Farrin cleared his throat. "This wind, my lord, I remind you: it has the taint of darkness."
Rynna's eyes widened. Taint of darkness? Oh my.
Silverleaf spoke: "Modru?"
Farrin shook his head. "I know not, for Modru and I have never crossed paths."
"Know you yet what it means?" asked the King.
Farcin shook his head. "If it is Modru, then mayhap a storm is brewing, but I cannot be certain."
Blaine frowned. "Then there's nought we can do until we face whatever the wind may bring."
"Clearly, my lord, we can prepare for a blizzard," said Phais, looking back along the Sea Road, where a thousand supply wagons and their escort now trundled into view. "In yon train are spare warm garments and blankets for those who need such." She gestured at the hijls nearby. "And should a tempest come, yon crags will provide shelter of a sort."
"Agreed," said King Blaine. "My lords, make certain each warrior in your command is well prepared for a blizzard should one come riding on this tainted wind."
A murmur muttered about the council circle, but then Blaine held up his hand and asked, "Is there aught else we need discuss?"
Silence fell among the captains as the High King gazed to each and every one. When he looked at Volki, the Delf-Lord said, "We need deal with the dead; honor is due to each."
Silverleaf sighed. "Aye. Collect them on the far side of the river. But any honors due are to come after the fighting is done."
Volki nodded, as did they all, for in war the dead must wait for the living.
Even as the Dwarf agreed, a runner came to the circle. "Milord, a rider approaches!"
"Whereaway?" asked the King, standing.
"From the northwest along the river, this side."
"One of the scouts?"
"I know not, milord."
"Then we shall wait."
And still the King's army rode across the bridge.
Within moments Elon rode in among the host and was directed to the council. The Dylvana scout dismounted and said, "My lords, the Hyrinians, Kistanians, and Chabbains have turned northeasterly into the hills-"
Rynna's heart leapt to her throat. The hills are where my Tipperton is, and Linnet and Nix and Farly and Dinly.
"Toward H?l's Crucible?" interjected Captain Donal of Gelen, a frown on his ruddy face.
"Aye," replied Elon.
Arth of the Wilderland, leader of the remnant of the Beacontor muster, grunted in surprise and brushed back a stray lock of red hair from his youthful brow, then asked, "Scouts yet follow them?"
"Darai Vail and Arylin and Alor Flandrena yet shadow, but there is more to report: glad tidings."
"Glad tidings?" asked Silverleaf.
"Aye, for no more than two leagues hence, allies come along this side of the Ironwater: King Loden of Riamon and DelfLord Bekki of Mineholt North bring their forces to join with ours: nine hundred Drimma and some two thousand men."
"Hai!" called King Blaine. "Most welcome will they be."
"On this side of the river, you say?" asked Lugar of Trellinath.
Elon turned to the marshal, elderly yet hale. "They crossed at Rhondor to harass the foe and turn their attention away, hoping to give King Blaine's army a chance to cross over."
"Ha!" barked Kapitan Dolf. "Good it is that they did not, for as we have heard thirty thousand are the enemy, and fallen soon would have been the Riamoners and der Zwergs."
DelfLord Volki snorted, then muttered to Rynna at his side, "Pah! Bekki's nine hundred Chakka alone could have held the foe at bay while the King and his men crossed at their ease."
Rynna smiled briefly, but, fretting, wondering, her thoughts were upon Tipperton and the others…
"There they are," hissed Linnet, pointing.
Tipperton raised up to peer over the stony prominence. In the gorge below marched the Fists of Rakka, heading easterly.
Tip glanced at his sketch of the area, a sketch made long past at the map table of Coron Ruar, for when it was drawn, Tipperton did not know whence the war would take him, and so he had lightly traced all he could. Yet much detail was missing, and only the broadest outlines indicated what lay ahead.
"The only thing east is H?l's Crucible," he murmured. "But given what we have heard of that place, surely they couldn't be heading there."
"Perhaps they have no choice, now that the High King is on this side of the river," replied Linnet.
"Perhaps not," said Tipperton, folding his sketches back into their waterproof wrapping. "Do you see any sign of Nix and Farly and Dinly? We will need send word back."
Linnet shook her head.
And so they watched and waited, and some candlemarks later, they slipped back downslope and retrieved their ponies and rode eastward after the marchers as the day waned.
In the night nigh the bridgehead the cries and moaning among the wounded Fists of Rakka dwindled and dwindled to finally cease altogether, and Dwarves came back into camp and cleaned their knives of blood.
And still a cold wind blew from Garia and across the legion and host.
Chapter 37
"Oh my," hissed Tipperton in the dawn. "Look ahead." "Adon," breathed Linnet, "H?l's Crucible." They lay bellydown atop a ridge and peered easterly past the encamped Fists of Rakka below. Under the overcast sky they could see a vast rift in the earth, the near side nought but a jagged edge running out of the northwest and disappearing into the southeast, all obscured by a darkling haze. Even so, dim in the distance and steeply rising lay the far side, hills atop, with mountains looming vaguely beyond. From where the pair lay, they could not see the floor of the basin directly below the nearside brim, but two or so leagues outward and deeply down a thousand feet or so the bottom hove into view; leftward the floor plunged down and away, the bottom entirely beyond sight. Where they could see the floor of the rift, jumbles of jagged black stone ran in long, long stretches, and ragged fissures vomited dark smoke up and out, to be caught by the chill wind and spread wide in layers of grey, while elsewhere yellowish vapors belched forth to mingle with the dusky vapors and turn the westerly flow an ill-seeming, sickly brown… and the stench was nigh staggering. Under this cast of foul smoke, little else could be discerned, yet there was no question that this was indeed H?l's Crucible.
"Lord, but what must it smell like in the bottom below when the wind doesn't blow down from those mountains afar," said Linnet, her face wrinkled in disgust.
"Bloody awful, if you ask me," said Tip. "Ryn says the vapors are deadly when the air in the basin is still."
"Oh my, but I would hate to have that reek in my nostrils if I were to die."
"Well then, let's take a pledge to remain out of H?l's Crucible," said Tip, grinning.
They watched and waited for the Fists of Rakka to break camp, yet the black-robed men stayed put. And the day grew on toward the noontide, yet little below changed.
But then Linnet said, "I say, look there. Is that the King's host coming?"
Tipperton peered westerly where Linnet pointed. In the distance along the rim of the rift a mounted force stretched away for miles, with some men on foot trotting alongside the riders. Long did Tip look, his suspicions growing, and finally in the fore he could see "A flag, black and red," Tipperton gritted. "This is no host of the King."
"Then who?" asked Linnet.
"I think it may be the Southerlings-Hyrinians and Kis-tanians and Chabbains."
"How can you know?"
"I saw such in Valon, when Beau and Phais and Loric and I crossed that wide land. Too, I think the flag they bear is Modru's own."
Steadily the long column neared, and at last Tipperton could clearly see the standard they bore as it blew in the wind: it was a ring of fire on black.
"It is Modru's banner, Linnet. One of us is going to have to take this news back to-" began Tipperton -but Linnet hissed, "Movement behind and below."