'you're the one that's had a real adventure, not me. That's the story you've been wanting to write; not my adventure, but yours.'
Perry shook his head in disagreement, for as it is with many a neophyte adventurer, his own story seems insignificant alongside others'. Cotton, seeing the self-doubt in Perry's eyes, then added, 'Wull, maybe you just ought to write 'em both up, and we'll have a contest and vote on 'em, and then we'll see which one is the more adventuresome.'
Perry laughed outright at the absurdity of the suggestion, and Cotton joined him, and it was the first time mirth had visited either in a long, long while. Before they could say more, a Council of Captains was called, and the two Warrows were summoned to attend.
As soon as all had gathered, Durek spoke: 'Cruel Gnar seems too timid to bring his forces to face ours; and so we must draw him out. We must lure him into battle here in the great Mustering Chamber.' Durek gestured at the mighty War Hall. This enormous gallery was more man two thousand Dwarf-strides long, and half that wide, its ceiling a hundred feet high. A fourfold row of huge delved pillars marched down its length, carven to resemble great Dragons coiling up fluted columns, each graven monster glaring in a different direction, some with stone flame or spew splashing against the roof. Along the walls were lesser sculptings of bears, eagles, owls, Wolves, and other creatures of rock perched on interior cornices, looking down from the high shadows cast by the hundreds upon hundreds of Dwarf-lanterns that brightly illuminated the Hall.
'This chamber shall become the center of our forays into die passages to destroy the Squam,' Durek rasped, then paused; but what he was going to say next shall forever remain a mystery, for it was at dial moment that Gnar announced that the Foul Folk were indeed coming to fight: A great rolling Doom! of a huge drum thundered into the cavern; so vast and loud was the beat that Perry's small frame shook in its echo.
Boom! Doom! came the beats again, and the very stone itself seemed to rattle and sound with their call.
Boom! Doom! Doom! The mighty vibrations caused rock dust to sift out of cracks and drift to the floor.
'To your Squadrons! Array the Host!' shouted Durek. 'Gnar comes at last!' And the Captains sprang to their feet and sped to their Companies.
Boom! Doom! Perry's heart leapt in terror at the great booming sounds, and the blood drained from his face. Hold on, bucco, he thought, settle down. You know what that is: it's a great marching drum of a Rucken Horde-The Raven Book speaks of them. Perry looked at Cotton, and the other buccan's features were drawn, his lips pressed into a thin white line.
Perry reached out and squeezed his comrade's hand, and Cotton cast Perry a fleeting smile from his stricken face.
Boom! Boom! beat the great pulse, as if the mountain itself were being struck by a mighty hammer to ring in response. And then clamant, discordant hornblats sounded, and there came echoing horns from each of the passageways leading into the vast chamber, followed by a shattering volley of harsh clashing of scimitar and tulwar upon dhal and sipar.
Boom! Doom!
As foreplanned, the Dwarf Legion formed up in the center of the great floor, all warriors facing outward with axes and bucklers at the ready. On three sides of the Host stood the stone of the chamber walls, with many dark holes showing where passageways bored off into the black reaches of Drimmen-deeve. It was these portals that the elements of the Army watched, for through these ways would come Gnar's forces. On the fourth side was the Great Deep, and only a few of the Host looked thereupon, for it guarded the Army's back better than another Legion could. Across the floor from sidewall to sidewall and through the Host ran everal wide fissures-great cracks in the stone; here and there, huge slabs spanned the fissures, footbridges placed there ages agone by the Dwarven Folk.
Doom! Boom!
Both Perry and Cotton were too short to see over the warriors' heads, and so they mounted up on the base of one of the pillars and watched; Perry drew Bane, and Cotton the Atalar Blade, and Bane's flame was nearly bright enough to hurt the eyes, while the golden runes on the sword of Atala glinted in the phosphorescent glow of the Dwarf-lanterns.
DOOM! DOOM! whelmed the vast pulse, and then fell silent. There was one more bray of horns, as one raucous blare was answered from all corridors by other blats. From afar the Host could hear the sound of running Rucken boots slapping against the stone. Louder and louder the footsteps sounded, until they became a veritable thunder of feet.
And then Rucks began to issue into the Hall out of every corridor, every orifice, like black ants vomited from a thousand holes. And among the Rucks scuttled armored Hlok leaders. Still the maggot-folk poured through the portals and into the chamber. And they deployed themselves along the walls and around the Host.
The Dwarves stood their ground in silence, though many faces were grim to see the awful flood of Squam. And then at last the Spawn were arrayed, and they shouted and clamored in a thunderous din, brandishing their weapons and threatening the Dwarves by making menacing swipes and swirls and starts. But though they raised a great outcry, they attacked not, for they were awaiting the coming of Gnar.
And then he came; the supreme Man-sized Hlok came. Into the far end of the chamber he strode, and through the massed ranks of Rucks. When he reached the forefront of his Horde, he stopped and stood on widespread legs with his fists on his hips: cruel and proud, swart and yellow-eyed, armored in black scale mail and a high-peaked helm, and armed with a great long scimitar. And the shouting voices of his Swarm proclaimed him to the Dwarven Army. Gnar stood 'midst the clamorous roar; men he raised up a clenched fist, and the ranks of his Horde abruptly fell silent, as if.their very breath had been choked off. And Gnar laughed in the sudden stillness, for there were ten thousand Rucks to but four thousand Dwarves.
'What slime comes into my kingdom?' Gnar bellowed in a great snarly voice across the distance that separated the two armies. 'Who is the stupid fool leading this paltry group of foul-beards? Why have you of little wit blundered into my caverns?' And a great derisive shout went up from the Rucken Swarm, as if Gnar had somehow scored a victory with insults alone. Yet the Dwarves stood grim and silent, facing the gibing enemy, not responding, waiting for this noise to subside. At last Gnar again raised his fist, and once more the Horde's voice chopped shut.
Still the Dwarf Legion stood fast; and when the cavernous echoing died, Durek spoke: He did not seem to raise his voice, yet he was plainly heard by all in the Hall: 'I, the Seventh Durek, and mine Host have come to take back that which is rightfully ours. And we have come to avenge old wrongs and hurts. And more, we have come to stop your rape of the land around. But above all, we have come because you are Squam and we are ChSkka.' And the Dwarf King fell silent, but with a deafening clap of axe on buckler and with a single great voice, the entire Army shouted once only: CHAKKA SHOK!
At this thunderous call the Rucken Horde cringed, but seeing the Dwarves stand fast, blustered up again. Gnar glared at his craven Swarm and then turned to the Legion and laughed derisively. 'Do you rabble truly expect to evict us? Look about you, imbeciles! You are doomed, for we are nearly thrice your numbers. Even so, we could conquer you weaklings with less, in fact, perhaps with but two of us.' And Gnar turned and shouted, 'Goth! Mog!'
And as the Horde howled in evil glee, from the dark shadows of the end-cavern ponderously came two great, hulking creatures: nearly fourteen feet tall, swart, greenish, scaled, red-eyed, each monster clutching a massive iron pole in one thick hand, each brutish face filled with a vile, malignant leer. They were Cave Ogrus. They lumbered through the massed Rucken ranks to stand aflank of Gnar. And Gnar threw back his head and laughed cruelly.
The Dwarf Army blenched, for even though there were a fell ten thousand Rucks surrounding them, til this moment the Dwarves had not truly felt fear. But now their eyes were drawn irresistibly to the great Cave Trolls, and the massive strength of rock-hard flesh seemed to spell doom, for they were an awful enemy. At last Perry knew why Ogru-Trolls were so feared: they were direful behemoths of crushing power, and they looked unstoppable. Perry tried to remember the places of Ogru vulnerability, but his wit fled in his fright, and he could only recall that a sword thrust under the eyelid and into the brain would kill one.
Holding up his fist to stop the jeering of his Swarm, Gnar sneered from between the massive Trolls, 'I will give you but one chance to surrender, fools. All I ask in tribute are your inferior weapons and pitiable supplies, and eternal bondage as my groveling slaves.' Raucous laughter swelled up from the Horde, and they jittered in
