But on this day in midmorn, of a sudden all the drums of the Swarm began to pound and Ruptish horns began to blat and waves of dread poured over the walls.
'Something is afoot,' said Imongar grimly, her eyes seeking sign of assault.
Tip jumped to the weapons shelf and peered out through a crenel. 'Oh, surely you don't think they've, they've…'
Imongar looked at him. 'They've what, Tipperton?'
'Oh, I don't know. I don't know! Perhaps discovered the Dwarves on the march, captured my friends, captured Beau, I just don't know.' Tip looked at her in appeal as the Gargon spread fear over all.
Imongar shrugged and turned her gaze back to the Swarm, and of a sudden called out, 'Bugler, sound the summons. The Gargon is on the move.'
Tip looked and gasped in dismay, for out from the tent strode the hideous monster: grey and stonelike it was, and scaled like a serpent but walking upright on two legs-a huge and reptilian malevolent parody of a man, and waves of fear rolled outward.
Snow bursting upward about its heavy tread, the ponderous Mandrak advanced: eight feet tall, taloned hands and feet, glittering rows of fangs in a lizard-snouted face. And the Draedan, the Ghath, the Horror, the Dread stalked forward in a circle of emptiness as the Foul Folk gave back, some shrieking and bolting away, for not even they could stand to be near, so great was its terrible power.
The earth beneath its feet seemed to shake with each and every step, and Tip shuddered as well.
'Stand ready,' called Imongar, her face white, drained of blood.
But as this hideous creature reached the inner rim of the Swarm, leftward it turned, leftward, and toward the western periphery.
And as it stalked away, the bugler, trembling, managed to raise the clarion to his lips and to sound the call on his second attempt.
'Come,' said Imongar, walking west along the wall, matching her stride to that of the monster without.
Tip, his air coming in gasps, trotted along the weapons shelf a pace or two behind the Mage, for he didn't want to block her view. And as he and Imongar went west, armed and armored men poured through the streets and to the walls, most gathering about the four gates.
And the king came riding, a cavalry at his back.
Circling, west went Tip and Imongar, to finally come to the west gate. And opposite stopped the Gargon, standing in a circle alone.
And to the west gate came the other four Mages, Alv-aron already there.
More Ruptish horns blared, and drums pounded.
And King Agron and his cavalry rode to the west gate and stood below waiting.
But then Captain Brud called down, 'Sire, they wave the grey flag of truce!'
'What?' called the king.
'They would parley,' shouted Alvaron.
' 'Tis likely a trick,' called Brud.
'Nevertheless, captain,' called up Agron, riding to the ramp and dismounting, 'raise the flag of truce.'
Without another word, Captain Brud signalled to a soldier, and in moments the grey flag was located and raised above the gate.
And the drums and horns of the Swarm fell silent.
As the king came onto the rampart, he said, 'Bugler, sound the call to stand ready to repel an attack. If this is a trick, I want all gates, all walls, all warriors on alert.'
The command was sounded, and the air fell silent again, as if each side held its breath, though the waves of fear yet rolled.
Then there came a horn blat from the Swarm straight ahead to the west, and out from the tent midst the Rupt, a man was led by a Ghul toward a waiting Helsteed. The man bore a burden under one arm, and was boosted onto the 'steed, encumbrance and all. When mounted, the man shifted the burden to his lap and held it close.
'A surrogate,' hissed Tip.
'You know of them?' asked Imongar.
'There was one at Mineholt North.'
Now a mounted Ghul took up the reins of the surrogate's Helsteed and rode toward the Dendorian west gate, towing the surrogate behind.
Just to the right of the oncoming pair trotted a Ruck bearing the grey flag of truce, and on the left trotted another, the flag on his pole waving black.
And as they came on, Tip frowned in puzzlement, for there was something about the man… but Tip couldn't quite put his finger on 'Oh my lord!' exclaimed Tipperton.
'What is it?' asked Imongar.
'The surrogate, if that's what he is,' said Tip in dismay, 'it's Lord Tain.'
'Lord Tain?'
'A Daelsman. The only one who survived the destruction of that city, as far as we knew. All else were killed by Sleeth… or died in the blizzard thereafter. His daughter was slain. It drove him mad.'
Onward came the Ghul and Rucks and Helsteeds and man. Lord Tain's white beard long and unkempt, his white hair stringing down, and the burden he bore 'Oh Adon,' groaned Tip.
– was the desiccated corpse of Jolet.
And Tain whispered and hissed into her ear, and gestured at the city before him.
And they came to the foot of the bridge and stopped and the Rucks-planted the flagstaffs in the snow, grey flag on one side, the black with its crimson ring of fire on the other. As if this were a signal, the pulsating dread completely ceased.
And a sigh of deliverance rose up from the city, Tip staggering in sudden relief.
The Ghul backed his Helsteed alongside Lord Tain's, the man yet babbling and hissing and whispering into desiccated Jolet's ear.
'Gluktu!' sounded the Ghul, as from a voice of the dead.
And Lord Tain's babbling and hissing ceased, the madness in his gaze replaced by a malignant glare. No longer did a madman look through these eyes, but a vile presence instead And it turned Tain's head and looked at the cadaver… and laughed in vile exultation, and onerhandedly thrust the desiccated corpse into the air, her arms and legs and head flopping loosely, stringy dark hair and tattered silken garments dangling down, one foot bare, the other yet encased in a slipper.
Tip turned aside in revulsion, and tears stood in his eyes.
'My Lord Agron,' called the foul entity, 'this'-he thrust up again the corpse, its dangling arms and legs flopping, head joggling-'this is the fate of all who resist me.'
King Agron did not reply.
But Alvaron called, 'Begone, Modru, you have no business here.'
The surrogate's gaze shifted to the Mage. 'Quiet, fool, I speak with your better.'
Now the glare swung back to the king, but suddenly changed to malicious glee. 'I meant to inquire, my lord, how does your citizenry fare? All in good health? None ill?' Wild laughter burst forth from the surrogate, and he stroked the matted hair of dead Jolet.
Agron stood atop the wall and remained silent, his arms folded, his lips clamped tight.
The surrogate's laughter chopped shut and a malevolent gloat filled his gaze, and he gestured toward the Swarm and the massive siege engines beyond. 'As you can see, you are completely at my mercy, but do not despair, for I am a merciful lord and these are my merciful terms: if you surrender, then you will become my allies, whereas if you do not, then I will slay you all, all warriors, women, children, oldsters, babes, animals… all, and you will end such as this.' And he turned his gaze to the corpse and kissed it on the lips, then grinned malevolently and called out, 'I give you a day to decide.'
The surrogate flung up a hand and suddenly the glare was gone, replaced by madness And in that same moment a blast of terror slammed into them all, some men shrieking and fleeing, others falling to their knees, Tip shrilling in unendurable dread…
Below, the Rucks fell to the snow and screamed in horror, and even the Ghul scrunched down in his saddle as if to grow small, and his Helsteed seemed frozen in place.
