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masterghandalfThis is a repost from Das_Sporking2; previous installments of this sporking may be found here.
This post contains depiction of violence and deaths.
MG: Well, everyone, it’s time to continue our journey through Dennis L. McKiernan’s The Iron Tower! Last time, we brought Book I: The Dark Tide to a close as Tuck and Galen traveled the lands in pursuit of the Ghuls, passed through an insufficiently haunted forest, and finally arrived at Arden Vale where they metGaladriel and Celeborn Rael and Talarin and learned that Modru indeed has Laurelin, and that High King Aurion is dead. Today, we begin Book II: Shadows of Doom (as noted before, thankfully not Ed Greenwood’s Shadows of Doom, which was a miserable slog of a book that I’ve already sporked… ironically, I actually read The Iron Tower and the Shadow of the Avatar trilogy for the first ever time within a few weeks of each other back when I was in junior high; small world, huh?) by catching up with Laurelin and seeing what befell her after her caravan left Challerain Keep. Joining us today will be Shade and Kasanari!
But before we begin, we have an epigraph for Book Two!
“. . . it is the way of our living that is testament to our spirits, and perhaps the way we die . . .” ~Tuckerby Underbank February 1, 4E2019
MG: …thank you, Tuck. I think that’s more or less exactly what the way we live and die is (among many other things). Thank you for that stirring insight. And now, for the chapter proper!
Chapter One: Captive!
Shade: Oh, goody, the chapter title has its own exclamation point, this is going to be fun. We open with Laurelin heading south with her caravan, and we’ve apparently jumped back to two days before the Dimmendark hit Challerain Keep. Laurelin is quietly weeping with worry about everyone while Saril her eldest handmaiden tries to keep her spirits up with a steady stream of gossip and complaints… which clearly isn’t working. Personally, I have zero credentials to be a handmaiden, but if Laurelin hired me, I could at least teach her some card and dice games. Though what Laurelin – or the weeping damosel as McKiernan has suddenly, inexplicably and melodramatically decided to call her – really wants is someone to hold and comfort her, which she’s not getting from Saril – though Saril does eventually seem to realize she’s not helping and gives Laurelin a handkerchief to dry her eyes with, at least.
Kasanari: As they head on down the road, Laurelin’s weeping does eventually subside, though she’s still saddened in her heart, especially once Challerain Keep falls out of sight. She apologizes for having ruined Saril’s handkerchief, which is far more courteous than I’d expect form a royal, I must say, though she does think that it’s so wet that maybe they’d be better off freezing it solid and throwing it like a projectile from a sling at Modru. Saril is scandalized that Laurelin dared mention the name and warns her against bringing evil down on them; honestly, I’m rather fond of the suggestion, myself. Laurelin can’t imagine what Modru would want with Women and children, or the oldsters and the lame? Well, as I believe was once said of a different dark lord in another world, there is such a thing as malice, and revenge…
Shade: No need to tell me about it. And Laurelin, you yourself are a valuable royal hostage, so maybe don’t tempt fate? Saril doesn’t know what Modru would want of them – you’re not a very good handmaiden, are you? – but she’s seen lodestones snatch iron and fears Modru’s name draws evil the same way. Laurelin doesn’t believe it, but Saril warns her not to tempt fate, and they both fall awkwardly silent as the scene ends. We cut to sunset that evening as the caravan makes camp and Laurelin is eating with Saril and Haddon, the wounded messenger. She asks him for news of Galen, and so he gives a detailed account – sadly skipped over – of their forays in the north, and eventually Igon and Captain Jarriel come over to listen too.
“Along the Argent Hills we rode, and to the Rigga Mountains,” said Haddon, his eyes lost in memory, “but nought did we find: Modru’s myrk hid all. North we turned, toward the Boreal Sea, and at last our search bore fruit—though bitter it was—for the vast Horde we found, and it moved south along that dire range, coming down the western margins of the Rigga. From dark clefts and deep holts within those grim crags they came swarming, and their ranks swelled as they marched.
“Vulgs were with them, running their flanks, and we could not raid, for those dark beasts would sense us from afar and give the enemy warning ere we could close with the Spawn. King Aurion named them aright: Modru’s curs.” Haddon paused as Saril, whose eyes were wide from listening to the tale, refilled the warrior’s teacup. “Messengers were sent to Challerain,” continued Haddon, “to tell the King of the Horde.”
Kasanari: Igon confirms that none of them arrived other than Haddon, and Haddon in turn describes how he himself was attacked and nearly killed by Vulgs on the way. Jarriel wants to know more about “Ghola,” so Haddon explains about them as well:
“Ghola there are, and upon Hèlsteed. Many was the time they pursued us, but Lord Galen always gave them the slip, e’en in the snow. Wily is the Prince, clever as a fox. We would wait till ’twas right to strike, when there were no Vulgs about, and when some o’ the Spawn would be separated from the Horde. Oh, then we’d lash into those pockets like bolts from Adon’s Hammer. Back we’d jump, with Hèlsteeds after, but Lord Galen’s black steed would fly to the north and us right behind. Onto the trampled snow we’d ride, our tracks mingling with and lost within the wide wake of the very Horde we’d struck. Along this beaten swath we’d run a ways, soon to slip aside to hide among crags or bracken or hills, and watch the Ghola race by while we were concealed by the very Enemy’s own dark myrk.”
Kasanari: Haddon does confirm that the Spawn are also hampered by the Shadowlight; they weren’t able to determine by how much, but they clearly don’t see well in it. Haddon describes more about how the Dimmendark affected his own sight and how hard it was to see through it; Laurelin wonders if Elves would do better – I can see quite well in ordinary darkness, but I can’t say I’ve ever had occasion to try myself against the Dimmendark – but Haddon thinks it would take strange eyes to see through the Shadowlight. Laurelin thinks back to the Warrows’ “jewel” eyes and wonders, though I’m not entirely sure why save that the author knows the Warrows can see through the Dimmendark, and the scene ends.
Shade: We cut to dawn, as the caravan gets ready to move out again and their healer pronounces Haddon well enough to no longer need his sling for his arm, and daylight has now burned out the last of the Vulg venom. The caravan heads out, with Igon and Jarriel riding in front so Laurelin, further back, sees little of them. Though apparently Saril is good for something, as today she and Laurelin pass the time playing zhon, a sort of game played with tarot cards…
MG: Which I guess are a thing in Mithgar; can’t recall if this ever comes up anywhere else. We have some elven seers, but they don’t use cards; Aylis, a Mage seer, is one of the main characters in Voyage of the Fox Rider and pops up in a few other books – she uses various techniques, but it’s been so long since I’ve read any of the books she appears in that I can’t remember if she ever does card readings.
Shade: Well, Laurelin apparently puts enough stock in the game to be bothered with it, as while her suite of Suns has nothing but good portents, the four of swords and the Dark Queen trouble her, until she finally can’t concentrate on the game anymore and puts it away as the scene ends.
Kasanari: We cut to Laurelin the next afternoon, riding in her wagon and watching the countryside go by. Suddenly, she spots Igon, Jarriel and Haddon as they go riding by and for a moment are silhouetted against the sun, an image which unsettles her. How like the ancient woodcarvings of the Three Harbingers of Gelvin’s Doom they look; and a grim pall fell upon her breast, for that was a tale most dire.
MG: A tale which would be told in one of the Mithgar short story collections. In brief, it’s an old Mithgaran folktale about how a thief named Gelvin stole a magical jewel from a powerful demon lord, and the demon sent three of its minions after him to recover it. Those were War, Pestilence and Famine, three of Mithgar’s version of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, and after they killed Gelvin and recovered the jewel he was resurrected by the demon and forced to join them, completing the set and becoming Death. The story is probably an in-universe allegory, but the jewel itself, also called Gelvin’s Doom, was real and later turned in in Modru’s possession. The tale is mentioned a couple of more times in the book, but I don’t believe Gelvin’s Doom itself shows up.
Kasanari: …yes, I can see why that comparison would unnerve Laurelin. The three ride north, and then wheel around and come back. As they pass, Laurelin asks what they saw, and Igon says it was the Dimmendark moving south, as we already knew. Igon now has to go and warn the other officers so they can prepare the caravan if it overtakes them. Laurelin is once more consumed with worry for everyone they left behind at the Keep; Saril breaks down and Laurelin has to comfort her, but knows that as royalty, no one will think that she might need comforting too. That night, she dreams of being trapped and the scene ends.
Shade: *shivers* Had that dream a time or two myself; not fun. The next day the Dimmendark is plainly visible on the horizon for everyone to see, and children start crying and adults start panicking. The caravan quickly packs up and gets on the move as the Dimmendark follows behind them, steadily gaining on them even under the noonday sun, and soon they can hear the rumble of wind that accompanies it as the horses start panicking too. Laurelin grimly watches it come, while Saril doubles over with her face in her hands. Finally, a blizzard engulfs the caravan and then quickly passes, and the Dimmendark settles in as the scene ends.
Then the wave was past, and the wind yowl slowly fell into muteness; the billowing snow began drifting back unto the ground. The caravan now stood in the full Dimmendark, and the grasp of bitter Winternight reached forth to clutch this land. A dread silence fell across the plains and into the Battle Downs, broken only by the solitary wails of those frightened beyond the limits of their courage.
Kasanari: The caravan travels another ten miles before making camp for dinner, though Haddon, who got used to the Dimmendark before, is the only one with much appetite. And even he is wary that the Dimmendark’s presence here may mean Spawn are nearby. Igon and Jarriel come over, and Jarriel has this to say: “My Lady, on the morrow I propose to move thy wain to train center whither thou will be safer.” Which is apparently meant to be courtly parlance, but even so, it feels like it comes from nowhere. Laurelin isn’t happy, since she doesn’t want someone else to have to move their wagon to the edge of the caravan where they’ll be exposed to danger in her place; Saril is insistent, but Laurelin thinks nowhere is truly safe from Modru now. Finally, Haddon has his say:
“My Princess, the Lady Saril is right, but for the wrong reasons, and so, too, is Captain Jarriel. You must move to train center, e’en though it may be no safer from the Enemy in Gron than aught other space in this train, nor more easily protected either. Nay, I stand with you on those two reasons, yet still I think that you must move, for something else compels:
“Did you watch the people tonight as you bestrode the length of the caravan: I did, and this is what I saw: Grim were their looks and fell were their spirits ere you went among them. Yet many of the most frightened mustered a wan smile when you came through the Shadowlight. Oh, they be still frightened, yet not as much as before. And that is why you must ride at train center: For you are the gentle heart and bright spirit of the people, and at their heart you should go, as near to as many as you may be; and though you cannot ride in each one’s waggon, amid all waggons you can ride. Then all may know that you are among them, and not remote and distant at train’s end.”
Now Haddon’s voice took on the courtly manner: “I will take thy present place at the last of the caravan, but thou must take thy true place amid thine own.”
Shade: Which apparently convinces Laurelin, as she bursts into tears and nods in agreement, and Igon jokes approvingly that if he ever needs someone to help him negotiate with a foreign kingdom, Haddon seems like the man. Laurelin laughs, but another warrior comes over, reporting that Vulgs have been spotted in the darkness – they were pacing the caravan but now have turned back, and no one knows what it means. At a guess, I’d say they found what they were looking for and are reporting back – then again, I know where this is going. Laurelin is left brooding as the scene ends.
Kasanari: The next morning, Laurelin is woken up, though of course there is no dawn. She gets ready, and then Bergil the driver comes over…
MG: “Bergil” of course being the young son of Beregond from Return of the King; I’d say it was on the nose, but after an elf named Gildor, everything looks subtle.
Kasanari: Bergil – with a torturously written accent I won’t inflict on you – confirms he has orders to take Laurelin to the center of the caravan, which he does. Everyone finishes up their breakfast, Igon and Jarriel come over to confirm they’re all ready, and they prepare to set off again. Something is wrong, however; one of the scouts Igon set doesn’t sound his horn when he should. Jarriel signals for the caravan to stop and gather up, and then:
And then, bursting through the spectral shadows clutching the sinister hills to the south, erupted the enemy: Ghola upon thundering Hèlsteeds, striking down upon the standing train with shattering violence: cruel barbed spears driven by running Death, slashing tulwars cleaving into innocent flesh, slaughter racing upon cloven hooves, shocking into and through and over Women and children, oldsters and the lame, the ill and wounded, the sundering blades and impaling shafts riving a great bloody swath through the unprepared caravan. Some stood stunned and were cut down like cattle at butcher. Yet others turned to flee and were slain while running: thus did Saril die, clambering to hide in the waggon.
Kasanari: …well. That certainly was sudden. Laurelin is grazed and bowled over by a passing Helsteed, and Jarriel collapses dead nearby with a spear through the chest. Horrified, trying not to scream, she crawls to her feet in time to see Haddon dueling with a Ghul… and for it to slice his throat open with its tulwar. She sees Igon and a group of warriors fighting nearby, and a Helsteed falls but the Ghul riding it rolls back to his feet at once and kills one of their soldiers. Igon spots her and tries to reach her, but a Ghul intercepts him; they fight and he finally manages to decapitate it. This only gets him swarmed by more Ghuls; he fights on, calling Laurelin’s name, but while the Ghuls can’t kill him, he also can’t force his way past him.
Shade: Well, finally a Helsteed plows into Igon’s horse, staggering him. Oh, and for some reason it’s important we know that Rust, Igon’s horse, is War-trained, with capital! Wonder what that means? Probably just that McKiernan likes capitals… Igon stabs the Ghul but his blade catches on bone – urgh – and it manages to strike him to the ground. Laurelin screams his name, though of course we know Igon isn’t dead. She grabs a dagger and hurls herself at a nearby Ghul on foot, slashing and stabbing furiously. Good girl! Unfortunately for her, the Ghul is unaffected by the wounds and smacks her aside with his spear. She’s left lying dazed as the Ghuls, having finished with the soldiers, proceed to methodically slaughter all the civilians. I’ll… I’ll spare you that, if that’s all right. Laurelin waits for them to get to her, but first she spots Rust, standing protectively over Igon’s body. The Ghuls are wary of the warhorse, but as one finally approaches with a spear, Laurelin yells at him to Jagga! Which apparently means “hide,” though I’m not sure what language. And apparently that command is part of his training, as Rust charges past the Ghul and away from the battle, with Laurelin desperately crying it after him as he goes.
Kasanari: Finally, a Ghul approaches Laurelin with a spear raised; she stares up at him defiantly and tells him that Rust, at least, is a victim he won’t get. He glares down at her and raises his spear to strike, when suddenly someone else interrupts – someone we’ve not seen before, but who sounds rather familiar:
“Slath!” lashed out a command from behind her, the hissing voice hideous, and Laurelin felt as if vipers slithered over her spine. The Ghol lowered the shaft, and the Princess turned her head to see a Man upon Hèlsteed. A Naudron he was, one of the folk that roam the northern barrens hunting seal and whale and the antlered beasts of the tundra. Yet when Laurelin looked beyond his yellow-copper skin and into his dark eyes, utter Evil stared malignantly back at her.
Kasanari: Well, poor Laurelin doesn’t know what this newcomer is, but I think I do – another of Modru’s surrogates. The surrogate converses with the Ghul; apparently Modru is angry, because he ordered the Ghuls to bring him Laurelin and Igon alive, but they only spared Laurelin. She realizes that the Ghuls think Igon is dead and is very careful not to draw their attention to his body nearby. The surrogate snaps another order and the Ghuls turn to search the bodies; Laurelin can’t’ help herself and demands that the Spaunen leave the bodies alone - Igon is already dead. Modru’s voice is furious, promising terrible wrath on the whole party for ignoring his orders; he snaps some more commands and the Ghuls seize Laurelin. She passes out, and the scene ends.
MG: And with that, we bring today’s section to a close! This half-chapter was… mostly fine, but not very interesting. We already know what Laurelin and Igon’s fates will be, so it’s kind of hard to get too invested in the caravan as a whole, and none of the supporting characters are interesting enough for me to be too saddened at their deaths. Most of the journey in the first half is also fairly tedious, though the arrival of the Dimmendark and the slaughter by the Ghuls are both appropriately horrifying. The Ghuls are back to being difficult to kill today, which I do appreciate; unfortunately, their master fails to impress, seeming to not be able to recognize that Igon isn’t actually dead when he’s lying right there. Then again, I’m not sure how good Modru’s senses actually are through the surrogate, and maybe the Ghuls don’t know how to check for vital signs on a human. *shrugs* In any case, that’s all for today! Next time, Laurelin learns that while you can’t simply walk into Mordor, you can ride into Gron… and we’ll get the long-awaited(?) debut of the actual Modru. We’ll see you then!
This post contains depiction of violence and deaths.
MG: Well, everyone, it’s time to continue our journey through Dennis L. McKiernan’s The Iron Tower! Last time, we brought Book I: The Dark Tide to a close as Tuck and Galen traveled the lands in pursuit of the Ghuls, passed through an insufficiently haunted forest, and finally arrived at Arden Vale where they met
But before we begin, we have an epigraph for Book Two!
“. . . it is the way of our living that is testament to our spirits, and perhaps the way we die . . .” ~Tuckerby Underbank February 1, 4E2019
MG: …thank you, Tuck. I think that’s more or less exactly what the way we live and die is (among many other things). Thank you for that stirring insight. And now, for the chapter proper!
Chapter One: Captive!
Shade: Oh, goody, the chapter title has its own exclamation point, this is going to be fun. We open with Laurelin heading south with her caravan, and we’ve apparently jumped back to two days before the Dimmendark hit Challerain Keep. Laurelin is quietly weeping with worry about everyone while Saril her eldest handmaiden tries to keep her spirits up with a steady stream of gossip and complaints… which clearly isn’t working. Personally, I have zero credentials to be a handmaiden, but if Laurelin hired me, I could at least teach her some card and dice games. Though what Laurelin – or the weeping damosel as McKiernan has suddenly, inexplicably and melodramatically decided to call her – really wants is someone to hold and comfort her, which she’s not getting from Saril – though Saril does eventually seem to realize she’s not helping and gives Laurelin a handkerchief to dry her eyes with, at least.
Kasanari: As they head on down the road, Laurelin’s weeping does eventually subside, though she’s still saddened in her heart, especially once Challerain Keep falls out of sight. She apologizes for having ruined Saril’s handkerchief, which is far more courteous than I’d expect form a royal, I must say, though she does think that it’s so wet that maybe they’d be better off freezing it solid and throwing it like a projectile from a sling at Modru. Saril is scandalized that Laurelin dared mention the name and warns her against bringing evil down on them; honestly, I’m rather fond of the suggestion, myself. Laurelin can’t imagine what Modru would want with Women and children, or the oldsters and the lame? Well, as I believe was once said of a different dark lord in another world, there is such a thing as malice, and revenge…
Shade: No need to tell me about it. And Laurelin, you yourself are a valuable royal hostage, so maybe don’t tempt fate? Saril doesn’t know what Modru would want of them – you’re not a very good handmaiden, are you? – but she’s seen lodestones snatch iron and fears Modru’s name draws evil the same way. Laurelin doesn’t believe it, but Saril warns her not to tempt fate, and they both fall awkwardly silent as the scene ends. We cut to sunset that evening as the caravan makes camp and Laurelin is eating with Saril and Haddon, the wounded messenger. She asks him for news of Galen, and so he gives a detailed account – sadly skipped over – of their forays in the north, and eventually Igon and Captain Jarriel come over to listen too.
“Along the Argent Hills we rode, and to the Rigga Mountains,” said Haddon, his eyes lost in memory, “but nought did we find: Modru’s myrk hid all. North we turned, toward the Boreal Sea, and at last our search bore fruit—though bitter it was—for the vast Horde we found, and it moved south along that dire range, coming down the western margins of the Rigga. From dark clefts and deep holts within those grim crags they came swarming, and their ranks swelled as they marched.
“Vulgs were with them, running their flanks, and we could not raid, for those dark beasts would sense us from afar and give the enemy warning ere we could close with the Spawn. King Aurion named them aright: Modru’s curs.” Haddon paused as Saril, whose eyes were wide from listening to the tale, refilled the warrior’s teacup. “Messengers were sent to Challerain,” continued Haddon, “to tell the King of the Horde.”
Kasanari: Igon confirms that none of them arrived other than Haddon, and Haddon in turn describes how he himself was attacked and nearly killed by Vulgs on the way. Jarriel wants to know more about “Ghola,” so Haddon explains about them as well:
“Ghola there are, and upon Hèlsteed. Many was the time they pursued us, but Lord Galen always gave them the slip, e’en in the snow. Wily is the Prince, clever as a fox. We would wait till ’twas right to strike, when there were no Vulgs about, and when some o’ the Spawn would be separated from the Horde. Oh, then we’d lash into those pockets like bolts from Adon’s Hammer. Back we’d jump, with Hèlsteeds after, but Lord Galen’s black steed would fly to the north and us right behind. Onto the trampled snow we’d ride, our tracks mingling with and lost within the wide wake of the very Horde we’d struck. Along this beaten swath we’d run a ways, soon to slip aside to hide among crags or bracken or hills, and watch the Ghola race by while we were concealed by the very Enemy’s own dark myrk.”
Kasanari: Haddon does confirm that the Spawn are also hampered by the Shadowlight; they weren’t able to determine by how much, but they clearly don’t see well in it. Haddon describes more about how the Dimmendark affected his own sight and how hard it was to see through it; Laurelin wonders if Elves would do better – I can see quite well in ordinary darkness, but I can’t say I’ve ever had occasion to try myself against the Dimmendark – but Haddon thinks it would take strange eyes to see through the Shadowlight. Laurelin thinks back to the Warrows’ “jewel” eyes and wonders, though I’m not entirely sure why save that the author knows the Warrows can see through the Dimmendark, and the scene ends.
Shade: We cut to dawn, as the caravan gets ready to move out again and their healer pronounces Haddon well enough to no longer need his sling for his arm, and daylight has now burned out the last of the Vulg venom. The caravan heads out, with Igon and Jarriel riding in front so Laurelin, further back, sees little of them. Though apparently Saril is good for something, as today she and Laurelin pass the time playing zhon, a sort of game played with tarot cards…
MG: Which I guess are a thing in Mithgar; can’t recall if this ever comes up anywhere else. We have some elven seers, but they don’t use cards; Aylis, a Mage seer, is one of the main characters in Voyage of the Fox Rider and pops up in a few other books – she uses various techniques, but it’s been so long since I’ve read any of the books she appears in that I can’t remember if she ever does card readings.
Shade: Well, Laurelin apparently puts enough stock in the game to be bothered with it, as while her suite of Suns has nothing but good portents, the four of swords and the Dark Queen trouble her, until she finally can’t concentrate on the game anymore and puts it away as the scene ends.
Kasanari: We cut to Laurelin the next afternoon, riding in her wagon and watching the countryside go by. Suddenly, she spots Igon, Jarriel and Haddon as they go riding by and for a moment are silhouetted against the sun, an image which unsettles her. How like the ancient woodcarvings of the Three Harbingers of Gelvin’s Doom they look; and a grim pall fell upon her breast, for that was a tale most dire.
MG: A tale which would be told in one of the Mithgar short story collections. In brief, it’s an old Mithgaran folktale about how a thief named Gelvin stole a magical jewel from a powerful demon lord, and the demon sent three of its minions after him to recover it. Those were War, Pestilence and Famine, three of Mithgar’s version of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, and after they killed Gelvin and recovered the jewel he was resurrected by the demon and forced to join them, completing the set and becoming Death. The story is probably an in-universe allegory, but the jewel itself, also called Gelvin’s Doom, was real and later turned in in Modru’s possession. The tale is mentioned a couple of more times in the book, but I don’t believe Gelvin’s Doom itself shows up.
Kasanari: …yes, I can see why that comparison would unnerve Laurelin. The three ride north, and then wheel around and come back. As they pass, Laurelin asks what they saw, and Igon says it was the Dimmendark moving south, as we already knew. Igon now has to go and warn the other officers so they can prepare the caravan if it overtakes them. Laurelin is once more consumed with worry for everyone they left behind at the Keep; Saril breaks down and Laurelin has to comfort her, but knows that as royalty, no one will think that she might need comforting too. That night, she dreams of being trapped and the scene ends.
Shade: *shivers* Had that dream a time or two myself; not fun. The next day the Dimmendark is plainly visible on the horizon for everyone to see, and children start crying and adults start panicking. The caravan quickly packs up and gets on the move as the Dimmendark follows behind them, steadily gaining on them even under the noonday sun, and soon they can hear the rumble of wind that accompanies it as the horses start panicking too. Laurelin grimly watches it come, while Saril doubles over with her face in her hands. Finally, a blizzard engulfs the caravan and then quickly passes, and the Dimmendark settles in as the scene ends.
Then the wave was past, and the wind yowl slowly fell into muteness; the billowing snow began drifting back unto the ground. The caravan now stood in the full Dimmendark, and the grasp of bitter Winternight reached forth to clutch this land. A dread silence fell across the plains and into the Battle Downs, broken only by the solitary wails of those frightened beyond the limits of their courage.
Kasanari: The caravan travels another ten miles before making camp for dinner, though Haddon, who got used to the Dimmendark before, is the only one with much appetite. And even he is wary that the Dimmendark’s presence here may mean Spawn are nearby. Igon and Jarriel come over, and Jarriel has this to say: “My Lady, on the morrow I propose to move thy wain to train center whither thou will be safer.” Which is apparently meant to be courtly parlance, but even so, it feels like it comes from nowhere. Laurelin isn’t happy, since she doesn’t want someone else to have to move their wagon to the edge of the caravan where they’ll be exposed to danger in her place; Saril is insistent, but Laurelin thinks nowhere is truly safe from Modru now. Finally, Haddon has his say:
“My Princess, the Lady Saril is right, but for the wrong reasons, and so, too, is Captain Jarriel. You must move to train center, e’en though it may be no safer from the Enemy in Gron than aught other space in this train, nor more easily protected either. Nay, I stand with you on those two reasons, yet still I think that you must move, for something else compels:
“Did you watch the people tonight as you bestrode the length of the caravan: I did, and this is what I saw: Grim were their looks and fell were their spirits ere you went among them. Yet many of the most frightened mustered a wan smile when you came through the Shadowlight. Oh, they be still frightened, yet not as much as before. And that is why you must ride at train center: For you are the gentle heart and bright spirit of the people, and at their heart you should go, as near to as many as you may be; and though you cannot ride in each one’s waggon, amid all waggons you can ride. Then all may know that you are among them, and not remote and distant at train’s end.”
Now Haddon’s voice took on the courtly manner: “I will take thy present place at the last of the caravan, but thou must take thy true place amid thine own.”
Shade: Which apparently convinces Laurelin, as she bursts into tears and nods in agreement, and Igon jokes approvingly that if he ever needs someone to help him negotiate with a foreign kingdom, Haddon seems like the man. Laurelin laughs, but another warrior comes over, reporting that Vulgs have been spotted in the darkness – they were pacing the caravan but now have turned back, and no one knows what it means. At a guess, I’d say they found what they were looking for and are reporting back – then again, I know where this is going. Laurelin is left brooding as the scene ends.
Kasanari: The next morning, Laurelin is woken up, though of course there is no dawn. She gets ready, and then Bergil the driver comes over…
MG: “Bergil” of course being the young son of Beregond from Return of the King; I’d say it was on the nose, but after an elf named Gildor, everything looks subtle.
Kasanari: Bergil – with a torturously written accent I won’t inflict on you – confirms he has orders to take Laurelin to the center of the caravan, which he does. Everyone finishes up their breakfast, Igon and Jarriel come over to confirm they’re all ready, and they prepare to set off again. Something is wrong, however; one of the scouts Igon set doesn’t sound his horn when he should. Jarriel signals for the caravan to stop and gather up, and then:
And then, bursting through the spectral shadows clutching the sinister hills to the south, erupted the enemy: Ghola upon thundering Hèlsteeds, striking down upon the standing train with shattering violence: cruel barbed spears driven by running Death, slashing tulwars cleaving into innocent flesh, slaughter racing upon cloven hooves, shocking into and through and over Women and children, oldsters and the lame, the ill and wounded, the sundering blades and impaling shafts riving a great bloody swath through the unprepared caravan. Some stood stunned and were cut down like cattle at butcher. Yet others turned to flee and were slain while running: thus did Saril die, clambering to hide in the waggon.
Kasanari: …well. That certainly was sudden. Laurelin is grazed and bowled over by a passing Helsteed, and Jarriel collapses dead nearby with a spear through the chest. Horrified, trying not to scream, she crawls to her feet in time to see Haddon dueling with a Ghul… and for it to slice his throat open with its tulwar. She sees Igon and a group of warriors fighting nearby, and a Helsteed falls but the Ghul riding it rolls back to his feet at once and kills one of their soldiers. Igon spots her and tries to reach her, but a Ghul intercepts him; they fight and he finally manages to decapitate it. This only gets him swarmed by more Ghuls; he fights on, calling Laurelin’s name, but while the Ghuls can’t kill him, he also can’t force his way past him.
Shade: Well, finally a Helsteed plows into Igon’s horse, staggering him. Oh, and for some reason it’s important we know that Rust, Igon’s horse, is War-trained, with capital! Wonder what that means? Probably just that McKiernan likes capitals… Igon stabs the Ghul but his blade catches on bone – urgh – and it manages to strike him to the ground. Laurelin screams his name, though of course we know Igon isn’t dead. She grabs a dagger and hurls herself at a nearby Ghul on foot, slashing and stabbing furiously. Good girl! Unfortunately for her, the Ghul is unaffected by the wounds and smacks her aside with his spear. She’s left lying dazed as the Ghuls, having finished with the soldiers, proceed to methodically slaughter all the civilians. I’ll… I’ll spare you that, if that’s all right. Laurelin waits for them to get to her, but first she spots Rust, standing protectively over Igon’s body. The Ghuls are wary of the warhorse, but as one finally approaches with a spear, Laurelin yells at him to Jagga! Which apparently means “hide,” though I’m not sure what language. And apparently that command is part of his training, as Rust charges past the Ghul and away from the battle, with Laurelin desperately crying it after him as he goes.
Kasanari: Finally, a Ghul approaches Laurelin with a spear raised; she stares up at him defiantly and tells him that Rust, at least, is a victim he won’t get. He glares down at her and raises his spear to strike, when suddenly someone else interrupts – someone we’ve not seen before, but who sounds rather familiar:
“Slath!” lashed out a command from behind her, the hissing voice hideous, and Laurelin felt as if vipers slithered over her spine. The Ghol lowered the shaft, and the Princess turned her head to see a Man upon Hèlsteed. A Naudron he was, one of the folk that roam the northern barrens hunting seal and whale and the antlered beasts of the tundra. Yet when Laurelin looked beyond his yellow-copper skin and into his dark eyes, utter Evil stared malignantly back at her.
Kasanari: Well, poor Laurelin doesn’t know what this newcomer is, but I think I do – another of Modru’s surrogates. The surrogate converses with the Ghul; apparently Modru is angry, because he ordered the Ghuls to bring him Laurelin and Igon alive, but they only spared Laurelin. She realizes that the Ghuls think Igon is dead and is very careful not to draw their attention to his body nearby. The surrogate snaps another order and the Ghuls turn to search the bodies; Laurelin can’t’ help herself and demands that the Spaunen leave the bodies alone - Igon is already dead. Modru’s voice is furious, promising terrible wrath on the whole party for ignoring his orders; he snaps some more commands and the Ghuls seize Laurelin. She passes out, and the scene ends.
MG: And with that, we bring today’s section to a close! This half-chapter was… mostly fine, but not very interesting. We already know what Laurelin and Igon’s fates will be, so it’s kind of hard to get too invested in the caravan as a whole, and none of the supporting characters are interesting enough for me to be too saddened at their deaths. Most of the journey in the first half is also fairly tedious, though the arrival of the Dimmendark and the slaughter by the Ghuls are both appropriately horrifying. The Ghuls are back to being difficult to kill today, which I do appreciate; unfortunately, their master fails to impress, seeming to not be able to recognize that Igon isn’t actually dead when he’s lying right there. Then again, I’m not sure how good Modru’s senses actually are through the surrogate, and maybe the Ghuls don’t know how to check for vital signs on a human. *shrugs* In any case, that’s all for today! Next time, Laurelin learns that while you can’t simply walk into Mordor, you can ride into Gron… and we’ll get the long-awaited(?) debut of the actual Modru. We’ll see you then!
