Dennis McCiernan - Into the Forge

Th-thnn strummed two bowstrings, ssss… two arrows whispered through the air to th-thnk! into the Rucken ward, cruel iron points punching in through back and out through chest, and with a grunt he toppled forward to lie in a sodden heap alongside the outcropping.

"Come now," said Lyra. "We must take him from that place and conceal the evidence of his slaying."

"But-"

"Nay, Tipperton. No buts, for I need the garments. Too, others may come to relieve him, and we would not have them sound an alarm."

And so, staying low, they scurried down the hill in the twilight and took up the slain warder, the Ruck's eyes wide in surprise, yet seeming to stare accusingly at Tipperton as he carried the dead sentry by the feet while Lyra carried him by the shoulders.

Back to the thicket they went, the Ruck's horn dangling from a leather strap and clanking and chinging against rocks as it dragged on the ground. They dropped the corpse in the woods, and then down to the outcropping they scuttled once more, this time to take up a scimitar and a half-full canteen and a small bag holding meat dark and stringy, and to kick soil over the small amount of blood spilled.

Lyra stepped to the shielded side of the outcrop and waved toward a hummock downslope and easterly. Then she and Tip scurried back to the woods.

Then, while Lyra went to retrieve her horse and Tip's pony from the back slope of the hill, Tip stood watch from the thicket, the dead Ruck at hand.

Tip refused to look at the corpse lying there, two arrows piercing its back.

When Lyra returned, horse and pony in tow, she tied them to nearby slender trees, then squatted beside the Ruck and grunting, straining-thud-she pulled one arrow completely through, and then-thud-the other. She handed Tipperton's to the buccan, the point and shaft and fletching slathered and dripping with dark grume.

Tipperton turned and grabbed the shaft of a sapling as vomit spewed from his mouth.

Sometime after full dark Lyra stood. "Hist," she whispered.

Tipperton heard nothing and, peering outward, saw nothing. He shook his head. "What is it?"

"Someone comes."

Now Tip stood and strung arrow to bow.

But soft came a signal: a faint chirrup, and Vail came slipping among the saplings. " 'Tis done. Elon stands watch in place of the lower sentry."

"Well and good," said Lyra, getting to her feet. "I will return soon." She stepped to her horse and untied the reins and led it northwesterly through the thicket.

Vail turned to Tipperton. "Art thou secure, Tipperton?"

Tip nodded.

"Then I am off to rejoin Elon. Should come a change of guard, we should stop them. Yet if perchance a Rupt comes here first, thou dost know what to do." At Tip's brief nod, Vail slipped away through the night.

The buccan sat in the edge of the thicket, peering by the light of a nearly half-moon at the sentry post and hoping he would not hesitate and his own aim would be true should Rflcken relief come.

Finally he heard a faint jingle of armor and the sound of heavy hooves. And shortly Lyra came slipping through the thicket again, a huge man at her side along with a tiny form.

It was Durul -and Beau.

"I just came to see how you were doing, Tip."

"Me, I'm all right," said Tip. "But I say, what about the wagons?"

"Oh, they're on the move and should be in position well before dawn."

"Good."

And they all sat quietly as the night slipped by, while down in the town torchlight and campfires burned.

At length the moon set, and still no Rucken relief came.

Just ere dawn and ignoring the blood and grime, Lyra slipped into the Ruck warder's garb and took up the horn. Then she went to the sentry rock and waited.

Now Tipperton and Beau and Durul moved to where they could see the road as well as the town.

In the dimness below they could make out the bowed canvas tops of the wagon train standing in a long line athwart the road, fetching up nigh the flank of a hill in the north and running into a grassy mead on the south. And in full view in the southern sward stood several of the great draft horses, though not nearly as many as were needed to draw all of the wagons.

Durul turned. "I go to prepare."

"Me too," said Beau.

Tipperton nodded. "I'll be ready."

Durul smiled and looked down at the Waldana. "Keep free of our horses, for doubtless with but one great hoof they could squash either of your tiny steeds."

Beau shook his head. "Not likely, Durul, we're tiny but quick."

Durul slipped away into the thicket, heading back toward the waiting vanguard.

"You keep safe, bucco," said Tip.

"You too," said Beau, and then he followed Durul away.

And Tip waited as dawn brightened, the day edging toward sunrise.

And still the wagon train sat quietly with no stir of movement, as if all were yet asleep.

The rim of the sun broached the horizon.

Lyra in Ruchen garb stood and blew the horn, the blats slapping and echoing among the crags. And she clambered atop the rock and blew again, frantically leaping up and down, her arms flailing akimbo as she pointed down at the stationary wains.

Another sentry farther downslope took up the blaring call, a sentry also in Ruchen garb, yet he stood atop the rock where Vail and Elon had gone.

Down in the shadows of the vanquished town a stir quickened.

And Spawn took up cudgels and scimitars and tulwars.

Foul Folk rushed down through the town and out onto the road to see, and some who had espied the standing train ran back to a roadside building and in.

And from somewhere within the town another horn blew, and Tip could see several of the Foul Folk stalk from the roadside building and mount waiting horses.

– Nay! Not horses, but Helsteeds instead!

Oh, no! It's some of those Ghill things!

And Tip racked his mind for what he could remember of them: Nearly unkillable. Terrible foe. Wood through the heart and beheading and fire. He could remember no more as the maggot-folk below scrambled into a ragged mass on the road.

Lyra hopped down from her post and came into the thicket and quickly shucked the Ruchen garb, her nose wrinkled as she did so. "I'll be chasing nits and lice and fleas for weeks can I not get a bath."

Again the horn blew, and the segment boiled westward, churning toward the waiting merchant train, where plunder and spoils were theirs for the taking as well as great horses for the eating.

"Come, Tipperton, 'tis time to ride." And Lyra and Tip leapt astride their mounts and rode through the coppice and away.

As they emerged from the thicket, they saw two other riders appear in the morning light and move toward them. And again they heard the Ruptish horn blat in the distance below. "Ah, it goes well," called Lyra to Vail and Elon, "just as Dara Phais planned."

From behind a wagon Bwen watched as the Wrg came seething down the Landover Road, cudgels and tulwars and scimitars in hand, Helsteeds with Guula astride in the fore with Rutcha and Drokha coming after.

She touched the morning star hanging from her belt, then took hold of a rope and called, "Bheith arfuirechas!" and her command was relayed down the line, not only in the Baeron tongue but in Sylva as well.

Now the Rutchen horn blew again, and the segment spread wide in a long line so as to swarm over all the wagons at once.

"Go maith!" she grunted under her breath and grinned, for two days back Phais had guessed they would do just that. All was going according to plan.

Once again the Wrg horn sounded, and with howls and squalls of triumph and baying ululations, the segment charged past the Helsteeds, past the Ghuls and their blowing horns, tulwars and scimitars and cudgels raised to smash down stupid merchants.

"Ullmhaigh, ullmhaig…" Bwen called and gripped the rope all the tighter, "fan, fan…"