Dennis McKiernan - City of Jade

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Aylis was yet enraptured by last eve’s singing when the first of the ferry barges floated onto the far downstream landing in the early morning light. Huge Baeron men off-laded mules, and they drew the barge nearly two full leagues up the tow path until they reached the ferry boarding point. As the Baeron secured the ferry to the dock and set a gangway in place, Aylis marveled at the size of these men, all of them towering nearly seven feet into the air, each one as tall as Bair. At a gesture and a soft word from one of the Baeron, Aylis and her horse, along with ten Dwarves and fifteen ponies, embarked, and the gangway was drawn in and the barge then cast off. Baeron rowers plied oars to bear the ferry to a landing on Olorin. They began some five miles upstream from the holm, but the current bore them southward as the men rowed east, the Baeron now and then pausing to gauge their progress, so as to come to ground at the proper place. They eased into a landing on the northwestern brim of the island, and Aylis and the Dwarves then disembarked and rode for the opposite side of Olorin. As they passed through the Baeron village at the northern tip of the isle, lanky children, chattering, tagged after and plied them with questions, and tall Baeron women and huge Baeron men paused in whatever they were doing, as if watching a passing parade. When Aylis and the Dwarves reached the eastern landing they boarded another oared barge waiting there.

As the ferry pushed away, Aylis turned to Brekk and asked, “What happens if by chance we don’t reach the shore? What if we lost our oars?”

“It would be a bad thing,” said Brekk. “Ctor-what you might know as Bellon Falls-lies downstream, my lady. A thousand-foot sheer drop over the Great Escarpment, the entire river pours over. We would be nought but flinders were that to happen.”

“How far downstream?” asked Aylis.

“My lady?”

“How far downstream lies this monstrous fall?”

“Thirty-three leagues.”

“Ah, then, we would have time to swim ashore were the ferry to sink.”

Brekk laughed. “Aye, we would at that.”

Once again Baeron men plied oars, until they reached the eastern bank, some distance downstream from the isle. Aylis led her horse and the Dwarves their ponies across the gangplank to the shore, followed by two Baeron men leading a pair of mules. The drovers hitched the mules to the ferry to begin hauling the barge upriver to the embarkation point well north of Olorin, where it would again be cast adrift into the flow and rowed back to the island for a change of crew and to await the next group of Dwarves.

In all, it took most of the day to ferry the full of the warband across, for the river was wide and much time was spent in towing the barge between the downstream disembarkation point and upstream embarkation one. Aylis and the warband and animals spent the dregs of the day and the full of the night encamped on the eastern shore.

With Dwarven scouts riding ahead, the main body of the band followed and fared easterly through the long, shadowed galleries of the Great Greenhall. Birds sang and flitted thither and yon; insects hummed as they went about their daily business; and now and again an animal bounded across their path or fled crashing away-deer, foxes, rabbits, and such-while limb runners chattered and scolded and scampered above. At last they came to the waters of the River Rissanin. They followed along the banks of this flow, heading northeasterly upstream. As they went, Dokan, riding beside Aylis, said, “Something is passing among the trees to the left and keeps pace with us.”

Aylis turned and looked long, and then said a word. . and gasped.

At her sudden intake of air, Dokan’s hand flew to his crossbow, but he relaxed slightly when she murmured, “Oh, how marvelous.”

“What is it?” growled the Dwarf, his hand still on the weapon.

“ ’Tis a Hidden One, a guardian of the forest, a Woodwer, this one a female, a Woodwife, what the Dylvana call a Vred Tre.”

“I have heard of those you name Vred Tres, but I see nought but a tangle of leaves and twigs and vines,” murmured Dokan, now releasing his grip on the bow.

“That tangle is her,” said Aylis. “She’s making certain that you evil axe-bearers haven’t come to slaughter her wards.”

“E-evil axe-?” sputtered Dokan, followed by a more subdued “Oh, I see.”

The Woodwer tracked them most of the day, yet as eve drew nigh, there seemed to be no sign of her. Nevertheless, at Aylis’s insistence, Captain Brekk commanded the Dwarves to collect only deadwood for the campfires, and to take no axes in among the trees, and to hew nothing whatsoever.

In late afternoon of the second day of travel alongside the deep-running flow, Aylis and the warband came within sight of the ruins of Caer Lindor. On an isle mid the Rissanin flow sat the remains of the fortress, nought but a shambles of tumbled-down granite blocks overgrown with ivy.

Brekk threw up a hand to halt the cavalcade. But in that moment one of the Dwarven fore riders stepped out from among the jumble and into the open, where he gave a piercing whistle.

“Huah,” grunted Brekk. “All is clear.” And he heeled his pony and gestured for the others to follow.

Across a pontoon bridge they rode, to enter the remains, where the hooves of all animals rang upon the stone flag.

Now riding alongside Aylis, Dokan said, “A full Horde of Foul Folk came sneaking down the Rissanin, along the border between the Greatwood south and the Greenhall north, and Caer Lindor was betrayed, her sentries slain by traitors within, by foul Rivermen. They flung wide the gates to the massed Horde hidden among the bordering trees. Into the bailey they rushed and swarmed up to the battlements, seizing nearly all before the defenders mustered. Valiantly the Free Folk fought, yet they were overwhelmed, and but a few escaped. The Horde did not pursue, but instead stood on the walls and jeered, and then Trolls plied great hammers and mauls and rams to destroy the battlements from within. And before a day passed Caer Lindor lay in ruins.”

“What happened after?” asked Aylis, dismounting.

Dismounting as well, Dokan smiled and said, “The Horde had taken a chew too large to swallow, and they choked upon it, for, alerted by the Groaning Stones, the Hidden Ones rallied, my lady. They were enraged that the Foul Folk had encroached upon the Greatwood and stood on the borders of the Great Greenhall. They mustered, I am told: Fox Riders, Living Mounds, Shamblers, Vred Tres, Sprygt, Tomte, Ande-Fey and Peri of all kind. It is said that very few of the Foul Folk managed to escape alive, and most of those who fled the forests ran out screaming in the madness of unbearable fear.”

As Aylis unsaddled her horse, Brekk strode to her side. “My lady, where might this scout be? I see nought but overgrown ruins and find no evidence of a campsite where he might have stayed.”

Aylis took a deep breath and looked about. She then spoke an arcane word and used her ‹sight›. Finally she spoke another word and then said, “I don’t know, Captain. Aravan said the scout would meet us here, but I see no sign whatsoever of any person. I suppose we’ll simply have to wait.”

Brekk grunted and turned on his heel and began assigning sentries and setting about making camp.

In the depths of the nighttide, a whisper awakened Aylis. By the light of the dying embers of a nearby campfire, she saw three small shadows standing at her side. And she used her ‹sight› to see-“Jinnarin! Farrix!”-and one other. Dressed in mottled grey leathers, they were three Pysks, three Fox Riders, three tiny people, two females, one male, each standing no more than twelve inches tall, two of whom she knew.

Nearby, one of the Dwarves, disturbed by Aylis’s exclamation, propped up on one elbow and looked about. But seeing nought of suspicion and hearing nothing of alarm, he dropped back down and once again fell into slumber.

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