Here Nab interrupted, for there was something that was puzzling him. ‘But I do not know what I am to do next,’ he said.

‘Have patience,’ replied Malcoff. ‘Morar. Play your pipes; play us an air that is gentle and soothing.’ He turned back to Nab and went on. ‘We must all have patience.’ He smiled. ‘What you are to do is not known to any except Ashgaroth. The ending of the legend is unknown. All that I know, for he has spoken to me, is that you must travel from here to the sacred high peak known as Ivett which is but a half-day’s journey from here and it is there that he will speak with you.’

‘But we are surrounded by the Urkku,’ said Nab, who was depressed and angry at the realization that his travelling was not yet over.

The peaceful sound of Morar’s pipes floated around Malcoff’s chamber and contrasted strangely with the muffled sounds of activity outside. Curbar, the Eagle, looked intently at each of the animals in turn as if he were able to see through their eyes and right inside their minds. Beth felt a nervous twinge of apprehension in the bottom of her stomach as Curbar stared at her with his sharp, hooded eyes.

‘We have a plan,’ said Malcoff. The battle-chiefs and myself have talked it over and it seemed to us the best, if not the only way. Our army is far too small to hope to defeat them in battle. The scouts have reported that they have a numerous host; their tents resemble a field of mushrooms stretching as far as the eye can see. But the plan involves your separation for a time and it would mean great danger for you, Beth and the animals. The strategy we have devised is as follows. Our small army of elven warriors would engage the Urkku in battle so that the whole of their attention is taken up with fighting. Then, when the time is judged right, Perryfoot, Brock, Warrigal and Beth, who would have changed into your clothing, Nab, so as to appear as much like you as possible, will come out of the entrance on the Tor and then, making sure that they are seen, will escape west through a gap in the battle-lines that the elves will have organized. The Urkku, believing that you have all got out, will attempt to give pursuit. The elves will hold them back until Beth and the others are almost out of sight and then their fighting will deliberately weaken so as to allow the Urkku to chase after them. It is then, Nab, that you, who have been hiding in the entrance, will make your exit heading north towards the Peak of Ivett, I hope unnoticed, while the Urkku are in hot pursuit of the others. Then, when and if they can evade their pursuers, Beth and the animals will make their way towards Ivett to rejoin you.’ He paused, then, seeing the reluctance in their eyes, he added, ‘I know that separation is a lot to ask of you, particularly after all you have been through together, but there is no other, better way. And I trust it will not be for long.’

‘Could Beth not come with me?’ said Nab. ‘She is tired. The others are faster but she is not used to living as we do. I am worried for her safety if she has to go with them.’

‘We have thought of all that you have just said but unfortunately she plays the most important part of the plan. The Urkku must believe that she is you. As it is, they will only see one where there should be two but we will have to hope that in the heat of battle they will not notice.’

Beth interrupted. ‘Don’t argue about me,’ she said. ‘I will go. I can see that it is the best way and I know that we shall all meet again. I have come this far; it is not much further that you are asking me to go.’

Nab looked at her and took her hand. Malcoff smiled.

‘You are very brave,’ he said. ‘Ashgaroth indeed chose well.’

'When do we go?’ asked Brock.

‘In the last dark hour before the sun rises. You will have heard the sounds of preparation outside; the sharpening of arrows, spears and swords and the final treatment of shields. I understand from Morbann and Mendokk, the two battle-chiefs, that they are almost ready and Morar tells me that his players have rehearsed their battle songs until they would bring the very rocks themselves to life. In the meantime we shall talk. You will tell me of the early days and of your journey here, and give me news of Wychnor and Saurélon for it is quite some seasons since I saw them. And I will tell you of my home in the far west where the mountains scrape the sky, and from the top of which one can see the whole world; where it is so cold that breath forms icicles as it comes from your mouth and your eyelids would freeze together if you did not wear a helmet. Come then; Morar will play for us and we will talk and drink of the golden elven-brew made from the heather and the gorse and we will be happy until the time arrives, for these hours before a battle are the dangerous hours. It is then that the battle is won or lost and we must not let ourselves brood on the uncertainties of what tomorrow may bring.’

The walk back up the steps in that long, cold, damp tunnel seemed endless. Ahead of Nab walked the small band of elven warriors, their bodies glowing silver in the gloomy light. First had gone the archers, then those who would be using swords or spears and, ahead of them all, leading the column, went Malcoff, his gaily coloured chair carried expertly up the steps by four large elves. Behind the travellers, and bringing up the rearguard, came Morar’s players with their pipes and drums. Only their leader played now and the haunting strains of his pipe echoed all the way up the tunnel. It was the only sound apart from the soft padding of elven footsteps as they met the hard stone and an occasional metallic clink as a quiver banged against the wall.

The first sign that they were nearing the end of the long climb came when Nab felt the unmistakable fragrance of the cool night air on his face. He closed his eyes and breathed it in deeply but at the same time his heart sank for it meant that they were nearly at the surface and the moment of separation was approaching. The column moved more slowly now for, as they passed through the large square chamber at the head of the tunnel, all except the archers had to collect their swords and shields and spears. The bows were kept in the main cavern underground to protect them from the damp and the constant changes in temperature which they would have been subjected to near the surface but all the other weapons were kept here to save carrying them up and down the steps.

When the animals finally reached the chamber they found the walls bare and only Malcoff, Curbar and the chair carriers inside. Morar and the players filed past them in silence and followed the rest of the warriors out on to the Tor to take up their positions. The Elflord spoke quietly.

‘Here, Nab; take this casket. It contains the Faradawn of the Mountains and the High Places.’ Nab took the small silver-grey stone casket and, carefully opening the last of the three lockets on the Belt of Ammdar, he placed it inside and snapped the top shut. It felt wonderfully satisfying that the Belt was now full and he thought back to the time when he had first seen it in the Forest of Ellmondrill when Wychnor gave it to him and showed him how to work the lockets. It seemed a long time ago now. Then Malcoff continued, ‘We will watch the battle from a high vantage point behind one of the rocks and you will remain close by my side, ready to run when the time is right. I need not tell you how important it is that you are not seen. Come then; follow me.’

A strange and eerie sight met their anxious gaze when they emerged from the tunnel entrance and scrambled out on to the rocks of the Tor. The moon shone fitfully as it came out for short spells from behind the large black clouds that raced across the night sky and in these occasional flashes of silver light they could see the elven army drawn up in battle ranks in a circle all around the summit; those with swords in front followed by the spearthrowers and, lastly, the archers, who stood with their bows ready while the front ranks knelt. The pipers stood right on the summit on the rock where the animals had first seen Morar. At the very front of the army, one on each side of the Tor, stood the two battle-chiefs Morbann and Mendokk with their huge swords raised high above their heads ready to give the signal for battle to commence. The overwhelming impression was of a mass of shimmering, twinkling lights; silver from the elves’ bodies and reflected from their swords and spears, golds and reds and crimsons and greens from their helmets and shields.