No sooner had they arrived but the page who had been sent to fetch Lord Voren stepped to the door and breathlessly announced the steward's impending arrival. Moments later an elderly man came in-stooped in shoulder, but bright of eye-his head bald but for stray wisps of white hair all 'round.
"Come and sit about the table. No need to stand, eh?
And do my old eyes deceive me? Or is it a Waerling in your midst?"
The old man smiled at Rynna, and he beckoned her to a chair at his side. "Come, come, wee one, I would have you at hand."
"But my lord, I am just a Warrow amid corons and chieftains and a DelfLord and a warleader, and I-"
"Nonsense," snapped the man. "I see Elves and Dwarves and even huge Baeron nearly every day-well, perhaps not every day, but certainly several times a year-but Waer-lings, now, that's a different matter altogether. Besides, the page said you were a commander, and that's certainly good enough for me."
Silverleaf broke out in laughter. "Ah, little Ryn, resist not Lord Voren, for he has the right of it."
"Have you had aught to eat? No?" Voren turned to the page. "Boy, have food sent… and tea. On your way now, hop to."
As the page fled down the hallway, Voren turned to the others and said, "Now, about this army you bring…"
"How did the foe evade getting slaughtered as they came to the Argon?" asked Volki, the Dwarf stroking his black beard shot through with silver.
Voren pointed at the map at the point of the Argon Ferry. "Some were slain fighting a rearguard action, but most escaped. It seems they had floats waiting for them."
"Floats waiting?"
Lord Voren turned up a hand. "Perhaps they made them in anticipation of invading Pellar."
"They had not already done so? -Invaded Pellar, I mean?" asked Rynna.
Voren shook his head. "Oh, they sent token forces, but nothing of real threat." Voren gestured about. "It seems instead of capturing his city, they were more intent on capturing the King himself."
Rynna frowned. "Capturing?"
Voren nodded. "If the High King fell into the hands of Modru, 'twould be a terrible blow. But he outwitted them all and sent the foe fleeing across the Argon."
A scowl on his face, Volki nodded. "And how did the King cross in the teeth of their opposition?"
"They did not oppose him-"
"They made no opposition at the Argon?" interjected Rynna.
"-but fled instead," continued Lord Voren, "abandoning their floats and craft."
"Abandoning? They did not burn them?" Coron Eiron looked 'round at the others, all just as puzzled as he.
"Nay, they did not. King Blaine sent a company of Fjordlanders over and they fetched the floats and used them to ferry the host across. Even so, it took several days to get all to this side, to get all to the Pellarion shore. By then the foe had a good lead, and they fled across the land and over the Ironwater to Garia beyond."
"The King did not trap them against the near shore of that river either?" asked Durul.
Voren shook his head. "Nay. They were across when he arrived… and were arrayed to do battle on the opposite shore."
"Hmm," mused Ruar. "They did not oppose him at the Argon, a wider river to cross, yet they now do so at the Ironwater. This is a puzzle indeed."
"Aye," growled Volki. "The Ironwater is no Argon: a thousand feet across at most is the Ironwater, while the Argon alongside Pellar measures a mile or more."
"Forget not, Lord Ruar, DelfLord Volki, H?l's Crucible is at their backs. King Blaine believes they are afraid to cross that wasteland. He holds them at siege."
"This H?l's Crucible," said Rynna, "if they are afraid to cross it, just what is it like?"
"Oh, a terrible place, wee one," said Voren. "Look at the map, but heed me, for this is what it does and does not telclass="underline" surrounded by hills and separated from the Avagon Sea by a high shield wall, H?l's Crucible is a hideous rift in the earth, ten leagues wide and forty long and some thousand feet deep here at the narrow seaward end but plunging down a mile or more here where it flares out wide, a vast chasm running all the way to the northwesterly end. In most places the sides are sheer or bear steeply down; in a few places, however, slopes lead down and in. Nothing grows in the depths therein, for the land is hot, baked, cracked as if raging fire burns 'neath. And down across that broad, yawning stretch of arid wasteland, there are leagues upon leagues of jagged black stone, broken, shattered, deep chasms and great heaps and long, jumbled runs, gaping crevices and holes disappearing into darkness within the mesh of stone. Were any to try to cross these parts of the shattered waste it would take them weeks to go but a few leagues, and even could they reach the opposite side, their clothing, their boots, their very skin would be in tatters. Beyond the black stone, there are places here and there where scalding water now and then snoots into the sky, and elsewhere are holes which vomit yellow melt onto wide flats of soft tawny stone. There are long, glittering ridges of clusters of crystal sharp as the sharpest of blades, as well as jagged fissures exhaling foul fumes and glowing with fire deep in their unplumbed abyssal depths. Across the 'scape, bubbling pools of boiling mud or thick, seeping black tar seek to trap the unwary, while smoldering crevices cleft in the barren earth spew out billowing smoke, black or yellow or grey. A hideous stench wafts over all. And some days the air is deadly down in the great rift, for the belch of foul smoke and tainted vapors fill low pockets within the basin-at times H?l's Crucible entire-to thicken the air and kill all creatures therein, men included. For all these reasons and more, this is why Modru's armies fear to cross that land."
Volki cleared his throat and pointed to the place on the map where lay the city of Rhondor at the northwestern end of the rift. "Nevertheless, there are days when the wind blows the great cleft and its pockets sufficiently clear for the miners of Rhondor to quarry the worthy minerals within: white foran, yellow siarka, many-colored solas-"
"They are not afraid of the deadly air?" asked Rynna.
Volki shook his head. "Just as we Chakka do in some of our mines, they too bear yellow-wings in cages to warn them of such. And the ores and rocks and crystals of Rhondor are of value dear."
Rynna looked across at the Dwarf. "Regardless as to the worth of what is mined therein, it sounds as if it is a hideous place to be, yellow-wings or no."
"Aye, little one, you have the right of it," said Voren, "and that's why the foe stands at siege."
"I take it the King has no floats at hand," said Urel.
"A few, chieftain, yet Blaine will not use them in that small number, for to throw his host a handful at a time against a waiting foe guarantees nought but defeat, and he will not do so. Hence, for the moment, he holds siege on this side, for there is no food where the enemy awaits, and their supplies are running low."
Silverleaf, who had been standing at the high window and looking down into the harbor below, turned about and said, "If he could win across with few losses, would King Blaine engage the foe?"
"Indeed, Lord Vanidar, he would."
Silverleaf smiled and said, "Well then, if thou wilt but lend me all thy shipwrights and all thy lumber and a few warriors from the host at camp before thy door, I have a plan."
"… And so, that's how it came about," concluded Rynna. "Silverleaf explained his plan, and all the others embellished on it, and then I came and told you."
She looked about at the others and took a sip of tea.
"And a good plan it is," said Alver. "Right, Dinly?"