Summary:
Unable to resist the wanderlust any longer, Dunstan
has robbed his father’s strongbox and set forth
on his quest for adventure and glory.

In his naivete, Dunstan casts his lot in with a band
of scurrilous cutthroats, believing them to be adventurers
sharing his noble pursuits.

Our hero learns the true nature of his erstwhile
companions, and his pockets are the poorer for it.
Dunstan parts company from the band, narrowly escaping
apprehension by the Warders. In the confusion,
he ‘liberates’ a horse, and sets off for Huddlefoot,
there to spend the night in the stables.

Our would-be knight acquires a would-be squire,
and strikes a bargain with Evan to travel with his
caravan to Rheyton and Nehron. This arranged, he
takes care of the incriminating horse, spinning a tall
tale of being on official business. This done, they depart.

After many plodding days on the caravan track,
the boredom is shattered by a group of Nehronlanders
blocking the road, girded for war. Demanding a
special tax, the Nehronlanders block the way to
Weal. Determining to refuse the suspect taxation,
the caravan determines to fight. Having killed his
first foemen, Dunstan finds himself forced to flee
the carnage, accompanied by his retainer.
 

It was a full league later that he allowed his panting
destrier to slow to a walk. There was no enemy
in sight, and for that matter there was no friend in
sight either. Of Mellerd there was no sign, but Dun-
Stan did not linger to see if he was yet back on the
trail. Instead. he clambered down, wiped the horse
down quickly with several handsful of long grass,
and then led it off again at a brisk walk. They traveled
thus for a spell; then Dunstan’s legs began to ache
from the pace he had set, so he thought to remount.
Just as he was about to do so he heard a cry, but his
anxious glance revealed Mellerd arriving, the mare
spent and the boy pale and very frightened.

“About time you got here,” Dunstan said with irritation.
“I’ve had to see to my horse myself. It isn’t
enough that I must go around saving your worthless
little neck from ravening Nehrons, I suppose I’m
now to serve you and carry you around — why, you
can’t even keep up as ordered.” Here he broke off a
moment, for the lad had toppled from the saddle
and now lay where he fell weeping in great sobs.
Dunstan rushed to him: “Are you hurt?”

Mellerd shook his head, trying to stifle his
slobbering: “I ain’t — am not — hurt, (sob) it was
the fighting and killing back there (sob) . . . I — I’m
not used to such bloody dealings, and (sob) I think
I’m going to be sick,” and he was. At this Dunstan
turned away in disgust. In a while the boy regained
his composure a bit: “Did you see what happened to
Vardobothet?”

“No,” replied Dunstan, turning once more
towards his small servant, “I lost sight of him in the
press — when I ran that giant berserker through
most neatly ere my lance shivered.” Seeing that the
boy was unable to properly appreciate his prowess,
Dunstan asked: “Know you his fate?”

The reply was in the negative and barely audible.
“I suppose that he fell in the charge when the
Nehron came out of the forest. I think I glimpsed
him near Captain Rufus, but then you took up the
bridle of my horse, and we fled . . . ”

Dunstan found himself feeling empty inside, and
he liked it not: “Well, that’s that. Get to your feet
and rub down the mounts. Be quick about it too, for
we must be clear of this area if we’re not to fall into
the hands of those buggerly Nehron bastards. O
yes,” he added as an afterthought, “I’ll excuse you
from preparing us a meal while the horses rest awhile
yet and get it myself . . . will you have a heartsausage
or cheese and biscuit?”

The lad fell to his duties without reply. The stupid
little clod, thought Dunstan, he’ll need all the
strength he can get for what’s to come. Well, perhaps
it was just as well, for he had been puking but a
moment before, so Dunstan munched both cheese
and sausage as he oversaw the care of their mounts.
And, he mused, the work I give him keeps his mind
off what transpired at the barricade. I have no such
panacea for myself.

A column of dark smoke announced that they
were approaching the castlewick of Blackmoor. It
was the morning of an otherwise bright day not long
since the slaughter took place on the narrow road to
Weal. The two had traveled fast. Several times they
had quickly left the lance for the safety of the surrounding
wood as a band of Nehronland foot or a
rare body of horse passed northwards laden with
plunder and marching with much jesting and laughter.
Each time Mellerd would salute their passing
with various rude gestures, for he daily came to hate
all Nehronlanders more passionately as he missed
the Kimbri Vardobothet whose death came at their
hands. There was now a particularly thorny problem
facing them. They could not, of course, proceed directly
through the place ahead, for it was obviously
swarming with enemy soldiers. To the east was a
jumble of broken terrain stretching away for endless
leagues towards the sea. Worse, it was the home of
many of the various bands of Nehron, so passage
through that place would be nearly as dangerous as
going straight along the road through Blackmoor.
But to the west was a trackless forest which led to the
slopes of the Senescent Hills, most inhospitable and
the dwelling place of creatures who did not welcome
men intruding upon their domain. The trick would
be to swing wide enough to bypass the fortress un-
seen by any of the numerous warriors thereabouts,
and then come back onto a route south again. If they
went east they would eventually make the road to
Rheyton as they circled back. In the other direction
they would strike the passage to the free city of
Humpbridge which bent from southwest to south
across the base of the Senescent range. Dunstan was
faced with making a decision from what he remembered
of maps and his experiences on the trek which
brought them to these straits originally.

“Well, Mellerd,” he spoke softly to the lad without
really expecting any reply, “which way shall we
go?”

“I don’t want to go back to Rheyton,” was his
only reply.

That was a point so obvious that Dunstan had
completely overlooked it in analyzing their situation.
“You have profited greatly in your short service
with me, boy, and some of my own wit seems to
have rubbed off on you,” and putting his arm about
Mellerd’s thin shoulders he continued: “Now see to
the watering of our steeds and the filling of our own
waterskins. I am going ahead to see what Blackmoor
now looks like. When you’ve finished your chores
saddle the beasts and wait my return.”

In half an hour’s travel through the evergreens
paralleling the lane, Dunstan came to the foot of a
steep hill. After ascending the eminence and finding
the view still obstructed he climbed well up into a tall
conifer and from this position both the village and
the castle could be seen. While the village appeared
to be little hurt, the fortress was partially ruined —
evidently by fire, for the smoke they had seen
emanated from the still smouldering rubble of what
had been some of the lesser buildings within the
place. The keep was intact, however, and it flew a
green banner with a white wolf’s head, the flag raised
by the united bands of Nehronland. He sat
quietly observing for some time, safe from detection
himself in the shady cover of the pine boughs. Then
he clambered down and trotted back to where
Mellerd waited.

“You were gone so long, sir, I began to think that
I’d lost you as I did . . .”

“Don’t talk rubbish — we’ve no time for it.” He
looked hard at Mellerd, but could not read anything
in the boy’s expression. “I saw everything, and they
somehow managed an intaking of the castle. My
guess is that it was treachery. We never had a chance
with the caravan. It must have been planned to
waylay us in order to prevent any warning of the attack
reaching the Overking. It seems every warrior
hereabouts has gathered, and Blackmoor was just
the opening battle, for there were streams of marching
men choking the way to Rheyton. If that place
falls Nehron will be master of the territory this side
of the Aarn from the sea to the Kimbry Borders.”

“Then we must ride for our lives and warn them,”
the boy interjected.

“A useless strategem, dullard. The enemy are
already on the march, and we could never get ahead
of them. Besides, it is unnecessary.” At this Mellerd
looked so taken aback that Dunstan could not refrain
from smirking. “Think on it a minute.
Rheyton has strong walls, and that place will not be
had by enemies from within. The Nehronlanders will
perforce have to sit down in siege. While these rude
fellows are fierce warriors among the forests and
rough hills here, in the open they are no match for
the chivalry of Thall. My guess is that they’ll be
driven back from Rheyton and the moorlands, but
hold long where the forest comes down towards the
town. Eventually Blackmoor will be regained, and
perhaps another few leagues of territory added to
the Overking’s march here. Mark my words.”

His servant considered all this for a moment and
finally saw the logic of what Dunstan had said:
“Thank you for explaining all of this to me, master,
for now I understand the folly of what I would have
done but for your wise counsel.” The strange look
that passed over his master’s face as he spoke did not
miss Mellerd’s attention either.

“You do mimick well,” was all the reply his
thanks received. With an irritated wave, Dunstan
motioned for his mount to be brought to him:
“Time we departed. It is slow going through the
woodlands, and we must take care not to come upon
any of the enemy. We have two or three days of hard
riding before us, and standing here playing at
oration will gain us naught towards their
completion.”

The very next day a handful of Nehronlanders had
run into the two, and in the pursuit Dunstan and
Mellerd had been forced to flee deeper and deeper
into the forest. The woodland was primaeval, and
because there was no underbrush to hinder the
horses, they eventually outdistanced the men afoot.
Although they were at a loss to determine where they
were, Dunstan’s sense of direction was good, and he
was positive that they had kept generally westwards
in their flight. If now they turned gradually southwards,
they should have lost nothing save perhaps a
day of time. The ground beneath the covering of
massive evergreens rolled in hilly swells, making
travel easier if the valley troughs were followed. This
they did, although it led them more to the southwest
than the young men desired, for if nothing else it
would assure that any pursuit would be escaped.
The Nehron, like the others who lived near the
Senescent Hills, avoided going far into the country
as superstition caused them to greatly fear the place.

Eventually their choice of a route brought them to
the valley of a strange river, for the waters were
exceedingly dark despite the brightness of the day.
Both wanderers were unfamiliar with the
phenomenon and did not approach it too closely at
first, keeping at as great a distance as possible while
taking advantage of its course to make their journey
easier. The blackness of the water abated not the
least after observing it at the end of the day, some
miles ride downstream. Mellerd was frightened of
the place anyway, for the breeze blew almost continually
along the tops of the hills causing the boughs
of the firs to give off an eerie whispering sound. The
inky stream was too much to take when added to the
former, and the lad was convinced that they would
never leave the hills alive. As they were out of provisions
and short of water, Dunstan was almost ready
to agree, for they seemed to be progressing deeper
and deeper still into a totally uninhabited region.

“I don’t care if you are scared or not, boy,”
Dunstan replied to Mellerd’s silent refusal to an
order just given: “There’s nothing for it but to start
living off the land. You get busy and set your snares
and traps!” Knowing that the lad was petrified of
the stream of black water, Dunstan said
magnanimously, “I’ll relieve you of the duty of caring
for the beasts — doesn’t that please you.” It
somehow did, for Mellerd quickly went off to perform
his task of visiting the small game trails without
further complaint. His master led the horses
down to the edge of the water to see if they would
balk at quenching their thirst from such a strange
river. The mounts snorted and refused to drink at
first, but after a moment they plunged their muzzles
into the ebon fluid. When they had finished Dunstan
watched them closely for any sign that they had been
harmed, but the beasts stood apparently unaffected,
so he scooped up a handful of the water and
cautiously tasted it. There was nothing from its taste
that would distinguish it from any other water, and
after another moment of hesitation Dunstan quaffed
freely, filled their containers, and brought the two
horses back to the spot selected for the night’s camp.
Some trick of nature had evidently colored the
brook thus, thought the young man, without harming
its properties at all — so much for peasants’
superstitious fears . . .

A cry from somewhere behind broke his train of
thought. It was Mellerd calling for him to come
quickly! He hadn’t unsaddled their steeds, so it was
only a moment before he was mounted and riding
off in the direction from which the boy had called.
Dunstan topped the crest of the ridge sheltering the
river valley when he heard the cry again, off to his
left. What the hell can it be now? The rays of the
setting sun revealed a lessening of the dense growth
of trees from whence the sound had come, and he
soon cleared the forest. There was the boy, and beyond
stretched open, rolling hills. They had come to
the western verge of the woodlands at last, but was
that the reason for the boy’s excitement? No. He
was eagerly pointing towards a moving group of tiny figures just going out of
sight within the shadows.

“What caused your excitement?” Dunstan inquired with irritation. It surely
couldn’t have been those far off men . . .

Mellerd was clambering up on his mare as his master spoke, and he replied
with amazement: “Didn’t you see those things chasing that little lad yonder?”

“Your eyes must be sharp as a hawk’s. I could make them out only as specks
at that distance.”

The boy nodded agreement: “I couldn’t make them out too very well at first
either, but when they crossed the top of the last hill there,” and he indicated the
elevation in the distance, “some trick of the light seemed to magnify them so that
I could see as clearly as if they were only a few furlongs away!

At this moment the group topped a nearer hill. Dunstan strained his gaze in
the failing light, and suddenly the figures seemed to grow larger, just as Mellerd
had explained: “Great Gods!” expostulated the startled errant. “It is a dwarf
being pursued by a pack of giant toads and weirdly hopping men!”