“But heed: we will have to walk much of the time; the steeds cannot bear us forever, and must at times be unburdened. Had you a horse, then we could take up the varying pace of a Jordreich long-ride, and we would place much ground ’tween us and any pursuit. Yet you have not, and so we will do the next best thing: I will step Wind at what I deem is the gait of a pony long-ride. Beyond that, we will at times walk, at other times pause and rest. Would that we had remounts, but we do not, and so it is afoot for us as well.”
Sunrise found Elyn and Thork leading their steeds across the grassy plain; they had not been attacked again that night, although each had felt the unseen eyes of the malevolent force peering through the dark. True to her word, Elyn had been pacing their eastward trek to put as much distance behind them as she deemed prudent, while at the same time preserving the strength of the steeds as well as that of the riders.
And so they walked as the Sun slid above the horizon, both still limping slightly from the wounds received three nights past while in the Khalian Mire. At last they came upon a bubbling stream. “Here we rest an hour. I will sleep while you watch. Next will be your turn.” Elyn lay down in the grass and was instantly aslumber.
All day they traded off, riding, walking, resting, ever faring eastward. Small portions of grain were fed to the mounts, while the two riders ate the remainder of the marmot meat. Water was plentiful, for occasional streams crossed their path, flowing down from the distant chain of tors to the left, to the north, foothills of the Grimwall far beyond. As to additional food now that the meat was gone, each rider had rations of crue, a tasteless but nutritious waybread common upon Mithgar; thus, sustenance for the warriors was not now a concern. But Elyn pointed out that the mounts could not last forever on the meager rations they were getting. Horses and horselings on a journey need much grass and grain to sustain them, as well as water; yet short rations for the steeds would not become a factor until one or two morrows hence, though afterward they would need time to recover.
Still, eastward they fared throughout the day as the Sun rode up and overhead and down, and protected them from the Foul Folk. But nothing warded them from the weariness that crept throughout their bones. For their trek was unremitting, even though they rested one hour in four.
There came a time when they stopped at a stream where Elyn treated her still raw wounds; and so too did Thork tend his. And Elyn passed her white healing salve to the Dwarf, and lo! received a dark salve in return.
And as Thork stripped his jerkin and squatted by the water, washing his arms and chest, how like iron knots seemed his muscles, and leather cords seemed his thews.
At last the Sun fell below the horizon, and darkness crept upon the land. Now would they see if their long journey into night had shaken off the vileness, the day chasing it from their track to be lost.
And in the twilight distance far before them they could see the dark face of a forest. It was the Skög, the woodland lying on the border between Aralan and Kath. They had indeed come far in their long-ride.
On they pressed, an hour or more, drawing nigh the now black timberland.
“I deem we must rest ere we enter yon woods,” growled Thork, “for we know not what awaits us within.”
“Then let us not ride therein until the bright Moon rises to shed its light down among the trees,” suggested Elyn; and Thork grunted his assent.
And so they dismounted, making one last stop before plunging into the unknown.
Elyn rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes. “I will never get used to sleeping during the day, and living my life at night.”
“I catch your meaning, Warrior,” responded Thork. “Within a Châkkaholt, the day visits only through stone windowshafts, and mayhap a gate or two; still we keep time by the Sun, ordering our lives to its movement.”
Elyn shifted uneasily at this mention of the living habits of Dwarves, yet she said nought, and Thork did not continue.
Long they rested, horse and pony cropping rich grass, and at last the Moon rose. “Let us wait a bit, say, a half candlemark or so,” suggested Elyn, “then will the moonlight shine down into the wood.” Thork’s silence noted his assent.
And so they waited as the Moon crept upward, until at last Thork stood and Elyn followed, and they stepped toward their steeds.
Of a sudden, Wind snorted, pulling back upon her tether, eyes rolling in terror. Thork’s pony, too, danced hindward in fear, squealing in panic. And in that very moment, evil skittered o’er the minds of Dwarf and Warrior Maid.
And they heard a strange rending of the ground.
“Aie!” cried Thork. “To the south! The earth! The very earth!”
And flowing at them like a huge dark wedge came a buckling heave of the ground, as if a great long something, massive and evil, was hurtling at them beneath the soil, some monster under the earth rushing upon them.
“Fly!” cried Elyn, her voice hoarse with fear, her eyes wide in horror. And she cut the tether and leapt upon Wind, spurring toward the woods.
Thork astride the pony raced after, the horseling running in sheer panic.
And behind them the very surface of the world wrenched and tore, sod fracturing upward, thrust aside from below, the rending soil crying out in splitting agony, and still the heaving wedge surged after the fleeing twain, something hideous drawing closer and ever closer, leaving a long broken mound of tortured earth in its wake.
“Run, Wind, run!” cried Elyn, leaning forward over her saddle, urging the grey onward, glancing aback to see Thork falling behind, the pony racing at its uttermost, yet the thing under the soil closing in upon the fleeing horseling. “Rach!”
Hauling leftward hard upon the grey’s reins, the Warrior Maid raced in a great circle to come aflank the Dwarf, and both now fled but strides ahead of the erupting earth behind, the unseen thing overhauling its intended prey.
“Right! Bear right,” shrieked Elyn, “or we are both foredone!”
Thork sheered rightward, diverging from Elyn’s line, his pony running in full, as Elyn in turn hauled back upon Wind to fall behind, maintaining her straightward course, the speeding heave under the soil racing upon her track.
Close it came and closer, now nearly upon her. Elyn leaned forward in the saddle. “Now, Wind,” she cried, giving the grey free rein, “show this monster your heels!”
And Wind leapt forward with a burst of speed, but so too did the rending earth, and across the grassy plain they ran, flying steed and hidden pursuer, heading toward the nearing forest.
It was a race for life.
It was a race for death.
And Thork on his pony on a different track, ran for the wooded haven as well, no longer quarry of the hunter, no longer prey in a deadly game. ’Twas Elyn that had kept him from falling to an unknown fate, and his eyes sought to see her, and the thing upon her heels. “Ride, Warrior Maid, ride!” his voice jerked out ’tween gritted teeth. Then “Elwydd, shield her,” his prayer rose up, and in that moment his dappled steed hammered under the eaves of the darkling wood.
Swift he turned, now running northward, the agile pony dodging among the trees, guided by sure Dwarven hands, steered in the night by Dwarven sight. And through the trees shuttering by, he could see the desperate chase out upon the plains.
Now Elyn raced Wind in a great wide circle, the mare flying before the thing, the Warrior Maid seeking to gain ground by deft maneuvers, yet the gap did not appreciably widen. In a loop she ran, coming at last to the uptorn earth left in the wake of the pursuer, Wind hurdling the mound.
Doosh! the earth exploded upward as the thing crossed its own track, still upon the heels of this mare flying before it.