Into the Forge

Chapter 12

The next morning, as the Warrows and Loric prepared to set out, "Here," said Ragan, holding out a sheaf of arrows to Tipperton. "Twenty Lian shafts, trimmed to thy length, wee one. From the looks of thy quiver, thou didst use most of thine arrows in Drearwood 'gainst creatures dire."

Tip looked at the ground in embarrassment. "Actually, Ragan, I lost most of them when I skidded and fell and slid down a hill in the night."

Ragan laughed, then said, "Nevertheless, Sir Tipperton, thou wilt most likely need these."

"But my bow is cracked, even though you did wrap it last night, still it may break." Tip had awakened to find Ragan had wound a short length of thong tightly about the upper limb to keep the split from growing, and a second thong about the lower limb to balance out the throw.

"It may not cast as fair nor as far, yet it should hold for a while, and what good is a bow without enough arrows?"

Gratefully, Tip took the arrows and measured the bundle against a shaft of his own-an exact match… as Ragan had said, they had been trimmed to fit the buccan.

Now Ragan turned to Beau and handed him a small pouch, saying, "And thou wilt need these, Sir Beau."

Frowning, Beau opened the bag and reached inside and withdrew a molded slingstone. Made of lead, its ovoid form was shaped to fit a sling pouch. "Oh, my," said Beau, dropping the bullet back inside the bag and drawing the strings tight. "I cannot take these, Ragan. I mean, I'm not good enough for such. Why, I could but barely manage to hit that wall yon were I to try. You must give these to someone with the skill to use them." Beau held the pouch out to Ragan.

But the Elf shook his head. "Nay, my friend. They are for thee and none else."

Reluctantly, Beau tied the pouch to his belt. "If you say so, though I'll just manage to fling them away without hitting aught."

"Mayhap by the time thou need use them, thou wilt have the skill."

Beau sighed. "Perhaps. Nevertheless, I thank you, Ragan, and I do hope you prove to be right."

Arandar then stepped to the buccen. "My gift is not as worthy as that of Ragan's, yet mayhap 'twill do." He held out two pairs of crampons, saying, "For keeping thy footing on ice."

Eagerly, the buccen took the spikes and strapped them to their booted feet as Loric said, "These and the arrows were trimmed to fit as ye slept last night."

Tip stood and clattered about on the stone and, grinning, said, "Cor, but we could have used these in Drearwood."

Loric shook his head. "Had ye used such in Drearwood, ye both would now be dead, for they do leave scars behind by which the Rupt would have quickly tracked ye down."

Beau's eyes flew wide. "And here all along I thought the ice to be our doom, when instead it probably saved our lives."

Loric smiled. "Hinder ye it did, yet it saved ye as well, for Vulgs found no scent by which to trail ye, and the Spaunen found no marks by which to run ye to ground. – Yet now these spikes will aid ye… though for a while ye need leave them off until we are well clear of Kolare an e Ramna, for we would have no marks left behind to betray us to the Rupt."

Quickly the buccen unstrapped the crampons and affixed them to their belts.

Now Vanidor handed the Waerlinga two packs fitted in new-cut slender pine-bough frames sized to suit their small forms, each provisioned with food and flint and steel and candles and a length of Elven-made rope and other such, as well as bedding tied atop. "Though it is but a short journey unto the Hidden Stand, ye mayhap will need these in the long days to come. And thy pack, Sir Beau, has some medicks inside, though not a great deal, to replace part of that which thou lost. Thou will be able to procure even more within Arden Vale, mayhap even gwynthyme, of which we here have none to spare."

Beau's mouth flew open. "Gwynthyme? Oh, Tip, the golden mint."

Bobbing their heads in thanks, the buccen shouldered the packs, each buckling the strap 'round his waist and snapping the clip across his chest to hold the shoulder harness in place. Then Tip fastened his quiver to his hip, and strung his bow. Looking up at Loric and then across at Beau, "Ready?" he asked.

"Ready," replied Beau.

And with Elvenkind wishing them well, following Loric, out through the crevice they went and into the ice-clad 'scape beyond.

For more than a mile they walked due south, feet slipping and sliding, but at last Loric relented and allowed the Waerlinga to buckle on the crampons. And after that the buccen had little trouble crossing the sheathed expanse.

Eastward they turned, and in the distance ahead they could see a high stone bluff jutting up out of the land, and beyond that and standing against the sky afar stood the Grimwall Mountains, dark stone rising up in jagged fangs to gnaw at the heavens above.

And across a frozen world and toward this forbidding 'scape they strode.

By midmorn they had come to the stone bluff, sheer rock rising a hundred feet or more and looming to their left. And beside this massif they walked, yet making their way easterly, now paralleling the Tumble River, the water cascading 'round and over rocks and swirling in rapids as it poured and spewed and rolled and surged within its ice-laden banks, the rage of the river giving it its name, and because of its churning and roiling, seldom did the water freeze but in those rare stretches along its length where the water ran placid, undisturbed by tumult.

With the river on their right and the sheer stone wall on their left, onward the hikers trekked, pausing now and again to rest or to relieve themselves or to take a meal.

And the winter-bright sun, casting no heat, slid up the sky and across and down again as the travelers trudged on, the stone wall to their left growing even higher the farther east they went.

Finally with the sun at their backs, in the near distance to the fore, they could see a cloud of vapor swirling into the air, the billow casting back a pale gold light in the afternoon sun.

"What is it," asked Beau, pointing ahead.

"Wait, wee one," replied Loric, his blue eyes atwinkle. "Thou wilt soon see."

Onward they strode, and now faintly they could hear a grumble above the crunch of spikes upon ice. And the closer they came to the roiling, rising vapor, the louder the rumble grew.

"I know what it is," said Tip, yet before he could say, they rounded an outjut and there before them and plummeting down roared a cataract from a high crevice carved in the sheer wall they had been following. Out from the stone hurtled the Tumble River, to fall thundering into a deep pool a hundred feet below. And a cloaking mist swirled upward to obscure the tall slot carved deeply down into the sheer stone rampart, shrouding what lay beyond.

Now Loric headed toward this cascade, calling out above the roar, " 'Tis Arden Falls, and the secret entrance unto the Hidden Vale lies 'neath."

"Oh, my, but what about our crampon marks?" shouted Tipperton above the roar. "Won't they point to the secret way?"

"Nay," called Loric back, holding out his hand in the swirling vapor. "When the mist falls in our tracks and freezes, it will hide all again. And speaking of freezing, hidden steps lie on this verge and by that way we will go, yet take care, for the mist will have frozen thereupon, and more wetness swirls constantly down. They will be treacherous."

With tilted wide sapphirine eyes Tipperton looked at Beau, only to discover the other buccan looking back at him, his own tilted amber eyes just as wide. And toward the roaring outpour they went, following Loric's lead up an icy slope alongside the sheer bluff.

And the closer they came to the cataract, the louder the roar, and by the time they reached the falls, they could only communicate with one another by hand gestures and facial expressions and the like.

Now they clambered behind the cataract itself, and Loric paused and pointed, and there shielded by the edge of the falls was a narrow ice-covered ledge, layered so thick as to be all but indiscernible against the sheath-covered vertical stone. A barely perceptible rising series of humps below the ice told that these were the steps Loric meant them all to climb, and Tip wondered if the Elf were completely mad. Yet even as the buccan thought so, Loric uncoiled a hank of rope and fastened one end 'round his waist and indicated to the Waerlinga they were to tie on as well, and with Beau in the middle and Tip on the trailing end, toward the steps they went.

And as water roared out of the slot some fifty feet above and plummeted down past them close enough to touch, plunging onward to thunder into the basin some fifty feet below, through churning mist and up the ice-buried stair they fared. Loric slowly clambered upward, seemingly without a concern, the buccen following after, trembling and clinging to knobs of ice jutting up or out of the mass whenever chance afforded. Yet Loric paused often to glance back, and this steadied the Warrows, and then he would turn and move on. But of a sudden the Elf disappeared 'round a jog, and Tipperton fleetingly thought that he and Beau had been cast adrift. And then Beau passed around the same bend, and Tip climbed all alone, with water bellowing past, and billowing mist obscuring the way ahead. Yet he came to the turn and 'round it to find Loric and Beau standing on an ice-laden road and taking up the slack on the line. The road itself came up a slant from the far side of the falls, and was broad enough to bear a spacious wain.

Trembling and weak-kneed, Tip stepped onto the wide surface and away from the brim, and Loric smiled and left them all lashed together as he gestured for the buccan to follow. Up the concealed road they went and into a tunnel beyond, to emerge moments later in a wide vale. And there on the edge of the mist and standing ward were two Elven warriors- silver bugles on baldrics at hand, scabbarded swords harnessed 'cross their backs, saddled horses standing nearby.

Loric gestured at the Guardians, and they signaled back, indicating that the trio was to pass onward. But Loric paused long enough to untie the rope from 'round his waist which bound him to his companions, the Warrows doing likewise, the buccen all the while gazing out upon this wondrous place they had come to.

They had entered a steep-sided gorge no more than a quarter mile wide at this point, through which the Tumble River flowed. And for as far as the eye could see, pine and fir and other evergreens marched away to the north. Yet the War-rows' wits were captured neither by the gorge nor the forest nor the fact that here in the vale the river was sheathed with ice but the snow-laden land was not, unlike the world outside. Instead what arrested their gaze was the tallest tree the buccen had ever seen. Hundreds of feet it towered upward in the near distance, and its leaves seemed somehow to hold a silvery-grey cast, as if twilight had settled within.

Loric finished coiling the rope and motioned them forward, and as the Waerlings passed by, the Lian warders looked on in wonder, for these were Wee Folk come into this Elven land. They strode away from the falls and toward the forest giant, and the rumble of the cataract diminished quickly, for the stone walls of the gorge arced 'round from each side to clasp the narrow, mist-obscured slot and shield the vale from the sound of the water cascading over the linn and thundering down into the basin below.

Soon they could speak to one another, though they had to raise their voices to be heard. But by the time they reached the immense tree with its Elven camp set among the roots at the base, Arden Falls was but a low grumble afar.

" 'Tis called the Lone Eld Tree," said Loric, gesturing at the nearby giant, "for of its kind it is alone in this vale," and his arm swept out toward the ravine with its evergreen-laden slopes.

" 'Twas borne here from Darda Galion as a seedling by Talarin and Rael to commemorate their pledge of troth," added Alaria, captain of the South Arden-ward. "And it is the symbol of the Hidden Vale and is borne on all our standards-green tree upon grey field."

"Hidden Vale?" asked Tipperton. "That's what Loric called it."

Alaria pointed back at the befogging vapor rising in the slot in the stone above Arden Falls. "Seldom does the mist clear, and none outside can see into this valley to know what passes herein. Yet we within stand watch upon the mountain bulwarks all 'round"-Alaria pointed high up on the stone wall above-"and relay silent signal to one another at need. That's why we knew ye were coming, for we watched thy progress from Kolare an e Ramna throughout the day."

"You saw us on our march from the Hollow of the Vanished?"

Alaria smiled, brushing a stray lock of dark brown hair back from her eyes. "Every step of the way, wee one. Every step of the way, for ye did follow along the outer ramparts of the Hidden Stand."

"Why does it seem to hold twilight?" asked Beau, looking once again up into the dusk-laden leaves high above.

Alaria shook her head. "None knows, Sir Beau. There seems a mystic bond between Elvenkind and Eld Trees, Lian and Dylvana both, for when none are nigh the leaves lose the gloaming, yet regain it when Elves dwell near. It has been said that not only do Eld Trees sense the presence of Elvenkind, but that some Elves-not all, but some- can sense the eldwood trees."

Loric nodded. "When Riipt felled the nine, 'tis said Dara Arin dreamt of the slaughter."

Tip frowned. "Felled the nine? -Say, now, is this the same as the 'Felling of the Nine'? The song the Bards sing?"

"Aye."

Beau turned up his hands in puzzlement. "What is this, um, 'Felling of the Nine'? It's a song I've not heard."

" 'Tis more than a song, my friend," said Loric, and his face fell grim. "Long past, in the time you call the First Era, Spaunen came down from the Grimwall and into Darda Galion and in malicious glee felled nine of the precious Eld Trees. I was among the March-ward along that sector of the marge, and when we discovered what had been done, we ran the tree-slayers to earth and in our rage slew them all. I bore word to Coron Aldor, and we mounted a force of retribution and took up the dead Rupt and displayed their remains to Foul Folk throughout the Grimwall and gave warning that we would not tolerate such ravage-ment ever. Oft we fought, yet always we conquered, and never again did Spaunen set axe or saw or blade of any kind against the precious trees."

"This Dara Ann, is she the Lady Arin of legend?"

"Aye," replied Alaria. "Dara in Sylva means Lady in the common tongue. She was a Dylvana, and together with Egil One-Eye and Lady Aiko and others, she quested for the Green Stone of Xian."

"From my da I've heard the songs the Bards sing, songs of her as well as songs of the Felling of the Nine," said Tipperton. Then he turned to Loric. "But you say you were there, at the actual felling?"

Loric nodded.

"But that was back in the First Era, more than two thousand years ago."

"Nevertheless, wee one, I was there."

Tip's eyes widened, and he took a deep breath and slowly let it out, for although it had been bandied about that Elves upon reaching a certain mark aged no more, still to have it actually confirmed, well, what a marvel it was.

"And this Lady Arin," asked Beau, "she sensed the death of the Eld Trees?"

"So it is said," replied Loric.

"Oh, but I wish I could sense herbs and roots and flowers and mint and bark and various leaves and whatever else I need in my healing arts, for it would ease the finding a deal-but sense them alive, I mean, rather than when they die." Beau paused a moment, gazing up at the great giant, then said, "It must be grand to have a mystic link to such a great tree, for that would be special to my way of thinking."

Alaria nodded solemnly. "Special, aye, and this particular tree above many others, for 'tis said that when this tree is no more, then we, too, will no longer dwell in Arden Vale."

"Oh, my," said Beau, a stricken look on his face.

Just after dawn the next morning, Loric, mounted upon a fiery steed and trailing two behind, each with a Waerling astride, bade good-bye to Alaria and then set forth at a goodly pace, heading up through the wintry vale. Both Tip and Beau gripped the saddle forecantles tightly, for neither was equipped to manage such a great steed as a full-grown horse, Tip measuring but three feet four inches and Beau but three feet five. Northward they rode through the pine-laden glen, following alongside the waters of the River Tumble rushing southward, occasionally beneath thick ice. High stone canyon walls laden with winter snow rose in the distance to left and right, the sides of the gorge at times near, at other times two or three miles distant. Crags and crevices could be seen here and there, jutting up through the layered white, though for the most part the lofty walls were sheer granite and little snow clung to the steeps. In places where the canyon narrowed dramatically, Loric pointed out hewn rock pathways carved partway up the sides of the stone palisades that formed walls of the vale, the Elf remarking that in these straits when the river o'erflowed its banks in the spring, the valley below became a raging torrent, and so these courses along the walls were made for safety's sake. But they rode none of these snow-covered high pathways as on up the canyon they forged, at times passing through narrow slots and at other times crossing o'er wide valley floors, faring through snow and on stone and gentle loam alike, now and then clattering on a frozen stretch of the river itself, hooves knelling on the ice, but always returning to the verdant galleries of the evergreen forest carpeting the vale and reaching from side to side.

And northward they rode and northward, Loric leading the Waerlinga through fragrant pine, now riding swiftly where the snow lay shallow, now slowly where it drifted deep. And whenever they came to places where Loric judged the snow lay overdeep, he would dismount and bid the Waerlinga to do likewise, and then he would lead the horses afoot, at times broaching the snow for the steeds, at other times having the steeds broach the snow for him, frequently trading off which horse took the lead and bore the brunt of the work. And always the buccen trailed behind, floundering through the drifts.

'Round a flickering fire they made camp that eve in a 'grove where the snow lay shallow, and as they waited for water to boil for their tea, Beau turned to Loric and said, "Yestereve you told us that two thousand years past you were standing march-ward along the Grimwall. And when we first saw you, you were standing march-ward along the marge of Drearwood. So tell me, Loric, is this all you do?

Stand march-ward on borders, I mean. It seems that in two thousand years you'd get tired of such duty."

Loric laughed and looked at the wee buccan. "Ah, my friend, thou hast come upon a truth of Elvenkind, for indeed we would become weary of such constant duty throughout thousands of seasons, no matter the task. Whether Lian or Dylvana, none remain long at one calling-be it one summer or five hundred; eventually we change what we do, taking up other duties, other callings, other crafts."

"Five hundred summers? Five hundred years?"

Loric nodded but added, "We take note of the seasons more than we count the years."

Beau looked at Tipperton and in a hushed voice said, "Cor."

Tipperton slowly let out a breath. "But what about your kings and such-do they also take up other tasks?"

"Aye," replied Loric. "Though what you name king we call Coron. Alor Vanidar was Coron when the first Eld Tree seedlings were brought from Adonar and planted in the river-laden land which became Darda Galion. Yet his interest was drawn elsewhere and he gave Coronship of the realm over to another-Elmaron, I believe."

"Vanidor was Coron?"

Loric shook his head. "Nay, not Alor Vanidor but Alor Vanidar instead."

"Vanidor, Vanidar: they sound rather like one another if you ask me," said Tip, Beau nodding his agreement.

"Not to the Elven ear," replied Loric. "Vanidar means Silverleaf in Common, and Vanidor, Silverbranch."

"Oh," said Tip.

Loric leaned forward, ticking words off on fingers. "Dor, dar, da: branch, leaf, tree." He gestured about at the forest. "Darda literally translates as leaf-tree, though it is the word in Sylva meaning forest."

Beau's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, I see. Like Darda Galion, it means Galion Forest, eh?"

"Darda Galion, Darda Erynian, Darda Vrka, exactly so. There is but one forest we name not Darda, and that is the Skog far to the east… an ancient wood, said to be the eldest in all of Mithgar."

"Skog, eh?"

Loric nodded, and silence fell upon the trio.

"So," said Tipperton after a while, "you haven't been at march-ward all of the days 'tween the Felling of the Nine and the capture of the twain, eh?"

Beau looked at Tip. "Capture of the twain? -Oh, you mean when they captured us."

Tip grinned and nodded.

Loric grinned too. "No, wee one, I was not at march-ward all those seasons. After the retribution, I turned my hand to silversmithing-two hundred summers or so-and thence to planting grain and harvesting it for a like while, and thence to shearing sheep.

"I lived in the mountains for seasons, sifting for gold, though not mining as do the Drimma."

"Drimma?"

"Dwarves."

"Oh."

Beau piped up, "All these things you name, Loric, seem close to the earth or seem to be common crafts."

"When faced with the span of Elvenkind, wee one, they are the only things of lasting merit-things of the earth and of arts and crafts and of home and hearth, and preserving all or leaving it better than when found. Crafting, husbanding, mastering skills, celebrating life and love-what better way to live?"

Tipperton glanced at the long-knife girted at Loric's waist. "How does that creed reconcile with standing march-ward and the killing of Rucks and the like?"

Loric sighed. After a moment he said, "Long past, Elvenkind nearly destroyed itself. In those days madness gripped us and we sought power, dominance, command over all, sought dominion even over one another. We cared not what we did to our world, plundering it just as we plundered our own kind. And as we stood on the brink, one came along who said, 'No more! If there is ever to be peace among Elvenkind, let it begin with me.' And he set aside his vile ways and walked our world spreading his message and asking others to 'take his pledge-Let it begin with me. Elvenkind was slow to learn, yet finally we grasped the truth of his words and turned away from the madness that once gripped us and began to revere life and love and to cherish the simple ways.

"Yet even though we revere life, there are those who would destroy all-among them the Rupt. And we came to realize that in order to preserve life, we must protect it from those who would raze the world and turn it into an ash heap, protect it from those who seek dominion and maim and kill for their own gratification-those who slaughter in glee, ravage in delight, butcher for no reason other than the ultimate act of dominance and gain pleasure from doing so.

"And so when thou dost ask how standing march-ward reconciles with Elven doctrine… it is part and parcel of the whole. We are the Lian Guardians, each and every member of my folk, male and female alike, and when evil threatens, as in these times, we stand counter… though from what ye have reported and from what we ourselves have seen, Lian alone will not be able to stay the present menace."

Darkness seemed to fall upon the camp and little was said the rest of the evening, but as Tipperton and Beau took to their sleeping bags, Beau whispered, "Lor', Tip, think on this: if Elves' lives are timeless, what must it mean when one of them gets killed? I mean, with all of forever before them, why, no matter their age, their lives are just beginning. And to lose that endless life just as it has begun, well… what a terrible thing it must be."

A stricken look fell upon Tipperton's features, and he glanced at Loric, some distance away and sitting with his back to a tree. "Adon, Beau," Tip whispered back, "and still they take up the mantle of Lian Guardianship and put themselves in harm's way even though to lose their lives is to lose forever."

Loric, his eyes closed, turned his face away from the fire.

The sun had passed beyond the western rim of the gorge, and the glen had fallen into shadow, when Loric rode in among the thatched dwellings of the Elves of Arden Vale, the horse-mounted Waerlinga trailing after. The few Lian outside the candlelit dwellings looked up from wherever they happened to be, their eyes widening in wondering delight at the sight of the Wee Folk, for, excepting their gem-like eyes, Waerlinga resembled Elven children, though a bit sturdier of build. And for their part, Beau and Tipperton stared 'round in wondrous delight, for here was where Elven Folk dwelled in graceful though simple elegance.

Among cottages nestled amid the pines, down a path they wended, to come at last to a broad central shelter, a long, low building, its roof thatched as well. Loric dismounted and tied the horses to a hitching rail as Tip and Beau jumped down. All three stepped up onto the porch and past a door warden and entered the hall. Vivid colors and warmth and the smell of food and the liquid syllables of the Sylva tongue assaulted the buccen's senses as they entered the great hall, lambent with yellow lamps glowing in cressets and fires burning in hearths. Banquet tables with benches and chairs were ranged 'round the tapestried walls, but the center floor thronged with fair Elves smiling and filling the hall with bright converse and gay laughter. And through this cheerful crowd strode Loric, with Tip and Beau following, the trio travel-stained and Loric's face grim. Lian turned to see the warder and two Waerlinga striding past, and voices fell to hushed silence and the assembly quickly parted as Loric escorted the buccen toward the far end, where sat the Elven leader of Arden Vale with his consort at his side.

Finally they reached the dais and Loric bowed, saying, "Alor Talarin e Dara Rael. "

"Alor Loric," replied Talarin, gazing at the Waerlinga and rising to his feet. He was tall and slender, with golden hair and eyes green, dressed in soft grey.

But it was Lady Rael who captured Tip's wondering vision. Fair she was, and graceful, and dressed in green, and her golden locks were wound with green ribbons. And she smiled down at the Waerlinga, a sparkle in her deep blue gaze, and Tip's sapphire eyes sparkled in return, as did the amber eyes of Beau.

Now Loric held a hand out toward the Warrows and said in a voice all could hear, "Alor Talarin e Dara Rael, vi estare Sir Tipperton Thistledown e Sir Beau Darby, Waerlinga en a Wilderland. Lona eiofaenier ivo Dhruousdarda-"

A collective intake of breath swept the chamber, some % gasping Dhruousdarda? while others whispered Lona?

Lord Talarin's eyes widened and he looked at the Waerlinga and said, "This is so? Ye came alone through the Drearwood?"

Mutely, both Tip and Beau nodded.

Talarin's mouth turned up in a grudging smile and he slowly shook his head. "Ye are either brave or desperate or fools or all three."

Tip grinned back. "Well, sir, I don't know about brave, but fools no doubt we were and indeed desperate at times."

Talarin laughed and spread his arms wide to the throng. "Ealle hdl va Waerlinga, Fors avor!"

"Hal!" the throng roared, and they turned smiling faces toward the buccen.

Beau tugged on Loric's sleeve. "What did he say?"

Loric smiled. "All hail these Waerlinga, Fortune favored."

"Oh. Well, then." The center of attention, Beau shuffled his feet in embarrassment.

Now Lady Rael leaned forward. "And what news do ye bring, Sir Tipperton, Sir Beau? Encouraging, I hope."

Tip shook his head. "Nay, Lady, 'tis not. From all the signs that we have seen-loose bands of Foul Folk moving 'cross the Wilderland, Kingsmen slain, a balefire on Bea-contor, and a great Horde on the march-wide war has come unto Mithgar to the woe of all. Yet by whom and against whom I cannot say, though Beau has a flag which may tell."

Beau slipped the banner out from under his jerkin and held it up for all to see-a circle of fire on black.

Talarin reached out and took the flag and stared down at it as he held it draped over both hands, the circle of fire showing. A fell look came over his face. "Modru," he growled, "against High King Blaine."

But Rael shook her head. "Nay, chieran, I think not. Oh, indeed, as we suspected, Modru casts his forces 'gainst Blaine, yet behind it all I ween we see Gyphon's hand."

"Gyphon?" blurted Beau. "Do you really mean Gyphon?"

Rael canted her head.

"B-but Gyphon is a god. What would he have to gain?"

Rael sighed. "The whole of creation, wee one. Crushing dominion o'er all."

"Oh, my," breathed Beau, turning a stricken face to Tip. "Oh, my."