In the last candlemarks before dawn, Beau was awakened from a fitful doze by Loric's gentle hand. 'The time draws nigh,' said the Elf.
Beau scrambled to his feet just as Phais came leading the buccan's pony. 'Hast thou thy bullets and sling?'
'Yes, but I shouldn't need them back at a hospital wain.'
'Thou dost never know, wee one,' said Phais.
'Aye,' added Loric. 'Remember the plan: should the Rupt attack up this slope, then thou must flee before them as will we do.'
Beau glanced down at the vast Horde of Foul Folk, nought but shadows stirring 'round nearly extinguished campfires, nought but hot coals in the predawn marks. 'Oh, I know the plan, all right. Still, do you think they'll attack?'
'Nay, I do not,' replied Loric, 'yet one never knows.'
'We have tried to account for all,' said Phais. 'Nonetheless, events oft run in directions unforeseen.'
'Don't worry,' said Beau, taking up his medical satchel, 'I'll be prepared for all.' And he lashed the kit firmly behind the pony's saddle. He looked up at Phais. 'I'll get some extra sling bullets from one of the armory wains.'
Loric glanced eastward, where faint light glimmered in the sky. He turned to Phais. 'The herald of dawn creeps toward this vale, chier.'
Phais nodded, then knelt before Beau and embraced him. 'We shall see thee after.'
'Oh, Phais, do take care,' whispered Beau, and he looked up at Loric. 'And you, Loric, you as well.'
'Aye,' replied Loric, and then he glanced at Beau's pony. 'And thou, my friend, be ready to run.'
'Don't you worry, Loric. I'll fly like the wind.'
Phais then stood, and she and Loric strode away from the buccan and toward where their horses were staked.
With a sigh Beau watched them angle through a bustle of activity, then turned to find Melor at hand holding out a warm cup of tea. 'Drink up, Beau, for it may be the last we will have for many a day to come.'
Beau gratefully accepted the brew and took a sip and then another. 'I say, shouldn't we get to the hospital wain? I mean, things will be starting soon, and I want to be ready should they bring any wounded.'
The light in the east grew, struggling against the dark, but even as the shadows yet clutched the vale, Daelsmen and Dylvana and Baeron mounted.
In spite of Tain's objections, Loden signed to Brandt, and the youth raised a bugle to his lips and blew a mighty blast, and echoes rang and slapped among the mountain stone.
And Loden drew his sword and shouted a war cry and rode out from the allied array and galloped alone toward the Horde. And he skidded to a stop partway between and in the dimness raised his sword on high and shouted out a challenge. And turning his horse he rode up and down the line and called the challenge over and again.
He was met by catcalls and jeers.
And in the east the sky grew lighter with the slow approach of dawn.
Now all the Daelsmen rode forth, and the Horde braced for an attack, a Ruptish horn blatting among the swarm. Yet the men rode back and forth along the line with their leader, and cheered as he taunted the foe.
And still the sky slowly paled.
Now the Elves joined the Daelsmen, and finally the Baeron on their huge horses rode forth.
And among the ranks of the Horde, Ruptish horns sounded and more of the Foul Folk stepped to the line and awaited the attack, Ghuls on Helsteeds now riding at the fore, while Rucks and Hloks jeered behind.
And Coron Ruar glanced at the sky and then raised a silver horn to his lips and a clarion call rang out over and over again:
Ta-rah, ta-rah, ta-rah…
Along with the others, Tipperton sat with his back against stone and listened to jeering and catcalls, and he jerked at the blast of a horn-no, no, it was not the signal, but a horn nevertheless. And there followed the sound of hooves thudding upon the sod and a calling out of a challenge.
Tip did not look, he dared not look, but remained perfectly still. Even so, he knew it was yet dark in the vale; perhaps they had started too early. Oh, surely not.
The jeering increased, and more hooves thudded, and now came a Ruptish blat and the ching of armor and tramp of feet as Foul Folk moved.
He heard the hammer of even more hooves racing back and forth, and even more still, and midst the Horde horns sounded-Ruptish blats, not the signal-and he remained motionless, waiting, waiting, three roped clay pots at his side, his bow in hand, arrows in the quiver strapped to his thigh.
And then it came, the clarion call-Ta-rah, ta-rah, ta-rah…-over and over it rang.
The signal had come at last.
Beau stood upon the wain seat and peered through the glimmering pale light in the east, trying to see through the dimness which yet clutched the vale.
Horns sounded, those of the Daelsmen, those of the Rupt, and he could see a swirl of movement as horses galloped to and fro. Now there were more horses, and the dawn crept upward, yet gloom still cloaked the valley. Even so, his amber gaze could make out more detail, and he saw the Elves riding with the Daelsmen.
The wan glow in the pale skies eased upward but a scintilla, and now the Baeron joined in, and within the Horde horns blatted, and more Spawn shifted to the front.
Beau glanced at the sky.
Come on, come on, we can't let it get too light, else we are all undone.
In that moment came Ruar's signal: Ta-rah, ta-rah, ta-rah, ta-rah…
And in the shadow-wrapped vale, the stone behind the enemy came to life and silently crept down the slope and toward the unaware foe.
Ta-rah, ta-rah, ta-rah…
His back to the rise of the mountain, Tipperton lowered his stone-grey blanket and peered through the dawning dark, then stood and started forward along with the others, creeping down toward the wagons of the Horde, while in the vale, with horns ablare, Daelsmen and Baeron and Elves thundered back and forth and called out challenges and held the eye of the foe.
Now the Dwarves quickened the pace and Tipperton ran silently with them.
The moment the battle begins is the moment all goes Rrraaawww!
A bellowing roar wrauled out above the thunder of hooves and blare of horns and shouts and jeers of foe and foe, as one of the hulking Trolls turned to see a stone-grey-blanketed Dwarven army with clay vessels on ropes awhirl and rushing down upon the wains at the unprotected rear of the Horde.
And at this thunderous howl a number of Ghuls looked behind and toward the mountain to see the onrushing foe, and they yowled and pointed and raised horns to lips and blew blasts, and spurred their Helsteeds into their own ranks, fighting to get through.
Among the Horde confusion reined, for wasn't the foe before them and not to the rear?
Again the Troll bellowed, and other of the great Ogrus turned to see the Dwarves. And the behemoths lunged through Rucks and Hloks and bashed them aside in their rush to head off the assault.
Yet there were nine hundred Chakka and only six of the massive Trolls.
Amid the assailing Dwarves, Tipperton ran down and hurled a clay pot to smash upon a wain, and a volatile yellowish liquid splashed outward. And he hurled another and then his last, each to crash upon the wain. And all up and down the line, Dwarves did the same. And as they did so, yet other Dwarves hurled hot clay vessels to crash upon the wains, smoldering firecoke shattering outward.
Ph-phoom! Fire bloomed upward as wain upon wain exploded in flames, lighting the vale a garish red.
And then the Trolls were among the Dwarves, their great war bars smashing to and fro even as the Chakka withdrew. But two of the Trolls came between the Dwarves and the distant side postern into the mineholt, and the scurrying retreat was cut off.
Dwarves fell back and formed into Troll-squads to attack the monstrous foe. And Tipperton loosed arrows at the Ogrus, only to see his shafts shatter against the stone-like hides.
Yet now the western flank of the Horde turned and, howling, hurled themselves at the Chakka, the segment
