"What's not right?" asked Tip, peering up at Bekki's red face, Tip wondering if the Dwarf were angry or if it was simply the flush from his burns. He had been treated with aloe to hasten healing, yet his face and hands were still ruddy.

"Clean stone or purifying fire is the only true way to honor the dead. Else it will be overlong ere the soul gains freedom to be reborn. This interment in earth, why, roots will catch the soul. No wonder Chakka and Daelsmen are at odds."

Tipperton shook his head but remained silent, even as he noticed that the Daelsmen looked with disfavor upon the building of the great funeral pyre of the Dwarves, and the making of the pyre of the Elves, as well as the Baeron lading wains with their dead to take them into a forest, and muttered of the error of their ways.

So, too, did the Baeron look upon the others and shake their heads as well.

Only the Dylvana seemed to ignore the varying customs in their preparations to sing all souls to the sky.

As to the dead Foul Folk-all three thousand one hundred twenty-though the Dwarves objected, Ruar insisted they should be burned as well. At last Borl assented, for though he believed fire would honor the Grg, still he could not see any other swift way to rid his dale of these dead… and he did not want to leave them to rot upon his very door.

Tip looked over the field of slaughter and sighed. "So many killed, Bekki. So many killed. It seems somehow unfair."

Bekki grunted. "War is not a pleasant game, Tipperton, not a diversion of sport. Fairness has nothing to do with it. There is only the 'rule,' if rule it is, and that is to slay as many of the foe as you can."

"I thought the only rule was to win."

Bekki nodded. "That, too."

"And if you can win without slaughter…?"

Bekki looked down at the buccan. "Not easily done in war."

Tip sighed. "I think that to win a war without slaughter, the victory must come before any battle is fought."

They watched long moments more. Finally Tip said, "Of all who fell, only a few were those I knew."

Bekki's eyes turned grim as flint. "All Chakka who fell were my brothers."

On this second day as well, Beau visited many of the wounded, including Phais in the Chakia healing chambers. When Beau, escorted by a Chakian, came into the infirmary, the Dara was fevered and thrashing about as poison coursed through her veins. Chakia attended her, some bathing her brow with cold spring water while others attempted to hold her still.

And her bandage was seeping red.

"Oh, my," whispered Beau, "I should have burnt the wound."

"Shall I ready a cauter?" asked the Chakian at his side.

Beau shook his head. "It's too late now, for the poison has spread."

"We have tried a sleeping draught," said another of the Chakia. "But the fever gains the upper hand now and again."

Beau nodded and reached into his breast pocket for the silver case. Shortly, and with the help of a Chakia, he managed to get the gwynthyme tea into the Dara. Partway through, she settled into an uneasy sleep.

"I'll be back later," he whispered to Phais as he bandaged the wound again, a fresh poultice laid on. The Dara made no response. And with tears in his eyes, Beau left her side.

The following day, the funerals were held: Chakia wailing, hooded Chakka tearing at their beards and swearing vengeance as smoke twined into the sky; Daelsmen marching 'round mounds and calling out of brave deeds done; Dylvana standing by the roaring pyre and singing; and somewhere in the still woods, Baeron standing silent, while Loric, who had gone with them, stood a distance away and softly sang.

That night the corpses of the Foul Folk were burned, and no one whatsoever grieved, though many there shouted curses.

And in the infirmary Beau spent another dose of his precious gwynthyme.

The next morning Coron Ruar called a meeting of the war council, DelfLord Borl and an elder Dwarf, Berk, attending as well. They met in the great war room of Mine-holt North.

"There are yet seven segments of a Horde in Riamon," said Ruar. "The scouts report that they now drive southeast."

"Not toward the city of Dael?" asked Bwen, her arm in a sling. "I am somewhat surprised."

Loden shook his head. "Dael is a walled city, well protected. They passed it by on the way here. The numbers of the Spawn are even less now; hence they pass it by again."

Borl growled and gestured about. "Mineholt North, carved as it is in the living stone, is even more protected than your city, Prince Loden. Why they came and set siege here instead of there is a mystery to me."

The elder Dwarf cleared his throat. "Once long past in the First Era, Modru proposed an alliance to Breakdeath Durek of the Chakka. Durek turned him down. A time later, Foul Folk cast Durek into the Vorvor, there at Kraggen-cor, some say at the behest of the Enemy. Yet Durek survived, perhaps by the hand of the Utruni. I think this yet galls Modru and he seeks revenge."

"Would he do so after all these years?" asked Tipperton.

"Who knows the mind of Modru?" replied Loden, shaking his head. "Not I."

Brandt cocked an eyebrow. "What would Counsellor Tain have said?"

Loden turned up his hands. "We'll never know, Brandt; Tain's slain body was not found."

"He wasn't slain," blurted Beau. "He ran."

Loden looked at the Warrow. "He what?"

"He ran," repeated Beau. "Fled the conflict-up the hill toward the hospital wains. I saw him as I charged down-slope to get to the fighting."

Loden looked about the table, muscles twitching in his clenched jaw.

Melor cleared his throat. "When Lord Tain reached the top of the hill, he turned eastward, toward Dael."

Rage blazed in Loden's eyes. "Fled from the field of battle, and here I thought him dead, his body hacked apart as were many of those we buried, as were many of those you burned." The Prince clenched a fist and gritted, "But now I find he ran." Slowly Loden unclenched his fingers. "Nevertheless, I will deal with him when next we meet." The Daelsman turned and looked at Ruar. "There is a Swarm within the Rimmen Ring we must deal with first."

"I say we take their toll as they run," said Chieftain Gara. "Hit them hard when they least expect it and then withdraw."

"Harass them, you mean," said Bwen, her words a statement and not a question.

Bekki growled. "I like not this striking from ambush. It has the ring of dishonor."

"How is it different from what we did here?" asked Tip. "I mean, behind their backs we slipped out through the postern in the middle of the night, shrouded in blankets like stone, while their attention was drawn toward those before them in the vale. And then as dawn crept toward us and their regard was full upon the riders and challenges and feints, well then, we struck from the rear. And if that's not an ambush, or the like, well then, I don't know what is."

Bwen burst out in laughter. "Ah, Bekki, he's got you there."

Daelsmen and Baeron joined Bwen in her laughter, while Dylvana and Lian smiled. Even DelfLord Borl cocked an eye at his son and grinned.

"But we were grimly outnumbered," protested Bekki.

"As we are still," said Ruar. Now he looked 'round the table and asked, "How many are fit to ride, and have we enough horses?"

"I tally some thirty-eight and four hundred Daelsmen," said Loden. "As for horses, five hundred twelve."

Gara glanced at Bwen, then said, "Ten and three hundred Baeron, with horses to spare."

And Bwen added, "There will be another five and sixty of us driving wains."

Ruar nodded, then added, "Twenty-five and six hundred Dylvana, and we, too, have the mounts."

"I will pledge two hundred Chakka," rumbled DelfLord Borl, "on ponies, of course. The rest of the Chakka must stay and care for the Mineholt… the wounded as well."