Trek to Kraggen-Cor (27 page)

cor, and beginnings are often times of oath-takings and predictions. Yet I'll not make a prediction, though I do have something to say. I said it once before when I knew nothing, but now I say it again: Beware, maggot-folk."

CHAPTER 18 SNOWBOUND

Cotton thrust his head from beneath the squat, snow-covered shelter and out into the howling grey morning. Still the blizzard moaned up the mountain slopes and toward the Crestan Pass, and the driven snow hid all but the nearby view. The Warrow peered but could see no movement of anyone, and there was little sign of the Host; only three other shelters were visible to him —small mounds in the snow.

Last night, when the storm had worsened and the cold had become cruelly bitter, Durek had issued the order for warriors to pair up and spread out and gather pine boughs to make shelters. The entire Army of four thousand had then moved into the forest in couplets to collect the branches, to return and construct the tiny bowers—a form of snow refuge known to those who dwell on and within the mountains. Bomar had selected Cotton as his shelter-mate simply by grunting, "Come with me"; and they had taken up a lantern and some rope and had moved out through the drifts and into the woods.

When Cotton had glimpsed through the flying snow that the Army was spreading out and separating during a blizzard, the buccan had protested: "Bomar, this is madness!" he had cried above the shrieking wind. "We'll all be lost in the storm; the Army will be destroyed, split apart. We'll never find the others again—and they won't ever find us, neither."

"Remember, Friend Cotton," Bomar had shouted back, "you are with Chakka, and although we often do not know where we are going, we always know exactly where we have been—even in a blizzard at night." And Cotton and Bomar had waded onward through the swirling, moaning wind and knee deep snow.

They had cut boughs, and lashed them together using the rope, they had dragged the bundle like a sledge back to the glen, and Bomar had made their shelter: First he had fashioned a frame of bent branches, and had pegged it

to the ground with iron spikes he called 'rock-nails." Then he had lashed boughs thickly to the frame, so close that when he and Cotton had piled snow on, none sifted through the matting.

Then the two had crawled inside, and there was just enough room for both of them. They had thus spent the night in snug warmth.

And now it was morning, and still the blizzard enveloped them. "What's going to happen now, Bomar?" asked Cotton as he pulled his head back into the bower.

Bomar reached for the lantern filling the refuge with a blue-green radiance, and dropped the hood so that the glow was extinguished; and grey morning light filtered down through the flying snow and into the shelter opening. "Nothing," he rumbled. "We do nothing til the storm abates."

"I wonder when that will be," fretted Cotton in the dimness. "I mean, well, I don't know much about blizzards—especially mountain blizzards. In the Bosky we seldom get real mean snowstorms. Why, let me see, there's only been one bad storm that I can remember; only once has the White Wolf howled around Hollow End and The Root since I've been there. And it lasted for two days, and it put almost two foot of snow on the ground. But I hear mountain blizzards can last for weeks. . . .

"Oh, Bomar, I don't know why I'm nattering on about that. What I'm really afraid of is that we're going to get caught here, and we won't reach the Dusk-Door in time for Mister Perry, and they'll be trapped in that black puzzle with all the Rucks and Hloks and Ogru-Trolls after them—"

"Hush, Waeran," growled Bomar. "It does no good to a warrior's heart to think of his comrades in need of aid when that aid cannot be given. We have no choice but to wait for the blizzard to slacken. We cannot go on, for I have seen this kind of storm before: here in the protection of the thick forest it is not too severe; but out in the open the snow fills the air with whiteness— nothing can be seen more than a yard or two distant. And the cold wind is a terrible enemy: it sucks the heat away with its icy blast, and an animal will fall in midstride, to freeze in moments. We cannot go forth into that. We must wait."

"Animals? Freeze? What about Brownie and Downy?" asked Cotton anxiously. "For that matter, what about all the horses? Are they going to drop in their tracks and freeze? We can't let that happen! We've got to do something!" And Cotton started to crawl out, but was stopped by Bomar.

"Hold, Cotton!" demanded the Dwarf, gripping the Warrow by the shoulder. "The horses are all right. Aye, they are chilled, but they are not freezing. Only in the open blast would they be in danger; but here in the pines they are well protected from the wind."

"Well let's go see anyway," insisted Cotton. "My legs need the stretch."

Bomar saw how concerned the buccan was; and with a shrug of his shoulders he pulled his hood up snug, motioning the Waeran to do likewise. They

crawled from the shelter and struck out for the pen where Brownie and Downy were held, Bomar leading the way.

The snow came to Cotton's midthigh, though in places the drifts were deeper, but the sturdy Dwarf broke the path, and the smaller Warrow followed in his wake. They struggled through the swirling white, stopping frequently to rest, while the wind moaned aloft in the treetops. A blinding sheet of whiteness raced by overhead on its flight to the mountain crests, and only a portion of the howling fling fell swirling through the boughs to coldly blanket the forest below. But even the small part that came down was enough to curb vision and pile snow deeply, to be driven into larger drifts.

At last Cotton and Bomar reached a thick grove of low pines; a large group of horses stood huddled within its protection where the snow was less deep and the wind did not cut. The animals seemed glad to see the two; and eagerly they pressed forward for a smell and a look, for they had seen no person since the previous night, when each had been fed a small portion of grain and then had been driven with the others to cluster in the simple rope pens among the thick, low, sheltering pines near the encampment glens.

Cotton and Bomar spent a good while walking among the animals, patting their flanks and rubbing their necks and muzzles. Though they spoke to the horses, the wind drowned out their words; but their very presence seemed to reassure the steeds that all was well. Cotton finally located Downy and later Brownie, and they each nuzzled him; and thus Cotton, too, felt assured that the horses were faring well.

The Warrow and Dwarf had worked their way through the herd when Cotton leaned over and called above the wind moan, "What we need is a hot cup of tea, but we'll never get one in this storm."

Bomar snorted and declared, "Come with me; we will go make some."

Breasting the snow, they toiled back to the glen, where they located a black waggon; from it they took a small-forge and a supply of black firecoke, and carried it to the lean-to beside their yellow waggon. Shortly they had a hot blaze going in the forge, and they melted snow in the large kettle to brew the tea. Leaving Cotton to tend the pot and make the drink, Bomar trudged out into the swirl and located other shelters and invited those within to join them. Soon Dwarves straggled to the fire, and Cotton served hot tea to go with their crue biscuits.

Thus the Warrow and Bomar passed the day—tending the kettle on the forge in the lean-to, brewing hot tea, and serving grateful Dwarves—while all around the snow spun and the wind groaned. Busy as he was, Cotton still fretted and worried, vexed by the storm but helpless to do anything about it Stranded/ he thought. Stranded here on the mountainside. Rolf said, "Beware of Waroo," and he was right: the White Bear has us trapped like buys on a board. Oh, Mister Perry, what's to become of you?

The next morning, before dawn, Cotton bolted upright in the shelter thinking, What's that? but he struck his head against a thick branch in the shelter roof and flinched back down, rubbing his crown through his hood. What did I hear that made me bump my noggin? he wondered, and he listened intently, but heard only Bomar's quiet breathing in the still night. Excitedly, he grabbed Bomar's shoulder and shook him. "Bomar! Bomar, listen! What do you hear?" he cried. Bomar came groggily awake and cracked open the lantern hood, and blinked and rolled his eyes in the phosphorescent light. "Listen, Bomar, what do you hear?" repeated Cotton.

Bomar listened quietly and then exclaimed with fierce exultation, "Nothing! I hear nothing!"

"That's just it!" chortled Cotton. "Nothing! No sound at all! No wind! No howl! The storm is over!" And he grabbed the lantern and scrambled from the shelter with Bomar right behind. And the buccan was correct: the wind that had howled and moaned and groaned and shrieked for two days was gone; the blizzard had blown itself out; all that remained was a light snow falling gently through the pines. And the Warrow laughed and danced and capered in the deep snow by the blue-green radiance of the lantern, while the usually somber Dwarf looked on with a great grin upon his face.

As dawn broke, Bomar and his crew again had prepared a hot breakfast, and had served storm-weary but grimly smiling warriors. The light fall had stopped, and the skies had begun to clear. Now the meal was over and the utensils cleaned and stored, and still the command to prepare for the march did not come. Two more hours passed and yet no orders came and nothing was heard. Finally a Chief Captain arrived and called the warriors of the glen together. "The way is blocked by great drifts," he announced—and Cotton's high spirits plummeted into despair—"but three miles downslope they diminish, and the snow on the road beyond is not deep, and it can be travelled. Hence, we must dig a path to freedom.

"There are four thousand Chakka to open the way, yet we have but a limited number of shovels. Heed: use any scoop to move the snow—spare pots and pans and kettles from the cook-waggons, the beds from the small-forges, and aught else that works.

"Our first task is to clear a route from here to the road; let lie any snow that is less than knee deep, for the horses can broach that. When we reach the road we are to work in shifts with other companies.

"We are already delayed, and the Seven depend upon us to be at the Dusken Door and ready to enter on the twenty-fifth"—and the Chief Captain raised his voice in a shout—"so let us work as only Durek's Folk can!" And the squadron gave a great yell, and Dwarves rushed out to be at the task, while Cotton, Bomar, and the cook-waggon crew remained behind to prepare hot food and drink for the road workers.

The snowbound Army inched a clear path down the mountain as the bright Sun climbed up in the sky to shine down on the white slopes. Each Dwarf pulled his hood tight and peered out through the resulting fur tunnel, using it to screen out the intense glare and ward off snowblindness. And they scooped snow with shovels, pots, pans, forge-beds, boards, helms—anything that could be used. And slowly they crept downward.

Company relieved company, and the toil continued. Weary Dwarves trudged back to their campsites to grab a hot bite to eat and drink, and then to cast themselves down in their shelters for a short rest—which ended all too quickly, for in due time they were called upon to relieve yet another company. The cycle went on and on. And at one of the busy yellow waggons— Bomar's—Cotton helped with the work. And it seemed to the Waeran that no sooner did he finish feeding one crew than another would line up for a meal.

Progress down the mountain was measured in tens of feet. Cotton spoke to the returning crews and got reports on the headway: a giant wide drift at the quarter-mile mark slowed progress to a creep. The Dwarves finally broke through just before noon, and the advance went more swiftly.

It was not long after when there came the flat Tan-ta-ra of a Valonian black-oxen horn faintly bugling up over the snow from the slopes far below. Instantly, it was answered from a nearby glen by Brytta's great ebon horn. Again and again they called to one another, at times in short bursts of but a few notes, at other times with long flourishes . . . and finally they fell still.

Cotton wondered at the signals, and when Brytta eventually came, searching for the Warrow to speak with him and to take a meal, there was a huge grin upon the face of the Marshal of the Valanreach. "It is Hogon!" he exulted. "And Eddra and Arl and Wylf! My advance scouts. They are safe! They spent the blizzard with their horses, out of the blast—in a cave five or six miles downslope. Aye, I should have known that Wylf would have one eye out for comfort. Arl claims that at first flake-fall Wylf declared 'twas time for snug shelter, and led them on a line no bee could have flown straighter nor swifter direct to the hole; Eddra and Hogon checked it for the bears that were not there, and in they went, horses and all, two steps ahead of the white wind. And this morning they kicked and clawed and dug their way out through the snow that had drifted over the cave mouth. Ah, but they are safe! And they wait below for us to break through."

"You learned all that just from tootling horns across a snowfield at one another?" Cotton asked, and at Brytta's pleased nod the Warrow marveled at this, to him, heretofore unrealized potential of horn calls. And though Cot ton had not met the advance scouts, he felt eased that they had come to no harm. Yet his relief was tempered by the realization that tunc was slipping away from the Army, and Mister Perry and the Squad depended upon them

to be ready on schedule at the Dusk-Door; and here they were—drift-trapped.

In the early afternoon the army of digging Dwarves passed the half-mile point, but then the snow deepened, slowing the forward way. At sundown the road had been cleared for a mile, and work went on by lantern-glow and by the light of the stars. At midnight, the mile-and-a-half point was reached.

Bomar urged Cotton to take to his shelter for a rest. The buccan had been working nonstop all day, and was bone weary. Yet he was frustrated, for he had the irrational feeling that if only he were out there shoveling rather than back here cooking, well, the road would just get cleared a whole lot faster. What can be taking so long? I mean, a whole army ought to be able to do this job in just an hour or two. Not only was Cotton frustrated by the snail's pace of the progress, he was angry with himself for being frustrated in the first place, for he knew that the Dwarves were advancing downslope as quickly as possible, and he could make his best contribution to the effort by working with the cook-crew and not with the road crew.