Into the fire hc-2

  Into the fire

  ( Hel Crucible - 2 )

  Dennis L. Mckiernan

  Dennis L. McKiernan

  INTO THE FIRE

  Chapter 1

  Down from the now-free gates of Mineholt North rode the five-Tipperton, Beau, Phais, Loric, and Bekki-three on ponies, two on horses, and drawing two pack animals behind. Down from the portal and along the road on the eastern side of the mountain vale they fared-two War-rows, two Elves, and a Dwarf-riding southward, soon to turn east and follow the tradeway to the city of Dael. Of the mighty battle which had raged before the gates a mere ten weeks past, the battle which had shattered the Foul Folk siege of the Dwarvenholt, the battle which had sent one of Modru's Hordes fleeing in panic, of that battle there remained little sign, for all was covered with unmarked December snow, and not even the great scorching of the funeral pyres from the aftermath showed through, though rounded hummocks under the whiteness betokened where lay the Daelsmen's burial knolls.

  Past this field of blood rode the five, alongside a mountain flank, slitted eyewear protecting their sight from the blinding glare of the white pristine 'scape, the bright winter sun shedding little warmth down upon them all.

  "I say," queried Beau, peering at Tip, "just how far is it to Dael?"

  "Thirty, thirty-five leagues by road," replied Tipperton, "shorter could we fly."

  At these words, Beau looked long at the sky. No birds were in sight, though the forward edge of feather-thin clouds eked southward high above. "Huah. Even if I were a bird, I'd think it too cold to fly. No, Tip, I'll stick to my pony even though it'll take us five or six days in all."

  "Five or six days, Beau, that's just to Dael. We'll be forty, forty-five days on the road to Dendor, and that's if we don't run into trouble."

  "Forty-five da-?"

  "It's two hundred sixty, two hundred seventy leagues away, bucco."

  "Oh my, eight hundred miles or so?"

  "So Bekki says, Beau."

  Bekki grunted and said, "It is two hundred sixty-six leagues and two miles and some paces by the route we will go if all steps out as planned."

  Beau nodded, then began counting on the fingers of one gloved hand. After a while he said, "You are right, Tip: at six or seven leagues a day, that will take some forty or forty-five days." Beau shook his head. "A long time of eating field rations."

  "Oh, Beau, take heart," said Tip, "there are towns along the way."

  Beau shook his head. "We can't count on that, Tip, with Foul Folk all about. I mean, look at how far we had to go after leaving Arden Vale before we had a good hot meal. All the way down and through the Grimwall and over the Gunarring and back up to Darda Galion."

  Tip shook his head. "You're forgetting the marmot and rabbit we cooked on the Plains of Valon."

  "All right, all right, so that's, what, one hot meal in a thousand miles? Not exactly what I'd call eating well."

  Tip turned up his hands, then said, "We ate quite well in Darda Galion, and then again in Caer"-Tip's face fell, yet he managed to say-"Lindor."

  Beau looked across at his sad-eyed friend, then jerked his thumb over his shoulder and added, "In Mineholt North, too."

  Tip glanced at Beau and smiled through his tears. "Yes, we did." Then he sighed and wiped his cheeks with the heels of his gloved hands. "I'm sorry, Beau, but whenevei I think of Caer Lindor, it brings it all back."

  "I know, bucco," said Beau. "I know. And it's all right.'

  They rode along in morose silence for another mile or so, and a chill wind kicked up at their backs and they drew their cloaks tightly 'round.

  Finally they came to the mouth of the vale, and the road swung easterly. Along this way they turned, making new tracks in the unmarked snow as thickening clouds slid overhead.

  Phais looked at the sky and removed her eyewear. "I think we're in for a blow."

  "Oh my," said Beau. "Should we turn back? I mean, we're not too far from the shelter of the mineholt."

  Phais glanced at Loric, and he shook his head and said, " 'Tis the winter season, Beau, and no matter when we set out snow will fly… lest thou wouldst have us wait until spring is upon us."

  "Oh no," said Beau, pushing out a hand in negation. "We've been on this mission too long as it is to dawdle about waiting for fair weather. Besides, whatever message or meaning or charm or hex the coin bears, we need to get it to the one it is meant for."

  At this mention of potential magic, Tip's brow furrowed, and he nervously touched his eiderdown jacket high on his chest. "Beau, I wish you'd leave this talk of spellcraft behind. I mean it's enough that we bear the coin without having to talk about enchantments or magic or whatever."

  "All right, bucco," replied Beau. "I'll be quiet. I know it makes you uncomfortable and all to think that something actually touching your skin might be charmed in some way. I mean, if a Mage cast a spell upon the coin, or if a Sorceress laid a hex, or a Wizard incanted a-"

  "Beau, enough!"

  Beau's eyes flew wide, and then he frowned in puzzlement. Finally he grinned sheepishly and said, "Oh, right."

  Loric looked at Phais and she at him, and although they tried to remain solemn, they failed, and laughter rang out across the snow to be slapped back by the towering mountains to their left, and soon Beau was laughing, and finally stern Bekki joined in.

  Tipperton scowled at them all, but at last even he grinned.

  And the south-flowing clouds above thickened.

  ***

  "Oh my," said Beau, pointing ahead and left, air hissing in through clenched teeth. "Modru's sigil."

  A standard pole with a tattered flag jutted up out from the snow, the symbol a ring of fire on black.

  "Abandoned by the fleeing Horde, I ween," said Phais.

  "There's something under the snow," said Loric, spurring his horse to the flag and dismounting.

  "Take care," called Beau.

  Loric knelt and with a gloved hand brushed away the blanket of white.

  "What is it?" asked Tip.

  "A dead Ruch," replied Loric, looking down at the swart face revealed. He brushed away more snow, uncovering a long gash in the quilted armor along the Ruck's torso. Loric looked up at the others. "He took a cut from a blade. Probably in the battle. Got this far before he bled to death."

  Tip blew out a breath, frosty white in the cold air. "I would rather die quickly in combat than a slow painful death such as that."

  "Oh my, yes," said Beau. "But better still, what say we die of old age instead?"

  As Loric remounted, Tip laughed and said, "Indeed, and after a long and fruitful life, eh?"

  As Beau nodded in agreement, Bekki said, "I would have a long and fruitful life-three or four centuries-then die in glorious battle. If not battle, then old age must serve."

  Once again they started easterly. Of a sudden Beau frowned and looked at Phais.

  "We do not die of old age, Beau," said Phais, "if that is what thou art mulling. Instead 'tis by violence or accident, or by poison as nearly did I."

  "Oh my," said Beau, his eyes filling with distress. "Nothing peaceful whatsoever?"

  Phais shook her head.

  Beau glanced at his medical kit. "Illnesses?"

  Phais spread her hands. "There are but few which affect Elvenkind, and those most virulent."

  "Oh my," said Beau. "Oh my."

  And easterly they rode, while the wind blew chill and brooding clouds darkened the skies above.

  ***

  "This way," called Bekki above the howling wind, and Tip, next in line, could but barely hear him. Still Tipperton turned and shouted behind, "This way! This way!" and whether Beau heard him and shouted the word on, Tipper-ton could not say.

  Blindly they followed Bekki throu
gh the hurling white, barely able to see the horse or pony ahead as they tramped in file, each drawing an animal or two behind.

  Finally they reached a vertical flank of mountain stone, and Bekki turned rightward to the east, while the frigid blast shrieked down from the heights above, carrying stinging ice and hurtling snow on its furious wings.

  "I say," called Tip toward Bekki, but his words were shredded on the squalling wind and carried to shrieking oblivion. I say, wouldn't it be better if we were roped together? But no one could hear him or read his thoughts, and so, unattached, he followed Bekki, and Beau followed him, with Phais coming after and then Loric. To the right loomed shapes-trees?-he did not know. He was just about to try yelling to Bekki again when of a sudden the fury abated, and he came into a cavernous vault, with stone overhanging above and rubble underfoot, and in the dimness he could see Bekki and his pony trudging on ahead, back into recesses of the great hollow.

  Tip led his pony on inward and turned to see Beau and his mount coming after, and then Phais drawing her animal behind with a packhorse in tow as well, and finally Loric with two steeds after.

  Bekki nodded at the fire. "Before we leave, we shall gather wood to replace that which we burn."

  Beau gazed around at the vaulted chamber, a semidome of sorts, sides curving 'round to the back, ceiling arcing down to the back as well, the rubble-strewn floor more or less level. They sat at the rear of the hollow in relative comfort, snow flying and wind howling a hundred feet away at the bowed mouth of the wide cavity.

  Beau turned to Bekki. "Oh my, Bekki, how did you ever find this place?"

  "It is a Chakka wayfarers' shelter. I have been here before."

  Beau looked at the cords of wood stacked against the back of the chamber. "Yes, but with all the snow, I mean, how could you see?"

  "I could not, but as I said, I have been here before."

  Beau threw up his hands in a gesture of puzzlement.

  Bekki glanced at Tip, then said, "Chakka cannot lose their footsteps. Once we have been to a place, the way is always within us. It is a gift from Elwydd."

  Beau looked out into the shrieking snow. "Oh my, quite a marvelous gift, I should say." He turned to Tip. "I wonder if we have a gift… Warrows, that is."

  Tip sighed and tapped his chest at the point of the coin. "Perseverance, I shouldn't wonder."

  Phais shook her head and looked at the Warrows, then said, "Nay, Tipperton, 'tis heart."

  They spent that night and all the next day in the cavernous shelter, the wind screaming past It was during Bekki's watch on the second night that the storm began to abate, and by the next morning there was nought of it left but a| few gentle flakes drifting down. The five scoured for dead-wood among the broad stand of trees ranging before the hollow to replace the wood they had used. And then they set out once again to the east, the ponies and horses at times broaching deep drifts, at other times faring across ground scoured clean by the blow.

  Slowly the skies cleared, and by midafternoon the comrades rode beneath a glacial sky, the sun remote and chill the air numbingly cold, their breath streaming white, the vapor freezing on crusted scarves wrapped 'round faces and Bekki's beard was clotted with the ice of his exhalations.

  Through the slits of his eyewear, Beau looked at Tip, the other buccan with his cloak wrapped 'round. "Lor', Tip but I don't think I'll ever be warm again. I mean, this is even worse than when we were in Drearwood."

  "Let's walk awhile, Beau," said Tip, swinging a leg over the saddle forecantle and hopping down. "It'll warm us."

  "I'm all for that," replied Beau, dismounting as well. "I mean, I'd walk all the way to Dendor if it'd keep me warm."

  "There'll be a warm inn in Dael," said Tip, "with good hot food and something steaming to drink."

  "Oh my, hot wine mulled with spices," groaned Beau. "I can taste it now."

  Walking behind and leading two animals, Phais said, "A warm bath would serve better."

  "Oh yes," agreed Beau. "A hot bath with hot wine to sip even as we soak."

  Tip's mind flashed back to their first bath in Arden Vale, its warmth driving away the chill in their bones. And then he blushed, remembering dark-haired, blue-eyed Lady Elissan walking in on him as he stood naked in the bath washing his hair, his eyes closed against the soap running down, and he recalled her words at their last parting: When next thou doth take a bath, keep thine eyes open, else thou mayest once again have thy splendor revealed.

  Tipperton laughed, his breath puffing white in the brumal air.

  Beau looked at him. "What?"

  Tip shook his head. "Oh, nothing."

  And on they trudged, now and again coming across the bodies of Foul Folk who had died of wounds sustained in the battle before the gates of Mineholt North, wounds which ultimately proved fatal during the retreat as the Horde had fled. Yet they could not say how many other dead Rupt they had unknowingly passed hidden beneath the snow.

  Early on the nineteenth of December the road they followed entered Daelwood, a wide forest in Riamon. Frost covered the stark limbs of the wintering trees, the boughs barren and hard.

  "Oh my," said Beau, as they wended through the desolate wood, "but with the branches scraping at the sky, well, it reminds me somewhat of Drearwood."

  "Nay, my friend," said Phais. "Dhruousdarda is an evil tangle; Arindarda is not."

  Beau frowned. "Arindarda? -Oh, you mean Daelwood."

  "Aye."

  Tipperton nodded. "I agree. There was an evil air to Drearwood, whereas here there is none." Then he turned to Phais. "I say: Arindarda: doesn't that mean, urn, Ringwood?"

  "Aye, it does. Once nearly all of the land within the ring of the Rimmen Mountains was covered with this forest, but men have hewn it down until but a remnant remains."

  "Goodness," said Tip, shaking his head as he remembered the rolling plains he had scouted with Vail, "what a loss."

  On they fared within the forest, and late in the day they crossed an ice-covered stone bridge above a frozen tributary of the Ironwater River. On the far side, the road swung southeastward, following along the stream.

  "We'll camp here at the turn," said Bekki, glancing through bleak limbs at the cheerless sun.

  "How much farther to Dael?" asked Beau, dismounting.

  "Ten leagues and one mile minus some paces will bring us to the city walls," replied Bekki, loosening the cinch strap on his shag-haired pony.

  "Barn rats," groaned Beau. "I was hoping we'd get to an inn tomorrow, but it looks more like two days, eh?"

  Bekki turned and shook his head. "Not quite. Even with this snow and ice, a day and a half should see us there."

  Beau hauled the saddle from his pony. "A day and a half, Tip, and then it's hot mulled wine and a bath for me."

  Late the next day they came across a frozen man. With his cloak wrapped 'round and his back to a tree, he sal next to the road. Snow covered his feet and legs, and a white frost clung to him from the waist up. His icy face was chalky, and his eyes were frozen shut.

  "Is it one of the Horde?" asked Tip.

  Bekki shook his head. "Nay, I think not. By his garb it looks more to be a Daelsman. Caught in the storm, 1 deem."

  "Aye," said Phais. "Though late in the storm, I would think. There is little snow clinging unto him."

  "It could have been blown away," said Tip.

  Loric cocked an eyebrow. "Mayhap, though I ween the words of Dara Phais more like to be true."

  Beau finished his examination and turned to the others. "Well, he's frozen through and through; there's nothing we can do for him now." He looked at Bekki. "Maybe a pyre, for we won't be able to bury him in this rock-hard winter ground."

  Bekki shook his head. "Instead we'll report him to the town militia. They will come with a wagon and bear him back to Dael. His kith need to identify him and mourn him properly."

  "What about Wolves or such," asked Tip, "won't they be likely to, um-?"

  "Nay, Tipperton," said Loric. "He is frozen solid and bea
rs little scent, and though the storm was four days past, nought has yet defiled his remains. I deem he will stay untouched until the militia comes, unless there is a warming."

  "I'll see if there's anything on him to say just who he was," said Beau, squatting down and prying open frozen pockets.

  Tip frowned at this necessary yet rather grim business, but said nought.

  Beau moved to the other side and in moments stood and shook his head.

  Another mile down the road they found a frozen horse, one leg broken.

  "Hmm," mused Loric. "A mystery this."

  "How so?" asked Tip.

  "If this is the frozen man's horse, then he went onward instead of turning back toward Dael."

  "He might have been confused," said Beau. "Lost in the storm. Or so chill that he had no wits."

  "Mayhap," growled Bekki, "yet I think instead he was fleeing."

  Tip's eyes widened. "Fleeing? Fleeing what?"

  Bekki gestured at the animal. "See the frozen hair? Lather turned to ice, I think. The horse mayhap was running when he broke a leg. And who would run a horse on ice but a fleeing man? Too, its throat is not cut, and so I ask, who would leave behind a broken-legged horse alive and in pain? Someone fleeing, that's who. Someone running in panic."

  "Yes, but still you haven't answered Tip's question," said Beau. "What was the man fleeing from?"

  Bekki shrugged and looked southeasterly along the road and then muttered, "Mayhap he was fleeing the city of Dael."

  The next day they came upon another frozen man, and then another, and then three together, all of them covered with snow and ice and frost. And as the five rode onward, more and more frozen corpses were encountered, the road littered with the cold dead-men, "women, children-some clearly had been travelling afoot while others had been rid ing, and still more were found frozen in carts and wains horses lying blizzard-slain and rock-hard as well. And al were heading northwesterly along the road, a road which led to Mineholt North and nowhere else.

  As the five now rode onward, Loric turned to Phais "Refugees?"