"Stand well off," hissed the healer, covering his own face with a white scarf.
As Tip backed aside and away, the wagon circled 'round to come alongside the barred door. And as it turned, in the bed of the wagon Tip could see three people: a man and a woman and a child, all flush with fever and moaning, their lips cracked but not bleeding. And Tip saw dark, pus-running boils on the arms and face of the child.
That evening, Tip stood on the walls and watched as flaming signal arrows were lofted from each and every gate. He momentarily thought'of sending his last red-fletched arrow up from the one in the south, yet did not, for it was the last thing of Rynna's he had, but for memories bittersweet. And so he watched as arrows were sent skyward, and he listened to the jeers of the Spawn all 'round.
The next morning, just ere dawn, a wedge of men mustered within the walls and waited, King Agron at its head, and with their ballista all stood ready while those above watched for a flaming arrow to fly from the south ridge afar. And Tipperton, his Elven bow in hand, stood with them, for he would not be left behind.
There as well were the six Mages, ready to smother the Gargon's fear, and these were among the foremost at the south gate, as was Tipperton.
"Would that Farrin were here," said Ridich. "Of us all, he is the most powerful."
"Farrin?" asked Tip, looking up at the Mage.
"Aye. A year past he was with us in Black Mountain, part of our Circle of Seven. It was there one night he dreamt of the oncoming war. He told Sage Oran of this dream, and the Sage, after long consideration, asked us to come to Dendor for perhaps Farrin had Truedreamed. Far-rin himself set out on a quest of his own: to find the Utruni and entreat them to join the Free Folk against Modru and his master Gyphon. We have not seen him since."
"He is not likely to find the Utruni," said Letha, "deep in the rock as they are."
"Even if he does find them," said Ridich, "they are not likely to join, for even though they are said to ward the Kammerling, Utruni are above the affairs of the world, or in their case, far below."
Letha sighed. "Would that he could persuade them, for with the they hold over stone, mayhap 'tis true a single Utrun alone can fell an entire mountain."
Tip's eyes flew wide. "Can fell an entire mountain? -I say, these Utruni-Dara Aleen mentioned them once, as did Bekki-just what are they?"
"Stone Giants," replied Imongar.
"Stone Giants? But they're just myths. Giants with gem-stones for eyes? Giants that move through the rock deep underfoot?"
"Oh no, wee one," said Alvaron, "they are no more myths than, say, the Hidden Ones."
"Or the Litenfolk," added Veran, sotto voce.
Imongar laughed. "Just ask a Dwarf, Tipperton, they'll tell you it's so. Long past, First Durek was saved by a Stone Giant, or so they do say."
"That's what Bekki said: Durek was saved by the hand of the Utruni." Tip shook his head and shrugged. "At the time I didn't know what he meant, but it didn't seem important. -I say, this First Durek, was he also called Breakdeath Durek?"
"Aye," replied Imongar, "though not until much later, after he was dead and reborn."
Tip frowned at this seeming paradox but said, "Bekki once quoted this Breakdeath Durek: 'He who dares, wins.' I thought it quite apt, for at the time I was planning to sneak through the Swarm and knock on the door to Dendor."
"A foolish scheme," said Veran.
"Harebrained," agreed Tip.
"As is our plan to slay the Gargon," said Alvaron.
Dawn came, and fire arrows were loosed into the sky, Tipperton climbing up to the south gate and taking one of the flaming man-sized shafts and loosing it along with the others, his to sail in an arc even higher than those of the men. And they looked on in wonder at this wee Litenfolk with his magic Elven bow, or so they believed it was. Yet there was no return signal from the south ridge, so the muster stood down, though the ward atop the wall did not.
The next day was much the same, with the men and Mages and the buccan mustering at the south gate in the predawn marks, but still no signal came from the south ridge, and so once again the muster stood down.
Tip counted on his fingers: Five days, bucco, it's been five days. Five days since we sighted Dendor after coining back from Kachar; four since I made it inside. Has something happened to the Dwarves? Oh surely not. Besides, Valk said he'd come within a week, and the week's not up yet.
Tip found he could not relax-If I only had my lute, but no, it's back in the camp with Beau-and he spent most of the day pacing the walls of Dendor, dread hammering at his heart as he walked all 'round the city high on the ramparts above.
On the sixth day, again there was no signal and Tip fretted and paced anew, and he tramped along the walls and down in the city streets. Yet his pacing stood him in no good stead, for he felt as if a doom were poised, ready to be unleashed, but whether this was a true premonition or instead the Gargon's incessant pulse of fear, he could not say.
Yet while walking down one of the Dendorian streets, he saw three white wagons, three drivers in white, the wains rumbling along the cobbles, people crying out as they passed, and the wagons drove toward the grey walls around a grey stone building, where a column of smoke rose into the grey sky behind. And Tip wondered how many more white wagons had rolled through the streets that day.
The seventh dawn came without a signal, and once more the muster stood down. And after breaking his fast, again Tip took to the ramparts above, fuming and fretting and wondering: Where in all of Mithgar are Valk and his army of Dwarves?
But on this day in midmorn, of a sudden all the drums of the Swarm began to pound and Ruptish horns began to blat and waves of dread poured over the walls.
"Something is afoot," said Imongar grimly, her eyes seeking sign of assault.
Tip jumped to the weapons shelf and peered out through a crenel. "Oh, surely you don't think they've, they've…"
Imongar looked at him. "They've what, Tipperton?"
"Oh, I don't know. I don't know! Perhaps discovered the Dwarves on the march, captured my friends, captured Beau, I just don't know." Tip looked at her in appeal as the Gargon spread fear over all.
Imongar shrugged and turned her gaze back to the Swarm, and of a sudden called out, "Bugler, sound the summons. The Gargon is on the move."
Tip looked and gasped in dismay, for out from the tent strode the hideous monster: grey and stonelike it was, and scaled like a serpent but walking upright on two legs-a huge and reptilian malevolent parody of a man, and waves of fear rolled outward.
Snow bursting upward about its heavy tread, the ponderous Mandrak advanced: eight feet tall, taloned hands and feet, glittering rows of fangs in a lizard-snouted face. And the Draedan, the Ghath, the Horror, the Dread stalked forward in a circle of emptiness as the Foul Folk gave back, some shrieking and bolting away, for not even they could stand to be near, so great was its terrible power.
The earth beneath its feet seemed to shake with each and every step, and Tip shuddered as well.
"Stand ready," called Imongar, her face white, drained of blood.
But as this hideous creature reached the inner rim of the Swarm, leftward it turned, leftward, and toward the western periphery.
And as it stalked away, the bugler, trembling, managed to raise the clarion to his lips and to sound the call on his second attempt.