socketed deeply into holes.
The way blocked? Is this just because of war?
At one of these barricaded archways, Tip saw the glimmer of phosphorescence gleaming 'round a distant turn, and it was from this corridor the singing came. Twenty or more voices he gauged, Chakia voices, Chakia singing together.
As he crossed the opening, Bekki's footsteps lagged, yet he did move onward. Tip, too, trailed, listening to the song, yet he could not tell if it was a choral of joy or sadness, though a thing of splendor it was.
Now Bekki's steps hastened, and Tip trotted to catch up.
They passed among Dwarves moving through the hallways on errands of their own, warriors in black-iron chain mail, axes and hammers at hand. And most, if not all, saluted Bekki, and curious gazes followed the pair.
Finally, through open iron doors and into a large chamber Bekki went, where he stopped at the edge of a polished granite floor. At the far end Tip saw a dais, three steps up to a black granite throne, ebon stone padded in red velvet. And on the throne sat a Dwarven warrior, dark beard, dark armor, dark helm. An axe leaned against the arm of the stone chair.
This was the DelfLord, no doubt, yet it was not he who captured Tip's eye. 'Twas instead a willowy figure sitting on the steps below, a figure all swathed in veils, a figure in deep converse with the DelfLord.
'I bring an emissary,' called Bekki, and at these words the DelfLord looked up, and the figure on the steps turned toward them and then stood in a gossamer swirl of feathery lace and silk. She was no more than four feet tall.
Is this a Chdkia? But she is so slender, and Dwarves so very broad.
As Bekki and Tipperton waited, the figure moved down and away, across the polished floor and toward a recessed alcove, and Tipperton thought he saw delicate bare feet under floating layers of diaphanous concealment.
As soon as the figure had vanished, the DelfLord stood and motioned for Bekki and Tipperton to approach, and he moved down the steps toward them.
'Det ta kala da ta ein, Bekki, ea chek,' said the DelfLord as he quickly closed the distance and embraced Bekki fiercely.
'And I am glad to be back, Father,' replied Bekki in the Common tongue.
Tipperton's jewellike eyes widened. Bekki is the Delf-Lord's son!
Stepping back, the dark-eyed DelfLord glanced down at Tipperton, and then looked to Bekki and in Common said, 'We thought you trapped in Dael.'
'Nay, Father,' growled Bekki. 'The Horde passed it by, marching directly here. I remained behind to muster the men of Dael, yet King Enrik sent only a token force.'
Again the DelfLord looked down at Tipperton. 'This is the force? One Waeran?'
Bekki exploded in laughter, joined by the DelfLord, and Tipperton's own giggles were lost under their roars.
Finally Bekki managed to master himself and, smiling, said, 'DelfLord Borl, may I present Sir Tipperton Thistledown of the Wilderland, emissary of Coron Ruar of the Dylvana, Chieftain Gara of the Baeron, and Prince Loden of the Daelsmen. Sir Tipperton brings to our aid an army of two thousand two hundred.'
'And five,' added Tipperton. 'Two thousand two hundred and five.'
Borl looked to Bekki, and then back to Tipperton, the DelfLord's puzzlement clear. 'Five? And five?'
'Yes, sire,' replied Tip. 'If you let me count Bekki, that is.'
Again Bekki broke into laughter, and at his father's wildered look, he said, 'Two Lian, two Waerans, and me.'
Shaking his head, DelfLord Borl threw an arm about Bekki's shoulders and said, 'Come, you must tell me of these five as well as the two thousand two hundred. Are they here to aid us, and do they propose a way to rid us of the Grg?'
As Borl led his son and Tipperton to a side table and called for bread and tea, Bekki said, 'Aye, Father, on both counts. If you will permit, we will summon the captains to the war room, where Sir Tipperton will lay out his plan.'
Perhaps it was yet night or dawn or even day when the discussions with DelfLord Borl and his captains ended; here in the undermountain realm Tip could not tell. Yet whatever the case, day or night, he was bone weary when at last he was shown to his bed.
As he slept he dreamt he awakened for but a moment to see a slender figure in swirling veils standing at the foot of his cot and looking down upon him, yet he dreamt he immediately fell back asleep… or at least he thought he was dreaming, though as weary as he was, who could say?
He had no memory of the dream when Bekki came and awakened him.
'Time to break fast, Tipperton,' said Bekki, using the Warrow's given name in the familiar for the first time. 'Hotcakes and maple syrup and rashers. Then we will take a long soak in a hot tub.'
Tip bolted up and began scrambling into breeks and jerkin. 'Oh, my, I don't know which sounds better: a hot meal or a hot bath.'
After break of fast and the tub, a messenger came to Bekki and Tipperton and informed them DelfLord Borl had called another meeting of his captains. Tipperton and Bekki hastened to the war chamber, to find the others assembled 'round a large stone table on which was spread a large map showing the wide dale before the gates of the Dwarvenholt. Figures and tokens were spread over the map, each to represent an element of the Horde or others. Borl looked up from the map when the two came in, and as they took their places, he said, 'Last night I called upon all to consider the plan and auger out any weaknesses, and to devise tactics to overcome them. What say ye?'
Across the table a yellow-bearded Dwarf, Captain Dalk, cleared his throat. At Borl's gesture, Dalk reached for one of the figures representing a Dwarven company and began: 'DelfLord, there is this…'
Thoughout the remainder of the day they moved figures over the face of the map, trying to account for every contingency. Yet when the meeting came to an end at last, the DelfLord's gaze swept across each and every one assembled and he said, 'We have tried to foreglimpse every turn of events, yet there is only one adage in combat and war: the moment the battle begins is the moment all goes wrong.'
Tipperton left this meeting much less certain of the merit of his plan.
With his lute of light and dark wood and of silver strings and frets, Tip looked for an empty chamber in which to practice. And given his unfamiliarity with the caverns, and given he did not wish to become hopelessly lost, he finally wandered into the throne room, to find it empty.
Sitting on the steps of the dais, Tip began chording the Elven instrument, and after a while, fingering individual strings, he attempted to duplicate the melody he had heard last night when he and Bekki had trudged through the confusing ways of the mineholt, a song he thought of as 'Chakia Singing.'
He did not know how it began, yet he did know a deal of the middle, and hesitantly at first, but with growing confidence, silver notes cascaded through the air, yet he came to the place where once again he no longer knew the melody. Faltering, he tried to find a way to finish the song and he tried to find a way to begin it, yet all he essayed sounded wrong to his ear, and, sighing, he stopped.
Yet as he did so, from somewhere within there came a sweet voice in song.
Startled, Tip looked about, seeing no one. And so he listened, enchanted.
The singing stopped.
Tip waited.
The singing began again, repeating the aria, yet this time it slid into the song he had been playing… but stopped again.
Now Tip took up his lute, and he played the aria as best he could, then paused.
The voice sang a passage and paused; Tip repeated it.
The voice sang again, another passage.
Tip again repeated; it was the song's beginning.
Now singer and player alternated, Tip following the voice through the aria and chorus, and all the while he looked for a place the singer might be, yet he could not discover where.
At last Tip realized that he had come to the end, and then he began at the beginning and played the song all the way through, the sweet secret voice singing in harmony to his silver-stringed tune. And when all was done and
