wooden screws holding it fast. The third Dragonship-a Jutlander-drew alongside the second, and once again the upper platform was fixed to span across. And so it went into the night, Fjordlanders and Jutlanders alternating craft and plying oars against the gentle flow of the current to anchor a boat-length or so upstream and then pay out the mooring line to ease back and set the ship in place, with Dragonship after Dragonship positioning alongside one another and platform after platform bridging the gaps between.
Long did the Warrows watch, but then Rynna commanded that they all get some rest. 'Remember, sometime in darkness ere the dawn, we will ride across, for there's twisting hill country beyond, where once again we will scout, and I would have a rested 'army' of worth rather than exhausted Warrows of burden.'
And so, they took to their bedrolls, sleep coming quickly, and none of the Warrows heard the faint knelling deep within the earth, though Volki and his advisors did. They looked at one another and nodded in agreement-it was Utruni signalling indeed.
Just after mid of night the final ship-a Fjordlander craft-was drawn into place, and an extra platform was brought forward and anchored to the land of the far bank by capped pilings driven deeply.
In all it had taken thirty-six Dragonships and seventy-three platforms to span from shore to shore, eighteen of them Jutlander craft, eighteen Fjordlander. The remaining Dragonships rode at anchor, ready to fill in should there be a need. And in the dark of the night, Fjordlanders and Jutlanders stood on the far bank, gripping their axes and their sharp-spiked, round wooden shields, warding the foothold in enemy territory even as the legion rode by the light of hooded lanterns across the Dragonship pontoon bridge and to the opposite shore.
First crossed Dylvana and Lian, able to see in darkness better than Dwarves or Warrows or men, the Elves on their fiery steeds, swords unsheathed, spears abristle, bows nocked with arrows in hand, some Guardians in gleaming breastplate, but most in nought but leather.
Following the Elves came the Dwarves on their ponies, armed with crossbows and axes and war hammers at the ready, and armored in black-iron chain mail, with black-iron helms on their heads. They would set a perimeter ward inside that of the Elves. And across with them rode the Warrows.
Then came the Baeron on their massive horses, the huge men with their maces and morning stars and flails, and they began riding across to take up a perimeter ward with the others.
And by this time it was dawn, and Warrows and Elven scouts rode into the jagged hills beyond.
Yet just as the last of the Baeron started across, there sounded from the hills ahead a resonant horn cry, and over a craggy mound came Tipperton flying, his black-oxen horn sounding the alarm. From other points came ponies at a gallop, Warrows crouching low, Elves riding behind.
And in the hills aft there sounded flat horns blowing and thousands of voices yawling-Rakkal Rakka!-and over the crests and down came charging afoot a flood of sun-darkened men dressed in black on black-pantaloons and quilted vests and brants overrobes and turbans with shawls flying out behind. Like a dark tide they ran down the slopes, howling and brandishing scimitars and tabar axes and short spears, dhals and sipars in hand, the small, round shields painted black, a clenched crimson fist centermost. Down they hurtled, some sounding the charge with trumps made of rams' horns while others waved red flags, each crimson banner marked with a clenched left fist of black. And howling Rakka! Rakka! Rakka!… they raised their weapons to strike as they rushed toward the defenders below.
In through the perimeter flew the Warrows, Elven scouts behind. The Baeron, yet mounted upon their massive horses, drew together at the ready and Urel and Durul called out to Silverleaf, yet what they said, Tipperton haling his pony to a halt did not hear.
And Dwarves and Lian and Dylvana, and Jutlanders and Fjordlanders braced for the onslaught.
Even as the Fists of Rakka charged down onto the flats, a sleet of arrows and crossbow bolts flew from the legion to hurtle into oncoming foe, sun-darkened men falling, pierced through, but undaunted the enemy came on. Another hail flew forth, and more of the foe fell, but still the men of Thyra and Sarain and Hurn shouted their war cries and plunged on. Silverleaf signalled to Larana and she blew her bugle, and the Baeron, now in formation, spurred their horses forward, the massive chargers flying in a wide wedge through the perimeter and toward the oncoming enemy, Elves and Dwarves and Fjordlanders and Jutes afoot running after the great galloping steeds.
And with clash and clang and shouts of Adon! and El-wydd! and Garlon! and Fyrra! and Rakka! the two armies collided, the great horses of the Baeron smashing into and through and over the ranks of the foe, though riders and horses were felled, brought down by spear and axe and blade.
Swords rived, axes hewed, spears pierced, mace and flail and hammer smashed and crushed. Blood and viscera and bone and brain flew wide, amid cries and shrieks and shouts of rage.
And from the rear flew arrows and sling bullets, sent winging by the Warrows now afoot. And everywhere they flew, enemies fell, yet there were only eight of the Wee Folk and myriad of the foe.
Though the Baeron on their horses had smashed through the enemy and beyond, still the Allies were outnumbered and were hurled back. Hindward they reeled, back toward the bridgehead, their perimeter growing ever shorter as they drew in toward the span. And the wee Warrows fell back and back, yet winging deadly slings and arrows. But then they had to cease: the perimeter became too crowded with allies for buccen and dammen to safely loose missiles past. Yet as the legion fell back, the tighter became the perimeter, the more difficult to break through, and the enemy's advance slowed and slowed, though the fierce struggle went on.
From the rear of the foe the Baeron again formed up and charged, and smashed into the enemy ranks, laying death about with their maces and flails and hammers, shattering skulls and arms, crushing necks, smashing ribs, and the horses flailed about with deadly hooves and trampled on any who fell.
Dwarven axes hewed, hammers bashed, and men fell screaming, and Fjordlander and Jutlander axes hewed as well, the spiked, round shields slamming into men to pierce the enemy through.
Elven spears stabbed over the heads of the Dwarves to take the enemy down, and gleaming Elven long- knives and swords-keen beyond reckoning, especially one of dark sil-veron-cut through sipar and dhal to hew flesh and blood and bone, arms and hands and heads flying wide, viscera spilling out.
Yet so, too, did the blades of the Fists of Rakka hew, tabars and scimitars and spears hacking and hewing and piercing. Dwarves fell, men, too, along with Elves cut down, and Tipperton and Beau and Rynna and Linnet wept to see such slaughter, as did Farly and Nix and Alver and Dinly, the Warrows ineffective now that they couldn't loose arrow or bullet at all.
And still the sun-darkened men drove inward, the Allies pressed back and back, some to come in among the gathered horses and ponies of Elf and Dwarf and Warrow. The steeds squealed and milled in fright, though some of the Elven horses lashed out with hoof and laid about with teeth, striking among the enemy, though now and again the one attacked was an ally instead.
'If we can get to ponies,' shouted Tipperton, 'we can lead steeds across the bridge and out of harm's way.'
'You heard him,' called Rynna. 'Find a pony to ride.' Warrows sprang forward and darted and dodged down among milling horses and horselings and fighting men and Dwarves and Elves, and they caught up ponies and leapt astride. But even as the Warrows did so, among the Allies came racing black-robed foe, a wedge of the enemy plunging for the bridge, lit oil lanterns in hand.
'They're going to burn the bridge!' shouted Tipperton, spurring forward, but only Beau and Alver heard him, those two buccen galloping after.
Even as he rode, Tipperton strung an arrow to bow, and he felled one of the Fists of Rakka, as a sling bullet took another in the back of the head, crashing into skull and brain, the black-robed man to tumble, his lantern smashing on the ground, flaming oil bursting outward.
Tipperton loosed a second arrow, and another man fell dead, even as Alver's shaft slammed into the back of yet one more. But, staggering, the arrow-struck man turned and triggered his heavy crossbow-'Alver, look out!' cried Tipperton-the bolt to crash into Alver's chest and knock him over the rear cantle to crash unto the ground, his pony to run on without him.
Tipperton screamed in rage and nocked an arrow, but it was Beau's sling bullet that hammered into the man's eye and slew him.
Now the remaining men hurled their lanterns toward the bridge, some to smash onto wooden platforms, others to crash into Dragonships, still others missing altogether to plummet into the water below.
Though not burning with the intensity of Dwarven liquid fire, still oil was aflame on the span and in two of the boats below, and black-robed men stood athwart the path.
