Shadows of Doom (The Iron Tower Trilogy 2) by Dennis L. McKiernan

Author:Dennis L. McKiernan
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Fantasy
ISBN: 9780451168238
Publisher: Roc
Published: 1987-09-03T05:00:00+00:00

Merrilee led them to a camp of Warrows in a wide glen west of where the North Trace entered the Dinglewood. When the trio rode in leading a string of ponies, there was a scattering of cheers that quickly fell into subdued silence as the three bodies were seen draped over three of the steeds.

Buccen were dispatched to dig graves, and Danner and Patrel and Merrilee went to speak with the camp elders. A circle of Warrows formed ’round them to listen to their words.

“We return from Mont Challerain and bear woeful tidings: the Keep has fallen to Modru’s Horde, and High King Aurion is slain.” The onlookers moaned to hear Patrel speak such news, for they loved their good King Redeye, though none there had ever seen him. Patrel waited for the hubbub to dwindle, then spoke on: “Of the forty-three buccen serving upon the walls at the Battle of the Keep, I know of only two who survived: Danner Bramblethorn and myself.” Again there was a stir among the onlookers, and Patrel held his hand up for silence. “Others may have won free, but no more than a handful, for only eight of us lived to fight the last battle, and I saw three more fall there.”

“What of the King’s Host in the south?” asked an elder. “Did they not come? Do they not take the field against Modru’s Hordes?”

“We know not where the Host is,” answered Patrel, “but they did not come to Challerain. Why? I cannot say, for no word of them came either. And the Keep fell to Modru’s Swarm.

“From that ruin, Danner and I fared south, along the Post Road to Stonehill; and from Stonehill we came west, across the bridge and into the Bosky. And much evil have we seen. In the Bosky alone, Greenfields, Raffin, Tillok, and Willowdell all lie in ruins, and there has been much death at the hands of Modru’s Reavers. And now Woody Hollow bums—”

Woody Hollow? Burns? Shouts interrupted Patrel, and some turned to go, to ride to their homes. “Hold!” thundered Danner, leaping to his feet. “Stop where you are!” Warrows paused and quiet returned. “There’s nought you can do now,” Danner said, his voice sharp. “What’s burned has burned, and what hasn’t still stands. There’s no need to go running off willy-nilly into the spears of the Ghuls.” Danner sat back down on the log, motioning Patrel to continue.

But ere he could do so: “Captain Patrel, do you bring us no good news?” asked one of the elders, and there was a general murmur among council and spectators alike.

“Yes! I bring the best of news,” said Patrel fiercely. “We know how Warrows may slay the Ghuls.” Amidst a hubbub Patrel held up an arrow. “Wood through the heart. This wood. Arrow wood. And none is better at casting these quarrels than the Warrow.” A general murmur rose up among the Wee Folk, and Patrel held up a hand. “Think it no easy task, for the Ghul’s heart must be struck fair and square, else the bolt will have no effect.

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