Dennis McKiernan - The Brega path

And when it seemed mat the Wrg must at last see the Harlingar, a flat homcry sounded from below, from behind the Foul Folk, as the Vanadurin posted there took station upon the road when the last of the Rutchen column passed by.

And the trap sprang shut!

"Vttacku! [Attack!"] barked Brytta, and swift as an arrow loosed at last, the first four riders charged forth, spears leveled, thundering death.

"Stel!" called Brytta, and the lances of the second row dropped level. "Tovit!" His voice was sharp and clear, and he paused but a moment; then: "V'ttacku!" And another line charged forth, havoc upon four horses, ten running strides behind the first.

"Stelf" the command came again, and again, and again, and rows paced forward, and lances lowered, and file after file of swift-running doom was launched down the road, down from the high ground.

At first the Spawn did not realize their plight, and when the Valonian horncall sounded from behind them they quickened their pace, fleeing unknown pursuit. And it was not until the last moment that those in the fore saw by moonlight and torch flare the first strike swooping down upon them, and then it was too late as wave after wave of lethal spears, hard driven by full-running horses, shocked into and through and over the Rutchen column. And screams rent the air as victims fell underfoot to be trampled, and lances impaled others, some spears to shatter in the impact. Sabers were drawn and slashed to and fro, felling foes, and Valanreach battle cries burst forth:

Hal Vanareich! [Hait Valon'.J

B'reit Harlingar! (Ready, Sons of Had!J

Kop'yo V'ttacku Rutcha! [Now whelm the goblins!]

A few Rutcha tried to flee, but the walls of the defile were too steep to clamber, and the dreaded horsefolk were both before and behind them. Yet most of the foul breed, though taken by surprise, fought with feral savagery, for they were cornered: Torches were thrown in the faces of horses, and steeds shied and reared. Iron bars were swung with cunning force to crack across the forelegs of several charging coursers, and they fell screaming among the enemy, and the riders were set upon by the Wrg. Yet other horses, riderless, trained for War by the Vanadurin, lashed out with sharp hooves, felling Rutcha with their crushing blows. And warriors rose up out of piles of Spawn and cast the foe aside, and many Harlingar sang as they slew, a terrible burning light in their eyes.

Into the fray came Brytta, hewing left-handed with his saber, slashing Death borne upon Nightwind's back. And it

was a mighty slaughter, and Bryttars arm grew weary with the reaping of Rutcha. Yet the battle raged on, for the Foul Folk were savage. And lance pierced, and saber slashed, cudgel smashed, and hammer crushed. Scimitar clashed with long-knife, and flashing hooves struck o'er iron bar. Grunts and screams and oaths and cries filled the air, and so, too, did the harsh clang of steel upon steel. And the struggle swept to and fro. Yet slowly the Vanadurin prevailed, and the Wrg numbers dwindled.

All Rutchen torches had been flung aside, or at riders, or at their steeds, and now only the bright Moon illumed the battleground, though here and there a brand sputtered on the road. Surviving Spawn flicked in and out of dark shadows, striking quickly then leaping back into blackness.

And slowly the fight became a grim stalking, as the Vanadurin dismounted and took up torches and spread across the road and searched each cleft and shadow. And the Foul Folk were found, sometimes singly, sometimes clotted together in pockets. And no quarter was given.

Brytta sat upon Nightwind, looking down the defile; he watched as the Harlingar sought living Spawn in the blackness, and made certain that those lying upon the ground were dead and not feigning. It was long-knife work, and saber, too; and struggles were short and fierce. And as he looked, a stone rattled down from above.

On the wall! A Drokh! No, two! Flitting through the shadows above Brytta were two Drokha who had managed to scale up a cranny to a high path along the south wall of the defile, a path running to the top. And now they were fleeing along it, escaping the defile, fleeing for the High Gate.

With effort, Brytta strung his bow, cursing the pain and clumsiness of his broken right hand. Another rider was nearby; "Didion! To me!" cried Brytta. "Wrg! On the wall! Your bow!" And as Didion rode to him, Brytta set an arrow to string and tried to draw the weapon with his broken hand. A low agonized groan hissed between his clenched teeth, and with the bow but half drawn the arrow fell from the weapon and clattered to the ground. "Rack!" Brytta cursed, and changed hands, shifting the bow to his clumsy right, reaching for arrow with his left. The Drokha now scrambled the last few steps toward the top of the wall, an open plateau-and if

they reached it, they were free!

Again Brytta set arrow to string, this time drawing the bow against the heel of his shattered right hand and gritting against the grinding pain while beads of sweat burst forth upon his brow. "Take the right, Didion, I'll take the left," he gasped, and as the Drokha momentarily reappeared from the shadows, two arrows hissed through the air, one well aimed, the other less so. Now at the top and just entering the shadow again, one of the enemy flung up his hands and a piercing scream rent the air as he plunged backward down the defile wall to land with a sodden thud in the roadbed. The, other Drokh pitched forward into the blackness, and if he was arrow-struck, they did not see.

"Didion, after him! He must not escape!" Brytta barked. "Ged!" he called to another rider coming nigh. "Go with Didion! Drokh on the height!" And Ged leapt from his horse and scrambled up a cleft behind Didion, finding the steep climbing no easy task.

And the search for Rutchen survivors went on.

Night passed and the Moon set, and dawn crept upon the land to find stricken Harlingar: exhausted, for they had spent two nights without sleep; wearied by struggle, first with the Krakenward, then with Wrg; drained, for some, weeping, had had to slay their own steeds, legs broken in battle; afflicted, for nearly half the warriors bore wounds, some serious, some minor, now bandaged; filled with heartgrief, for five of the Vanadurin would never again answer home all. Thusly did the dayrise find the riders of the Valanreach.

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.