Trek to Kraggen-Cor by 1932- Dennis L. McKiernan Page B
Authors: 1932- Dennis L. McKiernan
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glistened and sparkled in the firelight. For long moments Perry lay on
his bedding and watched Cotton work, then reflected, "Your steel, Cotton, is but a long-knife to a Big Man, yet a full-sized sword to a Warrow. Recall, your blade was found north of here, in an ancient barrow, in the clutch of a long-dead seer of the Lost Land. Though nothing is known of its early years after forging, that weapon has a noble history after its finding—for it saved Gildor from the evil Krakenward."
Cotton paused in his rubbing, and his voice took on the rhythm of a chant as he recited the runes that foretold that deed: .
"Blade shall brave vile Warder From the deep black slime. "
"Just so," replied Perry, sleepily yawning. 'That is the very same long-knife Galen used to hack at the Monster when it grasped Gildor, and the Elf was saved; Gildor, of course, later saved Tuck; and Tuck at last slew the 'Stone; and so it rightly can be said that because of that keen-edged sword you hold, Modru finally met his end."
"Lor," breathed Cotton upon hearing these words. And he returned to his task with renewed vigor, the cloth in his hand fairly dancing over the golden runes; and Perry fell aslumber among the sparkling shards of glistering light.
Trie third day of the journey was much like the second, with sword lessons in the waggon bed and practice drills with hickory swords whenever the horses were given rest periods. The Sun climbed upward through the morning and passed overhead to begin its long fall unto the night as slowly the travellers wended their way toward the hamlet of Stonehill.
Stonehill, with its hundred or so stone houses, was a hillside village on the western fringes of the sparsely settled Wilderland. But because the hamlet was situated at the junction where the east-west Crossland Road intersected the Post Road running north and south, strangers and out-of-towners were often seen—in fact, were welcomed. Stonehill's one inn, the White Unicorn, with its many rooms, usually had at least one or two wayfarers as well as a couple of nearby settlers staying overnight: travelling crafters and traders, merchants, or a Man and his wife from a faraway farmstead. . . . But occasionally there would be some real strangers, such as a company of journeying Dwarves, or King's soldiers from the south, or a Realmsman or two; in which case the local folk would be sure to drop in to the common room of the inn to have a mug and hear the news from far away.
On this night, as the waggon rolled onto the causeway over the dike and into the village through the west gate of the high guard wall, there was only one guest in the 'Unicorn: a distant farmer who had come to the hillside hamlet to buy his winter supplies, and who had gone to bed with the setting of the Sun. Thus, when the two Warrows, the Man, and the two Dwarves
stepped in through the front door, the proprietor, Mister Aylesworth Brewster, was pleased to see more guests for his inn; he bustled to meet them, moving his large bulk past the long-table where sat several locals who looked up from their pipes and mugs at this strangely mixed set of wayfarers. They'd seen Dwarves, of course, but not many. And Warrows were not a strange people to them, since many of the Wee Folk lived in the Weiunwood over the hill—though travelling Warrows were not very common. Men of course were not at all uncommon. However, for the three Folk—Man, Dwarf, and Warrow—to be travelling together, well, that was an event never before seen.
Lor, look there! Well that's a strange sight if ever I saw one. 1 wonder if they re together or just came in the door at the same time. Oh, they re together all right. See: they re talking together. Dwarves, they don t talk to just anyone, only other Dwarves, or those in their party, or those they re doin ' business with. Dwarves is close people, right enough. The little uns are most likely from the Bosky, by their accent; but the Man, well, he has the look of a Realmsman,
his bedding and watched Cotton work, then reflected, "Your steel, Cotton, is but a long-knife to a Big Man, yet a full-sized sword to a Warrow. Recall, your blade was found north of here, in an ancient barrow, in the clutch of a long-dead seer of the Lost Land. Though nothing is known of its early years after forging, that weapon has a noble history after its finding—for it saved Gildor from the evil Krakenward."
Cotton paused in his rubbing, and his voice took on the rhythm of a chant as he recited the runes that foretold that deed: .
"Blade shall brave vile Warder From the deep black slime. "
"Just so," replied Perry, sleepily yawning. 'That is the very same long-knife Galen used to hack at the Monster when it grasped Gildor, and the Elf was saved; Gildor, of course, later saved Tuck; and Tuck at last slew the 'Stone; and so it rightly can be said that because of that keen-edged sword you hold, Modru finally met his end."
"Lor," breathed Cotton upon hearing these words. And he returned to his task with renewed vigor, the cloth in his hand fairly dancing over the golden runes; and Perry fell aslumber among the sparkling shards of glistering light.
Trie third day of the journey was much like the second, with sword lessons in the waggon bed and practice drills with hickory swords whenever the horses were given rest periods. The Sun climbed upward through the morning and passed overhead to begin its long fall unto the night as slowly the travellers wended their way toward the hamlet of Stonehill.
Stonehill, with its hundred or so stone houses, was a hillside village on the western fringes of the sparsely settled Wilderland. But because the hamlet was situated at the junction where the east-west Crossland Road intersected the Post Road running north and south, strangers and out-of-towners were often seen—in fact, were welcomed. Stonehill's one inn, the White Unicorn, with its many rooms, usually had at least one or two wayfarers as well as a couple of nearby settlers staying overnight: travelling crafters and traders, merchants, or a Man and his wife from a faraway farmstead. . . . But occasionally there would be some real strangers, such as a company of journeying Dwarves, or King's soldiers from the south, or a Realmsman or two; in which case the local folk would be sure to drop in to the common room of the inn to have a mug and hear the news from far away.
On this night, as the waggon rolled onto the causeway over the dike and into the village through the west gate of the high guard wall, there was only one guest in the 'Unicorn: a distant farmer who had come to the hillside hamlet to buy his winter supplies, and who had gone to bed with the setting of the Sun. Thus, when the two Warrows, the Man, and the two Dwarves
stepped in through the front door, the proprietor, Mister Aylesworth Brewster, was pleased to see more guests for his inn; he bustled to meet them, moving his large bulk past the long-table where sat several locals who looked up from their pipes and mugs at this strangely mixed set of wayfarers. They'd seen Dwarves, of course, but not many. And Warrows were not a strange people to them, since many of the Wee Folk lived in the Weiunwood over the hill—though travelling Warrows were not very common. Men of course were not at all uncommon. However, for the three Folk—Man, Dwarf, and Warrow—to be travelling together, well, that was an event never before seen.
Lor, look there! Well that's a strange sight if ever I saw one. 1 wonder if they re together or just came in the door at the same time. Oh, they re together all right. See: they re talking together. Dwarves, they don t talk to just anyone, only other Dwarves, or those in their party, or those they re doin ' business with. Dwarves is close people, right enough. The little uns are most likely from the Bosky, by their accent; but the Man, well, he has the look of a Realmsman,
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