Chapter 8

The rest of the afternoon was spent in the king’s study, where many a map of Entira was unrolled across a desk or on the floor. General Duruk, a grim and serious Dwarf with jet-black hair and equally dark eyes joined them as they considered possible strategies for an invasion of Tath. Meanwhile the Elflings sat quietly in a corner and observed the serious business of planning a war. They had seen this done many times before, in places ranging from Arnedia to Pencairn to Valassea.
      What the pair began to find rather interesting were the different perspectives of each of the races when confronted with the same theatre of operations. Whereas the men of Arnedia and Pilinon emphasised the unique abilities and strategic value of mounted swordsmen with somewhat less emphasis on archers, the Elves were more concerned with the latter, mounted or not. Whereas the men had knowledge and experience with great war engines such as the siege tower and the ballista, the Elves gave more thought to moving large forces stealthily so as to come at the enemy unawares.
      Now they saw that the Dwarves had their own particular concerns, for whereas a Dwarf will readily ride a pony, he prefers not to engage the enemy while mounted. Thus, the prefered mode of transportation for the Dwarves was the waggon, which could be used to transport large numbers of Dwarven warriors efficiently to the battlefields where they would engage the enemy on foot.
      Though some Dwarves were proficient with a broadsword, most prefered to go into battle wielding a two-handed war axe. The Dwarven axes were of particular interest to the Elflings, as they had never wielded one, having only ever fought with the bow or the sword.
      The typical Dwarven axe was double-bitted, having quite a long edge of large radius. They were kept relatively light, however, by designing the blade so that the upper and lower margins were steeply concave as they curved from the cutting edge toward the haft. In this way less metal was used in their manufacture, resulting in a relatively light weapon that could be wielded with great dexterity by a warrior of sufficient strength and skill. The metal itself was forged to be much stronger than steel, so that to break the blade of such a weapon would require the application of tremendous strength indeed.
      All these things the Elflings learned from Burak during their stay at Mornaru, for though the Belling Hills Dwarf was technically a visitor to this place, he acted as something of a tour guide for the companions while they were here, sharing much information with them concerning Dwarven craft and industry.
      That night they dined with King Baaragh, though the meal was in no wise a social event. The Dwarf had much to occupy his mind, given all the dire news which Raavan and company had brought. What talk there was centered on the details of the companions’ adventures which had escaped the first telling. At the end of the meal Baaragh informed them that he had ordered six full crews to begin work immediately on clearing the Egladhren Pass, and that they had been instructed to continue without rest till the job was finished.
      After dinner the party resumed their work in the king’s study. Baaragh grudgingly showed the companions where on a map the Dragon’s lair was reputed to be. As he was unable to provide a detailed description of the site, however, he sent for another Dwarf—Dordrü—who had himself been to that very spot, though he had not entered the Dragon’s lair.
      While a servant was sent to summon this other Dwarf it was explained that Dordrü was in command of a military escort that accompanied the Dwarven supply waggons and trade caravans that travelled along the Yultauron Mountains. As such, he was kept aware of the many threats faced by travellers in Tolor. Though Dwarven parties were now rarely targeted by Dragons, their distrust for the beasts had hardly waned and it still was considered prudent to steer wide of a drake or his lair whenever possible.
      Soon the commander had arrived and was briefing the companions on his knowledge of the lair. It was explained that some years ago he had led a small group into the mountains some fifty miles north-west of Sochail on reports that a golden Dragon had been repeatedly sighted perching on a high peak there. They had climbed and explored the area for days and were just about to abandon the effort when they sighted the drake soaring high on the winds, drifting slowly up from the south. Eventually he spiraled down and alighted on a rocky ledge which afforded a grand view of the surrounding lands. The Dwarven party had watched quietly from a distance, not wishing to attract the beast’s attention. Finally the beast crawled down from the ledge into the hidden entrance of a cavern below. This, they believed, was his lair.
      ‘And you remember the exact location of this ledge?’ asked Raavan.
      ‘I do indeed,’ said Dordrü, ‘though whether I could explain its location to you is another matter. There is a bit of climbing involved in getting to it, so a simple map would likely not suffice.’
      ‘How far is it from the highway?’ asked Raavan. ‘How long do you think it would take to make the climb?’
      ‘I could probably make the climb in under an hour, but I’m an expert climber,’ said Dordrü. ‘Also, the highway does not pass close to the mountains at that point, so you would need to travel about fifty miles north from the road.’
      Raavan sat quietly in thought for a moment, then turning to the Dwarf he asked, ‘How would you like to guide us there?’
      ‘And then what?’ asked Dordrü.
      ‘For you?’ said Raavan. ‘Nothing. Just point out the entrance to his lair and you can go home. Only I will be actually entering the beast’s den.’
      ‘What does Your Highness think?’ asked Dordrü of Baaragh.
      ‘I have no objection,’ said the king, ‘though I do think it will be rather a shame to lose such a fine wizard.’
      ‘O, hogwash!’ said Raavan dismissively. ‘I will emerge with the beast completely tamed, as it were a poodle on a leash.’
      ‘Hmmph! I would like to see that,’ said Baaragh.
       
       
      Before they were allowed to go to their beds Baaragh insisted on showing the companions his extensive collection of Goblyn skulls. It was set up like a museum, with two entire rooms dedicated to the exhibit. In the centre of the first room was a stone dais supporting a fine glass case framed with gold. Within was the skull of what had obviously been a rather large Goblyn.
      ‘My first one,’ said the king, beaming with great pride.
      ‘It’s enormous,’ said Falco.
      ‘Yes, he was,’ said Baaragh. ‘And strong, too. How else do you think he would have been able to take my eye? Aye, but he paid for that. I took both his eyes, and the head they were attached to.’
      ‘And that was after he had stabbed you in the eye?’ wondered Falco. ‘You must have been in terrible pain!’
      ‘Aye, lad, I was,’ answered the king, ‘and the truth is I could barely see out the other eye with all the sweat running down my face. But that’s why I had such difficulty making a clean cut through his neck. I kept missing. I must have cut off both his arms and quite a considerable portion of each shoulder before I finally was able to sever the head. And the poor bastard screamed something awful until I did. I really deserve credit for putting him out of his misery.’
      ‘Of course you do, Baaragh,’ said Raavan.
      For the next forty-five minutes Baaragh proceeded to show them his collection, describing in minute detail the circumstances surrounding his acquisition of each Goblyn crown. The Dwarven king even ventured to speculate on a possible relation between brain size and fighting ability in the species, though he readily admitted that he would have to greatly expand his collection before he would be able to draw any conclusive inferences on the matter, for his sample size, he lamented, was far too small.
      Yet, when Raavan pointed out that the coming war with Silgoth should provide ample opportunity for him to enlarge his collection the king seemed genuinely excited by the prospect. From the lustful look in his eyes when they left him they guessed that he would pass the night in lurid dreams of Dwarven axes and Goblyn necks.
      They were not mistaken.
      Talen’s dreams were rather less enjoyable than the king’s. All night long the Elfling was forced to run across a dark plain dragging behind him a heavy sword which he could barely lift, with his goal being a dark tower that stood in silhouette against a full moon on the horizon. Within the tower he knew he would meet a foe both great and deadly, against which he had no hope of prevailing. Yet he must go on and face the enemy alone, for he had been chosen to perform an important task. But try though he might, he could not remember who had set him this task, nor could he recall the essential advice he had been given for overcoming his far more powerful adversary.
      In the morning they broke their fast and then checked on the condition of their steeds. The guards had stabled them outside with the Dwarves’ many ponies. Alatar personally checked on each animal, running it briefly in the courtyard to check for any signs of lameness. When it was seen that Huri was still limping on the injured leg they arranged with Baaragh to exchange the pony for a fresh one.
      The king also offered to replenish their supplies, and though they were not running low on anything other than lossara leaves (which the Dwarves did not stock) they gratefully accepted his offer. What pleased them rather more was his offer to provide them with warmer clothing, for they soon would be travelling through some of the coldest parts of Entira, with the end of the year still approaching. They were given woollen underwear, fleece hose and doublets, and down-filled surcoats to wear over top of their armour.
      Once they had donned their new clothes they took leave of the king with handshakes and mutual wishes of well-being and luck in battle. Then they left Mornaru through the back entrance, which sent them travelling north across a wide, circular gap in the mountains. High mountain peaks towered in every direction, and a goodly layer of trampled snow covered the road.
      Dordrü would accompany them as far as the Dragon’s lair and then turn back to join the force that would retake Foireách from the west. Taoren had departed earlier from the southern gate for his return to Merethir. He would take to Ceirdain word of Baaragh’s plans for a concerted attack on Foireách. With luck, the three main passes over the Greywall Mountains would be securely held by the allies, permitting the eastern kingdoms to commence their march on Tath.
      At present, however, all three passes were still held by hostile forces: Penyandil and Foireách by spawn, and Egladhren by Lady Winter. Yet, word had arrived earlier that morning that the Dwarven engineers were near to completing the task of clearing the winding mountain road and that the job should be finished when the party arrived at the far end of the pass.
      Just reaching the nearer end of the slot took them several hours. When they arrived there they saw that Egladhren was somewhat lower in elevation than Foireách, but that the road was far more treacherous, for there were many stretches along those ten miles where the lane was bordered on one side by a sheer drop of many tens of feet. In these places the road often ran close along the face of a cliff that would tower high above the travellers. Whenever snow accumulated in such places it tended to form long drifts that were supported on the one side by the cliff face to slope down over the narrow road toward the precipice.
      In this slanted world of ice and snow the weary traveller faced many dangers, for beneath the deceptively smooth surface of the snow drifts lay the unseen features and variabilities of the road. Though the Dwarves did their best to keep up maintenance during the warmer months, occasional rock slides and earthquakes imposed their will by reshaping the road in often subtle yet dangerous ways. Yawning crevasses and piles of loose rubble alike were easily hid from view by the blanketing snow, and as a deadly fall over the ledge was never more than a few steps away in these places, sure footing was absolutely essential for survival.
      Entering the pass the party saw that the Dwarves had done quite an effective job of clearing away both snow and ice. Dangerous spots such as potholes and fissures were marked with hastily dumped piles of bricks, which they presumably would use at some later time to make repairs. Yet, no Dwarves did they encounter anywhere along the ten-mile trek, till near the very end, where it was seen that the clearing crew had encountered the remains of a massive landslide. Upon consulting with the lead engineer Dordrü was assured that this obstacle would be no more than a minor inconvenience for the crew and that they would have the way cleared in little more than an hour.
      In the meanwhile the travellers waited and watched with interest as the Dwarves applied their impressive knowledge of engineering to the task at hand. They had brought with them great machines of wood and steel that they rolled along on enormous wheels. With great winches and levers they were able to move masses of rock that even a team of strong Dwarves would be otherwise unable to budge. All of this heavy rubble was pushed over the ledge to crash far below with an echoing report. Any small debris that remained was swept away by a great sweeping-machine that through the operation of a great crank and many gears was made to whisk the detritus to one side by the application of a revolving wheel of brushes.
      As promised, the Dwarves had finished their work before the companions had waited much over an hour. With many a thank-you they bade the Dwarves good-bye and then continued on their way, first north for a piece and then following the road as it began to curve westerly around the mountain spur. Already it was early afternoon, and only a few hours of daylight remained. Soon the misery of night would be upon them, for to their north lay the perpetually frozen plains of Úructhu which stretched to the very top of the world, and across those plains blew the icy winds of Tôr-Vy, god of winter.
      They continued to negotiate the snow-covered road with as much haste as they dared. In late afternoon the track turned again toward the north to skirt another mountain spur that thrust out into their path. By the time the road had again turned westward darkness had fallen and they were compelled to make camp.
      Though they were not in a particularly safe area owing to the Oghors that lived in the mountains and even to the Frost Giants that occasionally came down out of Úructhu, they decided to risk a fire. Their new winter clothing was doing wonders to keep them all warm, but they had a care for their steeds and wished to spare them a night of shivering, in hopes that they would run the stronger for it the following day.
      Airi of course showed no dislike for the extreme cold, for, being of a hardy northern species, he was well adapted to the freezing temperatures. By this time he was fully acclimatised to the change in weather and had begun to adapt his predatory habits to fit his new surrounds. Reverting back to his winter behaviour he began regularly to fly ahead to perch in low snags during the day where he could listen intently for sounds of rodents moving about beneath the snow. From a distance the companions could see that his hunting technique was well honed when, suddenly diving feet-first into the snow, he would nearly always emerge with a mouse or a rat hanging limply in his beak.
      Though they had managed to position the fire so that it would be sheltered from view they nevertheless set a double watch that night. When Talen’s turn at sentry came he sat listening to the howling wind, gazing up at the night sky while Falco whetted and polished his Elven blade. The sword had become a valuable asset to the entire party, for during the nights Falco now left it unsheathed in a prominent place near the fire so that those on watch would be immediately warned should its blade take on the telltale crimson hue.
      They awoke to grey skies heavy with the promise of snow. The wind had not abated much overnight and when it came time for all to mount up and leave the camp fire behind they found that they longed to linger near its warm glow. Yet on they went, following the road south-westerly as it led them toward the junction between the two great mountain ranges of Entira: the Yultaurons stretching along the northern edges of Tath and Tolor, and the Greywalls running obliquely from Mornaru in the north to Pilinon in the south.
      Situated at the very junction of these two ranges was the Sochail Pass, the next important goal on the company’s journey to distant Hélethrôn. Though they expected this landmark to be of rather less strategic value to the enemy than Penyandil and Foireách to the south, they could not discount entirely the possibility that it might be already in enemy hands. For this reason they now increased their pace considerably, though there was yet a foot of snow on the road. Still, their steeds appeared to be holding up well, having presumably benefited from the extra half day of rest at Mornaru, brief though that was.
      As noon passed and the day wore on they pushed their steeds even harder, for they wished to have Sochail safely behind them before night fell. Evening was coming on quickly when finally they sighted the pass ahead. Though they all knew that to negotiate a mountain pass in the dark or in a hurry was unwise (and doubly so in combination) they rushed forward as the daylight began rapidly to fade.
      Of course, they hadn’t nearly enough time to reach the far side of the lengthy slot before it was fully dark, and to make matters worse it started to snow before they had gone even halfway. Though Sochail was far less treacherous than Egladhren, there were, nevertheless, ample opportunities for mishaps.
      Thus, when the darkness had finally descended and the snow began to fall heavy all around them they slowed their pace to a crawl. Inching along they saw quite a number of side tracks and even a few smallish caves near at hand, yet they steadfastly refused to even consider camping in the mountains, so determined were they to reach the far side that very night.
      It was late indeed when finally they began to make their descent onto the plains of Tolor. The darkness and the snow prevented their taking in a view of the land they had newly entered, yet as they descended from the pass they felt a sense of relief at having finally escaped the clutches of the Greywall Mountains.
      As they all were quite weary their next immediate goal was to find a suitable spot in which to camp. The icy winds of Tôr-Vy had been left behind in Úructhu, but they had yet the chill Tolorian air with which to contend. They decided that it would be worthwhile to risk a fire as the falling snow would shield the flames from view. They turned northward from the road, Raavan leading with Talen’s Hemiglobe in hand, in search of any sheltered grove or stand of trees where they could procure the fuel for a goodly flame.
      It was then that they noticed a cluster of torch lights suddenly appear in the distance off to their left. Raavan quickly hid the glowing orb, and the companions froze in their tracks as voices now reached their ears from the approaching party.
      ‘Spawn!’ hissed Raavan with alarm.
      ‘A whole Ghakhen horde, by the sound of it,’ said Alatar.
      ‘Quickly!’ urged Raavan. ‘Follow me!’
      Swiftly the wizard led the companions northward through the blinding snow with no light to illuminate their path and no time to choose their way with any great care. They knew not whether their light had been spied by the enemy before it was shielded by the wizard, but they knew for certain that their tracks were readily visible in the snow and that should they be pursued their only hope was in speed.
      Rushing blindly through the dark was of course dangerous in itself. Fortunately they had sense enough to halt after a short time and listen for any indication of pursuit. Though they heard none, they fancied that in the distance they could just hear the clanking of chains and the falling of many feet with a heavy thud on the snow-packed road.
      ‘I don’t think they saw us,’ concluded Berethir.
      ‘They may just not be interested in giving chase at the moment,’ said Raavan. ‘They’ve probably got orders to secure the pass. If that’s the case then they likely will avoid any other engagements till they have completed their task.’
      ‘Then that gives us time to put a greater distance behind us,’ said Berethir.
      ‘Indeed,’ said Raavan, ‘though I would like to know for sure what manner of force this is. If they are only infantry, then we need not ride all night for fear of their catching up. Also, if their force is small they may not be able to spare any of their number to track down an anonymous group of travellers.’
      ‘So we’re going to go back?’ said Talen with surprise.
      ‘No, we aren’t,’ said Raavan, ‘but Airi is .’
      Turning round in his saddle the wizard now held out his arm for the bird, who had been riding behind him on Windaris’ rump. Hopping up onto Raavan’s forearm the bird cocked his head to receive the wizard’s instructions. When they had been whispered into his auriculars the bird was away, flapping silently back the way they had just come. He was gone some minutes, during which time Raavan assumed a posture of intense concentration, his eyes closed and covered tightly with one hand.
      Finally the wizard relaxed again as with open eyes he looked up expectantly for the arrival of his feathered familiar. Within seconds the bird appeared, to perch again on the back of Windaris.
      ‘Well?’ asked Burak expectantly.
      ‘Ghakhen,’ confirmed the wizard, ‘as I had suspected. They appeared to be about thirty strong.’
      ‘No Goblyns?’ asked Alatar.
      ‘I didn’t see any,’ answered the wizard, ‘but Ghakhen rarely travel alone—they’ve barely enough intelligence to swing a blade, and generally need to be told at whom to swing it.’
      ‘Then where is their leader?’ asked Falco.
      ‘That is precisely the point, Mr. Whiteleaf,’ said Raavan: ‘I don’t know. If the Ghakhen were accompanied by mounted Goblyns then we may have a bit of a problem, for if they observed us fleeing they may well turn back to follow our trail just as soon as the pass is secured.’
      ‘Well, hadn’t we better get away, then?’ suggested the Elfling.
      ‘My dear Falco, how utterly brilliant!’ said Raavan.
      Turning about, the wizard now led the companions on into the storm. Soon they had resumed their use of the Hemiglobe to light their way, though as the snow was falling even more heavily now it did little to improve their vision beyond a few feet. As far as they could tell, they still were travelling roughly north, along what would be the easternmost spur of the Yultauron Mountains.
      They continued riding slowly in this way for several hours, till at what they felt was probably the mid of night they hastily set up camp in a small wooded hollow. Here they wrapped themselves in thick blankets and fought off the cold without the aid of a fire, for none wished to take any risks that night. Airi again stood watch with the others, while Falco’s Elven blade spoke of no evil, neither near nor far.
      By morning the snow had ceased to fall, though none doubted that it could resume at any time, for low clouds drifted restlessly by from the north-east. Before setting out, the groggy companions took the time to build a fire and down a generous portion of hot tea. As he quaffed the piping beverage Talen suddenly recalled that in a prior life he had actually lived inside a house and slept in a real bed, and took honey with his tea. Imagine that! he thought to himself. And now he was happy just to sit before a warm fire and drink anything hot, honey or no.
      Dordrü announced upon scanning their surrounds that they were not now terribly far from the Dragon’s lair. When they were ready to set out they dumped snow on the fire and struck the camp. Soon they all were mounted again and were making their slow way north toward the curving arm of the Yultauron Mountains, which separated Tolor from the brutally inhospitable plains of Úructhu. The further they went the more westerly turned the great mountain range, till they found that they could proceed no further north and must instead bear westerly to ride parallel with the mountains.
      It was close on noon when finally Dordrü called a halt and pointed up the slope of the nearest mountain. There at some distance they could discern a small ledge of sorts that was devoid of any vegetation and even noticeably free of snow. It was there that their quarry had on occasion been seen to perch, according to the Dwarf, and his lair, which was not visible from most angles, could be found just left of that ledge.
      Though Raavan seemed fairly confident that their interview would proceed ‘in an entirely civil fashion,’ he nevertheless insisted that they observe a degree of prudence by leaving their steeds in a sheltered spot well out of view. Not far from the base of the mountain they found such a place amid a modest stand of pines, and here it also was decided the main company should wait behind while Dordrü led Raavan up to the lair.
      ‘Are you sure you want to go through with this?’ asked Berethir one final time.
      ‘I’m quite sure,’ said Raavan.
      ‘And if you are eaten, or roasted alive, then how will we know of it?’ asked Burak. ‘Are we to just wait here till we freeze to death?’
      ‘I plan to be back here before sunset,’ said the wizard. ‘If I am not back by then, it means that I am not coming back at all.’
      ‘Very well,’ said Burak.
      The companions watched gravely as the wizard prepared to go.
      ‘Ah, there is one other thing,’ said the wizard. ‘I need a volunteer—someone to come with me into the beast’s den—preferably someone small, and who is able to move very, very quietly.’
      All eyes fell on the Elflings.
      ‘You can’t be serious,’ lamented Talen.
      The wizard blinked.
      ‘I will go,’ said Falco quietly.
      ‘No, you won’t,’ said Talen.
      ‘Excuse me?’ replied Falco with some irritation.
      ‘I will go,’ said Talen reluctantly.
      ‘Why should you go and not I?’ demanded Falco.
      ‘Because you are more valuable to the mission,’ said Talen. ‘You are the better archer and you carry the Elven blade which according to the seeress’s vision will sever the Thread. You must reach Hélethrôn alive, for I believe that is your destiny, on which the fate of Entira may well rest.’
      Though Falco protested Talen’s words with much huffing and puffing he could construct no convincing rebuttal to this logic, and in the end he was left behind.
      ‘Quite an excitable little fellow, that Falco,’ said Dordrü to Raavan and Talen when the three were out of earshot.
      ‘He is very strong-willed,’ agreed Raavan. ‘And he is quite deadly with a bow, though whether his aim is strictly better than Talen’s I am not entirely sure.’
      ‘I may be close, but Falco is the better shot,’ said Talen.
      ‘And what was all that about a vision and a seeress?’ asked the Dwarf.
      ‘We were shown a prophecy of sorts during our passage through Merethir,’ explained the wizard, ‘though just how prophetic it will turn out to be I cannot say, and have my doubts.’
      ‘Raavan, if you did not agree with either of my arguments for leaving Falco behind, then why did you not contradict me before?’ asked Talen.
      ‘Because it really makes no difference, Mr. Featherby, as none of us are going to be in any significant danger,’ said Raavan with a smug smile.
      ‘So you say!’ said Talen.
      ‘You must trust me, my good Elfling!’ said the wizard. ‘Am I not, hands-down, the most illustrious wizard who ever has stood beside you in battle?’
      ‘You are the only wizard who has ever stood beside me in battle,’ replied the Elfling.
      ‘Well, there you have it,’ said the wizard.