'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.
