Into the fire

Chapter 38

They are from Jung," said Aravan, staring down the long, long ramp and into the dark basin below, night just now falling on the land. Behind them the slain were yet being collected, with the Dwarves casting the bodies of the foe over the rim to fall into the shadows below.

"Jung?" asked Tipperton.

"A realm far to the east."

"Like Ryodo or Jinga?"

"Somewhat," replied Aravan. "Though Ryodo isolates itself from the rest of the world, calling all others uncouth foreigners, while Jinga trades with any and all who come unto her shores."

"And this Jung…?" asked Rynna.

"Filled with petty warlords and raiders," said Aravan, "unified under a mogul. It is his yellow flag they bear; the red star in the center is the mogul's mark. That they fall on the side of Gyphon surprises me not, though how they came to be here in Garia takes me somewhat aback."

"Why is that?" asked Linnet. "Is it far to Jung?"

"Two thousand leagues, were you a bird," replied Aravan.

"Six thousand miles? Pah!" said Beau, standing at the edge of the circle and taking a quick meal ere returning to help with the wounded. "We alone have travelled that far, wouldn't you say so, Tip?"

"Ar, if I remember correctly, Beau, my friend," said Dinly, grinning, "instead of a mere six thousand miles, it's three halfways around the world you claim altogether."

"Yar," chimed in Farly, laughing, "with a hundred more halves to go."

Beau pushed out his hands, a crue biscuit in one. "Wait, now, I am serious. Tip, you're the mapmaker here. Have we travelled altogether six thousand miles?"

"Perhaps if you add it all up," said Tipperton, "though it will have taken us four years to do so, come this February."

"Four years? Oh my," said Beau, sinking to his knees beside Linnet and reaching out to grasp her hand. "No wonder I'm tired of war."

The other Warrows sighed in agreement.

Aravan smiled sadly at the Wee Folk, the Guardian remembering the days when the Elves were yet mad. But he spoke not of the Elven Wars of Succession which lasted for ten millennia, nor of the hard times thereafter.

Overhead the clouds yet flowed in a blanket 'cross the night sky above, the glowing fires deep in the crevices of H?l's Crucible casting dull red reflections here and there. Yet it was the night of the full moon, and as it rose, the running overcast shone from behind with a whiteness where the silvery light tried to break through. "Oh, perhaps it's an omen," said Linnet, looking at the paleness, "an omen of Elwydd's goodwill."

Beau peered at the flowing sky. "Let us hope," he said. "Indeed, let us hope." Beau then gave Linnet a quick kiss on the cheek and stood. "Ah, well, for me it's back to the wounded."

As Beau stepped away toward a cluster of distant lanterns, Tipperton sighed and gazed down the slope. Somewhere below, Rynna sat in the Kings' council with the captains and High King Blaine.

"We are yet outnumbered," growled Field Marshal Burke of Wellen.

"Aye, but we hold the high ground," replied Silverleaf, gesturing down the long ramp toward the enemy below, "an advantage we desperately need."

The slope itself was nearly two miles in length from the rim above to the floor of the basin beneath, with pitched runs of stony land separated by wide tracts of nigh level ground. It was on one of these level stretches nearly halfway down where the bulk of the host stood athwart the ramp, with the enemy all the way down in the rift, another mile farther on.

Above the host on a higher point of the slope the council sat with the King.

"My lord," said Rynna, "what do you plan to do? I mean, if the enemy stays where they are and we ride down to the base of the slope and meet them in combat in the rift, with their greater numbers they will have the upper hand."

By the light of the lantern the King fixed her with his steel-blue gaze. "Have you a suggestion, commander?"

Rynna nodded. "Offer them surrender terms again, and if they do not accept, then set a siege and wait them out until they have no choice but to accede."

"Bah," growled Volki. "I say we keep them trapped within, and when this cursed wind dies at last, we let the vapors take them."

Bekki sitting at Volki's side clenched a fist and nodded fiercely.

"They might march ere then," said Coron Eiron, "escape the rift altogether."

"Not on this side," said King Ranor, running a hand through his coppery hair, "for we will ride along the brim and stop them wherever they try to climb out."

"Aye," said Linde, "yet should they withdraw across the basin…?"

"Then I fear they will escape," replied Ranor, "for not even the Harlingar, fleet as we are, can ride 'round to meet them ere they flee the rift below."

"What about riding along the top of the shield wall?" asked Arth of the Wilderland. "Can we not use it as a bridge to get from this side to that?"

Alor Talarin shook his head. "Nay, Lord Arth, it is too rough, too craggy. Flandrena says there are places atop the width of the wall where stone rises plumb for tens of feet. We could not win through."

King Ranor sighed and glanced toward the wall looming upward in the dark. "As I suspected."

"Then are you saying if they march away they may escape?" demanded DelfLord Okar.

"If they march for the far side, indeed," replied Ranor, regret in his dark grey eyes.

"Kruk!" spat Bekki, slamming a fist into palm.

Silence fell among the captains, and at last King Blaine said, "I deem Commander Rynna has the right of it: we will again offer terms of surrender. If they accept not, then we shall set siege. If the wind dies, Lord Volki, then we shall indeed let the vapors take them should they refuse to submit."

"And if they flee across the basin…?" asked Okar.

"Then they will escape," replied Blaine.

A grumble went 'round the circle, and King Blaine raised his hands and when silence fell he asked, "Is there aught else of strategy to discuss?"

When no one spoke up, Blaine glanced at Farrin, and the Mage said, "My lords, have your warriors rest in shifts, for although we Mages will use our to see through the blackness and keep watch both below and above, still be ready, for we know not what the darkness may bring."

Again Blaine looked about, and when no one spoke, he said, "Then let us now speak of tactics: who will stand at the fore should there be an attack, and who will ward the flanks, and who will stand in reserve to thwart any breakthroughs. Does any have suggestions?"

Across the circle, Lord Arth raised his hand…

"I say," said Beau late in the night, peering westerly along the rim through the dark, "but what is that stir among the host?"

Aravan turned about, then grinned back at the Waerling. "An ally comes."

"Just one?" asked Dinly, craning his neck to see.

"Nay," replied Aravan. "Seven allies in all."

"Just seven?" said Farly. "Seven thousand would be more welcome."

"If you ask Tip and Beau, I think they will agree these seven are worth seven thousand," said Aravan.

Now all the Warrows stood and looked.

Escorted by Loric and moving among the shadows cast by flickering firelight, there came the seven allies along the rim: one striding on two legs, the others padding on four.

"Dalavar!" cried Beau, running forward. "Shimmer!"

Alongside the Wolfmage came Greylight, Shimmer, Beam, Seeker, Trace, and Longshank.

"Longshank," breathed Tipperton, starting forward as well.

The other Warrows looked on in awe, for these great Silver Wolves, large as ponies, seemed appallingly fierce.

As Beau came running, Dalavar said a, and all the Draega stopped.

Beau threw his arms about Shimmer's neck, and the Wolf suffered his touch. And Beau called back, "Linnet, come, there's someone I would have you meet."

Tipperton stepped before Longshank. "Hello, my friend."

Longshank's grin greeted the Warrow.

Now Tip looked up at Dalavar.

The Wolfmage smiled, his grin much like that of the 'Wolves. "I am glad to see you looking so well, Tipperton."

Passing his right hand over the Vulg scars on his left arm, Tipperton said, "And I am glad to see that you, too, are well, Mage Dalavar. When you left us in Jallorby, I feared you were heading for Gron."

"I say, Dalavar," called Beau, moving among the 'Wolves and stroking every one, even Greylight. "Just where have you and these rascals been?"

"In the Gwasp, destroying a Horde," said Dalavar darkly, as if remembering grim deeds.

"In the Gwasp!" blurted Beau.

"Adon," said Tipperton, "then you did return to Gron."

Dalavar inclined his head, but did not elaborate.

Timorously, Linnet arrived at Beau's side, and he took her by the hand. "Mage Dalavar, this is Linnet, my dam-mia. Linnet, Mage Dalavar."

"My lady," said Dalavar.

"I am glad we meet at last," said Linnet, "for Beau speaks often of you. But these Silver Wolves, now, even though Beau told me all about them-oh my-I did not think them so… so formidable."

Dalavar laughed. "Formidable indeed, though gentle with friends."

"Oh, but I do hope so," said Linnet, "for they look as if they could snap me all up in but a single bite."

As Dalavar laughed, Beau turned and drew Linnet after, stepping toward Shimmer.

Tipperton looked up at the Wolfmage and said, "I am glad you are here, for we can use all the help we can get. – You did come to help, neh?"

"I came to find King Blaine and offer him my aid, and perhaps he can use it well, for the ill wind blowing out of Garia and over this host bears the vile taint of foul Modru."

Tipperton's face fell. "Oh lor', just as we suspected."

After a restless night, chill dawn came, the sky yet covered by a dismal grey pall running westerly. Tipperton groaned awake to this gloomy cast, Rynna stirring as well. Tip glanced at the drifting murk above, then flopped over and buried his face in his blanket and, his voice muffled, said, "Oh but I would see the sun once more."

"Mmm?" murmured Rynna.

Tipperton rose up on his elbows. "The sun. I would see the sun."

Rynna opened her eyes to the grey sky, then closed them again.

"What's it been, love," asked Tipperton, "twelve, thirteen days under this dreary cast?"

Again Rynna opened her eyes. "Ever since we docked at Adeo."

Tip rolled over and sat up. "It's Modru's doing, or so says Dalavar."

"I saw him, you know," said Rynna, "and the Silver Wolves. I was coming up from council as they were going down."

Tip nodded. "He went to see Blaine."

Now Rynna sat up. "Does he know for certain that Modru is behind this weather? I mean, Farrin knew that the wind was not natural, but Mage-driven instead, yet he couldn't identify it as Modru's doings, for they had never crossed paths."

"I think so," replied Tipperton. "I mean, Beau says Dalavar tangled with Modru in the past. Too, he may have opposed Modru again in the Gwasp. And if that's what it takes, well then, Dalavar should know that foul taint."

A waft of sulfurous air blew across them. Rynna wrinkled her nose and said, "Perhaps Modru's taint smells somewhat like H?l's Crucible."

Tipperton laughed and stood. "Speaking of H?l's Crucible, what say after we break fast and take care of the ponies, we ride down the slope to the legion? I mean, I'd like to get a good look at what may become our next battleground. I've not yet been there, you know."

Rynna nodded, then grinned and said, "Let's ride with the entire Warrow army."

Down they rode and down, down the center of the mile-wide ramp, and as they descended they let the ponies find the way, for spread out before them was the basin of H?l's Crucible, a stark vision, indeed:

Girdled by steep stone walls a thousand feet high or more, the great barren rift gaped wide. Three-quarters of a mile away to the right stood the shield wall, the stone dark and sheer and plunging into shadowed depths below. To the east at this end of the mighty cleft stood the far side, at this point but ten miles away. Leagues to the left the breech widened, spreading out to a breadth of thirty miles, more or less maintaining that width to the far end of the basin some forty leagues away; there where it widened the floor of the rift plunged down a mile or more, becoming deeper in places all the way to the end; but here nigh the shield wall it narrowed down from thirty miles to ten, its floor but a thousand feet deep. As Beau said, "Lor', it's somewhat like a bottle, and we are caught here in its neck."

Below and leftward, they could see but desolation, the land hot, baked, cracked, with leagues of black stone heaped in shattered piles jagging across the floor in long, jumbled runs. Beyond the black stone, whitish vapors, mayhap steam, surged from holes in the ground, and far to the left yellow gas belched upward from a great crack cleaving across tawny flats. Dark smoke billowed from a conical ash pile nigh the opposite side, and here and there on the ravaged earth pools of black bubbled and oozed, as if the damaged ground itself were raddled with open cankers seeping ebon pus.

"What a hideous place," said Dinly. "No wonder they call it H?l's Crucible."

Down they rode and down, coming at last unto the host standing athwart the long, rough ramp, rubble and scree and barren earth underfoot, the sides left and right pitching down steeply. Continuing on, across the more or less level place they fared among the ranks of the warriors, the War-rows at last emerging beyond. There the slant pitched downward again, and a mile or so downgrade and at the base of the broad, gritty slope was arrayed the foe.

The Warrows reined to a stop and dismounted, and stepped forward to see, and they found themselves next to Gildor and Vanidor, the twin Lian brothers staring down at the ranks of enemy. At hand stood Bekki, the Dwarf glaring down as well.

"Quite a number, eh, Tipperton?" said Vanidor.

"How many do you think there are?" asked Tip.

"Somewhat between sixty thousand and seventy," said Vanidor, "or so we judge."

Gildor and Bekki nodded in agreement.

Rynna sighed. "Then we are yet outnumbered, for in council last night a tally was taken: the count of those who are hale and ready to fight totals to but fifty-seven thousand altogether."

"Bah," growled Bekki. "Outnumbered or not, we will defeat them."

"Be not too certain, Lord Bekki," said Gildor, "for they are an arduous foe."

A look of anguish crossed Beau's face, and he said, "Lord Gildor is right, my friend, for our casualties were heavy: there were nearly three thousand slain outright in the strife along the rim, and seven thousand more who were wounded grievously, seven thousand who will not soon see battle again." A tear trickled down Beau's cheek, and Linnet reached out and took his hand.

Bekki shook his head. "The cowardly enemy did not escape unscathed, for the Chakka threw twelve or thirteen thousand of the foe over the rim last night."

Rynna's face filled with distress. "You cast them over the brim?"

"Aye," replied Bekki, "by my orders as well as those of DelfLords Volki and Okar and Valk, they were thrown into the rift. Pah, unlike some we have battled in the past, these did not deserve the honor of fire or stone."

"But to cast them over the rim…"

"Fear not, lady, for most were dead by the time they were flung."

Rynna shook her head in fret but returned her gaze downslope.

"When will the King offer them surrender terms again?" asked Tip.

As Bekki snorted in disgust, Rynna said, "He proposes to do so at the noontide."

"Well then, that gives us some time to look over the terrain, just in case-"

Tipperton's words were interrupted by a horn call from below.

"Look!" cried Beau, pointing.

From the fore of the ranks of the enemy, a large party broke away from the main body and advanced onto the slope and up. In the lead strode a Chabbain bearing a grey flag, flanked left and right by more Chabbains, twenty-one warriors in all. In their wake rode some thirty or so horsemen-Kistanians, Hyrinians, Jungarians-with a score of black-robed Fists of Rakka striding upslope behind. Midst them all rode Lord Tain bearing the corpse of his daughter Jolet.

A half mile up the slope they came, to one of the level flats. And there they stopped and planted the grey flag and blew the horn again.

The surrogate had come to parley.

"My Lord King, again I say beware treachery," said DelfLord Bekki, even as he slipped a throwing axe into his belt and took up his war hammer and shield. "There is no honor in their hearts."

"Nevertheless," said King Blaine, buckling on his sword, "we will go to meet them. I had planned on doing so in the noontide." As he slid a plain helm over his red hair, he added, "This merely advances our plans by several can-dlemarks." He mounted his grey horse and took his embossed shield from an attendant, then turned to the others. "Ready?"

Armed and armored and mounted all, the Corons and DelfLords and Marshals and Captains and Mages and Kings and Chieftains and one Warrow Commander started down the slope, Vanidar Silverleaf at Blaine's right, Hros-marshal Linde to his left and bearing the High King's scar-let-and-gold standard, Dara Arylin dextral of Vanidar and bearing the flag of truce.

Tipperton watched as Rynna rode down and away, his heart hammering in his chest. "I do not trust these foe to honor the grey flag."

At Tipperton's side, Mage Imongar said, "Neither do I, Sir Tipperton. Neither do I."

Now Tip looked across at the other Warrows. "Mount up," he gritted. "Mount up just in case."

Behind the Warrow army, Elves and Dwarves and Baeron and Mages and men mounted up as well.

Down they rode and down, coming ever nearer the foe, and Rynna shuddered, for now she could see Lord Tain, with his unclean white hair stringing down and his filthy white beard reaching to his waist; and he sat madly murmuring unto the long-dead burden he tenderly cradled in his own gaunt arms. Desiccated she was, her skin like leather drawn tight. Her teeth protruded in a gaping, rictus grin, her eyes nought but dark hollows. Rotted silken garments clung to her wasted frame, her left leg missing below the knee, the yellowed thighbone above showing through, a bit of tattered hose yet clinging. Her other leg and arms were wasted, drawn thin like jerky meat, the bones of her hands and remaining foot skeletal. Lord Tain held her close to his breast and kissed her and stroked what was left of her dark stringy hair and whispered of a glorious future ahead after her child was born.

Horror filled Rynna's heart at such a sight, yet a poignant sadness, too, and she turned her head away, tears streaming down.

Now the King and company reached the flat to come before the foe, and some ten yards from the surrogate, Blaine held up a hand and stopped. Behind him the emissaries stopped as well.

A black-cloaked Fist of Rakka stepped to Lord Tain's horse and led it forth from the ranks. Then he turned unto the surrogate and hissed, "Gluktu!"

Lord Tain's prattle and whispering ceased, and his deranged gaze was displaced, to be filled with a malevolent glare. No longer did a demented old man look through these eyes, but a vile being instead.

Slowly the surrogate's gaze slid across each and every one of the emissaries, and when his glare came unto Coron Eiron he laughed. "How is your son, my lord, yet fetching a silver blade? Oh, but dear me, I did forget: 'twas lost in the Dalgor Fens." Again came the laughter, as Eiron's knuckles turned white on the hilt of his sheathed sword.

The surrogate's gaze slithered on down the line of emissaries, and when it came to Rynna, she shuddered under the malignant stare, and she knew 'twas Modru who glared out at her. Yet he looked upon Rynna in puzzlement, as if trying to determine just who or what she was, and where he might have seen her kind before.

His gaze finally left her and slid on down the line, passing over Dwarves and Baeron and Elves and men. But then he came unto Farrin and Dalavar, the Mages staring coldly back. "Bah! You bring neophytes with you, Dalavar? Novices above as well?"

Dalavar's Wolflike eyes bore into those of the surrogate, but neither he nor Farrin replied.

The surrogate glared at the Wolfmage and sneered, "That we are met for the third time bodes you ill, Dalavar, for two minor victories does not a war win. It is of no moment that you escaped me once at the Stones of Jalan and then again in the Gwasp, for this time I shall throw a collar about your mongrel scruff and bring you to heel. And think not to evade me by that bauble about your neck, for I am your master in concealment as you will see."

With a wave of hand the vile presence dismissed all the emissaries and turned its gaze upon High King Blaine.

Blaine stared back into the malevolent glare. "We did not come here to trade insults, Lord Modru, but to accept your surrender instead."

"Surrender? You fool. 'Tis you who should lay down your arms, for my victory here will be absolute. Did you not think it peculiar that when my forces left Gunarring Gap they seemed prepared to come straightly here? Here where all your petty kings and corons and chieftains and DelfLords and other such rabble could gather? And did you not wonder why I did not destroy your paltry bridge but instead left it intact? Oh, it was a clever move to use Dragonships as pontoons, yet through my agents I watched them being fitted in the harbor of Pendwyr there in Hile Bay and realized your plan. But I let it proceed unmolested. Why you ask? Bah! Is it not obvious? Know this, Fool Blaine. I drew you here to H?l's Crucible, you and your so-called Free Folk, for with but one blow at this place, I will eliminate all fools who oppose me, and when I have destroyed you entirely, Gyphon will rule, and I will be His regent."

Blaine looked grimly at the surrogate, but his words were for the one within. "You say such, Foul Modru, yet first you have to win, and at the moment, we hold the advantage."

"Advantage? Advantage? Imbecile Blaine!" The surrogate glanced at King Ranor in wrath, and then glared back at King Blaine. "That you hold the high ground is but an accident of these horse-lovers arriving unexpectedly, else you would be in the basin below, and I would hold the ground above. Even so, it is of no import, for you cannot prevail against that which I bring." Again the surrogate's face twisted in gloat. "What's that you ask? What is it I bring? Pah! Did you not know why the wind blows? Why my wind blows? It is to clear away the vapors in H?l's Crucible for the march of my dread Swarm!" Now the surrogate glanced at Dalavar and laughed and gestured out into the rift and cried, "Behold!"

Of a sudden out on the floor of the basin, at a distance a rippling purled the air and where before there was nought but runs of shattered black stone and sulfurous rock and bubbling pustulant pools, a great Swarm stood revealed: thousands upon thousands upon thousands of Foul Folk, a hundred thousand or more-Rucks, Hloks, Ghuls on Helsteeds, dark Vulgs, hundreds of monstrous Trolls, and a dozen or more dreadful Gargons-all boiling forward in a seething, monstrous mass. And in the air high aloft flew a great, dark shape, mighty and massive and black, its vast leathery pinions churning: it was a Dragon dire.

And in that very same moment on the slope above, the elusive thought that had repeatedly escaped Tipperton now became crystal clear: those mountains afar were the Skar-pals, the place where Jinnarin and Farrix and Aylissa had followed the Foul Folk when the Rupt had fled. Nay! Not fled, but rather had assembled. This had been Modru's plan all along. He had drawn the Allies here to H?l's Crucible; they had fallen into his trap.

And at Tipperton's side Mage Veran spoke a then said to Imongar, "It is no illusion."

And Imongar gasped and her entire frame slumped in defeat. "Then we are lost, for we cannot prevail against so many Gargons, nor against the Dragon above."

And down where King Blaine and his emissaries stood, the surrogate turned and pointed at the oncoming Swarm. And the presence of Modru said, "Look well, Fool Blaine, for I myself ride in the fore of my might; I would see with my own eyes the victory I will win." At the head of the churning throng, a troika of Helsteeds drew a chariot rumbling across the floor below, driven by a figure in black, his features hidden behind a hideous iron mask. The surrogate turned back to King Blaine. "Surrender now or prepare for battle and think not to run, else I will loose Daagor from above, and he alone will shred and burn you all."

King Blaine, his features drawn grim, said, "Heed me, Foul Modru: we will not run nor will we surrender, Spawn, Gargons, renegade Dragon, or no."

Rage filled the surrogate's features, and Modru hissed, "Now!"

"Ware!" cried Bekki, flinging up his shield as, from under the concealment of black robes, the Fists of Rakka raised crossbows and stepped forward and aimed and loosed their bolts, some to strike flesh and bone, others to be deflected by iron.

And through the air tumbled a glitter as Bekki's axe flew in return to strike the surrogate full in the head, cleaving through flesh and bone and brain, blood and grey matter splashing wide as Lord Tain pitched over the rear cantle and to the ground, Jolet's corpse crashing down beside him to be smashed under the hooves of the Hyrinians and Kis-tanians charging forward, and the High King's counterattack.

"Rynna!" shouted Tipperton, spurring forward and racing downslope, Warrows galloping after, their surefooted ponies running full tilt. And behind them thundered the host, shouts of Treachery! and Blaine! and Adon! and El-wydd! and Fyrra! ringing through the air. And even as they did so, up from the basin below charged the combined army of the Chabbains and Hyrinians and Kistanians and Jung-arians and the Fists of Rakka.

Out on the floor of the basin, the vast Swarm of Foul Folk came on-Rucks and Hloks tramping forward, and Ghuls on Helsteeds riding, Trolls lumbering, Gargons stalking, a Dragon circling high above. Yet Modru did not let them race ahead but deliberately held them to their pace, for with his overpowering might, he knew certain victory was his. Even so, as a token of what was to come, he did loose his Vulgs to attack, for they would spread terror and poison among these fools who sought to oppose him.

Black and vicious, across the basin they sped, howling in savage glee. Yet down the slope came racing six silver shapes at the call of a seventh below.

Amid battle cries and shouts of rage and the clash of steel on steel, on the slope the two armies crashed together, swords and axes riving, spears piercing, maces smashing, morning stars and hammers crushing, tulwars and long, curved swords and scimitars and axes responding in kind, blades cleaving through flesh and bone and armor alike, with blunt-faced weapons crunching and pulping and breaking and pulverizing whatever it was they hammered.

"Rynna! Rynna!" shouted Tipperton, and in the melee he finally saw her just as her pony was slain, the animal to tumble down, its throat slashed, blood flying. Rynna fell hard to the ground beside it, landing on her left shoulder and losing her bow. A Fist of Rakka lunged toward her, his blade raised high, but in a flash Rynna was on her feet and running, the black-robed enemy in pursuit.

Ssss-thok! Tipperton's arrow took the foe in the throat, and he fell to his knees, clutching his neck, unable to breathe, his eyes wide and filled with death.

With Beau and Linnet and Farly and Nix and Dinly racing after, Tipperton shouted and spurred toward fleeing Rynna, the damman ducking and dodging among milling, bellowing men and Dwarves and Elves and Baeron.

Rynna spun to escape a Chabbain even as a Dwarf hewed the dusky man down from behind, but now she had turned toward the Warrows and looked up to see Tipperton galloping toward her even as he shouted her name.

Tipperton slowed and held out his arm and she grabbed it and, struggling, gasping in pain, her left arm useless, still she managed to swing up behind. "Ride to where bows will be effective," she cried, and Tipperton galloped toward the nearest edge of the slope.

"Dinly!" Tip heard Linnet shout, and looked back to see the buccan fall dead, pierced through by a spear. And cursing in grief, Tipperton and the others galloped on, Fists of Rakka in pursuit.

Down the steep side of the ramp they fled, their mounts barely able to keep their feet, and then Nix's pony tumbled tail over saddle, throwing Nix free to crash down the stony slant, the pony behind cartwheeling-Crack!-breaking its neck but still tumbling, slamming atop Nix and sliding on past to come to the bottom below, as the others reached the flat to gallop toward the towering shield wall.

Dazed, Nix managed to stagger to his feet, yet one foot seemed twisted at an angle. Even so, he started down the remainder of the steep pitch toward the bottom, but scrambling down after came the Fists of Rakka, and in the lead one of the black-robed men paused and aimed his crossbow and let fly the bolt. It struck Nix full in the back, and he tumbled down dead, sliding through rubble and scree to fetch up beside his pony.

"Nix!" screamed Linnet, wheeling about. "Nix!"

"Linnet, wait!" cried Beau, coming after.

Farly shouted in rage and galloped back toward the slope. And even as Linnet, sobbing, threw herself from her pony and took her brother Nix in her arms, Farly loosed an arrow to fly through the air and slay the crossbow bearer. The other black-robed men skidded to a halt and several began cocking crossbows. And still more Fists of Rakka came scrambling over the lip and down.

Beau slid his pony to a halt beside Linnet and cried, "Dammia, there are too many. We have to go." Even as he said it, he hurled a slingstone to fell one of the black-robed men, the foe to tumble down the slope and crash to the ground beside Linnet, a hole in his skull, his neck awry.

Yet sobbing, Linnet kissed Nix and closed his eyes and then sprang to her feet, just as a bolt slammed into the ground where she had been. She strung an arrow to bow and pierced the man through, and then leapt to her pony- "Hai!"-to race away, Fists of Rakka scrambling down after.

Tipperton and Rynna had turned as well, and when Linnet and Beau and Farly came galloping, Rynna called out, "We need make a stand in a place of defense. There are boulders on the talus at the base of the shield wall."

Pursued by twenty or more black-robed Fists of Rakka, toward the shield wall the Wee Folk galloped, passing by bubbling pools of steaming mud, the odor horrific. Past a long, glittering ridge of sharp crystal clusters they hammered, crystals sharp as the sharpest of blades. Past sulfu-rous vents they fled, yellow-brown smoke billowing out, and along a jagged fissure exhaling foul fumes from deep within its abyssal depths. But at last they came to the jumbled slope at the base of the shield wall, and dismounting and leading their ponies, up the rubble they went, with Fists of Rakka running in pursuit, and a battle between armies on the great slope aft, and Modru's vast Swarm churning across the basin behind.

"Look out, Farly!" But Linnet's call came too late, and the crossbow bolt punched through the buccan, and he fell dead at her feet.

Beau whirled his sling and loosed a bullet-Crack!-the man to scream and clutch at his head and fall backwards even as the others fled down and away.

Linnet scrambled on hands and knees to Farly, and she pressed her ear to the buccan's chest. Then with tears in her eyes she looked up at Beau and shook her head.

Tipperton glanced back at Rynna; she sat behind a boulder with her back to the shield wall, her arm in an improvised sling, for her left shoulder had been dislocated when she had slammed into the ground.

The remainder of the ponies had all been slain by the Fists of Rakka, the horselings unable to take adequate shelter behind fallen rock at the wall. And now Farly lay dead, and though Tipperton and Linnet and Beau yet had missiles, still the black-robed men were many, and the arrows few.

Again the Fists of Rakka came creeping upward, cautiously slipping from rock to rock, for the Warrows were more formidable than the black-robed men had ever imagined. Even so, to die in the service of Rakka won them eternal bliss, hence onward they came. Tipperton took careful aim just at the edge of a boulder, for that's where the one he targeted would appear.

Ssss… flew the arrow thock! to strike, the man to fall dead in the rubble and slide down a ways and stop.

The other Fists of Rakka again retreated.

Of a sudden, Rynna gasped.

"What is it?" hissed Tipperton.

She turned and pressed her ear against the shield wall. "The stone, Tipperton, there is a sound."

"A sound?"

"Yes, like-"

Yaaaaahhh…! From below there came a collective yawl.

"Here they come again," said Beau, setting his sling atwirl.

Tipperton turned and peered past the boulder. Charging up the slope came the Fists of Rakka, running in the open and screaming in frenzy Rakka! Rakka! Rakka!

"Make every shot count!" yelled Tipperton. "Else we are doomed!"

But in the very moment he drew -from behind there came a splitting noise, as of cloven stone -and the Fists of Rakka cried out in fear and fled scrambling downward.

Rynna gasped and Linnet shrieked, and Tip and Beau spun about to see -a huge form emerging from the very stone itself and another form coming after.

And Tipperton looked up into great gemstone eyes staring outward and knew the Utruni had come.

Manlike they were but huge, taller than the tallest of Trolls-fifteen, sixteen, seventeen feet or perhaps more, the wee Warrows looking up at them could not say. There were seven of the Stone Giants and they wore no clothing nor did they carry any goods, and their skins bore hues of stone: grey, slate, tawny, rudden. Yet even though the Utruni were bare, whether or no they were male or female, neither Tipperton nor Beau nor Rynna nor Linnet could say. And as the Warrows scrambled backwards and out of the way, the giants stepped forth from the shield wall and sealed the stone behind, leaving no mark whatsoever. And they peered up into the sky, up where the Dragon flew, and then they looked down upon the floor of the basin, as if searching for, for…

… for what? None of the Wee Folk could say.

"Have you come to help?" called Tip.

Reacting in surprise, the Utruni turned toward Tipper-ton's voice, their gemstone stares searching for whoever had called out.

One of the Stone Giants spoke to the others, his voice deep, his words sounding somewhat like rock sliding upon rock, the others replying in the same tongue.

"Hiyo," called Tip, waving his arms. "I'm here."

With eyes like large diamonds, the greatest of the giants, pale buff in color, peered down toward the buccan, and in an eld form of Common said, "Ah, seest thee, ae naow do. Vapour ephemeral thou dost loken. Be ae riht: there be feower of ye?"

The grey Utrun shook its head. "Nae, Tholon. They be fif." The giant pointed down at Farly's body.

"Are you asking if we are four?" called Tip. "Asking if we are five?"

The one called Tholon cocked its head and then said, "Aye, though ye seemeth summat more solide than many who dwellen aboven, we be not want to stepe an ye."

"We must be difficult for them to see," said Rynna.

"Mage Farrin did say they can look right through solid stone," said Beau.

"Farrin?" said the grey Utrun. "Ye knowen Farrin?"

Beau nodded.

Again the giant asked. "Ye knowen Farrin?"

"Yes," called Tipperton, realizing that the Utrun could not see Beau's nod. "We do know Farrin. He is a friend and in dire straits, as are we all."

"Farrin didst techen we this dwer tunge," said the buff-hued giant, Tholon. Then he cocked his head and asked, "But who be ye?"

Tipperton stepped forward. "I am Tipperton Thistledown, and my companions are Rynna Thistledown and Beau and Linnet Darby"-Tipperton looked out at the rift, where Modru's seething Swarm boiled toward the ramp- "and we desperately need help."

The rudden giant pointed at Farly's body. "Thou hast nama feower, but ye be fif."

Tipperton's eyes teared, and he said, "The one lying there is slain. His name was Farly Bourne."

As one, the Stone Giants looked at Farly and made a clenching gesture with their right hands. And then the buff-colored Utrun turned to Tipperton and said, "Ae hight Tholon. Thaes be Orth, Flate, Umac, Chelk, Sidon, and Drit."

At the naming of each, without conscious thought Tipperton noted their gemstone eyes: sapphire, emerald, peridot, another emerald, ruby, and topaz, in addition to Tholon's diamond.

When Tholon fell silent, Tipperton, a plea in his voice, said, "Again I ask, did you come to help?"

"We be yet nae deciden Friend Tipperton," replied Orth.

"Oh, but you must help," implored Beau, gesturing out at the oncoming Swarm. "I mean, if you don't, then Gy-phon will rule all, for Modru has come with his minions, and they are many and terrible and in numbers we cannot defeat: Rucks, Hloks, Vulgs, Ghuls on Helsteeds, Trolls, Gargons, and a Dragon."

"Se Drake?" asked Flate, pointing into the sky.

"It is Daagor," said Rynna.

Tipperton looked at her. "Daagor? The renegade? Daagor who vies with Black Kalgalath to be the greatest Dragon of all?"

Rynna nodded. "At the parley, Lord Tain-Modru- named him so."

"What does it matter?" said Beau, despairing. "Daagor, Skail, Sleeth, whoever, still it is a Dragon, a thing we cannot hope to defeat."

Tip, Beau, Rynna, Linnet: all turned to look upon the Drake high above… and then down at the rift below.

On the long slope the battle yet raged, Dwarves, Elves, Baeron, men, hewing and piercing and stabbing and bashing and crushing, shouting battle cries and calling out Adon! and Elwydd! and Fyrra! Calling out Gyphon! and

Rakka! Calling out Blaine! and Modru! All while slaughtering one another.

"Oh my! Look there!" cried Linnet as the battle swirled. And in the midst of the clangor and chaos, great Bears raged, claws and teeth rending and tearing.

The Warrows looked at one another in wonderment, for how could such a thing be? And then Rynna said, "There is a legend 'round the Baeron…"

"Oh lor'," said Beau, "that's right. Some Baeron are said to turn into Bears… that, or Wolves."

They turned and looked back, but the snarl of battle had come in between and the huge Bears could no longer be seen. And as one, both Tip and Beau looked out on the basin below, and there they found Silver Wolves whirling in melee with Vulgs, slaughtered black creatures lying all 'round.

And then their gazes were drawn rightward, where across the floor of the rift came Modru in his iron mask, a troika of Helsteeds drawing his chariot, his vast Swarm churning after, Gargons and Trolls in their seething midst.

As the Warrows looked on at the overwhelming defeat at hand, behind them the great Stone Giants held rumbled converse in that sliding-rock tongue of theirs, and finally Tholon said, "Aye, we willa helpan. Yet ye seeth betera thanne we: hwaer best to aiden?"

"Are you saying that you cannot see the great Swarm coming?" asked Tip.

"Aye. Se Trollth and Graegoni we seeth well; se Drake, too; 'twaes thaem we traked to this plaece hwil trieneth to deciden. Se rest be as vague as vapours."

"Oh, Tip," groaned Linnet, "there are too many Trolls for them to fight. Too many Gargons, too. And the Dragon, well, can even a Stone Giant tackle such a foe?"

"Argh!" said Beau. "Even though the Alliance holds the high ground, the Utruni have come too late, for the tide of battle is lost before the flood of Modru's forces." He turned and pounded his fist into the sheer stone, and said "We're nought but insignificant flies on this wall. There's no way-"

"That's it, Beau!" shouted Tipperton. "You've got it!"

"I what?" said Beau, wheeling 'round to look at Tipper-ton, but that buccan had turned to the giants.

In the midst of the melee arcane waves of fear washed over the combatants, for the Gargons were nearing and affecting all. Even so the battle raged on, for wrath and revenge and hatred and desperation powered the arms of ally and enemy alike.

And high on the slope King Blaine was tended by healers drawing a crossbow bolt from his forearm, the shaft having punched through shield and armor alike.

"Swift now," gritted the King, "for I must return to battle."

At his side stood Mage Farrin, and nearby pacing back and forth strode Linde, the Warrior Maiden anxious to rejoin the melee below.

"They can't hear me, can't hear me at all above the roar of battle," raged Tip, his black-oxen horn in hand, the buc-can looking up at Tholon, the only Utrun left. "We cannot do it if they hear me not." Dejected, Tipperton turned to Rynna and said, "I might as well be whispering, for all the good it did."

Rynna peered out across the floor of the rift-Modru's Swarm now closing in on the ramp. Then she looked at the battle above, and groaning in defeat she spun toward the wall. Suddenly her eyes widened, and she whispered, "Sur Kolare." Spinning toward Tipperton, she shouted, "I have it, Tip: Sur Kolare! Whisper Hollow!"

Tipperton spread his hands. "But how can-?"

"Tholon will do it!" declared Rynna. She sighted a boulder at hand, then called to the Stone Giant and stepped to the barrier. "Can you shape the stone of the wall here before this boulder, hollow it out, cup it 'round concave, so its form would just embrace yon ramp were it to extend that far? A wide section I mean, fifty feet across and half as deep?"

Glancing at the ramp and then at the sheer barrier, Tholon stepped 'round the boulder and to the wall and with his great hands began shaping the stone, rock flowing under his touch. Remembering the contour of Sur Kolare, Rynna watched closely and called out to the giant just how to curve the arc of the hollow being formed.

With hope in his eyes, Tipperton clambered up onto the boulder Rynna had selected.

And still on the slope below, the battle raged, a mighty clash and clangor, while above the King, now bandaged, prepared for combat.

Of a sudden nearby, "Hearken!" cried Linde, stopping in her tracks. " Tis a black-oxen horn calling."

"I hear," growled the King, drawing the cuff of his gauntlet over the dressing. "But why is it signalling withdraw? Is this a trick of Modru's?"

"I hear it as well, but whence does it blow?" said Mage Farrin, looking about, trying to find the source.

"There!" said Linde, pointing at the shield wall in the near distance.

Farrin looked where Linde pointed. "Utrun!" he proclaimed, now seeing the Stone Giant. "My Lord King Blaine, it is an Utrun."

"Utrun there is, yet 'tis a Waeran blowing the horn," said Linde. "And other Waerans to the side, waving desperately."

"Where?" asked Farrin.

"On yon rock he stands, facing the wall and blowing a Harlingar horn, the others leftward and waving," replied Linde. "It can only be Tipperton, and he sounds the signal to withdraw."

"Bah," growled King Blaine, "I yet think this is some fraud of Modru's."

Beside the King, Farrin said a and narrowed his gaze and then said, "Nay, my Lord, 'tis no illusion but a true sight instead. 'Tis indeed a Waerling, and with an Utrun." Now Farrin turned to Blaine. "My lord, I suggest you do as he calls."

"But, Mage Farrin, we hold the high ground, 'tis the only advantage we have, and should we withdraw, we will find ourselves on the flats along the rim above, where the enemy will do us in."

"My lord," said Linde, gesturing at the oncoming Swarm, "we will lose regardless, for among the Foul Folk Modru brings Ogrus and Gargons and a Dragon, and we have no means to defeat them. Yet heed me:

"The Waldan blowing that horn conceived the plan which set Mineholt North free. He conceived the plan which freed Dendor, and he was one of the two who slew the Gargon outside that city's walls. And if I am not mistaken, one of the Waldana at his side is the very same one who conceived the plan which resulted in the destruction of another Gargon pursuing us through the Blackwood. And so this I say: if Tipperton Thistledown and Rynna Thistledown and an Utrun sound the signal to withdraw, then, any Lord High King Blaine, I say we must withdraw."

"But we know nothing of what he plans."

"Trust him, my lord. Trust them."

Blaine frowned and looked from Linde to the shield wall to Farrin, then out upon the Swarm boiling forward and finally back to the wall again. At last he said, "Well and good. We will withdraw. Sound the signal, Hrosmarshal Linde."

But the Allies weren't the only ones to hear Tip's horn, for Modru in his chariot heard it as well. And he turned his iron-veiled face toward the shield wall to see the Utrun and others standing there. And of a sudden behind his wrought mask his glaring eyes widened, and he howled in fury and gestured to Daagor above and said a and then screamed directly into Daagor's ear, though the great Dragon was far, far aloft.

And the mighty Drake bellowed and folded his vast leathery wings and plunged roaring toward the distant wall.

"What's taking them so long?" shouted Beau, leaping and waving to attract attention, as Tipperton blew and blew, the sound of the black-oxen horn focused by the concave depression in the stone and hurled toward the ramp.

"Can they even hear the horn above the sounds of battle?" cried Linnet.

"Perhaps, perhaps," answered Rynna, "but we won't know unless and until-"

"Oh lor!" shouted Beau. "Look, above. Daagor comes."

Down plummeted the Dragon, down and down and down, hurtling toward the shield wall where Warrow and Utrun stood.

Linnet reached out for her buccaran's hand. "Oh, Beau, what will we do?"

And still the Swarm seethed toward the ramp; they had nearly reached the base.

"Listen!" shouted Rynna. "Listen! Oh, Tipperton, stop and listen!"

Tipperton turned and listened, and standing at the focal point of the shaped hollow, he clearly heard Harlingar horns blowing in the distance: Hahn, taa-roo! Hahn, taa-roo! Hahn, taa-roo taa-roo!

It was the command to withdraw.

Tipperton shouted-"Tholon, signal the others now!"- and leapt down from the rock.

Down plunged Daagor and down, and he drew in a great, deep breath.

Even as Tipperton leaped down, Tholon hammered on rock-once, twice, thrice-the entire wall ringing in response. The Utrun then split wide the stone, fissuring a passage inward.

Catching up Tipperton's lute and Beau's medical bag, retrieved from their crossbow-slain steeds, "Take Farly," said Linnet, and Beau stooped and lifted up the dead buc-can, and the Warrows entered the cleft to find Chelk waiting, a phosphorescent glow in hand.

Daagor roared in fury, his flame blasting forth in a raging bolt, yet ere the blaze reached the crevice, the Utrun entered and sealed the stone after, the Dragonfire to strike and splash wide.

"I can't see a thing," said Tipperton, but then Chelk bent down and handed the buccan a double fistful of glowing lichen. Tipperton then remembered Bekki's tale of Durek and the Stone Giants in the depths of Kraggen-cor, and he knew he must be holding the stuff of Dwarven lanterns, the lichen brought here by Chelk specifically for the War-rows to use to illuminate their way. Tipperton gave over a handful to Rynna to spread the light out farther.

Whmp!

The wall juddered, as if something had struck it a great blow.

Tholon spoke in the sliding-rock tongue, and Chelk turned and began cleaving the stone, making a tunnel through.

Whmp!

Again the wall jolted.

Through an Utrun-made passage went the Warrows, following Chelk, Tholon coming after, sealing the stone behind.

Daagor roared and tore at the wall, flame blasting out in his fury. And he cast his senses forth; there were several Utruni in the rock-seven in all-as well as four of the Wee Folk.

His great claws rended stone in his anger, and the ground began to shudder, not only where he stood, but across the basin and up walls and along the rim as well.

On the ramp, the battle raged, the Allies fighting in withdrawal, the ground underfoot now wrenching.

The enemy disengaged, or attempted to, for here and there Chakka fought on, refusing to let the foe flee, though some Dwarves elsewhere had begun to withdraw under the insistent peal of horns.

And seven Silver Wolves came racing up the quaking ramp, six following Shifter, the Vulgs in the rift all slain.

And out on the juddering floor of the basin, black rock shattered and collapsed; fire burst forth from crevices deep, and geysers blasted boiling water skyward; mud exploded, black smoke billowed, and molten sulfur flowed yellow across the land. Crystalline ridges fractured, cracked, and shattered outward in shards, the air chiming and jingling in their wake.

And Modru screamed in fury, while his Swarm shrieked in dread, the land jolting underfoot. This could not be Daagor's doing, but that of cursed Utruni instead. Modru cast forth his own senses to locate the Stone Giants, and upon finding them, Modru's eyes flew wide and he shrilled in quavering terror.

And at the shield wall great wide cracks splintered upward, driven by the Utruni within, while off to one side within shuddering stone and stumbling their way up a long Utrun-made slope toward the westerly brim, wee Warrows followed a giant.

And down on the talus at the foot of the wall Daagor looked upward as a huge section of the great barrier from base to rim began to tilt inward, the immense slab leaning, leaning, leaning over, to fall with a thunderous crash, and in through the vast gape left behind roared the waters of the Avagon Sea.

And farther eastward another wide crack split upward through the stone, a second huge slab to break free and topple inward, and even more waters of the sea thundered in.

And following an Utrun-cloven tunnel, on westerly the Warrows went, Chelk leading, Tholon coming after, sealing the stone behind, Tipperton now carrying Farly's body over his shoulder, sharing the burden with Beau.

While under the raging waters, Daagor bellowed, flame blasting upward, the Dragon's bulk and great leathery wings pinned by unnumbered tons of mountainous stone lying atop him.

And a vast wave, hundreds of feet high, thundered in through the immense gap, hurling across the floor of the rift, the sea at last free to engulf the basin within, and it swept down upon the mighty Swarm, crashing over shrieking Rucks and Hloks and squealing Helsteeds and howling Ghuls. Trolls yawled in terror as they were swept under, their massive bones dragging them down. Gargons, too, plunged below the roaring billows, their own solidity dooming them.

And Modru's chariot was swept away, tumbling and lashing under the flood.

And another great slab crashed inward, more and more sea thundering after.

And the great waves crashed onto and over the ramp, sweeping Elves, Dwarves, Baeron, men, horses, ponies, and land away, the living and the dead, the wounded and the hale, ally and foe alike… though most of the Allies yet hale had withdrawn at the signal, had survived, some fleeing upward bearing wounded, all but barely ahead of the whelming deluge.

But lower down on the slope, none of the foe escaped.

And now the stone at the westerly end of the shield wall split open, and a giant emerged, Warrows following after. And when the Wee Folk had all come out, the Utrun went back into the crevice, sealing the stone behind.

Tipperton eased Farly's body to the ground and then stood with the others and watched the vast inundation.

And the air roared with the sound of water thundering in.

Even though he could not be heard by the others, his voice lost in the bellow, Beau stood on the rim and chanted:

"Seek the aid of those not men

To quench the fires of war,

Else Evil triumphant will ascend

And rule forevermore."

It was Rael's rede, at last its meaning clear, and Beau looked at Tipperton and received a grim nod in return, for now they both knew that somehow all was connected.

And then Beau turned to Linnet to find that she was weeping, and he took her in his arms to comfort her. And she leaned into Beau and said, "Oh, beloved, my Nix, our Nix, is lost forever beneath this flood." Though Beau did not hear her above the thunderous shout, he embraced her and stroked her hair.

At Tipperton's side Rynna's eyes widened, horrified, and Tipperton turned to see "No! No! I didn't mean for this to happen!" Tip's voice lost under the roar

– Fjordlander Dragonships come rushing through the gap, frantic crews yet aboard, the ships to roll and whip and thrash and finally plunge under the raging water, wooden shields, masts, sails, hull, men, all to vanish from sight in the thundering flow.

In the port of Adeo some twenty-five miles away, the huge Gothonian vessels swung about at anchor, some to drag their great drogue irons across the bottom ere catching to come to a halt.

And another great slab of shield wall toppled inward, ~ and still more sea rushed in.

And down in the rift, hurling water smashed over all, pouring down into vast chasms and onto the burning lava below, the sea to flash into vapor and explode upward, great thunderous blasts jolting the air. And still geysers spewed steaming water up through the ice-cold, inrushing sea, while bubbling mud pits were swept into the torrent along with sulfurous melt, to turn the flow dark and sickly.

Shattered black stone and shards of crystal were swept up and borne northwesterly, along with the tumbling bodies of drowned Rucks and Hloks and Ghuls and Helsteeds and Trolls and Gargons, the water cascading them along the bottom, smashing, bludgeoning, rending the corpses as it thundered along to plunge down a mile-deep slope and into the wide depths below.

And beneath a great slab along the remnants of the shield wall, Daagor drowned, screaming in rage and fury and blasting flame even as he died.

And easterly, another slab fell into the basin, the shield wall now nearly all destroyed, the Avagon Sea roaring in triumph as it hurtled inward at last.

And still the water poured in, steam and detonations erupting upward from the bottom below.

And the High King looked on the rage and fury, Modru and his great Swarm gone, Daagor nowhere to be seen, the Hyrinians and Chabbains and Kistanians, the Fists of Rakka, the Throng of Jung, all were drowned.

Drowned, too, were some of the Allies-Dwarves, men, Elves, Baeron-those who had not been high enough up the slope when that first massive wave had struck, all casualties in this strife. King Blaine looked rightward where in the near distance four Wee Folk stood and one lay unmov-ing on the ground, and at this sight Blaine buried his face in his hands and sank to his knees and wept, bereavement sweeping over him, for so many friends, so many comrades, so many allies had died. Yet he wept in relief as well, for by unexpected stroke the battle was ended…

… And so too was ended the war.