The arrow flew with deadly accuracy. It buried itself deep in the wardog's throat, entering its chest. This dog slipped onto its side and lay still. The other ignored his companion and. ran on toward them with its mouth set in a vicious growl. Its fangs dripped foam. Dariel had time for one more arrow. Brock, not knowing what else to try, threw one of his shrike at it as it came close.
Dariel launched her arrow. The dog caught this in the shoulder. The shrike caught the dog on the head, its blade gashing one eye. This dog experienced pain and fear for the first time in its life and rolled on its side. Floundering and unable to see, this wardog turned and ran askew back up the road, dragging the arrow. Dariel fired again. Her third arrow pierced its side and knocked it down. It lay still ....
"Quickly Brock," said Dariel, "We.must leave the road before the owners of these beasts show up to see our greeting."
"What about my shrike?" asked Brock.
"Do not touch it -- and do not try to retrieve it."
"Why not?" asked Brock.
"Because, Good Sir, these war dogs are the product of Drog Sorcery. Follow me," she added firmly.
They left the road and rode up a side trail. It was steep in places and had slippery, exposed rocks beside it. Up they climbed until they had reached the top of the hill. Dariel led them through some brush and then back down the other side. Brock was too busy looking for the best footing (so that Prancer and Bon Boy would not fall) to notice much about their surroundings. Finally, they emerged back on the road.
Brock had many questions that he wanted to ask, but Dariel seemed to be distracted, as if she was listening for something. "Keep quiet Brock," she chided him, "until this danger has past!"
They rode on that way for about four hours. Suddenly, there loomed in the distance a huge mountain shrouded in mist. For a time, the mountain appeared to be no closer after each hill they climbed, but then a fork in the road appeared. One way led up to the mountain and the other out to the East. Dariel led them toward the mountain.
As they climbed higher, Brock turned to look at the scenery behind them. The East road led down to a magnificent forested valley. Off in the distance, lie could see another mountain range, whose peaks seemed taller than the one they climbed.
Ahead, the road forked again. This time Dariel led Brock around the base of the mountain. Another fork loomed ahead and something else appeared: a wide stone aqueduct. It was very ornate.
Dariel dismounted and turned to face Brock.
"You have been very brave, Young One. We will lead our mounts up to a cave that I know about beside this water course. There we will be safe and perhaps then we can talk..."
The cave was warm and dry. There was room for a party of men and horses three times their number. It was carved out of the rock at the end of the aqueduct. They had plenty of fresh water because the duct was full. They made to bed for the night ...
Brock looked over at Dariel, who sat at the mouth of the cave peering out into the gloom of the night. "Dariel, do you want me to watch so you can sleep?"
"My turn is now, for I will rest tomorrow when our charges arrive. You must rest now because tomorrow it will be your turn."
"Dariel, I have some questions." Brock stated.
"A few minutes, Brock."
"What did the red ax on the dog's collars mean?"
"It is the main symbol of our enemy, the Barbarian Horde of the Drog. They have symbols for their individual tribes too: skulls, bats and the like. Those dogs belonged to a particularly nasty tribe of Yuccah scouts."
"Are they nearby?"
"No, not yet. I am hoping that they fear this mountain. enough to keep their distance, if they even bother to pick up our trail..."
"Why would they be afraid of this mountain?"
"According to the Legends of Men: This mountain was the home of a huge Dwarf Kingdom and its fortress. Montarnost the Free Peoples Palace it was called in the first age, when Elves and Dwarves were at the height of their power in Arveta, before men came to be so prominent. Anyway, the legend says that there is a curse on this place, one that will befall any who venture here."
"Will it effect us?" Brock asked nervously.
"Let's just say that there is a curse, a huge monster that dwells deep within the Dungeon--that has not been disturbed for nearly a century."
"Then it is not a supernatural curse?"
"Only in that those who venture below do not return."
"Well then, where are we headed?"
"We are here."
"What? In this cave?"
"There is a great exodus going on. Its people will need every Eyri they can find. They also will need a temporary home."
"Here?"
"Yes, Brock, this fortress."
"But won't the monster awake?"
"We intend to put it back to sleep--permanently..."
Brock was speechless for a few moments but asked: "Then where are we going?"
"We will move and fight until a Torontair again reins over us in a time of renewed peace. Ask no more, Brock. We'll be fine. Save your strength for the day ahead..."
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© Copyright 2001 by Abram Paradies.
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