Tip frowned in concern.
" 'Tis the best we can do," said Imongar, as a pony came galloping in, and then another, and twenty more, followed by another hundred or so, all to gather about Letha.
"I asked for one," said Imongar, smiling, ponies stirring and pressing all 'round.
"I summoned them all, two thousand, I believe, if all Dwarves nigh and far were unhorsed. -Unponied, 1 mean," replied Letha, grinning back as the ground thundered with more little steeds galloping in. "We must needs get them back to Valk's army."
"Not all," said Imongar, "for I'll need one. I've been stabbed in the leg, you know."
"Oh, Imongar," appealed Tip, "it was the only way I could think of to bring you out from-"
"I know, wee one, I know," said Imongar, frowning and rubbing her head. "And I forgive you as well for pulling my hair out by the roots."
The battle was hard-fought and long, dawn coming and then the morn, yet by the noontide, the Foul Folk were routed, their towers burned, their Helsteeds gone, half of the Swarm lying slain. And the king and his cavalry and foot soldiers were deadly, as were the savage Dwarves; and with massive warriors appearing out of nowhere to rush across the field at them, many of the Squam had panicked and fled.
And sometime in midmorn and on a pony circling far out on the plains and well away from the fight, Tip saw Beau, the other buccan mounted as well, for Letha had led the little steeds wide 'round the walls, remounting the forces of Kachar.
"Beau! Beau! Hiyo, Beau!" shouted Tipperton, kicking his pony into a dead run as he espied his friend galloping out from the field and leaving the battle behind.
And Beau veered his mount and came racing, shouting, "Oh, Tip, we thought you- I thought you- Oh, Tip, it's so good to see you alive."
And they rode together and haled up side to side facing one another and reached across and clasped hands and grinned great grins, simply glad to be reunited.
"Loric, Phais, Bekki-?"
"They're all right, Tip. Loric and Phais are in the thick of it, Bekki, too, though he's bashing aside all comers while looking for Modru's surrogate."
"Oh, Beau, the surrogate: it's Lord Tain."
"Tain?"
"Yes." Tip shuddered. "And he bears the corpse of his daughter, Lady Jolet, and yet whispers his mad dreams to her."
"Oh my."
"He's completely unhinged, Beau, unlike that other surrogate at Mineholt North, who seemed nought but witless."
Beau frowned. "Mayhap by being mad or without wit, mayhap that's what allows Modru to exert his hideous control."
Tip sighed and canted his head and said, "Perhaps you're right, Beau; who knows? Not I, and that's for certain. But that's neither here nor there, and I'm just glad we're together again. And, I say, just where were you going so Helbent?"
Beau held up his sling. "I'm all out. There's a stream nearby, and I was riding to gather up more stones."
Tip held up his bow. "Me too. -All out of arrows, I mean, all but for the red-fletched one Rynna gave me, and I'll not use that. Instead, when I can find them I've been plucking shafts from dead Rupt and using them to kill others still. -Say, you wouldn't happen to have a spare sling, now, would you?"
"No, but we could make one, can we find some leather."
"I know just the place," said Tipperton, "a leather tent nearby. It once housed a Gargon."
Holding tight to the ponies' reins to keep them from bolting away, Beau's face wrinkled in disgust. "Lor', it smells like a snake's den."
Pulling on the slice of leather, Tip made the final cut through the tent with his knife. The strip came free. "There." He held up the strap. "Crude, but perhaps I can make do after a bit of trimming."
He glanced at Beau's twisted visage and burst out laughing. "I say, Beau, you look as if you just swallowed a stinkbug."
Beau grinned. "I think I'd rather that than this." He gestured at the tent.
Tip canted his head. "Aye. But the Gargon himself smells worse. Like a monstrous viper-putrid rot and diseased blood and a hideous coppery tang you can't seem to clear from your tongue. Would you like to see him?"
Beau blanched. "Oh, Tip."
"He's dead, you know, his head on a pike, at Agron's side in the battle," said Tipperton, now squatting on the hard-frozen ground and slicing away on the strap.
"Is that what that terrible thing was?" asked Beau. "I didn't know, though wherever it was borne it seemed to take the heart out of the foe when they saw it coming."
"Yet they still fight," said Tip.
"Aye, but much less savagely." Beau watched as Tip trimmed the leather. "Say, how was it killed? -The Gar-gon I mean."
"Spitted by a spear. Imongar killed him."
Beau frowned. "This Imongar, a mighty champion, eh?"
"Well, I wouldn't exactly call her a-"
"Her? The Gargon was killed by a her?"
"Indeed," said Tip. "Shot the Gargon with a ballis-"
"Is she one of these Jordian warrior maidens I've heard about? Or did one of those great strapping Baeron women come here? Bwen perhaps?"
Tip shook his head. "No, Beau; Imongar is a Mage."
"A Mage? Did she kill him with magic?"
"I don't think so, though she did shriek something and the spear hit the Gargon dead center."
"Magic," said Beau, nodding sagely. Then-"Oh, speaking of magic, what about the coin? Was it an amulet or some such?"
"No, Beau, it was merely a summons: from Blaine to Agron. They were boyhood chums. I'll tell you about it later."
"Huah," said Beau, his face falling in disappointment, "I was hoping it was somehow charmed."
"It wasn't," said Tip, "and for that I'm glad." Then he glanced at his black wristband. "One thing, though, the man who gave me the coin, the one who was slain at my mill, he was Dular, King Agron's own son."
"Oh my," breathed Beau, his features now falling to sadness.
Silence fell between them as Tip made a final cut, and only the distant clang of battle disturbed the quiet.
Finally Beau said, "Where is this headless Gargon?"
"Yon," replied Tipperton, pointing with the knife, "east a ways."
"I say," said Beau, peering, "who are those big warriors standing in a ring? They look formidable. And why aren't they in the fight? Better that than guarding the headless corpse of a Gargon, I would say."
Tip laughed. "Magic, Beau, guarding some of the wounded, it's magic come to light. And come to think of it"-Tip held up the strap and frowned at it and then nodded-"I'd rather we go for slingstones and rejoin the battle than to walk through those magical phantoms just to see a dead Gargon with no head, as wondrous as that may be." Tip stood and slipped his knife back into its sheath.
"All right," said Beau, handing Tip's reins over to him and then mounting up. "Follow me to the rocks, and then we'll join up with Loric and Phais and Bekki."
And so, off to the creek galloped the two buccen to gather up slingstones, and then back to the fight, where their bullets hurtled into the Foul Folk, one of the wee slingsters significantly more deadly than the other.
Time and again they returned to the creek, breaking through the ice to fish through new pockets of pebbles, and their fingers suffered the worse for it.
And the sun.rose up in the sky, and as the noontide came, away fled the last of the Swarm, scattering in all directions. None of the Allies, as weary as they were, gave more than a token chase; not even the Dwarves of Kachar long pursued their enemies of old fleeing across the plains.
Chapter 13
On appropriated mounts they rode through a field of carnage: past the dead and dying, past healers tending wounded men and Dwarves, past Dwarven mercy squads striding among the downed Foul Folk and relieving them of all suffering forever. At last they came to the ring of phantasmal warriors, did Tip and Beau, Phais and Loric, and Bekki, a strong malodor hanging o'er all. Tip took a deep breath and plunged through the conjuration, while Beau paused to admire the glamour, Veran's illusion yet standing.