Into the Forge

Chapter 37

"An army?" growled Kelk, cocking an eye at Tipperton.

"Well, it's not exactly my army," said Tipperton, "though they did appoint me as their representative, did the Elves, the Baeron, and the men of Dael."

A mutter of approval rumbled among the Dwarves, and Kelk grunted, "Good. At last we will drive the Grg from our doorstone."

As Bekki caught up a brass and glass lantern, Tipperton glanced behind where stood the secret entry, yet he could see nought but a blank stone wall with no evidence whatsoever of a doorway in the rock. Tip's gaze swept on about the chamber. Through an archway immediately to the right stood a carved room, and among the shadows therein Tip caught a glimpse of cots and chests and a table and chairs.

The guards' quarters, I would say.

Straight ahead and beyond another archway a dark corridor clove into the stone of the mountain.

"Come," said Bekki, raising the hood on the lantern, and though no flame was kindled, a phosphorescent glow streamed forth. "We have a ways to go."

Kelk held up a staying hand and said, "Lord Bekki, tell your sire we would join in the fight."

His statement brought a chorus of Ayes from the others.

"I will," replied Bekki.

Kelk smiled and slapped the blade of his axe and then stepped aside, as did those arrayed behind, opening the way into the dark passage and the mountain beyond.

Through the archway strode Bekki, Tipperton on his heels, and from behind, the buccan could hear the voices of the warders speaking to one another in Chakur as they moved back into their quarters. What they said he knew not, though he supposed they talked of the coming battle.

Down a gentle slope Bekki and Tipperton went, fissures and splits branching left and right as well as an occasional corridor. Down carved stone steps, and 'round sharp turns they tramped, and in one place they followed alongside a dark chasm, a cold drift of air upwelling and smelling of dampness and stone. Through carved chambers they trod, and archways stood darkly here and there, passages bored away to unknown destinations deep within the mountain stone. They strode down a long tunnel, and somewhere water fell adrip, its tinking echoes sounding within the shadowed hall. And Tip knew if something happened to Bekki, he would be hopelessly lost, and his chances of ever finding his way out would be completely in the hands of Dame Fortune and not within his own.

"Lor', Bekki, my head is spinning with all these twists and turns and I can hardly tell up from down. Do you truly know where we're going, or are you lost arid confused as well?"

Bekki laughed and stepped onto a low bridge made of square-cut blocks of stone, and Tip could see they were fitted together with no mortar between. Below raced a wide stream of water.

"We Chakka cannot lose our steps, Waeran," said Bekki.

"Cannot lose your- What do you mean by that?"

"It is a gift from Elwydd. When She made the first Chak, She-"

"Elwydd made the Chakka? The Dwarves?"

Bekki paused at the cap of the bridge, his face eerie in the blue-green light of the lantern. Water tumbled beneath.

"Aye, we do believe it so."

"Oh. Hmm. You know, Bekki, as to who made the War-rows, I haven't the faintest idea. Perhaps Elwydd… or Adon… or someone short."

Bekki laughed, and they took up the trek again.

"You were saying, Bekki, about not losing your feet…"

"It is a gift all Chakka have: wherever we travel on or within the land, be it on foot or by pony or even in a drawn cart or wagon, we can ever after retrace that path exactly."

"Exactly?"

"Aye, exactly. Be it in driving rain or blinding snow or even total darkness, whether or not we can see, still we can step out the path again, without error. Elwydd wove this gift into the very fabric of Chakkacyth, for She knew without it, we could not dwell within the living stone."

Tipperton looked at the crevices and corridors splitting away from the path they followed and driving into blackness. "Well I for one am certainly glad of it, as twisted about as I am."

They trudged up a short flight of steps and through a long delved corridor, then down a stony slope through a natural cavern.

"It does not work on water," said Bekki, "nor when Chakka are fevered."

"The gift, you mean?"

"Aye. In boats, on barges, on rafts, or racked with ague, we are just as bewildered as other kind." Bekki snorted. "I deem we also would be confused were we somehow conveyed through the air."

Now they came to a high ledge along a wall of a huge cavern, and the light of the lantern faded away in the distance ere reaching any other walls or a floor unseen far below. To the left along the ledge Tip saw a long flight of stairs set in a carved hollow cut into the stone of the wall at hand, the narrow steps plunging into darkness and down.

There was no rail.

"This way," grunted Bekki, and he crossed the ledge and started down, his footsteps echoing back from the distant dark.

Tip followed, his heart racing. And he clung closely to the carved wall hollow on the left, away from the precipitous black fall to the right, a bare three or four feet away.

And his breath came in short, sharp puffs.

Count the steps, bucco, it'll take your mind off it.

His count had passed two hundred when he thought he could hear a far-off singing drifting along unseen faces of stone.

His count had not quite reached three hundred when he became certain of the singing: a soaring voice in solo.

Finally they reached a level floor below.

"Three hundred ninety-seven," said Tip, his voice a bit quavery.

Bekki looked at him in the blue-green light. Tip gestured at the steps and repeated, "Three hundred ninety-seven."

Bekki shook his head. "Four hundred twelve."

Tip shrugged. "I was a bit of the way down before I began counting."

They started across the floor, and still the singing echoed.

"I say, Bekki, who is that singing?"

Bekki tramped onward and did not answer.

Striding along at Bekki's side, Tip frowned up at the Dwarf but did not repeat the question.

Now several voices joined that of the singer, a chorus, and there was not a deep voice among them. Somewhat like Elven Darai they sounded, or perhaps as would War-row dammen.

Are these the voices of female Dwarves? What did Phais and Loric call them? Chakia? Yes, Chdkian.

They came to an archway where stood a pair of guards, with others asleep in a nearby chamber, and after but a brief exchange and a salute, Bekki and Tipperton went onward, the warders' surprised gazes following the Waeran. What Bekki had said to the guards and they to him, Tip did not know, for unlike the exchange at the secret door, this time the Dwarves spoke entirely in Chakur.

"Why do you have guards here deep in the holt?" asked Tip.

"We are coming to the core, Waeran, and the holt is on war footing."

Tip cocked an eye at the answer, yet asked no more.

Down long hallways they strode, turning left and right, Bekki not hesitating in choosing their path.

Now they passed by arched openings into corridors where portcullises barred passage, the black-iron rods socketed deeply into holes.

The way blocked? Is this just because of war?

At one of these barricaded archways, Tip saw the glimmer of phosphorescence gleaming 'round a distant turn, and it was from this corridor the singing came. Twenty or more voices he gauged, Chakia voices, Chakia singing together.

As he crossed the opening, Bekki's footsteps lagged, yet he did move onward. Tip, too, trailed, listening to the song, yet he could not tell if it was a choral of joy or sadness, though a thing of splendor it was.

Now Bekki's steps hastened, and Tip trotted to catch up.

They passed among Dwarves moving through the hallways on errands of their own, warriors in black-iron chain mail, axes and hammers at hand. And most, if not all, saluted Bekki, and curious gazes followed the pair.

Finally, through open iron doors and into a large chamber Bekki went, where he stopped at the edge of a polished granite floor. At the far end Tip saw a dais, three steps up to a black granite throne, ebon stone padded in red velvet. And on the throne sat a Dwarven warrior, dark beard, dark armor, dark helm. An axe leaned against the arm of the stone chair.

This was the DelfLord, no doubt, yet it was not he who captured Tip's eye. 'Twas instead a willowy figure sitting on the steps below, a figure all swathed in veils, a figure in deep converse with the DelfLord.

"I bring an emissary," called Bekki, and at these words the DelfLord looked up, and the figure on the steps turned toward them and then stood in a gossamer swirl of feathery lace and silk. She was no more than four feet tall.

Is this a Chdkia? But she is so slender, and Dwarves so very broad.

As Bekki and Tipperton waited, the figure moved down and away, across the polished floor and toward a recessed alcove, and Tipperton thought he saw delicate bare feet under floating layers of diaphanous concealment.

As soon as the figure had vanished, the DelfLord stood and motioned for Bekki and Tipperton to approach, and he moved down the steps toward them.

"Det ta kala da ta ein, Bekki, ea chek," said the DelfLord as he quickly closed the distance and embraced Bekki fiercely.

"And I am glad to be back, Father," replied Bekki in the Common tongue.

Tipperton's jewellike eyes widened. Bekki is the Delf-Lord's son!

Stepping back, the dark-eyed DelfLord glanced down at Tipperton, and then looked to Bekki and in Common said, "We thought you trapped in Dael."

"Nay, Father," growled Bekki. "The Horde passed it by, marching directly here. I remained behind to muster the men of Dael, yet King Enrik sent only a token force."

Again the DelfLord looked down at Tipperton. "This is the force? One Waeran?"

Bekki exploded in laughter, joined by the DelfLord, and Tipperton's own giggles were lost under their roars.

Finally Bekki managed to master himself and, smiling, said, "DelfLord Borl, may I present Sir Tipperton Thistledown of the Wilderland, emissary of Coron Ruar of the Dylvana, Chieftain Gara of the Baeron, and Prince Loden of the Daelsmen. Sir Tipperton brings to our aid an army of two thousand two hundred."

"And five," added Tipperton. "Two thousand two hundred and five."

Borl looked to Bekki, and then back to Tipperton, the DelfLord's puzzlement clear. "Five? And five?"

"Yes, sire," replied Tip. "If you let me count Bekki, that is."

Again Bekki broke into laughter, and at his father's wildered look, he said, "Two Lian, two Waerans, and me."

Shaking his head, DelfLord Borl threw an arm about Bekki's shoulders and said, "Come, you must tell me of these five as well as the two thousand two hundred. Are they here to aid us, and do they propose a way to rid us of the Grg?"

As Borl led his son and Tipperton to a side table and called for bread and tea, Bekki said, "Aye, Father, on both counts. If you will permit, we will summon the captains to the war room, where Sir Tipperton will lay out his plan."

Perhaps it was yet night or dawn or even day when the discussions with DelfLord Borl and his captains ended; here in the undermountain realm Tip could not tell. Yet whatever the case, day or night, he was bone weary when at last he was shown to his bed.

As he slept he dreamt he awakened for but a moment to see a slender figure in swirling veils standing at the foot of his cot and looking down upon him, yet he dreamt he immediately fell back asleep… or at least he thought he was dreaming, though as weary as he was, who could say?

He had no memory of the dream when Bekki came and awakened him.

"Time to break fast, Tipperton," said Bekki, using the Warrow's given name in the familiar for the first time. "Hotcakes and maple syrup and rashers. Then we will take a long soak in a hot tub."

Tip bolted up and began scrambling into breeks and jerkin. "Oh, my, I don't know which sounds better: a hot meal or a hot bath."

After break of fast and the tub, a messenger came to Bekki and Tipperton and informed them DelfLord Borl had called another meeting of his captains. Tipperton and Bekki hastened to the war chamber, to find the others assembled 'round a large stone table on which was spread a large map showing the wide dale before the gates of the Dwarvenholt. Figures and tokens were spread over the map, each to represent an element of the Horde or others. Borl looked up from the map when the two came in, and as they took their places, he said, "Last night I called upon all to consider the plan and auger out any weaknesses, and to devise tactics to overcome them. What say ye?"

Across the table a yellow-bearded Dwarf, Captain Dalk, cleared his throat. At Borl's gesture, Dalk reached for one of the figures representing a Dwarven company and began: "DelfLord, there is this…"

Thoughout the remainder of the day they moved figures over the face of the map, trying to account for every contingency. Yet when the meeting came to an end at last, the DelfLord's gaze swept across each and every one assembled and he said, "We have tried to foreglimpse every turn of events, yet there is only one adage in combat and war: the moment the battle begins is the moment all goes wrong."

Tipperton left this meeting much less certain of the merit of his plan.

With his lute of light and dark wood and of silver strings and frets, Tip looked for an empty chamber in which to practice. And given his unfamiliarity with the caverns, and given he did not wish to become hopelessly lost, he finally wandered into the throne room, to find it empty.

Sitting on the steps of the dais, Tip began chording the Elven instrument, and after a while, fingering individual strings, he attempted to duplicate the melody he had heard last night when he and Bekki had trudged through the confusing ways of the mineholt, a song he thought of as "Chakia Singing."

He did not know how it began, yet he did know a deal of the middle, and hesitantly at first, but with growing confidence, silver notes cascaded through the air, yet he came to the place where once again he no longer knew the melody. Faltering, he tried to find a way to finish the song and he tried to find a way to begin it, yet all he essayed sounded wrong to his ear, and, sighing, he stopped.

Yet as he did so, from somewhere within there came a sweet voice in song.

Startled, Tip looked about, seeing no one. And so he listened, enchanted.

The singing stopped.

Tip waited.

The singing began again, repeating the aria, yet this time it slid into the song he had been playing… but stopped again.

Now Tip took up his lute, and he played the aria as best he could, then paused.

The voice sang a passage and paused; Tip repeated it.

The voice sang again, another passage.

Tip again repeated; it was the song's beginning.

Now singer and player alternated, Tip following the voice through the aria and chorus, and all the while he looked for a place the singer might be, yet he could not discover where.

At last Tip realized that he had come to the end, and then he began at the beginning and played the song all the way through, the sweet secret voice singing in harmony to his silver-stringed tune. And when all was done and the echoes had died, he was met by absolute silence.

Tip stood and walked on polished granite all about the great throne room, looking behind every pillar and within each alcove to see where the Chakia had been, yet he found nought but mute stone.

Finally he called out, "Thank you for the gift."

There was no answer.

Sighing, Tipperton took up his lute and trudged through the doorway and into the passage beyond, leaving an empty chamber behind.

That night he slept without waking, and if someone in veils of gossamer stood at the foot of his bed, it was a thing he did not know.

All the next day the Dwarvenholt was alive with preparation, and Tipperton made ready as well, for he was determined to join the Dwarves in this plan of his.

Sometime in the day Bekki and Borl came to fetch Tip, saying, "The Grg signal has sounded." And they led Tipperton up a long stair that twisted and turned within the mountain. Finally they came to a chamber furnished with a table and four chairs, and on the table was pen and ink and sheets of vellum. Bekki turned to Tipperton and said, "Take care and let no gleam escape."

Both Bekki and Borl divested themselves of their helms, and they laid aside their chain-link armor, though it was made of black-iron and not likely to glimmer. Tipperton, though, had no armor, no helm, and so he simply stood and watched, wondering what was afoot. Bekki and Borl inspected one another for aught that would glitter and inspected Tipperton as well, and then they turned to a blank wall and Bekki clamped down the hood of the lantern, shutting its light away. In the darkness Borl slowly and quietly slid inward and aside small stone panels.

Daylight streamed inward and Borl beckoned Tipperton to look.

But the Warrow was too short, and so Bekki fetched one of the chairs and Tipperton stood thereon…

… and looked out over the vale before the mineholt door…

… where stood the Horde…

… Rucks and Hloks and Ghuls on Helsteeds.,.

… and monstrous great Ogrus mid all.

"Oh, my," said Tipperton, his voice hushed as his gaze swept over the vast array, "but they look so much more formidable standing this close than when viewed from the heights above. -There are so very many of them."

Borl grunted. "It will not be easy, Sir Tipperton."

"Tip," said Tip.

Borl turned. "Eh?"

"Just plain Tip will do, DelfLord, that or Tipperton."

Borl grunted and turned back to the viewing port.

"Here they come," he muttered.

Tip looked out.

Over the crest of the near-distant hill came riding the Daelsmen, their numbers paltry when compared to those of the Horde.

At first the Horde drew into a defensive position, but when it became clear that there were but seven hundred of the Daelsmen, hoots'and jeers drifted up from the Foul Folk, and Rucks japed about.

The Daelsmen arrayed themselves, and segments of the Horde made ready to do battle, yet Ghuls rode among them, the corpse-foe hissing orders and the segments stood fast.

Time passed and time more, and Bekki and Borl sketched out the dispositions of both men and Spawn.

Now Tip heard the blare of a Ruptish horn, blatting much like the one Vail had sounded above Braeton at the Rimmen Gape.

And at last over the hill rode a thousand Dylvana. Down they came and down, down to stand alongside the men of Dael. And among them Tip saw a wee figure astride a pony.

"Oh, Beau," he breathed. "What have I done to you?"

Once again the Horde shifted about, and the japing and jeering diminished, yet when there seemed to be but a thousand of the Elves, the taunting began again.

The day waned as four more candlemarks passed, and once again the Ruptish horn blatted, and finally over the hill came riding big men on big horses as five hundred Baeron came, and with them rolled thirty great wagons.

These huge warriors came down the hill on their huge horses and arrayed themselves alongside the Elves and men.

The jeering stopped and again the Horde shifted about, and this time the Ghuls rode together in the center. And from a tent they drew out a shambling man, his head angled askew, and he stumbled along as if witless and would have fallen but for the strong support of the Ghul at his side.

Borl sucked in breath between his teeth.

"What is it?" hissed Tip. "Who is this man?"

"Modru's eyes," gritted Bekki.

"Modru's voice," growled Borl.

Frowning, Tip looked once again at the man, just as one of the corpse-foe stepped forward, and the buccan could see the Ghul's lips move. What he might have said Tipper-ton could not tell, for not only were they entirely too far away to hear, they probably spoke in a Foul Folk tongue, none of which would Tip know.

The man straightened, his head snapping up, and Ghuls shifted back as if afraid, while the man with his fists on his hips arrogantly turned about. Now the man looked at the force standing on the hillside before the Horde. And then he turned to the Ghflls gathered about and seemed to speak, and they listened attentively. And of a sudden the man sagged and would have collapsed but for the Ghul at hand catching him under the arms. And shambling, his head askew, the man was led back into the tent.

"Was that, is that Modru?" asked Tip.

"Nay, Tipperton," replied Bekki. "It was his surrogate."

"Surrogate?"

"Aye," replied Borl. "A witless man that somehow Modru possesses even though Modru himself sits like a spider in his iron tower in Gron, or so we believe."

Tipperton shuddered.

Bugles sounded below, and Tip looked out to see the Horde redeploying, Rucks, Hloks, and Ghflls on Helsteeds moving about to face the foe.

Quickly Borl sketched this new array, and then turned to the others.

"The plan seems to be working," he grunted.

"For now perhaps," said Tip, "but not for long."

Borl frowned at the buccan.

"You said it yourself, Lord Borl: the moment the battle begins is the moment all goes wrong."

Grudgingly Borl nodded, then turned again to the portals as twilight drew over the vale. On the hillside the Daelsmen and Dylvana and Baeron broke ranks along with two Lian and a Warrow, and soon campfires were burning in the moonless dark of night.

And in the high mountain chamber, Bekki and Borl slid the stone panels back into place, and when they were firmly set, Bekki raised the hood of a fireless lantern. In the phosphorescent glow the Dwarves donned their mail and helmets, and with Tipperton down the steps they went.

Time eked by, Tipperton waiting, along with nine hundred Dwarves. And sometime after mid of night, he along with the others took up their weapons and roped clay pots and stone-grey blankets and stood before the side postern, and throughout the entire Dwarvenholt all lights were extinguished.

Tip's heart hammered within his chest and his knuckles were white on his bow. And through his thoughts ran a single thread:

Come the dawn, bucco, your reckless plan will fail. Come the dawn. The dawn.