'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
