Earlier, a count showed mat three and seventy Rutcha and one Drokh had fallen to the riders; and in the predawn the carrion were dragged down out of the defile and flung into a ravine, where the coming of the Sun would shrivel them to dust, as Aden's Ban decreed. The Wrg weapons were gathered, and in dull rage the riders snapped the blades and shattered the hafts and bent the iron bars beyond repair, and these, too, were cast into the ravine.
In midmorn, Didion and Ged returned to the defile and sought out Brytta. 'Sire,' said Didion, drawn and weary,
'long we hunted, and this we found.' He held up an arrow, broken in twain, covered with dried black Wrg gore. Brytta examined it closely and grunted; it was his. 'Yet,' Didion went on, 'no Drokh did we find, not near nor far; and by dawn's light we searched even unto the snow line. At the first, a spotted trail we followed, and quickly found the arrow. Soon the trail diminished, at last to disappear on the edge of a deep crevasse with a black still pool at bottom. Ged, here, climbed down while I cast about, but neither he nor I found aught else.'
'Skut!' spat Brytta, flinging the fractured arrow from him and looking bitterly at his broken hand. 'The Drokh may have been but fleshwounded, snapping the arrow in twain and pulling it through himself. As to the Wrg's fate thereafter, we know not whether he pitched off into the crevasse by accident, or while dying, or not at all. He may have escaped entirely; if so, then even now word goes forth to Gnar.
'Yet you have done all I could ask, and though, no Drokh was found, feel no blame; the hand that failed was mine.' And Brytta dismissed the two and cast himself to the ground. And he sat with his back to the wall, and his brooding stare bore into the stone opposite him. His mood was black and bitter, and in his eyes lurked fault.
Yet after a long while of smoldering thought, he again stood and gathered his warriors to him: 'Vanadurin,' he spoke, 'I deem we must remain on guard in this defile, for other bands of ravers may be about the land. Yet all must come through this slot to reach the secret High Gate. And though this is the night appointed when King Durek will attempt the Dusk-Door, still it may not open, for the Squad of Seven may be delayed.
And it is in my mind that other trials may come, and we stand at guard here at the Dwarf Army's back. Even now, word may be going forth to Gnar, and he may set a Rutchen army on the inside of the Door to await the Dwarves. And in that event, if the Squad be delayed, then likely they will not be able to penetrate Gnar's waiting Swarm to reach the Door hinges. And if the Squad cannot reach the inside of the Door, then who will let Durek's Legion within?
'Too, there may be other doors, other gates, through which Gnar may launch an attack upon the Host. Yet the secret Gate in yon Quadran Gap is the only one we are certain of. And if an army marches down this way, then we with quick slashing strikes must bait and harass and divert their energies aside for as long as our War-skill permits, to give the Squad and the Legion precious time to ope the Door.
'And so, here we must stay, both foreguarding and hindguarding the Dwarf Army. And a long wait it may be, for we know not when the Door may yield: tonight, tomorrow, in a seven-night, or never.
'Yet even though we wait, there is still much to do: Place our slain comrades 'neath stone cairns, until proper burial. Tend your steeds. Then rest, for you are weary. Go now, and know you stand a vital duty.'
And the warriors saluted Brytta-Hdlf-and turned to take up their tasks.
'Hogon,' Brytta called, 'set forth a ward of eight: four upslope, four down, two-hour watches.'
And while Hogon selected the guard, Brytta turned to a flaxen-haired youth: Brath, Brytta's bloodkith. 'Brath, sister's son, to me,' he said wearily as he sat down upon a small boulder.
The younger Man, his left arm bound in splints and held in a sling, stepped to his kinsman's side. 'Sire?'
'Your arm is shivered and your leg gashed,' observed the Marshal, a Fierce pride in his eyes, for Brath had accounted for many of the Rutchen slain. 'Were we in other times or other places, I would send you to the hearth.' Brytta held up both hands, forestalling the protests leaping to the young warrior's lips. 'Instead, I would have you go to yon mountain'-he pointed to Redguard-'and relieve Wylf, for he is hale and we need his strong arm. In mis, go with honor, for we must have one to tend the balefire, to signal the Host if need be. Take an extra overgarment, for Arl said it is cold; his cloak will do, for he needs it not and would give it gladly could he say.'
And Brath went forth, and Gannon went with him, for both of wounded Gannon's hands were shattered, and he could no longer bear arms, though his vision was sharp and he could set watch.
And temporary cairns were made for the slain riders, to shelter them until they could be brought forth to the wide
grasslands below and laid to rest 'neath turves. The Vanadurin withheld show of their grief for their fallen brethren-though it cut to the quick-for it is the custom of the Harlingar to mourn not until the final burial.
The Sun climbed high and passed overhead, and warriors rested. Two hours ere sunset, Wylf rode into the quiet encampment. He sat in the afternoon Sun, basking in its warmth as Brytta slept. Wylf spoke to one of the warders, and in the Valonian War-tongue the companion told the tale of the Krakenward, the Rutchen spies, and the battle in the defile; and Wylf listened grimly, and his eyes took on a steely glint.
In foredusK the camp awakened, and a quick meal of waybread and dried venison was taken, and the horses were gathered from the sward downslope. And warriors girded themselves for what the eventide would bring.
Night fell, and again the devastating trap was set, ready to spring shut should Spawn come. This time the Vanadurin posted a bowman upon each wall of the defile, to stop Wrg from fleeing that way; yet Brytta thought that this was latching the stable after the stallion has fled, for it yet burned within him that perhaps a Drokh had escaped to carry word to Gnar, to the great ill of the quest-a Drokh that he, Brytta, should have slain; and the Marshal again glanced with bitterness at his broken hand.
The darktide deepened, and stars wheeled above. Again the Moon shone silvery, full and bright. And the warriors spoke quietly of the Dusk-Door and wondered if it would open, for this was the night.
Time crept by at a slow-moving gait, and each moment seemed frozen in stillness.
Yet of a sudden the twelfth hour was upon the land. Now was the time for King Durek to say the words of opening. Silent moments fled and mid of night passed, and Brytta yearned to know what befell at the Door, and his heart felt taut with foreboding. And again time plodded.
Suddenly the bowman upon the south steep shouted in wonderment: 'Ai-oi!' he cried, his voice loud in the hush. 'Sire!' he called to Brytta, 'at the Great Loomwall in the Valley of the Door, a balefire flares!'
'What? Balefire? At the Dusk-Door?' cried Brytta. 'A recall beacon! Spawn! Or does it mean the Door opened? If so, was the Host met by friend or foe? Or have the Wrg fallen upon them from another gate? Fie! Whether or not we knew the which of it, it is of no moment, for we must ride!'
And Brytta sprang to Nightwind's back and raised his horn to his lips and blew a mighty blast that rent the air. And Nightwind reared and pranced and curvetted with sidle-steps, eager to answer the Valonian night to arms. And Brytta called to the Vanadurin: 'Mount up, Harlingar, and ride! Ride to the Dusk-Door! Let any who fall behind come at their own pace, for we are summoned! Forth, Harlingar, ride!'
And he clapped his heels into Nightwind's flanks, and down the shadowed road they sprang, hooves thundering, horn pealing, racing through the moonlit night. And so went alt the Vanadurin, bursting forth from Stormhelm Defile, sparks flying from steel-shod hooves. And the fierce horns of Valon blew wildly.
CHAPTER 6
A day earlier, with the Squad lost at a dead-end passage and with no Gatemaster, and but twenty-eight hours remaining ere the appointed time of the rendevous at the Dusk-Door, Perry drank his fill from the clear cold water of the underground river and refilled his leather water bottle. He was putting in the stopper when another faint homblat echoed down the cave behind them. 'Oh, why didn't we search for a way to close the secret door to the Gargon's Lair?' he asked. 'Then the Rucks wouldn't have been able to follow us.'
'We were fortunate just to have found the way out,' rumbled Bonn, 'and we had not the time to spare to look for the way of closing the portal; it is not our mission to discover the workings of all hidden gates in Kraggen-
