found themselves covered in spawn blood, this time the red-black ichor of Ghakhen. They wiped their blades in the snow, leaving the foul stain on the white landscape. Miraculously, no injuries were found among them, not even among their steeds, who of course were especially vulnerable, being unable to defend themselves in battle.
      When they felt sufficiently clean and rested they mounted up and hastened away toward the west, for the morning was wearing on and the eclipse was now less than a week away. The going was tough, for the snow was quite deep in places, yet they pushed on and covered as much ground as could be managed under the circumstances.
      By mid-morn they had the River Ulul to keep pace beside them. On their right slithered the ice-coated waterway while on the left marched the snow-covered mountains. They rode now along the southernmost margin of Sraitheoir, the icy land that extended to the top of the world and that was home to the terrible Sraithes. Just thinking about these horrible monsters of legend gave Talen a chill.
      ‘Raavan, I’ve just had a disturbing thought,’ said Talen as he rode beside the wizard. ‘What if those Ghakhen were not guarding the pass against an enemy, but rather keeping it open for an ally—such as the Sraithes? Could Silgoth be planning to call the Sraithes down upon Entira?’
      ‘A Sraithe requires no clear road in order to pass through the mountains,’ said the wizard. ‘They could simply fly over them if the need arose. But let us hope it does not come to that—they are a formidable opponent indeed!’
      ‘What are they, exactly?’ asked Talen. ‘I mean, are they like Ghouls, or Ghakhen, or more like Ghatâls?’
      ‘Or anything else starting with a letter G?’ added Falco with a laugh.
      ‘Of all the monsters whose names begin with a letter G, I’d have to say they are most like Ghouls,’ said Raavan with a quick grin, ‘though they are not really like Ghouls either, for a Sraithe exists mostly in the Úvani Plane, and only partly in ours. That is why a weapon often will pass completely through a Sraithe without harming it, or will cause only minimal damage. They are ethereal beings of great power.’
      ‘What do they look like?’ asked Burak.
      ‘Horrific,’ said Raavan. ‘Enough to drive many a bold warrior mad just from the sight. Their heads are bi-lobed with great pointing ears that extend out to either side almost like wings for the head. Below their glowing red eyes are the face-flaps which cover their ungodly mouths. If a Sraithe wraps his flaps round your head he will suck your very soul from your body. Though their talons are sharp and powerful and the creatures often wield a hideous sacrificial knife, it is the mouth which is to be most feared, for that mouth will suck the blood from your still-warm corpse after your soul has already been transported to Úvania for its thousand-year cycle of damnation.’
      ‘Stop!’ said Talen, plugging his ears. ‘I don’t want to hear any more!’
      ‘You did ask,’ said Raavan, shrugging his shoulders.
      ‘But not since Uruvar some three thousand years ago has anyone been able to exert control over the terrible   wraiths of Sraitheoir,’ said Valainis, ‘and so far as we know, Silgoth’s powers are not as yet comparable to those of Uruvar.’
      ‘Not yet,’ said Raavan.
      ‘But, might we not encounter any of these wraiths here in Sraitheoir, just wandering about in the wild?’ asked Berethir.
      ‘Not this far south,’ answered Raavan. ‘Many times have I travelled in this land without seeing them, though further north there are places where they are almost certain to occur. Of course, we won’t be visiting any of those places.’
      Though the wizard’s words were meant to be reassuring several among the group remained unconvinced, for they now had the image of the horrific wraith firmly in mind, and everywhere they looked they imagined there might suddenly appear a spectral figure flying over the land with frightful speed toward them.
      Though they all were eager to put this frigid land behind them they knew that it would take several days at least to reach their destination. When they halted for the day the consensus among those who had been charting their progress was that they had two full days to go before they could turn south to enter the mountains once again. In the meantime they would do their best to ward against the biting cold. From the north blew the chill winds as round the well-concealed fire they huddled. The howling voice of the winter god Tôr-Vy rang in their ears as they drifted off toward dreams of warmer climes or kept watch under the strange northern lights that sometimes were seen at these latitudes.
      It was on their second day out from Cothrû that they had their first frightful encounter in this dangerous land. Glancing northward across the river Talen saw him first: an enormous man some twenty-five feet tall, with bluish-white skin and a great, frost-encrusted beard, striding directly toward the unwitting companions.
      ‘Frost Giant!’ yelled Meledrü when Talen had raised the alarm.
      ‘Drat!’ said Raavan when he saw the leviathan approaching across the frozen river. ‘I was afraid we would end up encountering one of them. Follow me!’
      They rode ahead with all the speed they could muster, yet the ponderous pursuer could not be outrun. Raavan led them quickly into a dense stand of pines, and no sooner had the pack animal slipped in behind them than a great cudgel fell from the sky to create a wide crater in the snow. Boom! came the sound behind them as they turned to see the great weapon lifted again. Now the face of the giant appeared behind them as he peered in at the edge of the wood. The companions scurried forward hastily as a long arm reached toward them, too short to reach them, but only barely so.
      They went deeper into the woods, nearly to the very edge of the mountains, then continued along their westward bearing. Time passed, yet there was no sign of the towering hulk.
      ‘I think we have lost him,’ said Raavan when they paused to listen for any sound of pursuit.
      ‘That was close,’ said Berethir.
      ‘Yes, Frost Giants are no fun,’ agreed Raavan. ‘But there is one good thing: they have no love of spawn. At least we know they’re not likely to align themselves with the enemy in Tath.’
      ‘I’ll keep that in mind if I end up in the stomach of one,’ said Talen.
      ‘He’d probably be more interested in your pony than in you,’ said the wizard. ‘You see, it’s just meat they’re after. A body needs a lot of fuel to fight the incessant cold of this frozen land—especially a body of that size.’
      ‘Yes, but a body of that size also needs toothpicks with which to clean it’s teeth,’ said Talen, ‘and I fear my arms and legs would do rather nicely for the task.’
      At this the others laughed good-naturedly.
      ‘Have no fear, Talen,’ said Raavan. ‘I may be wrong about this, but I believe that our fate lies elsewhere than in the maw of a hungry giant.’
      ‘Meaning what, precisely?’ said the Elfling.
      ‘That a nobler and more memorable death likely awaits us ahead,’ offered Falco.
      ‘Thank-you, Falco,’ said the wizard dryly. ‘Next time I need my words bluntly translated I’ll look to you.’
      ‘You can always count on me,’ replied the Elfling.
      They travelled another two days along that narrow strip of land between the mountains and the river. No more encounters did they have with any Frost Giants, though they did spy one off in the distance. They spent the days slogging through deep snow and the nights huddled round a fire in a cave or similar sheltered place where the flames would not be seen by unfriendly eyes. When finally they reached the place where they were to turn south to enter the mountains they were grateful indeed, for they had come to resent the relentless arctic wind more than even the giants or the spawn, for it was always with them and could not be outrun.
      The way now led through a narrow defile that appeared to have been marked with many runes in ancient times, though the writing was now so faded as to appear almost as natural scoring in the rock face. Though the passage was mostly unworked they did on occasion ascend long stairways carved into the stone. Now they came to a long stretch where the walls were completely encrusted in icicles, and they had to go with great care, for the floor also was slick in many spots.
      Around noon they came to a stone arch into which many important-looking inscriptions had been set. Though these also were quite faded both the Dwarves knew what was written there, for this arch and its words were well known in Dwarven lore, even if their exact location was now known to only a few.
      ‘The Arch of Oronwé!’ said Burak with great reverence. ‘I did not know we would be passing through this historic portal.’
      ‘Yes,’ said Meledrü, ‘the three Kâlangates which we seek lie beyond in the Ruëne Vale.’
      ‘The ancient Valley of Kings,’ said Burak, shaking his head in wonder. ‘Truly have I been blessed if I am to set foot on such hallowed ground.’
      Through the arch they went and into the valley beyond. Though the place seemed no different to Talen than any other which they had seen in the mountains the Dwarves looked round them in wonder at this ancient resting place of their ancestors. When on occasion they came to some great stone monument or other they always stopped, if only for a moment, to gaze at the place and wonder which figure of legend rested there beneath the rock.
      The others remained alert as well, but for rather a different reason. They now were approaching the edge of the mountains which lay directly across the River Atha from Hélethrôn. They saw that the valley itself was riddled with caves, and it took no stretch of their imagination to guess that many of these were filled with vile creatures, whether aligned to the Deathlord or no. The companions were very tense indeed.
      Their first encounter came before they were midway down the ten-mile stretch of the ancient valley. Two Goblyns suddenly appeared, to assail them with swords held high while a third hung back to release an arrow at the nearest of the companions, who happened to be Burak.
      Though the arrow penetrated his outer cloak and stood protruding ominously from his chest, his sínitheal armour kept the shaft from entering his flesh. Yet at the moment the arrow struck the Dwarf’s cloak two others were penetrating the Goblyn archer, one in the chest and another in the neck. A third arrow passed clear through the neck of another of the assailants to land in the snow as the Goblyn fell dead. The third aggressor received a massive chop from Berethir’s broadsword which entered at his shoulder to cut clean through all but one of his ribs. He fell twitching to the ground as the companions looked on. They hastily continued their trek.
      Soon they located the first of the three Kâlangates behind a tall statue of a Dwarf with an upraised axe. Though they were able to enter the antechamber leading to the massive stone doors they found that the doors had long ago been thrown down and the passage beyond hopelessly blocked with rubble. This was not entirely unexpected, as these passages had gone unused for thousands of years and were unlikely to have been maintained by the spawn that now lived within. Yet the companions were quietly disappointed by the find, for if one gate was blocked, the thought crept into their minds that the other two may be blocked as well.
      First, however, the other gates needed to be located, and even that this could be done was in no way guaranteed. Though the first gate had been easily found the exact locations of the others were less well known and would require a bit of searching.
      They continued on down the valley keeping an eye out both for spawn and also for any sign of a Kâlangate. When they had gone perhaps a mile they saw the large obelisk-shaped monument which indicated they now were in the general vicinity of the second gate. It still was not known, however, on which side of the vale the concealed entrance lay.
      They searched for some time along the western edge of the narrow vale near the great obelisk, to no avail. Then, just as they were about to take their efforts across the ravine several arrows whizzed by their heads.
      ‘Damnable Goblurs!’ cursed Burak as they all cowered behind the massive monument.
      ‘Let our archers take care of them,’ said Raavan. ‘It is always best to fight fire with fire.’
      ‘Some would say it is better to fight fire with water,’ said Valainis as he drew a long arrow and stood suddenly to aim and release it in a single movement. A sharp cry from beyond indicated its arrival at the target.
      ‘I’d like to see you fight off a Dragon with only a pail of water, Elf,’ said Burak.
      ‘A pail of water would not do it, I’ll admit,’ replied Valainis as he drew another shaft. ‘But give me a lake and I may be able to devise something effective.’ Away sped the arrow, followed shortly by a second shriek.
      ‘Can Dragons swim?’ asked Falco as he released two bolts in rapid succession, both of them finding their mark.
      ‘Some can,’ answered Raavan. ‘But it is said that drowning is one of their worst fears. Mere water has indeed been the bane of more than one drake. So indeed has ice.’
      ‘I think I hear a story coming,’ said Burak.
      ‘O, I could tell you several,’ said Raavan, ‘but not right now. As soon as our archers finish toying with these Goblyns and decide to finish them off we must get on with our business.’
      Another arrow from the Elf’s bow and the job was done.
      ‘Toying?’ objected the Elf with mock incredulity as the others rose and made to continue with their task.
      ‘He’s right,’ said Berethir to the Elf. ‘You’ve not even broken a sweat. How can you call that real fighting?’
      ‘They’re dead aren’t they?’ replied Falco.
      ‘They are indeed, and for that we thank you,’ said Raavan with a pleasant chuckle.
      Again they continued their search for the lost Kâlangate. On either side of the ravine rose a steep cliff of crumbling rock and along this rough wall they searched for any signs of a secret door, yet none could be found. Another fifteen minutes they spent making a second pass over the cliff face before finally giving up.
      ‘Let us try for the third gate,’ said Raavan. ‘If we have no luck with that one we can always come back, but I hesitate to waste too much time searching for something which the long years may simply have swallowed up.’
      And so on they went down the long valley. It was late afternoon when they reached its end and turned back to search for the designated landmark. What they sought was a tall pillar of white marble which was purported to still be standing. When they failed to find the pillar they fanned out and swept the end of the valley for signs of its remains. They soon found it.
      The ancient pillar lay in several broken pieces. Just north of it they found the rune-marked wall which indicated that the Kâlangate was close at hand. The Dwarves found the gate itself, which appeared to the others as no more than an outline in the stone wall. Their next task was then to open it, but this proved relatively easy, for after the Dwarves had incanted a number of secret watchwords they finally hit upon the right one:
      Koreron!
      Suddenly the cracks outlining the doors deepened as the rock began to shake and all the accumulated dust fell away. A mechanical grinding was heard within and seconds later the doors swung outward. As they peered within they saw that the way was unblocked for as far as could be seen in the dim light.
      ‘Welcome to Kilu-kânan,’ said Meledrü as he motioned toward the open portal.