Authors: Niel Hancock
“Hail, comrades,” shouted Cranfallow, addressing the man who seemed to be in command, a tall, clear-featured man with a handsome roan horse that paced about, eager to join the struggle that raged all about them.
“Who be you?” questioned the tall, dark-haired man, his cloak thrown back to reveal a solid black tunic, with two faintly flowing dark disks upon his epaulets, the insignia of the Dark Queen’s armies. The man cruelly spurred his horse toward the three companions, brandishing a pistol with a long, glistening black barrel.
Dwarf quickly removed his hat and twirled it twice around, and the grisly figures of the dwarfish army broke through the smoke, their ancient war cry chilling the frozen air with a bloodcurdling, booming thunder.
“Fly, fly,” shrieked Dwarf, and Cranfallow lashed the animal, but the beast reared and Broco fell stunned to the ground beneath the flying hooves of many riders. Cranfallow jumped to help Dwarf, and the explosions of rifles fired at close quarters rattled harshly in their ears. Ned fell, a bullet lodged in his elbow, but with his good arm he raised his weapon and shot down a dosing dark rider from his saddle. Dwarf, having regained his breath, and Cranfallow beside him, pulled Ned into the low cover of an overturned and burning wagon.
“Bloody traitors, murdering scum,” bellowed Cranfallow, aiming and firing at a madly galloping Urinine horseman. “Bloody missed ‘im,” he said, firing again.
The Urinine cavalry troop galloped around the burning wagon, singing their dreadful war song.
Black death rides, we are
The Urinine,
We come in darkness
Bearing doom,
We are the Urinine,
Bloody, heartless Urinine.
and their rifles sent volley after volley of crackling bullets all about the three desperate comrades.
Broco’s spell had worn away, leaving the three friends hopelessly surrounded by the circling black-cloaked cavalry. The smoke grew a dark blood-red from the crimson reflections of the burning camp, and Dwarf, having no time to reach for his hat, which had been blasted away by a bullet passing close enough to his large head to stun him for a moment, dropped to his knees and began wildly firing the man weapon at the gradually closing circle or horsemen. Ned Thinvoice fell back, stricken for the second time, and soon Cranfallow was holding a bloody leg with a clenched fist, trying to staunch the flowing wound, and Dwarf, in a voice he did not recognize as his own, was crying in a terrible hoarse voice, “Brandagore, Greyfax, Brandagore, Fairingay,” firing the bucking man weapon into the smoke until darkness overcame him, and he remembered no more.
Bear, at Otter’s side, was tying a piece of his torn jacket about his friend’s arm. After they had watched the two horsemen disappear, they had been set upon by a platoon of howling Worlughs, who cut all escape by encircling the hill. They were too hard pressed to see Dwarf, who had been upon one of the horses, but so small as to go unnoticed, or the desperate stand he was making only a short distance from their embattled hill Otter flinched as he tried to move back to his position near Flewingam, who was also wounded, and bandaged about the head with another piece of ripped clothing. Bear’s own huge left hand was numb and useless from a bomb that had landed near him and he had to hold the clumsy, noisy man weapon with his remaining good arm, which caused the bumping thing to bang repeatedly against his sore jaw, making him groan bitterly with every jarring report. The whirling, fire-smothered night around him at last began to grow dim, and weakened from his wound, he slumped, falling away into a soundless black cloak that covered him heavily, pressing him spiraling away into a dreamless sleep.
Around the four figures, the firing grew more intense, and a billowing pall of grayish red smoke covered them. Mithramuse looked upward, trying to see the sky, and to detect what this new threat was that had been approaching for the past explosive minutes of the battle. He could see nothing at first, so thickly clung the evil haze, but he at last broke through the dark mists, and there before him, flying down the rearmost ranks of enemy soldiers, was Froghorn Fairingay, son of Fairenaus, leading a great host of sinning, grim-faced elfin warriors. They swept away all before them like a blazing white tide, and winding the ancient battle horn of Fairenaus, king and Elder of the Fourth Age, the raging brilliant fight of the Elfin host rampaged nearer, slaying great numbers of Worlughs and Gorgolacs, and falling upon the terrified but grimly holding Urinine.
With a sudden fit of uncontained joy, General Greymouse, Mithramuse, lifted the hems of his gray, mud-spattered, bloodied cloak, and danced a quick jig upon the beleaguered hill. He had not had time to look about him at the wounded, unconscious figures of his three faithful guards. With a jubilant cry, and revived somewhat, he sent soaring skyward green and blue rocket bursts, which turned blazing in midair to a fine, gold-hued dust that fashioned the glittering letters,
“HURRAH, FARAGON FAIRINGAY
,” then all gleamed a deadly crimson, and turning and whirling ever downward, flowed into the forms of a thousand exploding shells that burst savagely among the crazed, fleeing enemy ranks.
Froghorn, engaged fiercely by two grimly straggling Urinine, spied the fallen mud-covered bright-green-brimmed dwarf hat, and with deadly skill long unused in battle, he cleaved a head and split a helm with a vicious two-handed stroke of the bright blazing elfin blade his father had carried long ages before him upon Atlanton Earth in the Wars of the Dragon Hordes. He dismounted and knelt beside the wagon, and his clear gray-blue eyes clouded with a terrible, burning wrath. He reached out tenderly and touched Broco’s brow.
“Thank the breath of Starkeeper, he yet lives,” he said aloud, and quickly moved the little man and carried him to his great steed, Pelon.
“We must find Mithramuse quickly, my friend. I fear our Dwarf has taken grievous wounds.”
“I shall go as softly as wind across shadow,” replied Pelon as Froghorn mounted, holding the limp figure of the little man closely to his body, and Pelon moved gently away toward the hill where the now shining figure of Mithramuse stood outlined against the raging, fiery bier of his camp.
Mithramuse sobered from his wild elation as Froghorn neared, bearing Dwarf.
“What dark news mars this hour?” asked Mithramuse. “Are we to celebrate a victory with the funeral fires of our brave Dwarf?”
“He yet lives, Master, but we must find healing for him quickly,” said Froghorn, looking down at the gentle calm settling across Dwarf’s face.
“I have Bear and Otter here with me. These three, I think, must come with us to Cypher, for the halls of Lorini have healed many hurts more grave than these.”
“Are we allowed that without our lady’s word?’* asked Froghorn, surprised at the older wizard’s suggestion.
“I shall answer to her, although I think she will not find it amiss, for these three have been her faithful followers and have borne up their parts most gallantly. She will deem it an honor to be able to reward them with a stay in Cypher.”
“Then what of the crossing? Shall we be able to hold them safe?”
“With prudence and good timing,” replied Mithramuse. “But we must be quick. Come, carry Dwarf here, and let Pe’lon return as he will.”
Froghorn dismounted, and the great horse neighed once, bowed, and was gone. ,
“Come nearer here, and help me call the Watcher. He shall carry us safely over.” the older man, gray cloak covering the halo glow of light, stooped low and began his chant. Froghorn joined, and soon all sky and earth reversed, and the distant glimmer of stars shone through the hazy pall of smoke, and a shimmering, golden ship came tiding upon the breath of wind from the last outer meadows of Windameir’s realms, and across that deep, silent beginning and end of time bore back the two wizard kings, Faragon, elder of Fairingay, and Mithramuse Cairngarme, ageless of the ageless Circle of light, servants of Cephus Starkeeper, and the unnamable holy name, and also among them were the three unknowing figures of they who had set out from beyond Calix Stay, Great. Water that guarded the nether realms, and on and beyond time they flew, and on and beyond sight or vision of mortal eyes that yet lived upon Atlanton Earth, and Dwarf, and Bear, and Otter passed there into Lorini’s halls for a time.
And behind, across the darkened borders of Northerland, Melodias Starson and Greyfax Grimwald moved with their white shining hosts against the foes that threatened Lorini’s borders.
For a time, an unquiet peace settled over the waning twilight of the world of Atlanton Earth.