And in that very same moment on the slope above, the elusive thought that had repeatedly escaped Tipperton now became crystal clear: those mountains afar were the Skar-pals, the place where Jinnarin and Farrix and Aylissa had followed the Foul Folk when the Rupt had fled. Nay! Not fled, but rather had assembled. This had been Modru's plan all along. He had drawn the Allies here to H?l's Crucible; they had fallen into his trap.
And at Tipperton's side Mage Veran spoke a then said to Imongar, "It is no illusion."
And Imongar gasped and her entire frame slumped in defeat. "Then we are lost, for we cannot prevail against so many Gargons, nor against the Dragon above."
And down where King Blaine and his emissaries stood, the surrogate turned and pointed at the oncoming Swarm. And the presence of Modru said, "Look well, Fool Blaine, for I myself ride in the fore of my might; I would see with my own eyes the victory I will win." At the head of the churning throng, a troika of Helsteeds drew a chariot rumbling across the floor below, driven by a figure in black, his features hidden behind a hideous iron mask. The surrogate turned back to King Blaine. "Surrender now or prepare for battle and think not to run, else I will loose Daagor from above, and he alone will shred and burn you all."
King Blaine, his features drawn grim, said, "Heed me, Foul Modru: we will not run nor will we surrender, Spawn, Gargons, renegade Dragon, or no."
Rage filled the surrogate's features, and Modru hissed, "Now!"
"Ware!" cried Bekki, flinging up his shield as, from under the concealment of black robes, the Fists of Rakka raised crossbows and stepped forward and aimed and loosed their bolts, some to strike flesh and bone, others to be deflected by iron.
And through the air tumbled a glitter as Bekki's axe flew in return to strike the surrogate full in the head, cleaving through flesh and bone and brain, blood and grey matter splashing wide as Lord Tain pitched over the rear cantle and to the ground, Jolet's corpse crashing down beside him to be smashed under the hooves of the Hyrinians and Kis-tanians charging forward, and the High King's counterattack.
"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.