"The King did not trap them against the near shore of that river either?" asked Durul.
Voren shook his head. "Nay. They were across when he arrived… and were arrayed to do battle on the opposite shore."
"Hmm," mused Ruar. "They did not oppose him at the Argon, a wider river to cross, yet they now do so at the Ironwater. This is a puzzle indeed."
"Aye," growled Volki. "The Ironwater is no Argon: a thousand feet across at most is the Ironwater, while the Argon alongside Pellar measures a mile or more."
"Forget not, Lord Ruar, DelfLord Volki, H?l's Crucible is at their backs. King Blaine believes they are afraid to cross that wasteland. He holds them at siege."
"This H?l's Crucible," said Rynna, "if they are afraid to cross it, just what is it like?"
"Oh, a terrible place, wee one," said Voren. "Look at the map, but heed me, for this is what it does and does not telclass="underline" surrounded by hills and separated from the Avagon Sea by a high shield wall, H?l's Crucible is a hideous rift in the earth, ten leagues wide and forty long and some thousand feet deep here at the narrow seaward end but plunging down a mile or more here where it flares out wide, a vast chasm running all the way to the northwesterly end. In most places the sides are sheer or bear steeply down; in a few places, however, slopes lead down and in. Nothing grows in the depths therein, for the land is hot, baked, cracked as if raging fire burns 'neath. And down across that broad, yawning stretch of arid wasteland, there are leagues upon leagues of jagged black stone, broken, shattered, deep chasms and great heaps and long, jumbled runs, gaping crevices and holes disappearing into darkness within the mesh of stone. Were any to try to cross these parts of the shattered waste it would take them weeks to go but a few leagues, and even could they reach the opposite side, their clothing, their boots, their very skin would be in tatters. Beyond the black stone, there are places here and there where scalding water now and then snoots into the sky, and elsewhere are holes which vomit yellow melt onto wide flats of soft tawny stone. There are long, glittering ridges of clusters of crystal sharp as the sharpest of blades, as well as jagged fissures exhaling foul fumes and glowing with fire deep in their unplumbed abyssal depths. Across the 'scape, bubbling pools of boiling mud or thick, seeping black tar seek to trap the unwary, while smoldering crevices cleft in the barren earth spew out billowing smoke, black or yellow or grey. A hideous stench wafts over all. And some days the air is deadly down in the great rift, for the belch of foul smoke and tainted vapors fill low pockets within the basin-at times H?l's Crucible entire-to thicken the air and kill all creatures therein, men included. For all these reasons and more, this is why Modru's armies fear to cross that land."
Volki cleared his throat and pointed to the place on the map where lay the city of Rhondor at the northwestern end of the rift. "Nevertheless, there are days when the wind blows the great cleft and its pockets sufficiently clear for the miners of Rhondor to quarry the worthy minerals within: white foran, yellow siarka, many-colored solas-"
"They are not afraid of the deadly air?" asked Rynna.
Volki shook his head. "Just as we Chakka do in some of our mines, they too bear yellow-wings in cages to warn them of such. And the ores and rocks and crystals of Rhondor are of value dear."
Rynna looked across at the Dwarf. "Regardless as to the worth of what is mined therein, it sounds as if it is a hideous place to be, yellow-wings or no."
"Aye, little one, you have the right of it," said Voren, "and that's why the foe stands at siege."
"I take it the King has no floats at hand," said Urel.
"A few, chieftain, yet Blaine will not use them in that small number, for to throw his host a handful at a time against a waiting foe guarantees nought but defeat, and he will not do so. Hence, for the moment, he holds siege on this side, for there is no food where the enemy awaits, and their supplies are running low."
Silverleaf, who had been standing at the high window and looking down into the harbor below, turned about and said, "If he could win across with few losses, would King Blaine engage the foe?"
"Indeed, Lord Vanidar, he would."
Silverleaf smiled and said, "Well then, if thou wilt but lend me all thy shipwrights and all thy lumber and a few warriors from the host at camp before thy door, I have a plan."
"… And so, that's how it came about," concluded Rynna. "Silverleaf explained his plan, and all the others embellished on it, and then I came and told you."
She looked about at the others and took a sip of tea.
"And a good plan it is," said Alver. "Right, Dinly?"
But that buccan-the one who had requested Rynna to retell the events of the meeting-that buccan, full of warm breakfast fare, had nodded off to sleep.
A sevenday passed and then another, yet Silverleaf and Aravan had not reappeared, and the army on the plains merely waited. The shipyards, however, were a hive of activity, the wrights working throughout the nights as well as the days: fifty of the Dragonships were measured and fitted thwartwise with wide, raftlike sections of heavy planks pinned to the underbracing, to span across from topwale to topwale and jut a yard beyond either side. Other raftlike sections of braced planking were made freestanding and later guided down atop those on the ships, where they were held in place by great wooden screws fitted through wide auger holes.
Too, sixteen of the huge Gothonian ships were made ready for sailing, the crews of the chosen vessels glad of something to do.
And even though not engaged in this work, the time fled swiftly for the Warrows, for on each of these days, by their commander's leave, they explored the city of Pendwyr, marvelling over the wonder of it all, Rynna herself in their midst. Never had they seen such a vast array of shops and dwellings, of inns and hostels, of places of goods and crafts. Even so, many of the businesses were but lightly staffed, and some were closed altogether. "What with the blockade and the burning of the ships in Arbalin," had explained Beth, a serving maid at the Red Moon, "it's the war and all. You should see it when peace is at hand and goods and people come in from all over the world. Now it's mostly soldiers and mariners, and a rowdy bunch at that, especially if Fjordlanders and Jutlanders happen to find one another in the same saloon."
"We have heard they do not get along," said Rynna.
"Not get along is putting it mildly, miss. If it weren't for the city watch, it'd come to murther, if you ask me. Though I am glad they are here, they need something to do beside stand ward at the city."
Rynna smiled to herself and looked at Tipperton, only to find him smiling, too. And then she said, "It's the war, all right, and I'd like to see the city in peacetime, when it is full to the brim. But tell me, Beth, what do you lack the most?"
"Oh, that's easy, miss: music. The playing of harps and flutes and lutes and drums. And the singing of songs. With war raging across the land, minstrels and bards are hard to come by, most having joined in the fight."
That night, the seventh after Silverleaf's army had arrived, and for the next nine nights as well, the Red Moon was filled with song, Tipperton and Rynna and Jaith and dark-haired Elissan playing and singing melodies-lute, pennywhistle, harp, and timbrel-ringing out the tunes.
And the inn was crowded with warriors, come to hear them play. And not a fight broke out on any of these nights, the soldiers at times singing along. Even Fjordlanders and Jutlanders caroled together, though from opposite sides of the room, Gelenders between joining in.
During one of the pauses for rest, as Tipperton and Beau quaffed an ale at the bar, Jaith and Rynna and Elissan huddled together at a table and now and again burst into laughter. And when Tipperton returned to the stage, and took up his lute, Rynna with her pennywhistle stepped to his side and said, "Keeping secrets, eh, of a certain bath in Arden vale?"