Imongar reeled back, her own voice now screaming in terror, and she turned to run, but Tip kicked her behind the knee, and she fell to the ground.
"The ballista!" shrieked Tipperton, snatching a fistful of her hair and jerking her about in the snow.
Imongar batted his hand aside and struggled to her feet, and whining in horror she stumbled to the spear-caster, while all about, men and Foul Folk and Dwarves screamed, and Mages stood frozen in dread.
Imongar struggled to the platform, and wrenched up the rail of the ballista, and aimed, and the Dread turned her way -Thunn! -the spear was loosed -"Verutum ferio cor!" shrilled Imongar, stabbing a finger toward the Gargon -the javelin to shift course slightly and slam into and through the hideous beast's chest.
Yaaaawwww! bellowed the monster, and great waves of unendurable dread blasted outward, and Tip was hurled backwards onto the ground shrieking, his hammering heart all but bursting asunder. And everywhere about the city, this side and that, ponies squealed and bolted, while wailing Dwarves fell from the steeds and groveled in the snow in dread, their axes and hammers forgotten. Men, too, dropped howling in terror, many to pitch from the battlements to the cobbles below, breaking their bones, crushing their skulls, dying even as they screamed.
Foul Folk as well tumbled from the towers and ramparts, some to burn in the fire of the moat, while others crashed to the stone streets. Elsewhere on the walls and the ground outside the city, Rucks and Hloks and Ghuls crumpled down and yawled in terror, while Helsteeds fled across the icy cold plains.
And somewhere nigh the western perimeter, a second wee buccan along with two Elves and a fierce Dwarf groveled in the snow in fear.
And just as suddenly as it began, the hideous dread ceased altogether.
Alvaron collapsed to the snow.
Her leg bleeding from a deep arrow stab, Imongar hobbled to the other Mages, while all about men and Dwarves and Foul Folk began to stir, though some without visible wounds lay utterly still.
As Tipperton floundered to his feet, behind him a Hlok staggered upright as well, the Spawn with a tulwar in hand.
"Waeran!" came a cry.
Tip spun about to see the Hlok, tulwar upraised to strike, the Spawn plunging down at him-"Waugh!"-to fall dead at the buccan's feet, a crossbow bolt embedded in the Hlok's back.
And beyond the dead Grg sat a Dwarf in the snow, spent crossbow in hand.
Tipperton grinned and saluted, receiving a like grin in return, but on all sides the Foul Folk snatched up weapons and scrambled to their feet, only to meet Dwarves with weapons in hand scrambling up as well, the men yet floundering.
Tip whirled and caught up his bow from the ground and, dodging and ducking, sprang to the bed of the slack ballista. And he loosed arrow after arrow into the Spawn, bringing down any who came nigh the Wizards at hand. But then the Dwarves cleared the way, driving the Squam back, though more Foul Folk came rushing toward the fray.
Among the Mages, Imongar shook Delander and Letha, and then Ridich and Veran. "Quick, now," she called, "gather your energies. We are outnumbered, and all our power will be needed."
As the four Mages shook off the dregs of the dread, Imongar bent down to waken Alvaron, only to fall to her knees weeping.
With an arrow nocked, Tipperton leapt down from the platform to step to her side. "What is it?"
"He's dead," sobbed Imongar. "Alvaron is dead."
"Dead?"
"Slain by the Draedan's death throes. Oh Adon, he died in terror."
Tipperton looked from Alvaron toward the Gargon and then to Imongar, and grief welled up in his eyes. He glanced at the arrow-nocked bow in his hands and said, "Lady Mage, I will ward you and him from harm until the battle is ended."
Imongar shook her head, tears yet streaming. "Nay, Tipperton, he would not want it that way. Instead we must carry the fight."
And with that she stood and gathered herself, blood running down her leg, and as Letha knelt by her side and laid a palm over the wound, Imongar said, "Veran, I would have a thousand warriors charge at the Foul Folk nigh."
Veran ran a shaky hand across his brow. "Aye, Imongar."
Now Letha took her hand away from Imongar's leg, the wound no longer bleeding. "Take care, Imongar, and move not in too much haste, else the wound will reopen."
Imongar nodded distractedly as she stared toward the city. Then she turned toward Delander and Ridich. "Can you two turn that fire in the moat against the towers?"
Delander nodded and said, "Aye, but we must get closer."
"You'll need an escort, then. Letha, hearten the Dwarves."
Letha stood and shook her head and pointed at the Dwarves, most of whom had gained their feet and weaponry and now fought savagely. "Nay, Imongar, they need it not. 'Tis the king and his men who would be braced."
Tip's eyes widened. The king! I had forgotten. And he turned about, trying to find Agron, but gasped when he saw massive warriors, armored in glittering plate and bearing two-handed swords, running out from the darkness toward the battle raging 'round.
"Baeron!" shouted Tipperton. But wait, Baeron in bright plate armor? And whence came they?
Tipperton was not the only one who saw the oncoming throng, for the Foul Folk at hand saw them, too. And with wails of dismay, they turned to flee, some to be cut down by the Dwarves and King Agron and some of his men, most of the Spawn to escape howling.
And as the plated warriors reached the battlefield -they simply and utterly vanished.
"Good cast, Veran," said Imongar, peering 'round. "And now, let's destroy those towers."
"Inside or out?" asked Ridich.
"Wha-?" Tipperton frowned.
"Inside, I think," replied Imongar. "From the walls above." She turned to Tip. "Run, fetch the king. We need an escort to get Delander and Ridich back through the gate."
But as Tip turned to go, King Agron and a handful of warriors came striding to the Mages. A look of regret flashed over Agron's face when he saw Alvaron lying dead. But it quickly passed in this moment of exigency.
"My Lord Agron," said Imongar, "we need escort for these two back inside. They will use the fire of the moat to burn the towers."
"Aye," replied Agron, and he turned to one of the men. "Kapten Harn, find a Dvargkapten and tell him that I go to the city to gather the men to carry out as much of the original plan as I can. Have him spread the word among the rest of the Dvargfolk, those here as well the rest of Valk's divided legion nigh the other three gates: the cavalry and foot soldiers and I will issue into the field within two candlemarks.
"And, Harn, when that is done fetch some of those Dvargfolk and cut the head from the Gargon. I will meet you at the south gate with a horse and a pike. You will spit the Fearcaster's head on the lance and bear it into battle at my side."
As Captain Harn turned toward the Dwarves, Agron motioned to Delander and Ridich. "Come and set your fires," he said, and with an escort of armed and armored men, the king and the two Mages set off at a trot for the south gate.
Watching them go, Imongar said to Letha, "The Dwarf herald will need a pony. Can you fetch one?"
Letha nodded and closed her eyes, muttering, "Manni, convenife hic!"
Now Imongar turned to Tip and the others. "Come, let us also find the captain of these Dwarves and see what we can do to salvage their part of the plan."
"What about the wounded?" asked Tipperton. "Shouldn't some stay and ward them?"
Imongar looked at Veran. He sighed and nodded. "I will ring them about with a phantom force, though I will not stay."