Into the Forge

Chapter 38

In the last candlemarks before dawn, Beau was awakened from a fitful doze by Loric's gentle hand. "The time draws nigh," said the Elf.

Beau scrambled to his feet just as Phais came leading the buccan's pony. "Hast thou thy bullets and sling?"

"Yes, but I shouldn't need them back at a hospital wain."

"Thou dost never know, wee one," said Phais.

"Aye," added Loric. "Remember the plan: should the Rupt attack up this slope, then thou must flee before them as will we do."

Beau glanced down at the vast Horde of Foul Folk, nought but shadows stirring 'round nearly extinguished campfires, nought but hot coals in the predawn marks. "Oh, I know the plan, all right. Still, do you think they'll attack?"

"Nay, I do not," replied Loric, "yet one never knows."

"We have tried to account for all," said Phais. "Nonetheless, events oft run in directions unforeseen."

"Don't worry," said Beau, taking up his medical satchel, "I'll be prepared for all." And he lashed the kit firmly behind the pony's saddle. He looked up at Phais. "I'll get some extra sling bullets from one of the armory wains."

Loric glanced eastward, where faint light glimmered in the sky. He turned to Phais. "The herald of dawn creeps toward this vale, chier."

Phais nodded, then knelt before Beau and embraced him. "We shall see thee after."

"Oh, Phais, do take care," whispered Beau, and he looked up at Loric. "And you, Loric, you as well."

"Aye," replied Loric, and then he glanced at Beau's pony. "And thou, my friend, be ready to run."

"Don't you worry, Loric. I'll fly like the wind."

Phais then stood, and she and Loric strode away from the buccan and toward where their horses were staked.

With a sigh Beau watched them angle through a bustle of activity, then turned to find Melor at hand holding out a warm cup of tea. "Drink up, Beau, for it may be the last we will have for many a day to come."

Beau gratefully accepted the brew and took a sip and then another. "I say, shouldn't we get to the hospital wain? I mean, things will be starting soon, and I want to be ready should they bring any wounded."

The light in the east grew, struggling against the dark, but even as the shadows yet clutched the vale, Daelsmen and Dylvana and Baeron mounted.

In spite of Tain's objections, Loden signed to Brandt, and the youth raised a bugle to his lips and blew a mighty blast, and echoes rang and slapped among the mountain stone.

And Loden drew his sword and shouted a war cry and rode out from the allied array and galloped alone toward the Horde. And he skidded to a stop partway between and in the dimness raised his sword on high and shouted out a challenge. And turning his horse he rode up and down the line and called the challenge over and again.

He was met by catcalls and jeers.

And in the east the sky grew lighter with the slow approach of dawn.

Now all the Daelsmen rode forth, and the Horde braced for an attack, a Ruptish horn blatting among the swarm. Yet the men rode back and forth along the line with their leader, and cheered as he taunted the foe.

And still the sky slowly paled.

Now the Elves joined the Daelsmen, and finally the Baeron on their huge horses rode forth.

And among the ranks of the Horde, Ruptish horns sounded and more of the Foul Folk stepped to the line and awaited the attack, Ghuls on Helsteeds now riding at the fore, while Rucks and Hloks jeered behind.

And Coron Ruar glanced at the sky and then raised a silver horn to his lips and a clarion call rang out over and over again:

Ta-rah, ta-rah, ta-rah…

Along with the others, Tipperton sat with his back against stone and listened to jeering and catcalls, and he jerked at the blast of a horn-no, no, it was not the signal, but a horn nevertheless. And there followed the sound of hooves thudding upon the sod and a calling out of a challenge.

Tip did not look, he dared not look, but remained perfectly still. Even so, he knew it was yet dark in the vale; perhaps they had started too early. Oh, surely not.

The jeering increased, and more hooves thudded, and now came a Ruptish blat and the ching of armor and tramp of feet as Foul Folk moved.

He heard the hammer of even more hooves racing back and forth, and even more still, and midst the Horde horns sounded-Ruptish blats, not the signal-and he remained motionless, waiting, waiting, three roped clay pots at his side, his bow in hand, arrows in the quiver strapped to his thigh.

And then it came, the clarion call-Ta-rah, ta-rah, ta-rah…-over and over it rang.

The signal had come at last.

Beau stood upon the wain seat and peered through the glimmering pale light in the east, trying to see through the dimness which yet clutched the vale.

Horns sounded, those of the Daelsmen, those of the Rupt, and he could see a swirl of movement as horses galloped to and fro. Now there were more horses, and the dawn crept upward, yet gloom still cloaked the valley. Even so, his amber gaze could make out more detail, and he saw the Elves riding with the Daelsmen.

The wan glow in the pale skies eased upward but a scintilla, and now the Baeron joined in, and within the Horde horns blatted, and more Spawn shifted to the front.

Beau glanced at the sky.

Come on, come on, we can't let it get too light, else we are all undone.

In that moment came Ruar's signal: Ta-rah, ta-rah, ta-rah, ta-rah…

And in the shadow-wrapped vale, the stone behind the enemy came to life and silently crept down the slope and toward the unaware foe.

Ta-rah, ta-rah, ta-rah…

His back to the rise of the mountain, Tipperton lowered his stone-grey blanket and peered through the dawning dark, then stood and started forward along with the others, creeping down toward the wagons of the Horde, while in the vale, with horns ablare, Daelsmen and Baeron and Elves thundered back and forth and called out challenges and held the eye of the foe.

Now the Dwarves quickened the pace and Tipperton ran silently with them.

The moment the battle begins is the moment all goes Rrraaawww!

A bellowing roar wrauled out above the thunder of hooves and blare of horns and shouts and jeers of foe and foe, as one of the hulking Trolls turned to see a stone-grey-blanketed Dwarven army with clay vessels on ropes awhirl and rushing down upon the wains at the unprotected rear of the Horde.

And at this thunderous howl a number of Ghuls looked behind and toward the mountain to see the onrushing foe, and they yowled and pointed and raised horns to lips and blew blasts, and spurred their Helsteeds into their own ranks, fighting to get through.

Among the Horde confusion reined, for wasn't the foe before them and not to the rear?

Again the Troll bellowed, and other of the great Ogrus turned to see the Dwarves. And the behemoths lunged through Rucks and Hloks and bashed them aside in their rush to head off the assault.

Yet there were nine hundred Chakka and only six of the massive Trolls.

Amid the assailing Dwarves, Tipperton ran down and hurled a clay pot to smash upon a wain, and a volatile yellowish liquid splashed outward. And he hurled another and then his last, each to crash upon the wain. And all up and down the line, Dwarves did the same. And as they did so, yet other Dwarves hurled hot clay vessels to crash upon the wains, smoldering firecoke shattering outward.

Ph-phoom! Fire bloomed upward as wain upon wain exploded in flames, lighting the vale a garish red.

And then the Trolls were among the Dwarves, their great war bars smashing to and fro even as the Chakka withdrew. But two of the Trolls came between the Dwarves and the distant side postern into the mineholt, and the scurrying retreat was cut off.

Dwarves fell back and formed into Troll-squads to attack the monstrous foe. And Tipperton loosed arrows at the Ogrus, only to see his shafts shatter against the stone-like hides.

Yet now the western flank of the Horde turned and, howling, hurled themselves at the Chakka, the segment of Rucks and Hloks and Ghuls on Helsteeds also to come between the Dwarves and their sanctuary and prevent their escape. And scimitar and tulwar and cudgel met axe and hammer and flail in a great clang of steel, howls and shouts and war cries bellowing forth.

With the roaring fires raging behind, those in the fore of the Horde could hear and see the fighting at the wains and with foe before them and foe behind many milled about in disarray, even as Ghuls on Helsteeds blew horns and yawled orders and Hloks flailed about with whips. Confused elements of the Horde turned and struggled toward the rear, while others behind attempted to reach the fore.

And then the Baeron on heavy horses slammed into the line, their maces and hammers and morning stars smashing and shattering, while Dylvana loosed arrows in among the foe, black-shafted arrows flying in return, shrieks and screams and roars and the clangor of metal filling the air.

With Loden in the lead and Brandt right after and belling the bugle, the Daelsmen thundered down the line to circle 'round and come to the aid of the Dwarves, to help them break past the Trolls to reach the mineholt side postern.

And even as they were smashed down, Dwarves hurled clay pots at Ogrus, the vessels to shatter on three of the stonelike hides and spew yellowish liquid out. Now a Dwarf with a firecoke vessel hurled his clay pot -Yaaaahhh…! -and that monster caught fire, and he whirled about like a living torch and shrieked in agony.

But there were no more fire-coke vessels, and so the other two Ogrus who had been drenched with the yellowish liquid were yet roaring and crunching their great war bars into the warriors of the Dwarven Troll-squads, and, along with the remaining three Ogrus and the Rucks and Hloks and Ghflls on Helsteeds, they extracted a dreadful toll on the desperate Chakka.

His arrows ineffective against the Trolls, Tipperton was driven aside, and he fled toward a burning wagon. Upon reaching his goal, he snatched out one of his red-fletched arrows-a signal arrow, a Rynna arrow-and set it to string and jabbed the head into the flames.

Fsss- the scarlet collar caught fire, and he turned and loosed-ssss…-a long crimson streak to flash through the air and fade behind as the arrow flew -to strike the foe -a Troll Ph-phoom! flames to explode on the monster.

And atop the hill at the hospital wain, as the burning arrow scored a crimson line through the gloom, Beau cried out, "Oh Lor', that was Tipperton's arrow. He shouldn't be there. It's all gone wrong!" and he leapt from the wain and hurled himself onto the back of his pony and spurred downslope, Melor calling out, "Wait, Beau!" but the buc-can was down and away.

Tipperton jerked a second red-feathered arrow from the quiver at his hip, and as he lit it he heard -a shriek of rage -a shout: " 'Ware, Tipperton!" -and the thunder of hooves, and bearing down on him came a Ghul, Helsteed in full gallop, cruel barbed spear aimed at the buccan's breast. Yet the buccan drew his bow to the full and loosed again, a second crimson streak to fly through the shaded air and strike Phoom!

– the other soaked Ogru -yet the Ghul came on and -Tipperton dropped to the stony ground and rolled under the burning wagon and out the far side -as Bekki, howling, hurtled down the slope and leaped through the air to crash into the Ghul -while Tipperton, scrambling, ran onward, his wee form lost down among the enemy -Bekki and the corpse-foe to smash down into the bed of the furiously burning wain As Beau galloped down the hill and toward the distant melee, a second crimson streak flashed through the air. "Hang on, Tip!" he shouted, fumbling at his waist to open the pouch and extract his sling while racing downslope. And as he sped down, a lone rider thundered up the hill toward him, running the opposite way. As they hammered past one another, Beau saw the white hair and white beard of Counsellor Tain as that man fled from the field of combat, his eyes wide with fright.

And onward raced Beau, down toward the mighty struggle, his sling now in hand as he fumbled in his pouch for a bullet.

And he saw combat directly before him, an Elf 'gainst a Ghul, barbed spear 'gainst flashing blade, though a bow-bearing Ruck ran nigh. Down galloped Beau as the Elf closed on the Helsteed rider ere he could bring his spear to bear. Firelight flashed from the sword as it swung forward to take off the corpse-foe's head, yet ere it clove, a black-shafted arrow slammed into the Elf, and just as Beau hammered past she crashed to the ground -It was Phais, pierced through.

As three of the Ogrus burned shrieking, two of their kindred scrambled up the slopes of the mountain and away, the monsters howling in fear of red-streaking arrows which caused Ogrus to burst into flame. The sole remaining Troll yet battled Chakka, and Grg closed in to aid him, just as shouting Prince Loden and the yawling Daelsmen rounded the flank of the Horde and thundered in among the foe, swords reaving and lances piercing, to be met by blade in kind.

And at the fore of the Horde, the Baeron had bludgeoned in among the Spawn and now were completely surrounded, while Dylvana strove to break through the entrapping ring.

Tipperton ducked and dodged down among the swarming enemy, and darted this way and that, his bow, though strung with an arrow, now useless against foe too close at hand. And a Helsteed slammed by in the shouting struggle and bashed the buccan to the ground. His arrow lost, on hands and knees Tip scuttled among trampling feet and thrashing legs to be kicked up against a canvas wall.

Under the edge he scrambled to come up inside a tent.

And therein stood a man -who slowly turned toward him -and in dim lanternlight gazed vacantly at the Warrow.

Tip snatched at an arrow as he looked into the face of a man whose eyes were empty and whose drooling mouth hung agape.

It was the surrogate and he smelled of feces, and urine stained his breeks.

Nocking the arrow, Tip drew the shaft to the full and aimed at the man's breast.

Outside, battle cries and screams and shouts and shrieks of the dying and the wounded filled the air, horns blowing, steel clanging against steel, sharp edges cleaving into muscle and sinew, blunt iron shattering bones.

Yet inside, the man just stood there, uncomprehending, spittle running down his chin as he stared vacantly at a Warrow with a full-drawn bow. And then the man grinned an idiot's grin down at the wee buccan, his gaping mouth smiling wide, grunting, "Uhn, uhn, uhn."

Sighing, Tip relaxed the draw -and in that moment the tent flap slapped aside as a dark figure hurtled in and crashed a hammer down and into the man's head, the iron smashing through the skull as if it were nought but a ripe melon, blood and brain splashing wide as Tipperton-"Waugh!"-leaped backward and drew his bow against "Bekki!" shouted the Warrow, seeing who it was as the dead man crumpled.

Bekki stood above the corpse, the Dwarf's beard and hair singed, his armor soot-covered, his clothing scorched.

Shrieking in rage, Beau loosed at the bow-bearing Ruck, the sling bullet to slam into the Spawn's throat, the Ruck to drop the bow and clutch at his crushed neck, unable to breathe, and he fell to the ground, his feet drumming in death.

But now the Ghul turned on the buccan, and Beau loaded again and let fly, the missile to crash into the GhuTs skull, dark matter to splash outward. Yet the Ghul merely grinned and bore down on the Warrow.

Jerking his pony aside as the Ghul thundered past, Beau fumbled for another bullet, while the Ghul wrenched his Helsteed about, the beast squealing in pain.

Beau loosed another missile, and it struck the foe in the shoulder, bones to crack. Yet still the Ghul grinned and bore down. But in that moment a rider flashed by-Loric!-and his blade sheared through the Ghul's neck, the creature's head flying wide to bounce on the ground as the Helsteed galloped past Beau and away, the headless corpse yet astride.

"Loric, it's Phais!" cried Beau, and he sprang from his pony and jerked free his medical kit Oh lor', oh lor', don't let her be dead.

– and ran to the side of the downed Dara.

Bekki looked up. "Tipperton! I thought you slain."

"We will be if we don't get out of here," cried Tipperton.

Bekki nodded and looked at the corpse, its head smashed into an unrecognizable shape. "I came to kill Modru's eyes and ears and voice, and that done, we can leave."

As Tip stepped toward the tent flap he said, "You're all burnt, Bekki-"

"Not as bad as the Ghul," growled Bekki. "I am alive; he is not."

Gripping his war hammer, Bekki cried, "Follow me," and he charged from the tent and in among the shouting foe, his maul smashing left and right. And with Tipperton on his heels, Bekki battered his way to the line of burning wagons and out.

Yet just as he passed a blazing wain, a Ruck leapt at his back, long iron spike raised to stab. thuk!

Tipperton's shaft slammed through the Ruck's back, the arrow head to punch out through his breastbone, and he looked down at the out-jutting, grume-covered point as the spike fell from his nerveless fingers to clang upon the stone, the Ruck to collapse after.

Bekki whirled in time to see, and grunted his thanks.

"I told you Rucks were dangerous," shouted Tip above the roar of battle.

The last of the Trolls scrambled up the mountain slopes after his fleeing kindred, his war bar abandoned in his haste to escape, for although he was but barely scathed by axe and hammer and flail, he too feared the crimson streaks which could set his kind afire.

And seeing the Trolls fleeing, the Rucks turned tail and ran, and though Ghfils on Helsteeds shouted and Hloks flailed about with whips, shrieking in fear the Rucks hurtled away from the Daelsmen and Dwarves.

Through the remainder of the Horde the wailing Rucks ran, and their kindred, seeing panic, fled with them as well, and the battle they were winning instead became a rout, as toward the east and the road the Swarm fled.

The field they left behind was littered with the dead and wounded from both sides.

And dawn finally came to the firelit vale, pressing the shadows back.