Fleshharrower's army marched out of the northeast until the dark line of it filled the horizon, and the tramping of its myriad feet shook the ground. The Despiser's hordes seemed to cover the whole Plains, and their tremendous numbers dwarfed Lord Verement like an ocean. When the Giant came forward, kicked his way through the wolves to confront the Lord and the Bloodguard, his size alone made the two men appear puny and insignificant.
But when the Giant was within ten yards of him, Verement made a forbidding gesture. “Come no closer, moksha Raver!” he shouted hoarsely. “I know you, Jehannum Fleshharrower! Go back! Back to the evil which made you. I deny you passage-I, Verement Shetra-mate, Lord of the Council of Revelstone! You may not pass here!”
Fleshharrower stopped. “Ah, a Lord,” he said, peering down at Verement as if the Lord were too tiny to be seen easily. “I am amazed.” His face was twisted, and his leer gave him an expression of acute pain, as if his flesh could not disguise the hurt of the rabid presence within it. But his voice seemed to suck and cling in the air like quicksand. It held only derision and lust as he continued, “Have you come to welcome me to the slaughter of your army? But of course you know it is too small to be called an army. I have fought and followed you from Andelain, but do not think that you have outwitted me. I know you seek to meet me in Doom's Retreat because your army is too weak to fight elsewhere. Perhaps you have come to surrender-to join me.”
“You speak like a fool,” Verement barked. “No friend of the Land will ever surrender to you, or join you. Admit the truth, and go. Go, I say! Melenkurion abatha!” Abruptly, he caught his staff in both hands and raised it over his head. "Duroc minas mill khabaal! With all the names of the Earthpower, I command you! There is no victory for the Despiser here!"
As Verement shouted his Words, the Raver flinched. To defend himself, he thrust his hand into his leather jerkin, snatched out a smooth green stone that filled his fist. A lambent emerald flame played in its depths, and it steamed like boiling ice. He clenched it, made it steam more viciously, and exclaimed, “Verement Shetra-mate, for a hundred leagues I have driven two Lords before me like ants! Why do you believe that you can resist me now?”
“Because you have killed Shetra my wife!” the Lord cried in rage. -“Because I have been unworthy of her all my life! Because I do not fear you, Raver! I am free of all restraint! No fear or love limits my strength! I match you hate for hate, moksha Raver! Melenkurion abatha!”
His staff whirled about his head, and a livid blue bolt of power sprang from the wood at Fleshharrower. Simultaneously, Thomin rushed forward with his fingers crooked like claws, threw himself at the Giant's throat.
Fleshharrower met the attack easily, disdainfully. He caught Verement's bolt on his Stone and held it burning there like a censer. Almost at once, the blue flame turned deep dazzling green, blazed up higher. And with his other hand the Giant dealt Thomin a blow which sent him sprawling behind Verement.
Then Fleshharrower flung the fire back.
The Lord's fury never winced. Swinging his staff, he jabbed its metal end like a lance into the gout of power. Savage cracking noises came from the wood as it bucked and bent-but the staff held. Verement shouted mighty words over the flame, compelled it to his will again. Slowly the green burned blue on his staff. When he had mastered it, he hurled it again at the Raver.
Fleshharrower began to laugh. Verement's attack, multiplied by some of the Giant's own power, caught on the Stone as if the green rock were its wick. There it grew hungrily until the column of emerald fire reached high into the air.
Laughing, the Raver shot this fire toward Verement. It splintered his staff, flash-burned the pieces to cinders, deluged him. But then the flame bent itself to his form, gripped him, clung and crawled all over him like a corona. His arms dropped, his head fell forward until his chin touched his chest, his eyes closed; he hung in the fire as if he had been nailed there.
Triumphantly, Fleshharrower cried, “Now, Verement Shetra-mate! Where is your defiance now?” For a moment, his derision scaled upward, echoed off the cliffs. Then he went on: “Defeated, I see. But harken to me, puppet. It may be that I will let you live. Of course, to gain life you must change your allegiance. Repeat these words- `I worship Lord Foul the Despiser. He is the one word of truth.' ”
Lord Verement's lips remained clamped shut. Within the paralyzing fire, his cheek muscles bulged as he set his jaws.
“Speak it!” Fleshharrower roared. With a jerk of the Stone, he tightened the corona around Verement. A gasp of agony tore the Lord's lips apart. He began to speak.
“I-worship-”
He went no further. Behind him, Thomin jumped up to carry out his last duty. With one kick, the Bloodguard broke Lord Verement's back. Instantly, the Lord fell dead.
Thomin's face was taut with murder as he sprang again at Fleshharrower's throat.
This time, the Bloodguard's attack was so swift and ruthless that it broke past the Raver's defences. He caught Fleshharrower, dug his fingers into the Giant's neck. For a moment, the Giant could not tear him away. He ground his fingers into that thick throat with such passion that Fleshharrower could not break his hold.
But then the Raver brought the Stone to his aid. With one blast, he burned Thomin's bones to ash within him. The Bloodguard collapsed in a heap of structureless flesh.
Then for a time Fleshharrower seemed to go mad. Roaring like a cataclysm, he jumped and stamped on Thomin's form until the Bloodguard's bloody remains were crushed into the grass. And after that, he sent the vast hordes of his wolves howling into the gullet of Doom's Retreat. Driven by his fury, they ran blindly down the canyon, and hurtled into the Word of Warning.
The first wolf to touch the Word triggered it. In that instant, the piled rock within the walls seemed to blow apart. The power which Verement had placed there threw down the sloped sides of the defile. A deadly rain of boulders and shale fell into the canyon, crushing thousands of wolves so swiftly that the pack had time for only one yowl of terror.
When the dust blew clear, Fleshharrower could see that the Retreat was now blocked, crowded with crumbled rock and scree. An army might spend days struggling through the rubble.
The setback appeared to calm him. The hunger for vengeance did not leave his eyes, but his voice was steady as he shouted his commands. He called forward the griffins. Flying heavily with ur-viles on their backs, they went into the Retreat to fight Verement's Word. And behind them Fleshharrower sent his rock-wise Cavewights to clear the way for the rest of the army.
Compelled by his power, the creatures worked with headlong desperation. Many of the griffins were destroyed because they flew mindlessly against the Word. Scores of Cavewights killed each other in their frenzy to clear the debris from the canyon floor. But lore-wise ur-viles finally tore down the Word of Warning. And the Cavewights accomplished prodigious feats. Given sufficient time and numbers, they had the strength and skill to move mountains. Now they heaved and tore at the rubble. They worked through the night, and by dawn they had cleared a path ten yards wide down the centre of the Retreat.
Holding the Stone high, Fleshharrower led his army through the canyon. At the south end of the Retreat, he found the Warward gone. The last of his enemies-a small band of riders including two Lords-were galloping away out of reach. He howled imprecations after them, vowing that he would pursue them to the death.
But then his farseeing Giantish eyes made out the Warward, seven or eight leagues beyond the riders. He marked the direction of their march-saw where they were headed. And he began to laugh again. Peals of sarcasm and triumph echoed off the blank cliffs of Doom's Retreat.