Before anyone could answer, a horn blatted on the far side of the crag.
"We must run to the sanctuary of Darda Erynian," said Rynna.
"My pack," barked Beau.
"My lute," added Tip.
"Farly and Nix have them," said Rynna, and Tip and Beau turned to see the two buccen, the rescued goods on their backs.
In that moment past the shoulder of the crag a small shadow came racing, and a voice cried out, "Adreem! Ad-reem! A va Naxdow! Va Sleg ra an slait!"
"Run!" cried Rynna, and pulling at Tip, westerly she darted toward the Blackwood, two or three furlongs away, Tip, Beau, Farly, and Nix, and a cluster of small shadows all flying for the safety of the woods.
And from the rear they heard Ruptish voices howling and horns blowing as Spawn sighted the fleeing Wee Folk.
Black-shafted arrows hissed through the air to stab into the ground, some falling short, others flying long, some coming perilously close.
"Adreem!" shouted Rynna to the shadow-wrapped Pysks, "Adreem! Ne ata!" But even though they were riding swift foxes, the Fey Folk coursed fore and aft and aflank the running Warrows, and they did not obey Rynna's command to fly on ahead and escape.
Howling, yawling, on came the Foul Folk, their longer strides overhauling the Warrows, and unlike a time in the past when Tip had fled before Riipt, only those who would slay him pursued, with no one running after to rescue him or his companions from behind. Yet the eaves of the Black-wood were nigh; if they could just reach the safety of that forest…
Tipperton cast a look back. "We're not going to make it," he cried. But even as he did so, a resonant black-oxen horn sounded nearby, and thundering through the moonlight 'round the shoulder of a hill came Jordian horses and Jordian riders, Harlingar spears lowered and charging.
And upon the back of one of the steeds rode a warrior maiden, the white horsehair gaud on her helm flying out behind.
"Linde!" cried Tipperton nigh the eaves of the forest, the buccan pausing in his flight, Rynna and three of the enshadowed Fey Folk stopping as well, while the remainder of the wee force scuttled across the remaining space and into the woods beyond. And as Rynna tugged Tipperton toward the forest, Tip shouted, "Linde, to me! To me!"
But she paid no heed as into the fore of the dismayed Foul Folk crashed the Vanadurin, Rupt crying out in fear and turning to flee, Harlingar spears impaling them even as they ran, Jordian horses bashing down Spawn and trampling them underhoof.
Now at the brim of the woods, "Linde! Linde!" cried Tipperton, as the Harlingar thundered through the Foul Folk ranks and circled 'round to come at the Spawn again.
This time the warrior maiden heard the buccan's shout and she came riding nigh, her horse panting and snorting, eyes rolling wide, the scent of spilled blood in its nostrils snouting that battle was at hand.
"Tipperton, I thought you slain!" cried out Linde, her own eyes wide and flaring. And she looked to see Rynna at Tip's side, as well as three clustered shadows with nought whatsoever to cast them.
"Linde, Linde, there are too many Spawn to fight! Come with us. We run to the safety of Blackwood, for it's not likely the Foul Folk will follow us in."
"You are asking that we flee?" demanded Linde.
"Yes, to battle another day!"
Linde's knuckles turned white.
"Please, Linde. Not even the Vanadurin can fight a Gargon."
Of a sudden Linde's shoulders sagged and the wildness left her eyes, and she glanced in the direction of the battle yet raging.
"Come with us to the Blackwood," pled Tipperton, and he swept a hand toward the forest and the dark galleries within.
Rynna stepped forward and looked up at Linde. "Can you swear an oath to which all your comrades will hew?"
Linde nodded. "Though baseborn, I am cousin to King Ranor, and with Hrosmarshal Hannor dead, I captain this remnant."
Rynna gestured toward Darda Erynian. "Then if you will warrant those you command as well as yourself to secrecy, the Hidden Ones will yield sanctuary." Rynna turned to the shadows surrounding Tip. "And so that you may know our trust…" Rynna signed to the clusters of darkness, and the shadows vanished and three black-footed red foxes appeared, each bearing a small rider astride, none more than a foot or so tall, each with a tiny bow, tiny arrows nocked, and they motioned toward the shadowed forest at hand.
Linde's eyes flew wide in startlement, for beings of legend-Fox Riders-stood before her. She glanced toward the forest and then to the battle and then back to the wee folk afoot with the Hidden Ones at their side, Hidden Ones no longer hidden.
"Please, Linde," Tipperton beseeched, gesturing at the strife. "They are but the vanguard of the Foul Folk. More are yet on the way, and with them comes the Gargon."
Reluctantly Linde nodded and then her look became resolute and she said, "By Adon and Elwydd I do so pledge the Hidden Ones our secrecy, I and the Vanadurin all." Then she lifted her black-oxen horn to her lips and blew a call, the resonant cry cleaving through the clash of combat.
And as the Harlingar responded to Linde's signal to form up on her, from the distance there answered the collective blats of a score or more brazen trumps, Foul Folk responding in challenge.
And a wash of dread flowed over all.
A Gargon was yet unsatisfied with the horrific extent of the slaughter so far.
As the unremitting fear grew ever stronger, into the darkness of Blackwood went the Vanadurin, the Jordians now afoot and leading their steeds and following Nix, that Warrow bearing a small lantern, its distant light bobbing among the trees like a will-o'-the-wisp leading the Har-lingar within.
And while the warriors and horses passed into the woods, with Linde standing at the eaves of the forest and urging them on. Tip and Rynna and Beau and Farly remained nearby and watched the Spawn in the moonlight aslant, the Foul Folk having drawn back from Darda Erynian to shift and stir among themselves and call out with horns to the oncoming Spawn, those signals growing ever closer…
… as did the pounding fear.
Beau had recovered his pack from Nix, and Tip his own goods from Farly, and as they slung them onto their backs, Tip took a deep breath, his heart racing. "If for some reason they come within, I'll need arrows; I'm all out."
"And I'll need bullets," said Beau, his lips drawn thin with dread, "though I do yet have a few rocks from the crag."
"Farly, how many arrows have you left?" asked Rynna.
"Um, three, five, six altogether, Ryn," he answered.
"And I've four," said Rynna. "I'm afraid we're all of us just about out, Tip. And as for sling bullets, Beau, we have none, though not far ahead there's a stream where we might find suitable pebbles." She turned to Farly. "Give Tip three of your arrows, and I'll give him one of mine."
"Now wait, Rynna," protested Tip. "I can't strip-"
"Nonsense," said the damman. "Better that three of us be winging shafts than just two."
The last of the Harlingar passed by, and Linde said, "That's it. Ninety-seven Vanadurin in all."
"Ninety-seven?" groaned Tip. "Then that means-"
"Nine hundred warriors have fallen to the Foul Folk," gritted Linde, "forty-five score. And they will pay, this I vow." She looked with hatred at the Foul Folk beyond, and then gasped in dismay -for 'round the shoulder of the hill trod the dreadful Gargon.
A seething mass of Rucks and Hloks came after the appalling terror, and those who had been waiting gave way before its hideous power, none able to withstand even its muted fear. Surrounded by allies, still it stalked alone, empty space all around, none of the Spawn able to come nigh; not even the seemingly fearless Ghuls could endure its horrid might.
The Foul Folk who had been waiting called out and pointed toward the Blackwood, and the Gargon turned its terrible gaze upon that mighty forest, and dread poured forth in a torrent, whelming all, nearly felling Linde and the Warrows. But then the fear abated.