beaten off grim monsters half seen in the night, and it was said that many had lost their lives to the ghastly creatures. This land had been shunned by all except those who had no choice but to cross it, or by those adventurers who sought fame, most of whom did not live to grasp their glory. Fell were the beast said to live herein, and fell, too, were the Foul Folk who reveled in its environs. And into this baleful place rode two paltry Warrows, following a road that would not set them free of its dread for eighty perilous miles.
Both Tip and Beau felt their hearts hammering with foreboding at the thought of entering this dread wood, for herein were said to live nightmares. Yet they had no choice and on they went, into the grim woods, and the wan winter light fell dull among the dark and grasping branches.
All about them clustered dim enshadowed woods, blackness mustering in ebon pools within. Stunted undergrowth clutched desperately at the frozen rocky ground, and barren trees twisted upward out of gloom-cast snow to grasp at the leaden sky, the jagged branches seeming ready to seize whatever came within reach.
Beau looked deep into the entangled dark galleries and hissed, 'Lor', Tip, if ever anything held a black heart, this is it.'
Tipperton nodded grimly, and urged his pony ahead.
Throughout the dismal day they rode, and at times walked, ever following the eastward trek, riding at a goodly pace or striding at a swift clip, for they did not wjsh to spend a moment more than necessary in these woeful woods.
They had not come to the central region when the unseen sun began to set, drawing gloom behind. Reluctantly they headed away from the road and in among the dark gnarl to find a place to camp. Neither one wanted to spend even a single night in this dreadful place, yet heeding Gaman's advice to travel only during the daylight hours, they searched for an out-of-the-way site. At last they came to a small clearing, and while Beau took the pine boughs they had saved and walked back to the road to sweep away the signs of their passage within, Tipperton tethered the ponies and unladed them and then fed them some grain.
That night during Tip's first watch, the slightest sound caused him to jerk up and peer this way and that for sign of danger, yet without starlight he could see nothing whatsoever. Even so, he listened on high alert. Whatever made these slight sounds-voles, a waft of air ticking branch upon branch, one of the ponies shifting, or something else altogether-he could not determine its cause. And he had visions of something unseen creeping upon them. But in spite of his foreboding, when it came his turn to sleep, exhausted as he was he immediately fell into a deep, dreamless slumber. Yet it seemed to Tip that he had no more than put his head down ere Beau was shaking him by the shoulder.
'Tip. Tip,' hissed Beau. 'Wake up. Something. A light. A sound.'
Tipperton scrambled up. 'Where?' he whispered, his heart pounding.
'East. In the east.'
Tip faced eastward, and in the far distance, flickering among the dark trees, he saw a pinpoint of light… and then another mote, and another, and another, as more and more lights appeared afar. And there sounded a faint beat, muted by distance.
Tip sucked air in between his teeth, and he started to say, 'What do you think-?' when there sounded a faraway blat echoing among the trees.
'Lor',' hissed Beau, 'that was a horn.'
With his heart in his throat, Tip fumbled about on the ground and located his bow and arrows. Swiftly he strung the weapon, and slipped the harness of the quiver over his head and shoulder. 'Get your sling, Beau. We may need it.'
'I've already got it in hand, but whether or no I can hit anything in the dark, well…'
'Maybe it'll be eight feet tall.'
Light after light continued to appear, and they seemed to be drawing closer.
'I think they're torches,' hissed Beau.
'On the road,' added Tip. 'Torchlight coming along the road.'
'Do you think whatever, whoever, they are, they're searching for intruders? Searching perhaps for us?'
'I don't know.'
Behind them a pony shifted uneasily.
'Oh, Lor',' hissed Beau. 'The ponies. We have to keep them quiet.'
Using their scarves and a bandage from Beau's medical kit, quickly the buccen improvised blindfolds and covered the horselings' eyes.
There sounded another blat of a bugle, and still the beat pounded, as of a muffled drum.
More torches appeared-an endless stream, it seemed.
Tip and Beau held the ponies and murmured soothingly.
Yet the flaring brands drew closer, and now the buccen could hear faint chirpings, as of axles turning. And the drum grew louder, its beat augmented by the crack of whips.
Onward came the torches and drum and whips and horn and squealing axles, and mingled among it all, now the buccen heard voices, rasping and guttural, shouts and commands in a language neither knew. And the ground shook with the tramp of feet.
'Are we far enough off the road?' whispered Beau.
'If we're not,' murmured Tip, 'it's entirely too late to move.'
Now the marchers drew abreast and could be seen through a gap in the trees.
'Adon,' breathed Tip, 'it's an army, a horde of Spawn, moving west along the road.' 1
'But that's toward Twoforks, Beacontor, Stonehill- Oh, Lor', toward the Bosky, too. Oh, Tip, where are they going?'
'I don't know, Beau,' gritted Tipperton. 'Perhaps to one of the places you named, though they could just as well turn north and head for Challerain Keep in Rian, or south into Rell and beyond. But no matter where they're headed, there's nothing we can do about it now. Nothing whatsoever.'
With hearts hammering, through the gnarl of trees Tip and Beau watched helplessly as Rucks bearing torches tramped along the road, Hloks lashing whips at any who strayed, driving them back into line. The muffled drum beat steadily, meting out the pace, and now and again a Rucken bugle signaled a command, but what it might be, the buccen could not say.
Wagons hove into view 'Adon!' gasped Tip, for the wains were drawn by huge, shambling creatures, ten feet tall and more. Like giant Rucks they seemed, but no Rucks were these.
'What are they?' sissed Beau.
'Ogrus, I think,' replied Tip. 'I've never seen one before, but what else can they be?'
Indeed they were Ogrus, called Trolls by some, but Ogrus nevertheless. And they drew the heavy wains down the road, axles chirping and screeching as the heavy wooden wheels turned 'round.
And then helish steeds passed by, bearing pallid riders the size of men, corpselike yet alive and wielding jagged spears. The steeds themselves resembled horses, but they were hairless and scaled, with long snakelike tails.
Now a foul odor drifted faint through the air, and it was all the Warrows could do to keep the ponies from squealing out and bolting, the stamp of their hooves unheard above the sounds of the passing Swarm.
And still the Horde marched past, feet tramping, drums thudding, bugle blats echoing now and again, armor jingling, hooves clopping, axles screeching, whips lashing, guttural commands barking out, and torchlight eerily casting flickering light among the dreadful recesses of dark Drearwood.
And the line now stretched beyond seeing to east and west., Tip and Beau held onto the ponies and whispered soothing words as the nighttide passed through its depths and began the long climb toward morning… and the end of the Horde was not in sight as more and more Spawn tramped past.
Yet, at last, just ere the sky began to lighten with the coming dawn, the last of the Swarm passed and the light of the torches and tramp of feet and squeal of axles and whip-cracks and shouts and the beat of drums faded into the west until they could be seen and heard no more.
The Horde had gone at last.
And dawn came.
Exhausted from their all-night vigil, the Warrows groaned as dismal day broke upon Drearwood.
'We must go on,' said Tip, 'for I will not spend one moment longer than absolutely necessary in these dreadful woods.'
