The Brega path

CHAPTER 8

At first Cotton thought that these three figures plunging headlong at him and the Army were Rucks, for the faces of Perry, Anval, and Bonn were covered with blackener, and Perry's starsilver armor was hidden beneath his shirt; and,so this charging trio did not at all look like the friends and companions that Cotton had last seen by the Argon River. But as the three ran toward the vanguard, Cotton saw the flaming sword borne by the one and the Dwarf axes of the other two and the Dwarf-lanterns the trio carried, and by these tokens alone he knew that they were not Rucks. And suddenly mere came a voice he recognized, a voice calling his name: "Cotton! Cotton!"

"It's Mister Perry!" cried Cotton, and he leapt forward, running to meet his master.

"Mister Perry! Mister Perry!" he shouted and wept at one and the same time, for when the portals of Dusk-Door had silently swung outward and none of the Squad of Kraggen-cor had been waiting inside, Cotton had feared the worst. But he had led the Army along the Brega Path in spite of his fears. And here were Mister Perry and two Dwarves seven miles from the Door, alive after all.

As the two Warrows ran together and embraced one another, Anval shouted, "King Durek, Squam pursue us! A hundred fly at our heels!"

"Felor!" barked Durek, "Axes! Forward!" And the spearhead of the Host sprang around the curve and into the Long Hall.

The onmshing maggot-folk wailed in dismay as hundreds of Dwarves issued into the chamber. Some Spawn stood and fought and died, some turned and ran and were overhauled from behind and felled, others escaped. The skirmish was over quickly, and the Dwarves were overwhelmingly victorious in this opening engagement of the War of Kraggen-cor.

After the battle and before resuming the northeastward march, Durek called the trio to him; and Cotton for the first time saw that these two blackened Dwarves were actually Anva! and Bonn. Prince Rand and Felor joined the circle of the small council kneeling on the stone floor of Long Hall. "Tell me not your entire tale," Durek bade the three, "but for now speak of the Grg along the route before us; tell me of any problems with the Brega Path for which we must change our battle strategy; tell me where Prince Kian, Barak, Delk, and Tobin are; and finally, speak on any other thing of importance to our campaign that you think pertinent but about which I know not enough to ask."

Anval spoke first: "As to the Grg, our suspicions were correct: there are great numbers of the vile enemy in Kraggen-cor, for often we had to hide or flee from large bands within the passageways and chambers. We saw many of the foul foe on our journey, at least ten or twelve companies-a total of more than a thousand Squam-and that just on the path we trod. I have no count of the true number of thieving Grg in Kraggen-cor, but 1 gauge it to be many times more than we saw."

"The Brega Path we trod," added Bonn, "posed no special unforeseen problems, but we did not see it all; we left the Path twice. Perry, give me your map." Ere Perry could act, Felor quickly pulled a copy from his own jerkin and gave it to Bonn, who spread the map before Durek.

"Here at Braggi's Stand, the way at the Fifth Rise is blocked. We went around it by going west at the Third Rise to the first norm passage, from there to the Sixth Rise, and thence east and south to the Great Chamber, coming back to the Path at this point." Borin traced the route they had taken, a sturdy finger moving through part of the blank area on the map. "We left the Path a second time here, at the Grate Room; we were discovered by Squam and fled thusly"-again Borin traced their route-"passing down a tortuous path to emerge in the Bottom Chamber. And so, we know not the Brega Path between the Grate Room and the Bottom Chamber; but the Path is nearly certain to be better than the hard way we ran." Borin fell silent.

King Durek turned to Perry. "And the others, where are the others? Where is Barak?"

"Dead," answered Perry, his eyes brimming, "slain by Spawn on the banks of the Argon." Durek, Anval, Borin, and Felor cast their hoods over their heads.

"Tobin, and Delk, where are they?" demanded Durek from his cowl.

"Tobin is with the Elves in Darda Erynian, wounded in the same battle at me Great Argon River," replied Perry. "Delk was slain by Ruck arrow as we fled the Gargon's Lair here in Kraggen-cor." Perry pointed at the approximate location of the Lair on the map.

"Gargon?" blurted Durek, his voice filled wim surprise and dread.

"The Ghath slain by Brega and the others in the time of the Winter War," responded Anval. "We found its ancient prison when we fled. There, too, is a vein of starsilver."

"And my brother," asked Prince Rand, his face bleak, "where is Kian?"

"We don't know," said Perry, anguish in his voice. "He and the Elf Vanidar Shannon Silverleaf, and Ursor the Baeran- new companions who joined us at the Argon-those three decoyed a company of Rucks so that we three could reach Dusk-Door. They fled back from the Bottom Chamber toward the Lair, drawing the maggot-folk behind them. But I fear for their safety, for later we saw many Spawn moving-we think to join the hunt. The three may escape by the underwater path we found, but I fear they may be trapped between Rucken forces. And the terrible truth is, their decoy strategy went for nought, for we didn't even reach Dusk-Door."

"You didn't?!" burst out Cotton. "Well then, who fixed 'em? I mean, they opened just as slick as a whistle."

"It seems," replied Durek, "that no one repaired them. Hence, the Warder did not damage them when he wrenched and hammered at the doors centuries agone. Valki builded them welt, for they withstood the awesome might of even that dreadful Monster."

"You speak as if you saw it," spoke up Perry, "the Krakenward, I mean. Did you see it? Was it there?"

"We. slew it," growled Durek, "but it nearly proved our undoing, for it killed many of us and buried the Door under yet more rock ere we succeeded." The Dwarf King fell silent for a moment. "Where best to array the Host?" he then asked Anval,

"The Mustering Chamber, the War Hall of Kraggen-cor," replied Anval; and Borin nodded his agreement. "It is vast, and will be a good location to meet the Squam Swarm-or to sortie from."

"But that's all the way back to the Great Deep!" cried Perry, weary and exasperated. "Nearly to Dawn-Gate!"

"Naytheless," insisted Borin, "it is the best battleground for our Legion, for though it was delved long ago as an assembly chamber to array the Host against invaders coming over the Great Deop, it will serve equally well to array the Army against the Grg within the caverns. We must go there quickly to gain the advantage of a superior formation."

"But what about Lord Kian, and Shannon, and Ursor?" demanded Perry, fearing the answer. "What are we going to do about them?"

"Nothing," replied Prince Rand, his voice trembling in helpless agony. "We can do nothing, for we must race to the battleground to arrive first and array in the strongest formation, which will force the Spawn to take a weaker one, if they come. We cannot jeopardize the entire Host for the sake.of three; nor can we send a small force to search for them, for as you say, the Yrm flock in great numbers to hunt the trio, and a small force of Dwarves would be o'erwhelmed in that mission. No, we must make haste to the Mustering Chamber, and hope against all hope that the three somehow elude-the enemy until we are victorious." Prince Rand turned his face away, and his hands were trembling.

At Prince Rand's words a great leaden weight seemed to crush down upon Perry's heart, and he despaired. "You are saying we must abandon them. Surely there is some other

choice."

"Choice?" barked Durek, his face shadowed by his hood in the lantern light, his voice tinged with grim irony. "Nay, we have no choice. And we will get no further choices til the issue of Kraggen-cor is settled. As with the very act of living, there are but few true times of choosing, for most of life's so-named choices are instead but reflections of circumstance. And now is not a time of choosing; nay, our last time of choosing was at my Captain's Council at Landover Road Ford. Since then, Destiny alone has impelled each of us along that selected path. Yet, Friend Perry, we all knew our course would lead us into harm's way, and that some of us would cast lots with Death and lose, for that is one of War's chiefest fortunes. Nay, Waeran, we cannot send aid to that trio of comrades now, for their lot, too, is cast, and their future is as immutable as ours."

"But to abandon them all but assures their doom, if it is not yet upon them," Perry said bitterly. "By doing nothing we might as well have sentenced them to death. And there's been too much needless death already: first Barak and then Delk, and now Kian, Shannon, and Ursor." The buccan's eyes filled with tears of frustration, and he hammered his fist against his leg. "And all for nothing! All for a door that wasn't even broken! All for a needless mission!"

"Yes!" Rand gritted angrily through clenched teeth at Perry, for the Warrow had not yet admitted to the reality of their strait plight. And the Prince sprang to his feet and paced to and fro in agitation. "Yes!" he spat, "all for a needless mission! But one that had to be assayed at all costs, for we knew it not that the Dusk-Door had survived the wrenching of that dire creature. The Door was not broken, but we were ignorant of that knowledge. It is ever so in warfare that needless missions are undertaken in ignorance.

"Ignorance! Pah! That, too, is one of the conditions of War. And good Men and Dwarves and others die because of it. This time our ignorance may have cost me my brother; but worse yet, it may have cost my people a King! So prate not to me about needless missions, Waerlmg, for it is time you realized to the uttermost what being a warrior means, and the necessity of the cruel decisions of War, for you seem to think that we do not grasp the fullness of our course.

"But we do know! Yes, it is abandonment! Yes, it spells doom! Yes, we know! But it is you who does not seem to grasp what it means to do otherwise! This Army must be held together to meet the strength of the Yrm, and must not be fragmented into splinter parties searching for a mere three; for in that foolish action lies the seeds of the destruction of our quest-and the needs of the quest gainsay all else, no matter who is abandoned."

Like crystal shards, the jagged truth of Rand's angry words tore at Perry's heart, and the Warrow paled with their import. "Hold on there, now!" Cotton protested sharply, starting to rise to defend his master, upset not by the meaning of Rand's words but rather at the angry manner in which Rand had spat them at Perry, "there's no cause to-" but Cotton's words were cut short by a curt gesture from Borin. And Cotton reluctantly fell silent, unsaid words battering at his grimly clamped lips as he tensely settled back, ready to speak up for Perry if need be.

But then the Prince halted his caged pacing and for the first time looked and saw how utterly stunned Perry was. And Rand's own heart softened, and his voice lost its edge of wrath as he turned and reached out to the buccan. "Ah, needless missions, times of no choice. There is no choice, Perry, no choice; and in that I grieve with you, for it is my brother we abandon to War's lot. I would that it were otherwise, yet we can do nought but hope, for instead we must set forth at once to array the Host against the foul Spawn."

Anval had listened to the Prince speak sharply to Perry, but in spite of the harshness, the Dwarf was in accord with Rand's meaning; yet at the same time Anval also had seen the anguish in the Waeran's eyes. The Dwarf leaned forward and gently placed a gnarled hand upon Perry's forearm and spoke: "Aye, Friend Perry, you, I-the Squad-we all went on a necessary yet needless mission; and now you despair, for our staunch companions are missing, facing dangers unknown, fates dire; and you have said that their sacrifice has gone for nought, for it claws at you that we did not even reach the unbroken Dusken Door, the sought-for goal, our mission's end. Yet, take heed: missions fail! Only in the faery-scapes of children's hearthtales do all goodly quests succeed. But in this world many a desperate undertaking has fallen full victim to dark evil, or has been thwarted: turned back or shunted aside or delayed, not reaching the planned end, costing the coursing lifeblood of steadfast comrades. Such thwart fell upon our mission. Yet heed me again: all warriors who encounter such calamities and who live on must learn to accept these truths and go forth in spite of unforeseen setbacks.

"Once I said unto you mat you must become a warrior; and you have. But times as these test a warrior's very mettle,' and he must be as stern as hammered iron. We live, and so might our lost comrades; but in any case, we must now go forth and war upon the thieving Grg, for that is our prime reason for being here ready for battle." Anval fell silent and turned and looked expectantly at his King.

With effort, Diirek cast his hood back and reluctantly agreed: "Though I am loath to abandon our comrades to the Grg's hunt, Prince Rand is correct, and so too is Anval: we must hasten to the War Hall at the Great Deep to meet the Squam Swarm. Gnar soon will know that we are within the corridors, and he will muster to meet us. We must needs be arrayed in our strength, for the numbers of his force may be great indeed. But hearken to me, Friend Perry: after our victory, I will send search parties for any of the three who still may live. Yet now the Host must hie forth to the War Hall and array in our strongest formation."

And Perry's heart at last admitted to the grim truth, and he nodded bleakly as Durek issued the commands; and once again the Army began to move deeper into Kraggen-cor, striding to the northeast at a forced-march pace.

Borin led the way back toward the Bottom Chamber. Once more, when they came to the Drawing Dark-the eight-foot-wide crack in the tunnel floor-Perry overcame his fear and made the running leap over the fissure, this time with less hesitation; but Cotton delayed long, while others passed over, mustering his courage for the hurdle above the sucking depths, the leap a long one for a Warrow. At last the buccan stepped into the line of warriors and took his turn, and cleared the wide crack easily; Perry had waited for him, and together they ran to catch up with the head of the column.

At the Ova! Chamber, as signalled by Bane's jewel-flame, a force of Rucks was arrayed to meet the Dwarves: some of the enemy who earlier had escaped had told of the Dwarves' coming, and the Spawn did not yet know that it was an entire army they faced, believing instead that they were meeting, at most, a company-sized troop. And so, once again the Dwarves issued against the maggot-folk in overwhelming force, and the skirmish was short and decisive.

Durek had ordered Cotton and Perry to remain out of the fray, saying that although Anval and Bonn knew most of the Pain now, he wanted to hold the Waerans in reserve, at least until the Great Deop was reached-then he would have an entire legion of guides. And so Cotton and Perry remained back in the corridor until the engagement was over.

The march toward the Mustering Chamber continued, and as they tramped, Cotton, who was happy simply to be reunited with Perry, chatted about the Army's trek from Landover Road Ford to Dusk-Door. In spite of his low spirits, Perry soon found himself becoming more and more interested in Cotton's venture; and Perry was slowly drawn out of his black mood by the tale he was told. Cotton spoke of: the shrieking, clawing wind at the Crestan Pass; Waroo the Blizzard and the blind guides and lost Dwarves; being snowbound and the great dig-out; the forced march down the Old Rell Way, and the mud mires; the arrival at Dusk-Door; the battle with the Krakenward and the breaking of the dam and slaying of the Monster of the Dark Mere; the discovery of the Host by the Rucken spies and Brytta's troop riding from the valley to intercept them; and the removal of the mountain of rubble and the opening of the Door at midnight.

Perry was fascinated by the story. "Why, Cotton," he declared when the other finished, "you have lived an epic adventure, one as exciting as even some of the old tales."

"Wult, I don't know about that, Mister Perry." Cotton shrugged doubtfully. "It seems to me that most of it was just a bother, if you catch my meaning."

"Oh, it's an adventure, alright," assured Perry, "and when we're through with all this, I'll want to set it down in a journal for others to see." He began asking questions, seeking more detail about Cotton's venture, and Perry's Weak mood ebbed as he and the other Warrow marched north and

east with the Host.

And both Warrows soon fell to speculating as to the outcome of Brytta's mission. Each worried that the Harlingar had met up with a Swarm; yet Cotton surmised, "Oh, I believe the Valonners did their job, Sir, 'cause Gnar's army wasn't waiting at the Dusk-Door when it opened. In fact, nobody was. Not even you. But I knew you'd be alright. And since the maggot-folk weren't there, well, that means Gnar hadn't got the word, so as the Valonners must have succeeded in stopping the Rucken spies."

"I'm not sure of that, Cotton," mused Perry, "not sure at all. I mean, I'm not sure that some Spawn didn't get through to Gnar. After all, if they did get through, there would have been only a bit more than a day for Gnar to muster his forces. And perhaps he has-has mustered them, that is. Perhaps there's a great ambush awaiting us ahead and we're walking into an enormous trap."

Cotton's heart gave a lurch at these ominous words. "Wull, if that's true, Sir, then that means that Marshal Brytta may have met up with more than he bargained for; and that would be news I'd rather not know about." Yet, in spite of his remarks, Cotton fretted over the fate of the riders of the Valanreach, and would have given much to know their state of health and their whereabouts.

At that very moment, it was early morning in the Ragad Valley, and Brytta, at the fore of the Harlingar, had just ridden in to find the vale empty of all but his kinsman Farlon and the Dwarven wounded, preparing to embark on the journey south to the grassy valley.

Farlon was overjoyed to see the Vanadurin arrive, for he had longed to know their lot; and now he could see that most were safe, though his searching eyes failed to find some of his comrades in the column. Too, he felt relief, for now he would have escort in moving the wounded. And now, also, the herd could be driven south, and not left to wander the wold. The horses had been loosed, yet in their lameness had not gone from the valley.

At Brytta's query, Farlon explained that it was he who had fired the recall beacon atop the great spire of the Sentinel Stand after the Door had opened and the Host had entered. Brytta then ordered that more wood for yet another signal fire be laid high upon the towering spike to call the riders back should Wrg come fleeing out of the Dusk-Door; the top of the spire was the best place for the beacon, for, as reported by Farlon, a fire upon the tall spire should clearly be visible from the southern pasture. Three scouts, Trell, Egon, and Wylf, were named to this balefire duty. Taking turns, one of the trio always would be atop the stand to set the beacon ablaze if the Rutcha came. As Brytta said when he gave over the guard duty to the three, "I'm certain you would rather ward against a danger that never comes, than to wait with the rest of us in a pasture watching horses crop grass."

Then Brytta and the Harlingar rounded up the horses and waggons bearing the wounded and began- the drive south, following Farlon's lead. And Farlon was pleased, for not only was he reunited with his fellow Vanadurin, he also was fulfilling the pledge he had made to Prince Rand and to that fiery little Waldan, Cotton: a pledge to guide the wounded Dwarves to safe haven.

But neither Perry nor Cotton knew of those events then occurring in the Ragad Valley, and so they fretted over the unknown fate of the Harlingar; yet in spite of this uncertainty, Perry had nearly regained his former pluck. Even so, when they came to the Bottom Chamber, where last he had seen the missing trio of companions, Perry's high spirits crashed.

The Chamber was empty of Spawn; the word of a Dwarf army had passed ahead of the Host, and the Rucks and Hloks had fled before them. As the Legion marched across the arch over the stream and into the huge round room, Perry looked toward the notch in the north wall; no light came through it from the cavern beyond. "There, Prince Rand," said the Warrow, pointing, "mere's where Lord Kian, Shannon Silverleaf, and Ursor the Baeran misled the Rucks."

Rand looked on bleakly as they tramped by. Suddenly the Prince ran to the cleft and down its length, and peered into the black cave beyond, and whistled a shrill call that echoed and shocked along the cavern to be lost in its dark distance. Twice more he whistled, and each time at echo's death he was answered only by ebon silence. When he returned to-the column, his face bore a stricken look, and he spoke not. Peny, too, fell into mute despair. And the Army marched on.

Here Cotton took over the guide chores from Bonn; the Host now began moving into the corridors between the Bottom Chamber and the Grate Room, a part of the Brega Path not yet trod by Borin, for the Squad had fled through the Gargon's Lair instead.

Bane's blade-jewel spoke only of distant danger, and the long column soon reached the Side Hall, where the floor of

the corridor began its long, gentle upward slope out of the lower Neaths and toward the upper Rises. During this part of the trek, Cotton chatted gaily, trying mightily to draw Perry out of his biack mood, but to no avail.

As they marched away from the Side Hall, Bane began to glimmer more strongly, and word was passed that Squam were coming nigh. They tramped for two more miles and Bane's light slowly faded; but then a great hubbub washed over the Legion from the rear of the column. "Hey," questioned Cotton, "what's all mis commotion about?" But no one there could answer him.

Finally, word was passed up-column to Durek that a large force of Rucks had boiled out of the Side Hall and had atacked the rear guard of the Host. A savage battle had ensued, and the Spawn were once again routed, but this time some Dwarves had fallen in the fight.

"So it begins at last," rasped Durek. "The foul Grg will harass and ambush us from coverts until Gnar musters his forces for battle. Pass the word that the War has begun. Henceforth, the slain shall lie where they are felled, and we shall remain unhooded until the last battle is done."

The march began again, and now Cotton fell into a black mood too, for he knew not the lot of Bomar, Captain of the Rear Guard, nor the fate of his friends of the cook-waggon crew. But though the Warrow fretted, he continued to guide well, and the Legion made good time in their trek toward the Grate Room. Again Bane's rune-jewel began to glow brighter as they marched east; and the nearer they came to the Room, the more luminous became the blue flame. They trod swiftly, and the vanguard of Felor's forces gripped their axes in readiness as they quickstepped up the passageway. And then from ahead they heard a great shouting of maggot-foik and a clatter of weapons.

Felor's companies sprang forward, and they raced toward the last turn before the Grate Room. As they rounded the curve, up a long straight corridor they could see torchlight, and there were Spawn clamoring and milling about the door of the Room, battering it with hammers and a ram. Momentarily, the Rucken band did not see the Dwarves; and Felor's Companies made many running strides toward the enemy before the Host was detected; and then it was too late, for the Rucks had not enough time to array themselves to meet the rush. There was a clash of axes on scimitars, and the Spawn were borne backwards by the charge. Again the battle was swift and savage: the Dwarves hewed the Squam, and black Rucken gore splashed the stone as the maggot-folk were felled.

And in the midst of the fray, Perry saw the Grate Room door fly open, and out sprang two tall, face-blackened figures ready to join the fight. It was Lord Kian! And Shannon Silverleaf! They were alive!

From a distance, Prince Rand, too, saw his besmudged brother and gave a shrill whistle, and he and Kian looked upon one another, and they were glad. Then Rand raised his sword and inclined his head toward the retreating Spawn, and they both plunged after the Dwarves to join the battle against the foe.

Perry shouted in his glee. His friends were safe! But, wait… where was Ursor? As the battle receded before him, Perry made his way to the Grate Room and stepped in. The Warrow saw that two of the iron stone-wedges, tools carried for work on the gate, had been used to jam the door of the Room against the maggot-folk. Perry could see the corroded grille had been wrenched away from the square shaft, and the dark hole gaped at him; cautiously looking into it, he could see nought but the massive, rust-stained chain dropping down sheer, strait walls into the blackness below. Shuddering, Perry turned away and found Kian's and Shannon's backpacks. But of the Baeran, the room was empty of all sign. Fearing the worst, Perry scooped up the wedges and packs and stepped back into the corridor, to find Cotton searching for him.

The engagement had ended, the Rucks had been slain or had fled, and the head of the column was forming up again when Rand, Kian, and Shannon finally came to where Perry and Cotton were waiting. Kian embraced both of the Warrows, and Shannon greeted Perry with a grin and a hug. "You came barely in time, Friend Perry," said the Elf. "We were just preparing to start down the dark square shaft to who-knows-where when you led the Drimma to our rescue."

"Oh, but it wasn't me," protested Perry, "my good friend here, Cotton Buckleburr, was leading." Perry then introduced a self-conscious Cotton to Shannon; at first Cotton felt somehow clumsy and awkward in the presence of the lithe Elf, but Shannon's lighthearted.manner soon put the Waerling at his ease. "Lord Kian," asked Perry, his apprehension growing, "Ursor, where is Ursor?"

A troubled look came over the Man's face. "We do not know where he is," answered Kian. "We fed the Spaunen on a desperate chase back to the underground river. When we got there, we debated whether to go on up the north passage or to swim under the wall and go through the Gargon's Lair and on to await the Host at the five corridors by the Grate Room. Ursor asked us to stand ready while he swam to see if the Yrm were gone from the cave leading to the Lair. He tied a rope to a boulder and let the swift current carry him under the wall. When he returned, he said all was black in the other cavern-those Rukha were no longer there. He had lashed the line securely on the far side, and he asked us to go ahead of him in the water. By this time the pursuing Yrm were nearly upon us. Shannon and I plunged in and pulled under to the opposite tunnel. Almost as soon as we got there, the rope went slack, and we hauled it in, and tied to the end were our backpacks. But Ursor never came. We tried to go back, but neither Shannon nor I was a powerful enough swimmer to battle back through the rush without the aid of the line, and we could not get to the other side to find him and aid him. We know not his fate, though 1 fear it was grim." Lord Kian stopped speaking, a pained look in his eyes.

"We took a long rest," said Shannon after a moment, taking up the rest of their tale, "and then we made our way back through the Lost Prison, up the silveron delving, and finally through the tunnels to the Grate Room. Again we rested, this time in the upward middle corridor of the four eastern ways. But it was not our lot to idle our time away until the Drimm army arrived, for Rupt forces came at nearly one and the same time along all passageways, including the west one. We were revealed and fled into the Grate Room, where we drove wedges under the door to jam it shut. We indeed were about to try to escape down the shaft when we heard the ancient Chdkka shok! Chdkka cor! battle cry of the Drimma and were saved that perilous descent."

Shannon fell silent, but before Perry or Cotton could ask any questions, Durek, Anval, and Bonn returned, and once more the march resumed, Bonn again in the lead, for the Legion now marched in passageways he had trodden before.

The Host halted for a rest in the great Round Chamber. Patrols were maintained along the corridors, and Bane was posted in the center of the gallery as a ward for all to see. Perry fell instantly into slumber, for he was exhausted, having had no sleep since he had rested in the Gargon's Lair. Cotton, on the other hand, before settling down made certain that his friend Bomar was unhurt, for the Warrow had been deeply concerned ever since the Legion had marched past the Side Hall and the Spawn had attacked the rear guard. Bomar laughed and told Cotton it would take more than a Grg or two to do him and the cook-waggon crew in, and not to worry. Relieved, Cotton returned to where Perry slept and lay down nearby. Cotton, too, quickly went to sleep, and his and Perry's slumber was undisturbed.

But all too soon it was time to move on; and so, after but six hours of respite, the Army again headed east along the Brega Path, Bonn still in the lead,

As they marched, Cotton seemed withdrawn, as if bemused by some deep thought. Finally, when Perry sounded him out. Cotton grasped the Horn of Valon and held it for Perry to see and said, "Well, Sir, I mean, look here: ever since we've come into Kraggen-cor, the Horn of the Reach has… changed. It seems more polished, or, well, as if it were somehow shinier. I don't know what it is exactly that's different, but it seems to be, as it were, more… more alive!"

Perry looked closely at the bugle, and he, too, sensed that it had changed. The metal appeared to have more depth, the racing figures seemed to have taken on greater dimension, the carven runes higher luster. Yet Perry could not say whether this silvery life was due to an actual change in the horn or, rather, a change in the way he himself viewed it. "Perhaps, Cotton, it only seems to glisten more because this cavern is dull and dark and provides great contrast to the shining silver; or perhaps it glimmers more because it now is illumed only by the light of Dwarf lanterns."

As if in response to Perry's words, the bugle glinted and flashed in the blue-green phosphorescent glow; yet, deep within, it seemed to burn with a light of its own.

"That may be, Sir," replied Cotton, looking with perplexed wonderment at the glittering metal, "but I think it's got more life because it's back to its home again, back to its birthing place, back to where it's meant to be."

About the horn, Cotton said no more, and the buccen strode onward in silence, each deep in his own thoughts, as the Army pressed on through Kraggen-cor.

The Host covered the remaining twenty miles in six hours, and they were attacked twice: The first time was a minor assault: arrows hissed at them out of the side passages of Broad Hall; Felor's companies rushed the corridors, and the maggot-folk scuttled away in the darkness, and the attack was over. The second time was a major engagement: a force of nearly four hundred maggot-folk had lain waiting in ambuscade in the Great Chamber; but Bane had alerted the Legion that Spawn were near, and the Army avoided the concealed assault and fell upon the enemy in fury, driving them out of die chamber. In both engagements, Dwarves died, though the number was small.

The Legion then made its way along the two-mile detour around the wreckage of the Hall of the Gravenarch and then marched the final mile to come down at last to their chosen battleground: the vast Mustering Chamber, the War Hall of the First Neath.

Dwarf lanterns were affixed to each of the ancient cressets, and the Hall was brightly lighted. Patrols were again posted in the corridors, and the Host was arrayed to meet Gnar's Swarm. But the Spaunen did not come. Dwarves were sent over the rope bridge to Quadmere to fetch its cool clear water, and the Army rested. Again Perry and Cotton slept.

Upon awakening, both Warrows were well rested but famished. Unfortunately, the only food at hand was the crue Cotton had brought in his pack. And so they ate the tasteless waybread and drank water for their meal. Rested, with his stomach full, and in the spacious, bright Hail, Perry's spirits began to recover at last. He had washed his face clean of the face blackener, and had removed the shirt hiding his armor, now he was a resplendent silver warrior. And though he was troubled by Ursor's unknown fate, still he started joining in conversation with Cotton.

Before he realized it, Perry began telling the other buccan all about the journey down the river, across the wold, and through the caverns. The words came tumbling out, his voice hesitating only when he painfully spoke of Barak's death and funeral, and of Delk felled by Ruck arrow in the Lair fire. When Perry fell silent at the end, his tale told, Cotton leaned back in wonderment, his jewel-like green eyes wide. "Why, Mister Perry," declared Cotton, "you're the one that's had a real adventure, not me. That's the story you've been wanting to write; not my adventure, but yours."

Perry shook his head in disagreement, for as it is with many a neophyte adventurer, his own story seems insignificant alongside others'. Cotton, seeing the self-doubt in Perry's eyes, then added, "Wull, maybe you just ought to write 'em both up, and we'll have a contest and vote on 'em, and then we'll see which one is the more adventuresome."

Perry laughed outright at the absurdity of the suggestion, and Cotton joined him, and it was the first time mirth had visited either in a long, long while. Before they could say more, a Council of Captains was called, and the two Warrows were summoned to attend.

As soon as all had gathered, Durek spoke: "Cruel Gnar seems too timid to bring his forces to face ours; and so we must draw him out. We must lure him into battle here in the great Mustering Chamber." Durek gestured at the mighty War Hall. This enormous gallery was more man two thousand Dwarf-strides long, and half that wide, its ceiling a hundred feet high. A fourfold row of huge delved pillars marched down its length, carven to resemble great Dragons coiling up fluted columns, each graven monster glaring in a different direction, some with stone flame or spew splashing against the roof. Along the walls were lesser sculptings of bears, eagles, owls, Wolves, and other creatures of rock perched on interior cornices, looking down from the high shadows cast by the hundreds upon hundreds of Dwarf-lanterns that brightly illuminated the Hall.

"This chamber shall become the center of our forays into die passages to destroy the Squam," Durek rasped, then paused; but what he was going to say next shall forever remain a mystery, for it was at dial moment that Gnar announced that the Foul Folk were indeed coming to fight: A great rolling Doom! of a huge drum thundered into the cavern; so vast and loud was the beat that Perry's small frame shook in its echo.

Boom! Doom! came the beats again, and the very stone itself seemed to rattle and sound with their call.

Boom! Doom! Doom! The mighty vibrations caused rock dust to sift out of cracks and drift to the floor.

"To your Squadrons! Array the Host!" shouted Durek. "Gnar comes at last!" And the Captains sprang to their feet and sped to their Companies.

Boom! Doom! Perry's heart leapt in terror at the great booming sounds, and the blood drained from his face. Hold on, bucco, he thought, settle down. You know what that is: it's a great marching drum of a Rucken Horde-The Raven Book speaks of them. Perry looked at Cotton, and the other buccan's features were drawn, his lips pressed into a thin white line.

Perry reached out and squeezed his comrade's hand, and Cotton cast Perry a fleeting smile from his stricken face.

Boom! Boom! beat the great pulse, as if the mountain itself were being struck by a mighty hammer to ring in response. And then clamant, discordant hornblats sounded, and there came echoing horns from each of the passageways leading into the vast chamber, followed by a shattering volley of harsh clashing of scimitar and tulwar upon dhal and sipar.

Boom! Doom!

As foreplanned, the Dwarf Legion formed up in the center of the great floor, all warriors facing outward with axes and bucklers at the ready. On three sides of the Host stood the stone of the chamber walls, with many dark holes showing where passageways bored off into the black reaches of Drimmen-deeve. It was these portals that the elements of the Army watched, for through these ways would come Gnar's forces. On the fourth side was the Great Deep, and only a few of the Host looked thereupon, for it guarded the Army's back better than another Legion could. Across the floor from sidewall to sidewall and through the Host ran everal wide fissures-great cracks in the stone; here and there, huge slabs spanned the fissures, footbridges placed there ages agone by the Dwarven Folk.

Doom! Boom!

Both Perry and Cotton were too short to see over the warriors' heads, and so they mounted up on the base of one of the pillars and watched; Perry drew Bane, and Cotton the Atalar Blade, and Bane's flame was nearly bright enough to hurt the eyes, while the golden runes on the sword of Atala glinted in the phosphorescent glow of the Dwarf-lanterns.

DOOM! DOOM! whelmed the vast pulse, and then fell silent. There was one more bray of horns, as one raucous blare was answered from all corridors by other blats. From afar the Host could hear the sound of running Rucken boots slapping against the stone. Louder and louder the footsteps sounded, until they became a veritable thunder of feet.

And then Rucks began to issue into the Hall out of every corridor, every orifice, like black ants vomited from a thousand holes. And among the Rucks scuttled armored Hlok leaders. Still the maggot-folk poured through the portals and into the chamber. And they deployed themselves along the walls and around the Host.

The Dwarves stood their ground in silence, though many faces were grim to see the awful flood of Squam. And then at last the Spawn were arrayed, and they shouted and clamored in a thunderous din, brandishing their weapons and threatening the Dwarves by making menacing swipes and swirls and starts. But though they raised a great outcry, they attacked not, for they were awaiting the coming of Gnar.

And then he came; the supreme Man-sized Hlok came. Into the far end of the chamber he strode, and through the massed ranks of Rucks. When he reached the forefront of his Horde, he stopped and stood on widespread legs with his fists on his hips: cruel and proud, swart and yellow-eyed, armored in black scale mail and a high-peaked helm, and armed with a great long scimitar. And the shouting voices of his Swarm proclaimed him to the Dwarven Army. Gnar stood 'midst the clamorous roar; men he raised up a clenched fist, and the ranks of his Horde abruptly fell silent, as if.their very breath had been choked off. And Gnar laughed in the sudden stillness, for there were ten thousand Rucks to but four thousand Dwarves.

"What slime comes into my kingdom?" Gnar bellowed in a great snarly voice across the distance that separated the two armies. "Who is the stupid fool leading this paltry group of foul-beards? Why have you of little wit blundered into my caverns?" And a great derisive shout went up from the Rucken Swarm, as if Gnar had somehow scored a victory with insults alone. Yet the Dwarves stood grim and silent, facing the gibing enemy, not responding, waiting for this noise to subside. At last Gnar again raised his fist, and once more the Horde's voice chopped shut.

Still the Dwarf Legion stood fast; and when the cavernous echoing died, Durek spoke: He did not seem to raise his voice, yet he was plainly heard by all in the Hall: "I, the Seventh Durek, and mine Host have come to take back that which is rightfully ours. And we have come to avenge old wrongs and hurts. And more, we have come to stop your rape of the land around. But above all, we have come because you are Squam and we are ChSkka." And the Dwarf King fell silent, but with a deafening clap of axe on buckler and with a single great voice, the entire Army shouted once only: CHAKKA SHOK!

At this thunderous call the Rucken Horde cringed, but seeing the Dwarves stand fast, blustered up again. Gnar glared at his craven Swarm and then turned to the Legion and laughed derisively. "Do you rabble truly expect to evict us? Look about you, imbeciles! You are doomed, for we are nearly thrice your numbers. Even so, we could conquer you weaklings with less, in fact, perhaps with but two of us." And Gnar turned and shouted, "Goth! Mog!"

And as the Horde howled in evil glee, from the dark shadows of the end-cavern ponderously came two great, hulking creatures: nearly fourteen feet tall, swart, greenish, scaled, red-eyed, each monster clutching a massive iron pole in one thick hand, each brutish face filled with a vile, malignant leer. They were Cave Ogrus. They lumbered through the massed Rucken ranks to stand aflank of Gnar. And Gnar threw back his head and laughed cruelly.

The Dwarf Army blenched, for even though there were a fell ten thousand Rucks surrounding them, til this moment the Dwarves had not truly felt fear. But now their eyes were drawn irresistibly to the great Cave Trolls, and the massive strength of rock-hard flesh seemed to spell doom, for they were an awful enemy. At last Perry knew why Ogru-Trolls were so feared: they were direful behemoths of crushing power, and they looked unstoppable. Perry tried to remember the places of Ogru vulnerability, but his wit fled in his fright, and he could only recall that a sword thrust under the eyelid and into the brain would kill one.

Holding up his fist to stop the jeering of his Swarm, Gnar sneered from between the massive Trolls, "I will give you but one chance to surrender, fools. All I ask in tribute are your inferior weapons and pitiable supplies, and eternal bondage as my groveling slaves." Raucous laughter swelled up from the Horde, and they jittered in revelment. But their shrill gaiety was cut short by another dinning clash of axe on buckler, again followed by a single thunderous shout bursting forth from the entire Legion: CHAKKA COR!

And quickly upon the ensuing silence, Durek roared in wrath, "We did not come to parley with a foul usurper! We are here to fight to the death!" And the Dwarf King signalled his herald, who raised the great War Horn to his lips and blew a blast that sprang from pillar to post to wall and roof. The Hall seemed to tremble and shudder with its sound, and all the Host took heart. An answering blare came from the Spaunen homs, and the two mighty armies came rushing together with hoarse shouts and a great resounding crash of weapons.

Perry and Cotton sprang down from the base of the pillar and rushed to the fray. Faced by the Rucken Horde, the Dwarves had formed a wall of flashing axes, and the maggot-folk could not break through the phalanx. Likewise, neither Warrow could reach the Rucks; the two ran up and down the lines, but to no avail. The axes hewed and slashed and cut the foe with dreadful effect. Dwarves also were felled, but the ranks somehow closed, and still the Spawn failed to penetrate.

Gnar had withheld the great Ogru-Trolls, for they were the last in Drimmen-deeve, and the secret of his power; and the prowess of Dwarf Troll-squads was legendary. Hence, only shouting Rucks and snarling Hloks clashed with the Dwarves in this first charge.

Blood and gore splashed the stone of the hall, and screams rent the air, and corpses littered the floor. The Dwarves' compact deployment defied the enemy attack, and at last the Horde withdrew. Dwarf wounded were drawn into the center, and fresher warriors stepped to the fore.

Twice more the" Spawn charged, only to suffer dismaying losses, for twice more the Dwarves' formation held, and the Horde was beaten back; the Rucks could not break through to bring their greater numbers to bear. Many of the Chakka, however, were felled, and the Dwarves yielded back a bit to consolidate their perimeter.

Gnar knew that he would have to use the great Trolls, even though he could not replace them, even though were they to fall, his rule in Drimmen-deeve might fall with them, for other Hloks could then challenge him without fear. Yet without the Ogrus, the Hlok-Ied Rucks could not break the Dwarf array, and unless the array were broken, Gnar would suffer defeat at the hands of the Chakka.

Hence, once again Gnar ordered a charge, but this time he loosed the Cave Trolls. These mighty engines of destruction waded into the forefront of the Dwarves, their great iron War-bars swinging to and fro to crush all before them. The Dwarves gave back, and there stood a gap in the wall of axes. Hordes of Rucks streamed into the center, and the Dwarves' mighty phalanx disintegrated: the formation was broken and the Dwarf defence was sundered into Companies, squads, pairs, and single Dwarves fighting against desperate odds.

In the center, fifty or more Dwarves surrounded each Ogru, hewing and hacking at their vitals and great legs; but Gnar ordered Rucks to attack the Troll-squads, and whether the Dwarves would have succeeded in felling the giants will never be known, for the Rucks assaulted the squads and turned the Dwarves' energies aside.

Perry and Cotton found themselves facing the foe at last, and the relentless hours of Kian's sword-instructions now showed their worth, for the Warrows' blades wove swift nets of death upon the enemy.

Perry lunged under a hammer, and blazing Bane drank black Ruck blood; the foe fell, but another took his place, and Elven-blade clashed against Rucken-scimitar. A parry, riposte, and thrust ended that duel, but another Ruck lashed a bar at the Warrow, And amid snarling Rucks and cursing Dwarves and the clash and clangor of War, Perry dodged and whirled and darted, and hacked and stabbed and cut, felling Ruck after Ruck in the swirling battle.

Cotton, too, was pressed by a great number of the maggot-folk: they seemed to come at him from all points. Twisting among ally and foe alike, Cotton hewed and clove and pierced with his Atalar sword; and Rucks fell about the Warrow like grain before the scythe.

And as circumstances would have it, the two Warrows found themselves battling back to back near the lip of the Great Deep, hindguarding one another while dealing death to the foe at hand.

Soon the assailants fell back, for these small warriors were much more skilled than they, and the two in glittering silver and shining golden armor seemed bright and invincible.

But men a great Hlok jumped forward to challenge Cotton. Even as the Hlok engaged Cotton's sword, a Ruck tried to take the buccan from the rear; but Perry and Bane cut down the foe, the Ruck's death scream to be lost among the shouts filling the War Hall. And with Perry guarding his back, Cotton fought the enemy before him. Clang! went sword on scimitar, and the clash and skirl of steel upon steel rang out. Cotton was pressed hard, for the Hlok was skilled, but at last the Warrow turned a thrust aside and slashed his blade through the throat of the Hlok. Blood flew wide, and the enemy fell.

AH wailed the Rucks and drew back; but one set an arrow to his bow and drew it full to the cruel barb and let the black shaft fly at point-blank range. But Perry had seen the danger, and with a warning shout he leapt forward to knock Cotton aside. And the arrow slammed into Perry, its force so great that it penetrated even the silveron mail, bursting through a chink high on the chest where an amber gem was inset among the links. And the Warrow slammed backwards against the base of one of the great Dragon Pillars, and crumpled to the stone, the buccan pierced through. Cotton sprang forward with a cry of rage, and his blade mortally clove the Ruck from helm to breast. The remaining Rucks fled from the small enraged warrior in the golden mail. And Cotton's wrath turned to dismay as he fell to his knees beside Perry's.still form.

"Mister Perry! Mister Perry!" wailed Cotton, hugging the fallen Warrow to his breast. And then Perry moaned, and Cotton saw that he wasn't dead. "Oh, Mister Perry, you're alive! Oh, don't die, Mister Perry. I couldn't bear it if you died."

With chaos and confusion and slaughter all around, and with a savage and desperate battle raging back and forth above them, Cotton knelt at the edge of the Great Deep and held on to Perry and wept and rocked back and forth in torment.

Perry opened his eyes, his vision swimming in a sea of pain, and looked to see Cotton's face dimly before him. "Oh, Cotton, Cotton, what have I done?" whispered Perry. "I have dragged you off into a quest where neither one of us belongs. And you may be slain. Oh, Cotton, when I reached for this adventure, 1 did not stop to consider anyone's feelings but my own. The only thing that mattered was my own lust for excitement. I did not stop to think how you felt, or Holly… poor Holly… Did you see how she cried, Cotton? I didn't know. I didn't think. That's it! 1 didn't think. Me, the bright scholar, the glorious Fairhil! Scholar, and I can't mink my way past a foolish dream of bold achievement.

"It was all foredoomed anyway. My whole witless venture was unnecessary. No single part of it was necessary. Look at our mission: We tried to sneak through Drimmen-deeve, and the Dusk-Door wasn't even broken. Barak died for nought. Tobin suffered needlessly. Delk died for nought. And Ursor. And what for?… What for?… What for?"

Cotton looked into Perry's sapphirine eyes. "Oh, no, Mister Perry," he protested, "you've got it all wrong. That's not the way of it at all. They needed us. Without us the raids of the maggot-folk would go on. Without us the Dwarves might not have gone to Dusk-Door and would have died in the Great Deep." Cotton gestured at the nearby gulf. "Without us the Dwarves wouldn't have stood a chance."

A grimace of pain crossed Perry's features, and he gasped through clenched teeth. "Leastwise now, leastwise now…" A shuddering sigh racked the wounded buccan, and unconsciousness mercifully washed over him.

"Mister Perry!" cried Cotton, fearing the worst, but before he could press his ear to Perry's breast, one of the huge Cave Trolls, seeing two small, helpless targets hidden in the shadow of a Dragon Pillar, lumbered toward the Warrows.

Cotton saw the Ogru coming, and gently eased Perry to the floor. Catching up his sword, Cotton sprang between the Troll and the wounded buccan. And as he ran into the path of the dire creature, the story from The Raven Book of Parrel and the Ogru on the bridge flashed into Cotton's mind, and he shouted, "Hail Troll! You great clumsy oaf! Look at me! I am the golden warrior!" And the buccan held his arms wide and danced to one side, drawing the Troll's full attention. The huge Ogru stared stupidly at the small creature in the shining gilded mail; then he raised his great iron bar and struck.

Crack! The bar smashed to the stone, but the nimble Warrow was not there. Cotton sprang to the side and forward, and hewed with his Atalar sword, hacking just above the great Ogru's knee, for that was the highest the small Warrow could reach with his blade. But the edge clanged into the Troll's armor-like hide and glanced down.

Crack! The great iron bar missed again, and once more Cotton's blade failed to cut the stone skin. As the Warrow dodged away, he knew that sooner or later the Troll would make contact, and the fight would end then and there. Cotton knew he needed help; and in that moment he glimpsed from the corner of his eye Bane's blue flame burning on the stone where the sword had skidded when Perry had been felled.

Crack! The Ogru missed again, and Cotton darted to the side and scooped up the blazing Elven-blade. Yet the monster shouted in vile gloat, for it now had Cotton trapped: to‹ get at Bane, the Warrow had dashed beyond the Troll to the precipitous edge of the Great Deep; and the only way to freedom led back past the great foe. To cut off escape, the Ogru spread its arms wide and took a ponderous stride forward.

Cotton, his eyes locked upon the massive War-bar, stepped back, and his foot came down upon the edge of the great split. He teetered and gasped in fear, his arms windmill ing. And the vast dark gulf gaped blackly, and waited. Yet with a twisting motion, the Warrow managed to fall forward. And as he had been trained, Cotton rolled as he landed, to come back to his feet in a balanced stance with sword in hand to again face the foe. The great Cave Troll snarled in anger, yet its eyes took on a look of evil cunning, for it still had the wee Warrow trapped; and the monster swooshed the bar in a feint followed by a swift overhand stroke.

Crack! The iron pole just missed the dodging Warrow, so close it ticked a golden scale.

Again Cotton leapt to one side and then lunged forward; and the blazing rune-jewelled Troll's Bane flashed up as Cotton plunged it into the Ogru's kneecap: the stone-like skin dial easily 'turned aside axes and swords yielded like soft butter to the flaming Elven-blade; the point sank through the cap and into the knee joint, plunging nearly to the sinews at the back of the leg. Cotton jerked Bane out and twisted aside; black blood dropped from the bitter blade to the stone floor, and where it fell a reeking smoke coiled up from the hard rock.

The great Troll roared in agony and clutched at its pierced knee, and stumbled with a sliding crash to the stone at the lip of the great black abyss, to slip over the edge, grasping frantically but in vain at the smooth floor. And with a bellow of terror and its eyes wide in fear, and still gripping the massive War-bar, the huge Ogru fell howling beyond the rim and down into the bottomless black depths.

Cotton stared for a moment at the place where the Troll had gone over the edge; then the Warrow scooped up the Atalar Blade and ran back to Perry, who was conscious again. Once more Cotton cradled the wounded buccan.

As Cotton watched the hideous battle, Perry gazed up into the shadows on the ceiling. The War was going badly for the Dwarves: the Spawn now controlled the center of the chamber and the Dwarves were at the perimeter. The great numbers of the Rucken forces and the strength of their position weighed the battle heavily in meir favor; though much more skillful, the Dwarves were in weak array, and by the hundreds they had fallen to Gnar's Swann. As Cotton looked on in dismay, Perry whispered, "That's where Bonn climbed."

"Wha… what, Mister Perry?" asked Cotton.

"That's where Borin climbed over the ceiling. When we crossed the gulf, I mean," rambled Perry, lying on his back, looking upward above the chasm. "Over there. Above the bridge."

"You said he didn't make it all the way. The ceiling was all cracked, zig… zig something," wept Cotton, crying for the Dwarf dead as he tried to comfort his wounded master.

"Ziggurt. The roof is ziggurt. As far as the eye can see. Bonn told us." Perry's blurred gaze roamed down the Hall along the roof above the pillars.

Though he was weeping, Cotton felt strangely at peace- sitting here, holding his friend, chatting about inconsequential things-as the mighty clash and clangor of weapons and War swirled back in the main chamber just a stone's throw away.

"Rocks, stone, that's all the eye can see," muttered Perry. "No green growing things, no soft comfortable things, just hard rock and stone. I had enough of rocks when the slide nearly got us back in the Crestan Pass, oh so long ago. Those were the days. Just you and me, and Anval, Bonn, and Kian."

"True," answered Cotton, "those were the days. They taught us a lot, Lord Kian and the Dwarves." And Cotton again looked at the black shaft standing out from Perry's shoulder. "I just wish they'd taught me about healing instead of about swords, and rock slides, and snow avalanches, and-"

A startled look had come over Perry's face, and a fierce energy suffused his pained lineament, and he urgently interrupted Cotton: "That's it! Cotton, that's it!" he gasped through his pain. "You've solved the riddle! We've got to get to Durek! We can win the War yet! Get me to Durek. Get me to Durek." And he clutched desperately at Cotton's arm, and struggled to rise. "Get me to Durek."

Cotton helped Perry to stand, and the wounded buccan fought to keep from swooning. His good arm was over Cotton's shoulders, and he absently clutched Bane in his other hand, having grasped it when Cotton had laid it aside. Slowly they started along the south wall; Cotton didn't know why, but his master urgently needed to get to Durek.

As they crept forward, Cotton's emeraldine eyes cast about for the Dwarf King. Perry's eyes, too, sought Durek as the Warrows limped slowly along the perimeter, the black shaft standing full neath Perry's left collarbone. Cotton saw Dwarves striving desperately with two, three, or four Rucks at once. He also glimpsed Kian and Rand in a small force battling the remaining Ogru:

Only a handful hewed at the Troll where fifty were needed, yet at bay they held the creature. Of those facing the Ogru, it was Prince Rand who had harassed and baited the fell beast into a foaming rage; for after the two Trolls had burst through the Dwarves' defense, Rand had seen that these great monsters if unchecked would assure a Yrm victory. And he had run before one of them, shouting and waving his arms, leaping away.from the crashing iron bar, drawing the Ogru out of the general metee in the creature's rage to smash this puny Man-thing that it couldn't quite seem to hit. Again and again Rand had leapt aside, and again and again the great iron pole had smashed to empty stone where Rand had stood but an instant before. But the Prince was growing weary, for he had baited the beast long, and the great bar was becoming more difficult to dodge.

Then Lord Kian saw his brother and the Ogru, and he ran to aid Prince Rand. Kian fell upon the Troll from the rear and lashed his sword in a mighty arc, but the blade crashed into the stone hide and glanced away notched. Three Dwarves joined the fray, but their axes proved no better. "His heel!" cried Prince Rand. "Go for his heel when I draw him forth!" And Rand stood motionless at a long reach for the Troll.

The monster lunged forward, swinging his bar in a wide sweep; and as he extended his body, the creature's ankle bent sharply and one of the scaled plates of his greenish hide lifted away from his heel. Lord Kian stepped up, and using two hands he swung his sword of Riamon with all the strength he could muster. The blade sped true, and the keen edge flashed under the scale and into the flesh to sever the heel tendon and chop to the bone and lodge in the joint. Kian's sword was wrenched from his grasp to shatter in twain upon impact as, with a great bellow, the Ogru crashed forward onto the stone, to roll and clutch at his ankle; the great beast was now out of the battle and would aid the Rucks no more, for it could not stand.

"Rand, we did it!" Kian shouted, elated, and looked up and saw to his horror that his brother had stood fast so that the Troll could be felled, and Rand had been smashed to the wall by the cruel iron bar.

And as he saw his brother's crumpled form, and the howling Ogru rolling in agony upon the stone, a madness of fury possessed Lord Kian. Weaponless, he seized hold of the Troll's great War-bar which had been flung from the monster's clutch, and even though the mass of the bar was beyond the strength of two Men to heft, in his wrath Lord Kian raised up the huge pole and violently smote it down upon the thrashing Troll. The Ogru saw the strike coming and warded with his forearm, but the force of the blow was so great that the rock-hard limb was broken as if it were a twig, and the War-bar drove on to smash into the Troll's thick neck, crushing its throat; and the great creature's eyes bulged out as it tried to breathe but could not, and its limbs flailed about in desperation. And though the monster was mortally struck and failing swiftly unto Death, Lord Kian tried to raise up the War-pole for yet another blow, but could not, for with that one strike the towering fury had been spent and the bar was now far beyond his power to wield.

Catching up a fallen axe from the lax hand of a slain Dwarf, Lord Kian turned from this heel-chopped, throat-crushed monster, and made his way toward Prince Rand's fallen form.

Slowly the Warrows went forth, and they both saw Anval: he was battling Gnar! There was a great clanging as axe and scimitar clashed together. Anval drove the great Hlok back, but then the tide turned as more Rucks joined Gnar to attack the Dwarf. "Get back! Get back!" cried Perry, feebly, but his whisper was lost in the shouts and screams of others and in the din of steel upon steel. Suddenly a Ruck behind Anval hurled a War-hammer, and it struck the Dwarf on the back of his helm! And Anval staggered! And Gnar's great scimitar flashed up and back down, and clove into the Dwarf, blood flying wide, and Gnar threw back his head in wild laughter as Anval fell dead.

Cotton and Perry both gasped in horror, and their minds fell numb with shock. Then they heard a raging scream above all others, and they saw Bonn rush at Gnar roaring, "For Anval! For Anval! Death! Death!" And he fell to with a rage unmatched by any. The Rucks shielding Gnar were cut down by Borin's bloody axe like wheat before a reaper, and then the Dwarf and Hlok rushed together in savage combat.

Cotton tore his eyes away from Borin and Gnar, and at last he saw Durck. The Dwarf King and Shannon Silverleaf stood back to back, battling Rucks, besieged near one of the entrances into the War Hall. Cotton drew Perry as close to the fracas as he dared, and sat the wounded buccan to the floor, his back to the wall. "Don't move!" Cotton cried, and then he drew his blade of the Lost Land and attacked the Rucks from behind.

Cotton felled three before the enemy realized that another foe had joined the fray. Two more dropped, but then the Warrow's foot skidded in gore, and the buccan fell. A scimitar came slashing down and Cotton started to rot! to one side, but he was not quick enough to avoid the cut. Another blade seemed to flash out of nowhere to clash with the descending curved edge: it was Shannon's long Elf-knife, and it turned the scimitar aside to crash with a sheet of sparks into the stone floor. Then Shannon cut upward, and the Ruck fell dead. Cotton sprang to his feet to see the remaining Rucks flee screaming from this deadly trio.

"King Durek!" cried Cotton, "Mister Perry calls you to him. He is wounded and says you must come. Here, this way." And he led the Dwarf King to Perry's side. Perry had swooned again, but he opened his eyes when Durek knelt at his side and called his name.

As Shannon and Cotton stood guard, Perry spoke: "Narok," whispered Perry, and Durek leaned closer to hear. "Narok!" Perry said more strongly. "The roof is ziggurt. The slide in the mountains-Anval told us about rock slides and how they are started. But Anval is dead." Perry began to weep. "Borin fights on for him. But the sounds… you must make the right sounds."

Durek looked upon the weeping, incoherent Waeran. The Dwarf had no idea what it was that Perry was trying to tell him. With an arrow standing forth from high on his chest, the small warrior sat against the wall: wounded, crying, looking up with pain in his eyes, bloody Bane blazing, held in the hand of his hurt arm. "Friend Cotton," asked Durek, "do you fathom what Friend Perry is trying to tell me?"

Cotton shook his head in anguish. "No, Sir, I don't, but whatever it is, he's got a good reason."

Durek turned back to Perry, but the Warrow was staring through his tears at the mighty battle between Cruel Gnar and raging Borin. "Friend Perry," rumbled Durek, "you are sorely wounded and I grieve for you, but I must return to the fight." And he started to rise to his feet.

But Perry desperately clutched him by the wrist. "No! No! It's time that Dwarves come on horses, King Durek," pled Perry. "You must sound the Horn of Narok. Sound assembly! Now! Before all is lost! It is our only hope!"

The Dwarf looked doubtfully away at Cotton, and then again at Perry, who was struggling to reach the trumpet on Cotton's shoulder. Cotton quickly removed the bright horn and handed it to Perry who, in turn, held it out with trembling hand toward King Durek. "Believe me… oh, please believe me," begged the Warrow.

In an agony of indecision, Durek looked at the fearful token and then away to the savage mSlee in the Hall and back to Perry again. And the Dwarf dreaded touching the glittering silver. "We are at our uttermost extremity. More than half of my warriors have fallen, and it seems certain that the Grg will have the victory. This trump we Chakka have feared all of our days, yet you say it is our only hope-but I do not know why. Yet I deem I must believe you, though I do not understand. You may be right, Friend Perry: perhaps the wind of Narok is our last hope. Perhaps the Chakka must at last ride the horses." The Dwarf King looked away from the dreadful clarion and into Perry's wide, tilted, gemlike eyes. Tears glittered in the sapphire-blue gaze, and desperate urgency welled up from the jewelled depths. "Aye, I believe you. Friend Perry. Quickly now, before I change my mind, before I lose my courage, give me the trumpet; I will sound it ere all is lost."

And Durek, full of apprehension, accepted the brilliant horn from Perry's trembling fingers. And lo! at Durek's touch the metal shimmered with light, and sparkling glints shattered outward; and the Dwarf King set the dazzling horn to his lips and began to blow:

The silver call electrified the air. Its clarion notes rang up to the roof and sprang from the walls and sounded throughout the great War Hall. Everywhere, Dwarves' hearts were lifted; and the Rucks and Hloks quailed back in fear. Again and again the call resounded as Durek blew the signal to assemble; and the sound leapt into the Great Deep, falling to its depths and running out into the vast rift in the walls; and then it seemed to spring back from the nether parts of that great split, magnified by the sheer stone faces of the mighty fissure. Durek blew the shining horn again and again, and the whole of the War Hal! appeared to tremble in response to the silver notes.

Imperceptibly at first, but swiftly growing, the floor began to resonate as a crescendo of sound mounted up from the depths of the r Great Deep and the echoes piled one upon the other; and still the Dwarf King winded the sparkling trumpet. Stronger and stronger came the vibrations, racking through the floor in continuous waves. And then the entire Chamber began to quiver, and rock dust drifted down from the cracks above. And still the echoes and vibrations grew as Durek sounded the bright horn and the stone shook. The Rucks huddled together, screaming in fear in the center of the thrumming floor, the place of strength they had won. All battle and fighting had ceased in the shivering Hall. Nay! Not all! For mighty Bonn yet raged against Cruel Gnar to avenge fallen Anval.

Durek blew, and still the echoes grew. Now all of the War Hall wrenched: the floor rattled, the walls groaned, the pillars lurched, and the roof pitched. And there came from the stone a sound like that of an endless herd of horses wildly thundering by in racing stampede. Cotton became aware that Perry was chanting, and Cotton listened in wonder:

' 'Trump shall blow, Ground will pound As Dwarves on Horses Riding "round."

It was the Staves of Narok! Perry chanted the Staves of Narok as Bonn's axe and Gnar's scimitar clashed together again and again, and sparks flew up from their collisions. The two fought on as the Hall groaned and rumbled and shook, as if an earthquake strove within the mountain.

And Cotton looked at Durek. Now the horn seemed to be blazing, flaming with a bright internal fire; and the figures, riders and horses, were they moving? Galloping through runes 'round horn-bell? Or was it just a judder-caused illusion? Cotton squeezed his eyes tightly shut and rubbed them with his fists and then looked again, but he could not tell, for the quake jolting through the Hall blurred his vision.

Still the Dwarf King blew, and except for Bonn, all the surviving Dwarves, their numbers now less than a thousand, flocked to Durek's signal and arrayed themselves along the southern wall. The Rucks wailed with dread, for they knew not what was coming to pass. And Perry chanted on:

' 'Stone shall rumble. Mountain tremble, In the battle Dwarves assemble.

Answer to

The Silver Call."

And?till Durek continued to sound the flaring trumpet, and the silver notes grew, and the mountain shook. Pebbles fell from the ziggurt ceiling, and rocks, and slabs. And great clots of Rucks and Hloks jerked mis way and that as the stone smashed into their ranks.

Bonn pressed Gnar back to one of the huge shuddering pillars. A great slab of rock crashed down from above to land beside the battling pair, but they gave it no heed. Now they grappled, and Bonn's great shoulders bunched, and he forced the Hlok back against the quaking stone support. Gnar screamed hoarsely in terror, and Bonn's axe flashed as stone fell all around. Up went the double-bitted blade, and then down it fell with a meaty smack, and Gnar's head was shorn from his thrashing body. Bonn laughed wildly as rocks and slabs, summoned by the Silver Call, crashed from the ceiling to the floor and giant pillars toppled with thunderous wrack; and the Dwarf held up the grisly trophy by the hair, shouting, "For Anval!" And he flung it bouncing and skidding across the wide stone floor as the entire roof of ziggurt rock at last ripped completely away from the cavernous vault above, and the great, invincible, rushing mass fell with a Cataclysmic roar to smash across all of the broad center of the vast War Hail.

' 'Death shall deem The vault to fall."

And as the rock thundered down, the surviving remnants of the Dwarf Army reeled back aghast against the southern wall, their eyes locked in awe upon the crashing mass, their hands clapped over their ears. Durek desperately held the Horn of Narok in his white-knuckled grip, and he winded it a few notes more, but its silver echoes were lost in the deafening roar of thundering stone.

Tons upon unnumbered tons shattered down, crashing into the Hall, a great, bellowing, endless, rolling roar. Rock smashed upon rock, hammering, shattering, pulverizing, destroying. It seemed as if the vast collapse would never stop…

But suddenly it was over: the thundering rockfall ended. Slowly the rolling echoes of cracking stone and cleaving rock died away. Billowing stone dust whirled and settled, and the survivors gazed stunned across the wreckage. Volume upon volume of stone had crashed down into the chamber. Only along the walls had the roof been sound, and the Dwarves who had assembled mere had, for the most part, escaped the carnage, although here and there a few huge rocks had bounded and crashed to crush some unfortunate Dwarves. But in the center of the chamber, all living things had perished: All the myriad Rucks and Hloks. And Borin.

Hie battle was finished, the War over. Four fifths of the Dwarves had been slain in battle; ten thousand Spaunen had died, two thirds at the hand of the Host, the rest by falling stone. Perry looked out across the wreckage:

"Many perish, Death the Master, Dwarves shall mourn Forever after.''

Durek had taken the silent bugle from his lips. Stunned, he looked across the shattered sea of stone. He turned to Cotton and gave him the Horn of the Reach, now softly glowing with but the gentle sheen of fine silver and no longer flaring with glitterbright fire. Cotton took it with numb fingers and unconsciously hung it over his shoulder.

At last Cotton had seen the connection between Perry's pain-driven, rambling speech and the crashing down of the ceiling. Cotton, too, now remembered Anval's warning in the Crestan Pass of just how the right sound would cause rock to jink and come roaring in avalanche. And he remembered Anval's exact words: "We Chakka believe that each thing in this world will shake or rattle or fall or even shatter apart if just the right note is sounded on the right instrument,'' And the Horn of the Reach-the Horn of Narok, the Death-War- crafted ages ago by an unknown hand, had been created for just this event: created against the day when Dwarves, driven to their uttermost limits, would have to bring the vast ziggurt roof of the immense War Hall down upon some great horde of enemies. The Staves of Narok were not made to warn Dwarves against riding on horseback. No, for that line in the ode spoke only of the drumming sound the rock would make in the event the hom was winded. And to Cotton it was now plain that the vault referred to in the rede was the wide ceiling of this huge stone chamber; til now, Cotton had suspected that the vault of the poem was the sky above and that somehow the Staves were related to the Dwarves' belief that falling stars foretold of Death's coming. But Mister Perry had figured it all out, and just barely in time, too.

Cotton was wrenched from his stunned thoughts and back to the here and now by an anguished cry from Perry, who was staring toward the center of the chamber. "Oh, Borin, Anval, we loved you and now you are gone." And the wounded buccan began weeping as, slowly, the healers started moving among the Host, tending the injured. And Shannon came to Perry and examined the arrow standing forth from the juncture between the Waerling's chest and shoulder.

As the Elf prepared to extract the barb, with Cotton hovering nearby, ready to aid, King Durek began to make his way along the wall, at the edge of the wrack, seeing but too benumbed to fathom the total destruction wrought in the War of Kraggen-cor: The great War Hall was destroyed. Tons unnumbered of fallen ziggurt ramped upward toward the center of the chamber; like a vast cairn, it covered the crushed bodies of all the Okhs and Hroks, all the Chakka slain in battle, the Troll felled by Rand and Kian, and Gnar's slayer, Borin Ironfist. Here and there a broken Dragon Pillar jutted upward through the great heap, a jagged reminder of the ancient rows of columns, now collapsed and part of the rubble. Durek also made his way past many of the eight hundred or so surviving Chakka quietly and methodically binding up each other's wounds. All were stunned by the cataclysmic ruin, and had not yet realized the staggering cost of their victory.

King Durek saw the devastation, but he, too, did not comprehend, until at last he came upon Lord Kian. Nearby lay the axe Kian had carried back into battle: one bit broken, the other blade chipped and jagged, the helve cracked, the iron and oak now awash with black Grg-blood; Lord Kian had wielded it beyond its endurance, for his vengeance had been mighty. Kian also was drenched, some of it Squam gore, some of it his own blood, for he, too, was wounded-by spear thrust and scimitar cut-although not mortally; but Prince Rand was dead, slain by Troll War-bar. And Lord Kian huddled on the stone floor, hugging his brother's lifeless body to his breast, and he wept and rocked in distress.

Durek gazed on in sorrow, and Lord Kian looked up through his tears at the Dwarf. "When we were but lads," wept Kian, "we were in the market, and Rand took up a turtle-shell comb in his hand. And he laughed happily over the raft we had made and ridden to Rhondor and sold for two silver pennies. And Rand bought that comb for Mother, and we went home and gave it to her, and Rand glowed in the pleasure of her delight. We began planning a new raft: two children rejoicing in the flush of youth, as close in life as two brothers who loved one another could ever be. But now he is dead and nevermore will we laugh together, for the lad who plied rafts with me to Rhondor has now sailed without me on his final journey." And Lord Kian rocked and keened in his grief.

It was in this poignant moment of kin-death lamentation that at last the cost of the victory came clear to Durek. And the overwhelming despair of the War-loss uncontrollably welled up in the Dwarf King; and he quickly pulled his hood over his head, and his face fell into shadow, for no one should see the heartgrief of Dwarves-for to look upon Dwarf bale is to gaze upon sorrow beyond measure. And the Dwarf King sank to his knees and choked upon his own woe. His glistening tears fell to splash upon the stone, and great sobs racked his frame as he and Lord Kian and uncounted others grieved in deep despair along the wall behind the jumble and scree of fallen ziggurt. But the slain of the Death-War heeded them not.