Horror filled Rynna's heart at such a sight, yet a poignant sadness, too, and she turned her head away, tears streaming down.
Now the King and company reached the flat to come before the foe, and some ten yards from the surrogate, Blaine held up a hand and stopped. Behind him the emissaries stopped as well.
A black-cloaked Fist of Rakka stepped to Lord Tain's horse and led it forth from the ranks. Then he turned unto the surrogate and hissed, "Gluktu!"
Lord Tain's prattle and whispering ceased, and his deranged gaze was displaced, to be filled with a malevolent glare. No longer did a demented old man look through these eyes, but a vile being instead.
Slowly the surrogate's gaze slid across each and every one of the emissaries, and when his glare came unto Coron Eiron he laughed. "How is your son, my lord, yet fetching a silver blade? Oh, but dear me, I did forget: 'twas lost in the Dalgor Fens." Again came the laughter, as Eiron's knuckles turned white on the hilt of his sheathed sword.
The surrogate's gaze slithered on down the line of emissaries, and when it came to Rynna, she shuddered under the malignant stare, and she knew 'twas Modru who glared out at her. Yet he looked upon Rynna in puzzlement, as if trying to determine just who or what she was, and where he might have seen her kind before.
His gaze finally left her and slid on down the line, passing over Dwarves and Baeron and Elves and men. But then he came unto Farrin and Dalavar, the Mages staring coldly back. "Bah! You bring neophytes with you, Dalavar? Novices above as well?"
Dalavar's Wolflike eyes bore into those of the surrogate, but neither he nor Farrin replied.
The surrogate glared at the Wolfmage and sneered, "That we are met for the third time bodes you ill, Dalavar, for two minor victories does not a war win. It is of no moment that you escaped me once at the Stones of Jalan and then again in the Gwasp, for this time I shall throw a collar about your mongrel scruff and bring you to heel. And think not to evade me by that bauble about your neck, for I am your master in concealment as you will see."
With a wave of hand the vile presence dismissed all the emissaries and turned its gaze upon High King Blaine.
Blaine stared back into the malevolent glare. "We did not come here to trade insults, Lord Modru, but to accept your surrender instead."
"Surrender? You fool. 'Tis you who should lay down your arms, for my victory here will be absolute. Did you not think it peculiar that when my forces left Gunarring Gap they seemed prepared to come straightly here? Here where all your petty kings and corons and chieftains and DelfLords and other such rabble could gather? And did you not wonder why I did not destroy your paltry bridge but instead left it intact? Oh, it was a clever move to use Dragonships as pontoons, yet through my agents I watched them being fitted in the harbor of Pendwyr there in Hile Bay and realized your plan. But I let it proceed unmolested. Why you ask? Bah! Is it not obvious? Know this, Fool Blaine. I drew you here to H?l's Crucible, you and your so-called Free Folk, for with but one blow at this place, I will eliminate all fools who oppose me, and when I have destroyed you entirely, Gyphon will rule, and I will be His regent."
Blaine looked grimly at the surrogate, but his words were for the one within. "You say such, Foul Modru, yet first you have to win, and at the moment, we hold the advantage."
"Advantage? Advantage? Imbecile Blaine!" The surrogate glanced at King Ranor in wrath, and then glared back at King Blaine. "That you hold the high ground is but an accident of these horse-lovers arriving unexpectedly, else you would be in the basin below, and I would hold the ground above. Even so, it is of no import, for you cannot prevail against that which I bring." Again the surrogate's face twisted in gloat. "What's that you ask? What is it I bring? Pah! Did you not know why the wind blows? Why my wind blows? It is to clear away the vapors in H?l's Crucible for the march of my dread Swarm!" Now the surrogate glanced at Dalavar and laughed and gestured out into the rift and cried, "Behold!"
Of a sudden out on the floor of the basin, at a distance a rippling purled the air and where before there was nought but runs of shattered black stone and sulfurous rock and bubbling pustulant pools, a great Swarm stood revealed: thousands upon thousands upon thousands of Foul Folk, a hundred thousand or more-Rucks, Hloks, Ghuls on Helsteeds, dark Vulgs, hundreds of monstrous Trolls, and a dozen or more dreadful Gargons-all boiling forward in a seething, monstrous mass. And in the air high aloft flew a great, dark shape, mighty and massive and black, its vast leathery pinions churning: it was a Dragon dire.
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.