"I saw him, you know," said Rynna, "and the Silver Wolves. I was coming up from council as they were going down."
Tip nodded. "He went to see Blaine."
Now Rynna sat up. "Does he know for certain that Modru is behind this weather? I mean, Farrin knew that the wind was not natural, but Mage-driven instead, yet he couldn't identify it as Modru's doings, for they had never crossed paths."
"I think so," replied Tipperton. "I mean, Beau says Dalavar tangled with Modru in the past. Too, he may have opposed Modru again in the Gwasp. And if that's what it takes, well then, Dalavar should know that foul taint."
A waft of sulfurous air blew across them. Rynna wrinkled her nose and said, "Perhaps Modru's taint smells somewhat like H?l's Crucible."
Tipperton laughed and stood. "Speaking of H?l's Crucible, what say after we break fast and take care of the ponies, we ride down the slope to the legion? I mean, I'd like to get a good look at what may become our next battleground. I've not yet been there, you know."
Rynna nodded, then grinned and said, "Let's ride with the entire Warrow army."
Down they rode and down, down the center of the mile-wide ramp, and as they descended they let the ponies find the way, for spread out before them was the basin of H?l's Crucible, a stark vision, indeed:
Girdled by steep stone walls a thousand feet high or more, the great barren rift gaped wide. Three-quarters of a mile away to the right stood the shield wall, the stone dark and sheer and plunging into shadowed depths below. To the east at this end of the mighty cleft stood the far side, at this point but ten miles away. Leagues to the left the breech widened, spreading out to a breadth of thirty miles, more or less maintaining that width to the far end of the basin some forty leagues away; there where it widened the floor of the rift plunged down a mile or more, becoming deeper in places all the way to the end; but here nigh the shield wall it narrowed down from thirty miles to ten, its floor but a thousand feet deep. As Beau said, "Lor', it's somewhat like a bottle, and we are caught here in its neck."
Below and leftward, they could see but desolation, the land hot, baked, cracked, with leagues of black stone heaped in shattered piles jagging across the floor in long, jumbled runs. Beyond the black stone, whitish vapors, mayhap steam, surged from holes in the ground, and far to the left yellow gas belched upward from a great crack cleaving across tawny flats. Dark smoke billowed from a conical ash pile nigh the opposite side, and here and there on the ravaged earth pools of black bubbled and oozed, as if the damaged ground itself were raddled with open cankers seeping ebon pus.
"What a hideous place," said Dinly. "No wonder they call it H?l's Crucible."
Down they rode and down, coming at last unto the host standing athwart the long, rough ramp, rubble and scree and barren earth underfoot, the sides left and right pitching down steeply. Continuing on, across the more or less level place they fared among the ranks of the warriors, the War-rows at last emerging beyond. There the slant pitched downward again, and a mile or so downgrade and at the base of the broad, gritty slope was arrayed the foe.
The Warrows reined to a stop and dismounted, and stepped forward to see, and they found themselves next to Gildor and Vanidor, the twin Lian brothers staring down at the ranks of enemy. At hand stood Bekki, the Dwarf glaring down as well.
"Quite a number, eh, Tipperton?" said Vanidor.
"How many do you think there are?" asked Tip.
"Somewhat between sixty thousand and seventy," said Vanidor, "or so we judge."
Gildor and Bekki nodded in agreement.
Rynna sighed. "Then we are yet outnumbered, for in council last night a tally was taken: the count of those who are hale and ready to fight totals to but fifty-seven thousand altogether."
"Bah," growled Bekki. "Outnumbered or not, we will defeat them."
"Be not too certain, Lord Bekki," said Gildor, "for they are an arduous foe."
A look of anguish crossed Beau's face, and he said, "Lord Gildor is right, my friend, for our casualties were heavy: there were nearly three thousand slain outright in the strife along the rim, and seven thousand more who were wounded grievously, seven thousand who will not soon see battle again." A tear trickled down Beau's cheek, and Linnet reached out and took his hand.
Bekki shook his head. "The cowardly enemy did not escape unscathed, for the Chakka threw twelve or thirteen thousand of the foe over the rim last night."
Rynna's face filled with distress. "You cast them over the brim?"
"Aye," replied Bekki, "by my orders as well as those of DelfLords Volki and Okar and Valk, they were thrown into the rift. Pah, unlike some we have battled in the past, these did not deserve the honor of fire or stone."
"But to cast them over the rim…"
"Fear not, lady, for most were dead by the time they were flung."
Rynna shook her head in fret but returned her gaze downslope.
"When will the King offer them surrender terms again?" asked Tip.
As Bekki snorted in disgust, Rynna said, "He proposes to do so at the noontide."
"Well then, that gives us some time to look over the terrain, just in case-"
Tipperton's words were interrupted by a horn call from below.
"Look!" cried Beau, pointing.
From the fore of the ranks of the enemy, a large party broke away from the main body and advanced onto the slope and up. In the lead strode a Chabbain bearing a grey flag, flanked left and right by more Chabbains, twenty-one warriors in all. In their wake rode some thirty or so horsemen-Kistanians, Hyrinians, Jungarians-with a score of black-robed Fists of Rakka striding upslope behind. Midst them all rode Lord Tain bearing the corpse of his daughter Jolet.
A half mile up the slope they came, to one of the level flats. And there they stopped and planted the grey flag and blew the horn again.
The surrogate had come to parley.
"My Lord King, again I say beware treachery," said DelfLord Bekki, even as he slipped a throwing axe into his belt and took up his war hammer and shield. "There is no honor in their hearts."
"Nevertheless," said King Blaine, buckling on his sword, "we will go to meet them. I had planned on doing so in the noontide." As he slid a plain helm over his red hair, he added, "This merely advances our plans by several can-dlemarks." He mounted his grey horse and took his embossed shield from an attendant, then turned to the others. "Ready?"
Armed and armored and mounted all, the Corons and DelfLords and Marshals and Captains and Mages and Kings and Chieftains and one Warrow Commander started down the slope, Vanidar Silverleaf at Blaine's right, Hros-marshal Linde to his left and bearing the High King's scar-let-and-gold standard, Dara Arylin dextral of Vanidar and bearing the flag of truce.
Tipperton watched as Rynna rode down and away, his heart hammering in his chest. "I do not trust these foe to honor the grey flag."
At Tipperton's side, Mage Imongar said, "Neither do I, Sir Tipperton. Neither do I."
Now Tip looked across at the other Warrows. "Mount up," he gritted. "Mount up just in case."
Behind the Warrow army, Elves and Dwarves and Baeron and Mages and men mounted up as well.
Down they rode and down, coming ever nearer the foe, and Rynna shuddered, for now she could see Lord Tain, with his unclean white hair stringing down and his filthy white beard reaching to his waist; and he sat madly murmuring unto the long-dead burden he tenderly cradled in his own gaunt arms. Desiccated she was, her skin like leather drawn tight. Her teeth protruded in a gaping, rictus grin, her eyes nought but dark hollows. Rotted silken garments clung to her wasted frame, her left leg missing below the knee, the yellowed thighbone above showing through, a bit of tattered hose yet clinging. Her other leg and arms were wasted, drawn thin like jerky meat, the bones of her hands and remaining foot skeletal. Lord Tain held her close to his breast and kissed her and stroked what was left of her dark stringy hair and whispered of a glorious future ahead after her child was born.