Into the fire

Chapter 25

Scrambling to his feet, Tipperton ducked and dodged among the squealing, stampeding horses, and leapt away from the paths of careening chariots with their wicked, spinning blades. Above the thunder of wheels and pounding of hooves and screams of horses and the cries of Jordi-ans, and above the howls of the onrushing Spaunen-"Tip! Tip!"-Tipperton heard someone cry out his name. He turned to see Beau darting among the bolting steeds, the buccan attempting to reach Tip's side.

And on came the yawling Spawn, as the Vanadurin fought to gain control of their steeds. And just as some Harlingar managed to master their mounts, the first of the Ghuls smashed in among the Jordians, the stench of the Helsteeds causing many of the horses to bolt again. And cruel barbed spears took their toll as the corpse-foe swept through the disarray.

Still dodging and darting down among the horses and Helsteeds and runaway chariots, Tip and Beau managed to reach one another.

In that moment the dread of the Fearcaster abated further, and Tip, still dodging, looked to see the horrid, eight-foot-tall creature ponderously striding among terror-frozen men and slaughtering with its terrible claws, its deadly power now focused on them.

"They've got a Gargon!" cried Tip. "We've no Mages, no ballistas, nothing to fight him with."

"How about a chariot?" shouted Beau, loosing a bullet to fell one of the Spawn as they came rushing among the Harlingar. As Tip aimed and loosed an arrow to impale a Hlok, Beau cried, "If we could get a chariot we could cut the Gargon down with those wheelblades."

Even as Beau suggested it, one of the chariots raced toward the monster, wheelblades spinning, but the creature, its claws slathered with blood, turned its gaze upon the oncoming threat, and the horses squealed and veered, one to lose its footing and fall, and the wain tumbled and cartwheeled, flinging the driver and spear maiden out, a white horsehair gaud on one of the helmets spinning in the setting sun.

"Dediana, Linde!" cried Tipperton, as he nocked another arrow. "Oh Adon."

But then the battle washed over the buccen and now they fought for their lives, dodging and darting and loosing and running as the dying sun washed the sky bloodred to match the crimson of the blood-soaked soil.

To the rear they could hear howling Rupt on their trail, the Spawn yawling in glee. And from the fore a horn blat sounded.

"L-lor', they've cut us off," panted Beau, skewing rightward, running alongside Tipperton among the craggy hills lying between them and the Blackwood.

"We've got to get to a place of safety," huffed Tip.

Beau pointed rightward where stood a tall crag, and both buccen veered that way.

Gasping, blowing, the pair clambered up the steep of the uplift, a nearly half-moon angling westward lighting the climb in the night.

"Have you any bullets left?" wheezed Tip.

"One or two," heaved Beau. "How about you?"

"All I've left is the red signal arrow. But if there're any rocks up here, I've got my sling."

"Well, bucco, rocks or not, I say we hide," gasped Beau.

Behind they could hear Foul Folk yelling in Sluk, yet what they shouted, the buccen knew not. And somewhere in the distance farther back, a terrible dread pulsed.

Tip and then Beau clambered over the last of the acclivity and onto the confined, stony flat above. They slipped their goods from their backs, for even though pursued, they had found no time to abandon them.

From below there came a shout, and Tip moved to the west brim of the steep-sided crag and groaned, "Oh no. Here comes another band."

Panting, Beau stepped beside Tip to look. In the moonlight a second squad of Foul Folk ran toward the uplift. Beau turned back the way they had come. Maggot-folk loped toward the crag. "The ones behind must have spotted us, signalled the others," said Beau. "Both groups know we're here." He began searching the ground for rocks suitable to sling.

"Look, bucco," said Tip, helping him find apt stones, "you're better with the strap than I'll ever be, so when they get here, you sling stone bullets at them while I heave some bigger rocks down."

"I never thought I'd ever say that I'd've liked to run among those trees, Tip, but if we could have only gotten to Blackwood, well, I don't think they would have followed us in."

Tip glanced up from seeking slingstones to look westerly toward the forest, no more than two or three furlongs away. Then he resumed searching for proper rocks, saying, "Had we gotten to Blackwood, Beau, whether or not they followed, I think we would have given them the slip."

A black-shafted arrow hissed overhead.

"Oh my, we'll have to be careful," said Beau, flinching down, "else they'll spit us for certain."

Now there came a clamor at the base of the crag. Tip peeked over the edge. "Here they come," he gritted, turning about to take up a large rock even as another black shaft hissed up and past from the shadows below and into the moonlight above.

"Here, too," called Beau from the opposite side, and he spun his sling and loosed. "Barn rats!" he cursed, lading his sling again.

Tip glanced over the edge and stepped leftward and cast the jagged slab down the face of the steep, where it smashed into one of the climbers, the Ruck to silently plummet back to the sward, dead even as he fell, the rock to bound from an output and graze another climber, who shrieked in pain and tumbled down.

Someone below Beau screamed, as Tip took up another large stone.

"Move about!" cried Beau. "They're climbing up all 'round." And he hurled another bullet downward, followed by a Ruckish scream.

As a black arrow arced up and past, Tip hove the stone down the side of the crag, then moved to the left to drop another, both to crash into climbing maggot-folk, breaking bones in one and killing the other outright.

Shouting in fear, Rupt fled downward, scrambling, leaping, running back and away from the crag.

"We've got 'em on the run," shouted Beau jubilantly.

But Tip shook his head. "No cause for celebration, bucco, for they've still got us trapped."

In moonshadow below, Foul Folk huddled, and then one went trotting away.

"What do you think they're planning?" hissed Beau.

As Tip moved stones to the perimeter of the flat, he watched the jog-trotting Ruck pass beyond the shoulder of an adjacent hill south and west of the crag. "I'm afraid that's the Squam who's been loosing arrows at us. And if he gains the top of that hill, he'll have us in his aim."

Beau, searching among the pebbles, looked up to see where Tip pointed, then he went back to his hunt.

Moments later, in the near distance to the north and east there sounded a resonant horn cry. "Ho," exclaimed Tip, "that's a black-oxen horn. Some of the Vanadurin yet live."

"Would that they were here, bucco," said Beau. "We could use their help right now."

Tip glanced at the quiver at his hip. A lone red arrow rested within, his last vestige of Rynna. Taking a deep breath he stepped to his pack and drew out a small lantern with striker. "Mayhap we can summon some help." Raising the hood, he lit the lantern, a lambent glow to add to the slanting moonlight and suffuse the air atop the crag.

"Oh lor', but what fine targets we are," groaned Beau, as he loaded his sling with his last good fired-clay bullet.

Taking up his Elven bow, Tip set the red shaft to string, and then he jabbed the point of the arrow into the flame of the lantern, as from the nearby hill came an exultant shout.

Whrrr… sounded the spin of Beau's sling as the arrow caught fire, and Tipperton hauled back and aimed the shaft skyward, and loosed, and Beau loosed, and a streak of red soared upward, leaving a long train of fire behind, as a streak of black flew from hill to crag and a spinning bullet flew in reverse.

Ssssss… hissing black death whispered past Tipper-ton's ear Thock! The bullet crashed into the eye of the bow-bearing Ruck, the maggot-folk to pitch backwards down the far slope of the hill, dead as he tumbled slack.

And as Tip watched the scarlet burn fly, Beau stepped to the lantern and blew it out and slammed down the hood. "No need to help them any more than we have to, bucco."

And still the incandescent arrow arced upward, leaving a phosphorescent red streak behind, a glowing trail of sparkling crimson fading in the night.

"Well, Beau, there it goes, shouting that we are here. Let's just hope it's friends who answer and not foe." Tip then looked at his comrade and added, "Though what worries me most, bucco, is that it might be the Gargon who is drawn to this crag instead."

"Here they come again," hissed Beau, cocking an ear to the furtive scrabbling from below.

"You take that half, I'll take this," said Tipperton, gesturing, then springing to his feet.

As Beau started to rise, he cried, "Tip! Look out!" and jerked Tipperton back down just as a black-shafted arrow hissed past in the moonlight. "They've got another archer on the hill."

Tip looked round the shoulder of the boulder they had been leaning against and at the crest of the adjacent hill. "Where?"

"By that tree."

"I don't see- Oh, there he is." Tip turned to Beau. "Can you-?"

Beau shook his head. "Not likely, Tip. My last good bullet was used on the other one, and these stones we've got, well, they stray a lot, especially at long range."

Still the buccen could hear stealthy movement below. "Well then, bucco," said Tip, looking about for the nearest jagged stone, "we'll just have to make ourselves be difficult targets-duck and dodge and dart-else those Foul Folk climbing are like to reach this flat, and rocks and fists are no match for scimitar and cudgel and whatever other weapons they bring."

In the silvery light of the argent half-moon Beau nodded and curled to a crouch, as did Tipperton.

"Ready?" asked Tip.

"Ready," said Beau, lading his sling.

"Then… now!" barked Tip.

And the Warrows darted out from the protection of the boulder, Tip to scoop up a large rock, Beau to run, sling spinning.

A yell came from the adjacent hill, and something sissed past Beau.

Tipperton darted to the edge, the large stone held in two hands, and he peered over the brim of the crag- "Waughr-straight into the face of a Hlok but a foot or so below, the Spawn to yell and throw up an arm as the buccan bashed the rock down on him, the Hlok to plummet screaming into the shadows below, the rock crashing down after.

Dodging and darting and running zigzag, Tip scooped up another stone, for two Rucks climbed just to the left of where the Hlok fell, the pair now clambering up over the edge.

"Beau!" cried Tip, rock in hand, the buccan leaping forward just as a black-shafted arrow sissed through the air where he had been. Tip rushed toward one of the Rucks, as the other shrieked and fell back, Beau's slingstone crashing into his chest, pitching him from the crag.

Rock first, Tip smashed into the second Ruck, knocking him hindward, and as he teetered on the edge, Tip slammed him again, and over the brim the Ruck toppled, screeching as he plunged down the steep, crashing into stone and toppling onward.

With the rock yet in hand, Tip darted along the perimeter, and still more climbers swarmed upward.

Sooner or later a black arrow will get us, either me or Beau, but till then…

He hurled his rock down at a climber, but the plummeting stone missed.

Glancing about, he scooped up another rock, and this time he didn't miss, yet other Spawn kept swarming upward, determined to gain the top and slaughter these two.

Slingstone after slingstone Beau hurled down at the oncoming Foul Folk, some to hit, others to miss. Yet still upward came the foe.

And as Beau laded his sling again, he glanced toward the nearby hill, for no more black shafts came their way. "He's run out of arrows, I think!" Beau shouted, but then in the moonshadows he saw- "Oh lor', Tip, there's more coming."

Down the hill slope and across the sward came small forms running, and shadows in moonshadow as well.

But Tip couldn't look to see, for Rucks and Hloks clawed upward, some reaching the brim, and with his large rock he smashed fingers and hands and wrists and arms groping over the edge, bones shattering, Foul Folk screaming as they tumbled back down.

And then from the shadows below, arrows flew to pierce Ruck backs and maggot-folk fell away shrieking. And yet some tumbled down for no visible reason that either Tip or Beau could see.

And of a sudden the attack was done, all Foul Folk lying dead.

And Tip sat down with a thump, his breath heaving harsh in his throat. And yet he managed to flounder to his feet and stagger toward Beau.

"Is anyone up there still alive?" called a female voice.

"A couple of buccen," cried Beau, standing back from the edge, as yet unwilling to expose himself to whoever it was below. "Who is it down there who's saved us?"

"A couple of buccen? Oh my. I'm a Warrow, too: Rynna Fenrush of Springwater."

"Rynna!" shouted Beau, stepping to the brim. "How can it be? You died at the fall of, of…"

Below in the moonlight stood Rynna, lowering her bow, relaxing the draw, a second Warrow nearby, along with a handful of small shadows shifting about in the moonlight.

"Oh, Rynna, it's me, Beau Darby, and Tipperton, too!"

Beau turned toward Tipperton to find that buccan collapsed to his knees, his face covered in his hands.

And then he looked back down to see Rynna come running forward to scramble up the side.

And somewhere nearby a black-oxen horn sounded, to be answered by Ruptish blats.

And sweeping over all came growing dread as a terrible horror stalked forward.