Trek to Kraggen-Cor (22 page)

"Father advises that you do not go at all, for he is afraid you will perish in any attempt; yet he realizes that you feel you must. His next advice then is that you prepare tonight, dress in your warmest winter clothes, and start just before dawn. Still, it will be bitter that early, but leaving then at a quick step may get you across ere the snow flies—though he doubts it.

"I offered to guide you, but Father laughed and said, The only time you may guide a Dwarf is when he's not been there before. Durek needs not our guidance across the mountain, for he has Dwarves in his company who have crossed over ere now.' Father did say that he has felt this storm coming for a week or more, and he expects it to be an ill one." Rolf hitched his blanket around himself and sat down.

"How many here have walked the Crestan Pass?" asked Durek, pausing while he counted upraised hands. "I tally three and twenty Chakka. This then is what I propose: Gaynor, you shall head the column at Prince Rand's side; Berez, you shall walk with me along the train; Bomar, you shall hold your position at the last; let the rest count off and evenly space along the line —ten with the ten red waggons, the other ten with the black. If the storm strikes while we are yet upon the open stone and our sight is limited by the snow, let each guide lead a segment of the train to come down into the thick pines above Arden. Stragglers are to follow the red and black wains; Bomar, you sweep up any who fall all the way to the rear. Marshal Brytta, hold your scouts with the column, spaced along the train with the white waggons. All in the Host shall wear their down-filled clothing on the march tomorrow, or tonight if needs dictate. We will leave one hour before sunrise, which will give us six hours to go the twenty miles if the snow does not come til midday. With a quick-march we may yet succeed in outstepping the storm. Any additions to the plan? Questions? No? Then, Captains, instruct your warriors; guides, count off and find your waggons."

Durek turned to Rolf: "Baru's son, your warning may save our quest, for without it we surely would have started on our march tomorrow at a later hour, and we would have gone at a slower pace. Though your sire would have us turn back from this danger, we cannot, for delay of our mission means the evil in Kraggen-cor will live longer and more innocents will die And though Baru holds us in concern, he knows we must go on.

"We welcome you to rest this eve with us, for you are weary from your gallant run. Stay the night, and bid us farewell in the morning, and carry the word to your father; he will see that it is borne to those who should hear tidings of the Host."

Durek stood. "And now we must rest, for tomorrow promises to be a hard task. Oh, Waeran"—he looked across at Cotton—"if you have no goose-down winter suit in your pack, draw one from a blue waggon." Without further word, the Dwarf King turned and walked off toward the front of the column.

Accompanied by Brytta, Cotton and Bomar made their way back toward the rear of the train. There was a dark brooding upon the face of the Man from Valon. "You look like a storm about to burst, Brytta," said Cotton. "What's gnawing at you?"

"My far outriders, the advance scouts," Brytta replied grimly. "Hogon, Eddra, Arl, and Wylf, they are some leagues ahead of us, beyond the Crestan Pass. If there is a blizzard, it will strike them first. I would that they were among us rather than . . ." His voice trailed off, but Cotton and Bomar knew his feelings.

They soon came to the scouts' fires, and Brytta turned aside to join the Harlingar. Cotton and Bomar strode on, stopping only long enough at a blue wain to draw warm winter Dwarf-clothing; Cotton was given the smallest goose-down-filled quilted coat and quilted pants that the driver could find; they were still overlarge on the Warrow, but would have to serve.

It was yet black night when Cotton was awakened. The raw wind was blowing harder, but the down-filled clothes kept the Warrow warm. Bomar had shown him how to fasten the hood so that his face was protected, and the Warrow could peer out at the world through a fur-rimmed tunnel; Bomar had also given him some mittens, fastened together by a long cord that ran up one sleeve and down the other to prevent loss.

Cotton hitched the horses to the waggon, and after a cup of tea and a crue biscuit, he was ready to start. Upon command, warriors quenched the fires, and Dwarf-lanterns were unhooded along the column to bathe the train with their lambent soft blue-green light while all waited. Finally the order came, and the Dwarf column moved out at a quick-step pace. Shortly Cotton's waggon passed Rolf standing huddled in a cloak next to the only remaining campfire. Cotton's hood was back, and by the firelight Rolf recognized him and waved. Cotton called, "Goodbye, Rolf. And oh, by the by, say 'hullo' to Baru, and Grau and Wrall, too. Say 'hullo' for Mister Perry, also. Or maybe instead of saying 'hullo' you ought to say 'goodbye' for us. . . . Whatever."

And Rolf called back, "I'll untangle the greetings from the farewells, Cotton. Good fortune. Take care. And beware of Waroo, the White Bear." And the young Man watched as the last of the train moved away in the cold

darkness, a long line of blue-green lanterns swinging and bobbing up the windy slopes.

The Legion marched swiftly, and after a while Cotton could tell by the sound of the waggon wheels and see by the glow of the lanterns that they were no longer in the woods. The strength of the wind increased, and it groaned and wailed through the crags and moaned down the side of the mountain, and the higher they went the more bodeful it sounded.

When daylight finally came it was dim, and fell through an overcast; and they could see an ominous blowing whiteness streaming from the crests, like enormous ragged clinging grey pennons slowly whipping and flowing in the wind that howled over the range from the far side. Cotton could see that the white streamings came from the old high snow as part of it was blown from the peaks and whipped about and carried up and far, far out to disappear— perhaps to sift down onto the foothills or plains far below, he could not tell which. The Host was about six miles from the Crestan Pass, and the cold was oppressive; and with the overcast the Sun would not warm the journey at all.

The nearer the Army came to the pass, the stronger grew the wind, for on the far slope whence the gale blew, the mountain flanks on either side of the route acted as a huge funnel, and the wide wind was channeled to blow through and over the constricted slot in the saddle. The shrieking gale frightened many of the teams on the narrow way, and they had to be led by those on foot, or even blindfolded and pulled against the screaming blast. Thus it was that as the column entered the pass, a howling gale-force tramontane pummeled and buffeted the Dwarves, and slammed at them, and tried to blow them and their horses and waggons away. The blast was so strong that Dwarves on foot had to lean and struggle to get through the gap, and most of the teams and waggons had to be pulled and pushed by warriors just to make it up the last slope. The wind took Cotton's breath away, and he had to struggle and gasp just to get air. Finally the column was through, past the neck of the funnel, though the wind tore and howled at them still, and voices could not be heard. With his elbow, Bomar jostled Cotton, getting the Warrow's attention and pointing ahead. With wind-watered eyes Cotton squinted out through his hood to see a roiling wall of white advancing up the reaches on the wind: the blizzard, Waroo, the White Bear, had come, and they were still ten miles from safety.

Driven by the yawling blast, the snow hurtled over the train, enveloping it in white obscurity. Signing Cotton to work the brake, Bomar climbed down and made his way to the horses; he took one of the bit reins in hand and began leading the team and waggon through the howling wind and slinging snow. The wind-whipped whiteness whistled up the precipice and along the wall, through crags and canyons, around bends and corners, and lashed into Cotton's face. He drew his hood tighter to fend the blast; still, he had to duck his head to keep the snow from driving through the fur tunnel and into

his eyes. Now and again the Warrow glanced up to get a quick look at where they were going, but all that Cotton could see clearly were the Dwarves on foot directly in front, and the next waggon ahead; he could make out the vague shape of the waggon beyond, but could see no farther. He noted that at every side canyon and false trail, Bomar would move across to scan for stragglers, but so far had found none—though if they were more than twenty or thirty yards distant, an entire army could have been lost.

Slowly, for what seemed like days, the buffeted Legion moved down the raging mountainside. And the snow grew thicker until Cotton could but barely make out Bomar leading the horses. At first the driving wind did not allow the snow to collect on the path, whipping it off as fast as it tried to accumulate. But then at corners and crevices it began to gather in drifts. The train came to a complete halt at times; Cotton believed that the head of the column had come to a drift that had to be cleared before they could go on. In these places the braking was slippery, and often the waggon lurched perilously close to the edge of the precipice, with Cotton's heart hammering wildly.

The white wind howled and screamed and pummeled horse, Dwarf, Man, and Warrow alike, and it seemed to suck the heat right out of the body and dash it against the looming stone walls to be consumed without effect on those cold surfaces. Sitting up high on the waggon seat, Cotton was chilled to the marrow, but as cold as he was, he worried more about Brownie and Downy: even though they were toiling, active with the labor of working the wain downward, moving against the storm, there was no doubt that if they did not reach shelter soon the horses would perish in the freezing shriek.

Bomar not only realized the plight of the horses, but he knew Cotton's condition, too, and the Dwarf arranged for one of the walking warriors to spell the buccan, who then helped lead the team. And even though the white wind raged and blasted him with snow, Cotton warmed a bit in the effort of walking, though he was still miserably cold.

They continued down the treacherous slopes, trapped on a howling trail, caught between a sheer wall and a steep precipice, passing by yawning canyons in the wall, trudging beyond forks in the path. At one false trail Bomar found a squad of lost Dwarves who had somehow become separated from the column in the obscuring whiteness. They had struggled down a wrong split but had realized that they were alone and had just fought their way back to the main route when the waggon rolled by. A long rope was tied to the tailgate, and the Dwarves gripped it and trailed along behind as the party pushed on for the unseen pines somewhere below.

Cotton had lost all sense of time and place and direction, stumbling along through the white blindness and into the teeth of the screaming blizzard. He was wretchedly cold—freezing—and wanted nothing more than to be in front of a blazing fire at The Root, or no, not even that, just to be warm anywhere would be enough. Numbly Cotton looked at the whistling white-

ness flinging past and was thankful he was with Bomar, for without the sturdy Dwarf, Cotton knew that he and the others would not know the way and would die among the frozen crags.

They had collected another squad of stragglers, this time with a green waggon, and were pressing on into the icy blast. Cotton and several of the Dwarves took turns driving the two waggons, working the brakes while others led. And Cotton was on the seat of the yellow waggon when he discovered that they had just come among a few sparse trees. "Hurrah!" he hoarsely shouted. "We've made it!" But the wind whipped away his words and shredded them asunder, the fragments to be lost in the vast whiteness, and no one heard him.

Grimly, Bomar pressed on, for they had two miles to go to reach the thick pines, and in the blasting white gale it took another hour. But at last they came to the sheltering forest: Bomar leading and Cotton up on the yellow wain with nineteen lost Dwarves holding onto a rope trailing behind followed by a green waggon.

As Bomar and Cotton and the tagtails emerged from the swirling snow, Durek, who had been standing in the eaves of the wood, stepped forward and directed them into one of the shielded glens where lean-tos were being constructed and many fires blazed. And as the stragglers passed, Durek smiled, for they were the last.

There among the trees the wind was not as fierce, for the thick pine boughs held it aloft and warded the Host. Still the snow swirled and flew within the glens and collected heavily on the branches; and so the fires were kindled out from under the limbs—otherwise, the heat would melt the snow to come crashing down.

Cotton drove the waggon to the place indicated and numbly crawled down to accept a hot cup of tea from Rand, who was waiting; and the shivering Warrow diddered, "W . . . well, we m . . . m . . . made it. The w . . . worst is over."

"Not yet, Cotton," replied Rand grimly, gauging the snowfall. "We must move on again as soon as possible, for to stay here will trap us in deep drifts."

Night was falling, but the need to press on was urgent. Durek called his Chief Captains together, and their tallies showed that thanks to Bomar and the other guides, miraculously no one had been lost, though three waggons had slid over the edge, pulling the doomed horses with them—yet the drivers had each managed to leap to safety. Thus, all were accounted for except Brytta's four advance scouts, of which there was no sign. It was hoped that the quartet of Valonian riders had forged ahead to the low country ere the blizzard struck; yet Brytta fretted, though nothing could be done to aid his missing Men.

The Host was exhausted, chilled to the bone, and so Durek decided that the Army would rest in the pines until the snowfall became deep enoug be worrisome—judged by Rand to be about four or five hours hence The

Chief Captains made plans for a risky lantern-lit trek through the blizzard, should the need to move onward become imperative.

But they had reckoned not upon the course of the storm, for it doubled its fury within the next half hour; and the driven snow thickened, and the blizzard could not be endured out of the shelter of the pines; and so the planned night march was abandoned.