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.