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took their fire, and now they are Cold-drakes and also suffer the Ban.
"And it is said that Adon's Ban shall rule for as long as night follows day, and
day follows night.
"He banished Gyphon, too, 'beyond the Spheres,' though no one I've asked
knows where that is.
"Modru himself fled through the night from the Wastes of Gron to the far frozen
land beyond. The tales tell that he lives there because in the winter the nights are
long, very long, and the Sun, his bane, is feeble for six months each year. Yet in the
summer Modru must hide away, for then the days are long and the Sun rides high,
and the Withering Death is ever at hand."
Danner then paused, looking at the others, and his voice took on a pedantic tone.
"So you see, that's why the Bosky has little to fear from other enemy: His Ban
would slay them!" Danner looked at the other Warrows, challenge in his eye, but no
one there gainsaid him, and the ponies wended slowly northward.
"Ah, Danner, you are right," said Patrel after a bit. "Yet remember this: Adon's
Covenant kills only if they get caught in the Sun, but not at night. And other
Thornwalkers have reported fleeting glimpses from afar of great black beasts, like
Wolves, but dire, running through the dark."
"Vulgs," breathed Hob.
"Perhaps," answered Patrel. "If so, then they must lie up in the cracks and splits
of the land when the Sun is on high, and thus the Ban strikes them not. As for
Rücks, Hlöks, and Ogrus, or Vulks and Ghûls, or Cold-drakes, I think none are here
in the Bosky, though they, too, could escape the Sun in the same manner. Yet we are
a far distance from the mountains they haunt: the Grimwall, the Rigga, and the
Gronfangs."
"But Vulgs run fast and far, they say," said Tarpy, "and perhaps they've run all
the way to the Boskydells."
"Yes, but what has driven them to come to the Bosky now?" asked Tuck. "It's
been a long span since the end of the Great War. Why have they come at this time?
And to the Bosky?"
"If!" exclaimed Danner, compelling their attention. "If it's Vulgs and not Wolves.
Who's to say it wasn't Wolves, or even wild dogs, seen from afar by the
Thornwalkers, instead of Vulgs? Look, the Ban has held good for two whole Eras.
Why should Vulgs show up now?"
"Ah! There's the rub," responded Tuck. "Why, indeed, now?"
The ponies plodded forward, and the Warrows rode on in silence for a bit,
pondering the puzzle. "The only thing that comes to mind," continued Tuck, "is that
it is said Gyphon, just as He was vanishing, swore a bitter vow to Adon, claiming
that He would be back."
" 'Even now,' " Danner quoted, his voice sepulchral, " 'Even now I have set into
motion events you cannot stop. I shall return! I shall conquer! I shall rule!' That's
what the old tales say Gyphon last spat at Adon, then He was gone, beyond the
Spheres, banished. But He was wrong, for He hasn't returned. In four thousand
years He hasn't returned. That's how long they say it has been. And for those same
four thousand years, no Rück, no Vulk, ah, fie! Nothing! Nothing suffering the Ban
has threatened the Bosky! Ever!"
Again silence descended upon them, and each rode immersed in his own
thoughts. Finally, Patrel spoke: "Maybe so, Danner. Maybe you are right. But they
say Vulgs now push through the Spindlethorns. And no one says why."
Northward they wended throughout the day, at times riding, at other times walking
and leading the ponies, sometimes stopping to eat, or to take care of other needs, or
to feed grain to the mounts, or to break through the ice on a woodland stream to
refresh their canteens and to give the ponies a drink.
The large, thickset trees of the Dinglewood bordered close upon the trail, their
grey bark and stark branches casting a somber pall upon the North Trace.
A pall, too, seemed to have dropped over the Warrows, and little else was said
that day as they pressed on through the silence of the barren forest. The Sun slowly
crossed the cold sky, and its rays did little to warm the travellers. When the orb sank
below the western horizon, darkness found the five young buccen huddled around a
campfire on the far edge of the Dinglewood, some thirty miles north of Woody
Hollow.
They drew lots to see in what order the watch would be kept, with Tuck pulling
the mid-of-night turn. As all prepared to bed down, except Hob, who had the first
watch, Patrel said, "Tomorrow night we all sleep in a hayloft Arlo Huggs' hayloft. I
stopped at his place on the way to Woody Hollow. He has a farm along Two Fords
Road, about twenty-five miles north of here. Arlo said he'd be glad to put us up in
his loft, and his wife, Willa, said she would feed us a hot meal, too." This last [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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