Into the Forge

Chapter 16

"I say," declared Beau, "right nice quarters, eh?… though the furnishings are somewhat overlarge."

Tip nodded abstractly as he stood at the window and looked outward across the snow running downslope through scattered pines to fetch up against the brink of the Tumble River, called Virfla by the Elves.

"And look, Tip, we have two beds," continued Beau, "though as big as they are, one would serve, with you at one end and me at the other."

"Umn," grunted Tip, not turning to see, his mind elsewhere.

While Tipperton brooded at the window, Beau went about the cottage, opening drawers, looking in cupboards, peering up at shelves, looking under counters, and commenting on whatever he found: cooking utensils, blankets and linens, washcloths and towels and lye soap and a tub for laundry as well as tallow soap for baths, a fireplace with cooking irons and a cauldron, a well-stocked pantry, an indoor pump and buckets and a washstand with a porcelain basin and pitcher, chairs, tables, a writing desk equipped with parchment and quills and inkpots and other such. Beau glanced out the back door, to see a stock of firewood nearby and a privy house across a short expanse of snow.

"Well," said Beau, coming at last to stand beside Tip, "it seems we have everything we need for living while we wait for the thaw."

Tip sighed. "I wonder if we're doing the right thing by waiting, Beau. Look, we don't know what may happen between now and then, and should these Gargon things invade this vale… well, you heard Talarin-we'd be on the run to who knows where. Perhaps it would be better if we simply set out southerly now."

"But Tip, even if we did leave today or tomorrow, who knows what we'd encounter? I mean, there's like to be Vulgs and Gargons and other Spawn all along the way, no matter which path we choose. At least here among the Elves we're safe for now. And by waiting for the thaw we'll be exposed much less time to whatever dangers lie before us… and as Phais and Talarin said, we'll still get to Agron sooner by the direct route than the longer roundabout way."

Again Tipperton sighed. "I know you're right, Beau, just as are they. Even so…" Tip's words trailed off into silence.

"Even so, you'd rather be doing something instead of hanging about doing nothing, eh?" said Beau. "Well, me too. And what I plan on doing is talking to Elven healers and seeing just what I can learn."

Tip looked up at his friend. "I suppose I could hone my skills with a bow. And you know, bucco, you could use some practice with that sling of yours."

Beau groaned and nodded reluctantly. "I guess you're right, Tip. I mean, back in Drearwood I was right dreadful at casting stones. And even though I'd rather heal than kill, if it comes down to it… well, I suppose I could hit 'em in the head with a rock."

Loric had gone back on march-ward, but Phais gladly arranged for the Waerlinga to sharpen their skills, providing Tip with an Elven-made bow-to replace his split one- along with additional arrows, and Beau with an Elven-made sling and more bullets.

"Oh, my, this is a beauty," said Tip, caressing the polished yew and bone laminate. "But I cannot accept such a gift. It needs to remain with its maker."

Phais laughed. "Nay, wee one, I'll not take it back. 'Tis the first time in seasons uncounted I have come across someone who can use it, for it is entirely too small for me now, this thing of my infancy. And its maker, my sire, will be delighted that it once again finds a use."

"Your da made this?"

"Aye, back on Adonar, when I was but a child."

Tip shook his head. "Wull, when this is all over-this war-I'll give it back to you so that your own children can use it, that is, should you have any."

Phais smiled. "Loric and I have talked of returning to Adonar to have a child when conditions among Elvenkind permit."

Beau looked up from his new sling. "When conditions permit?"

Phais looked at Beau for a long while, saying nothing. But at last she said, "Aye, Sir Beau. When conditions permit," and then she said no more, and Beau did not pry.

Over the next several weeks and under the Dara's gentle eye, they practiced long and hard at casting missiles with their newfound weapons-Tipperton's arrows flying true, thunking into the bull's-eye more often than not at ranges near and far, and Beau's facility at flinging bullets improving rapidly too, as hand and arm and aim became one with the sling. The Dara as well trained them in the skills of climbing, with rock-nail and jam and snap-ring and silken rope-skills in rappelling or moving 'cross stone faces, skills anchoring one another and paying out or taking up line, and skills at free-climbing too, relying on nought but legs and arms and fingers and toes. Upon the sheer stone of Arden's walls they climbed, upon the sides of lofty crags, down through crevices and up through cracks, backs braced hard against one side, feet against the opposite. Up to the very top of the western wall she took them, there where the stone was flat and more than a quarter mile wide. And the first time there they went to the far edge:

"Take care, wee ones, and stay low, using rock and lone trees for cover, for I would not have us silhouetted stark against the sky."

"Oh, my," breathed Beau, lying on his stomach and peering beyond the brim, looking to where a snarl of dark forest tangled out to the horizon westerly and to north and south as well. "That's Drearwood, eh?"

"Indeed it is," replied Phais.

"It's a wonder we ever made it through," said Tip, the edge of his gloved hand cupped against his forehead, shading his eyes. "Where is Kregyn Pass, the one the Gargons came through?"

"North," said Phais, pointing. "There where the hills rise up, though the pass itself cannot be seen from here."

Tip peered northward.

" 'Tis named Gruwen by men," added Phais.

"Oh," exclaimed Tip. "I've heard of it by that name, though just where…"

"There's an ancient song," said Phais, "of Geela guardians, singers of death."

"Ah, yes," replied Tip. "I say, is the tale true?"

Phais shrugged.

"I can't seem to find the Crossland Road," said Beau, peering southward.

" 'Tis beyond the horizon, Sir Beau," said Phais, "fifteen leagues, or thereabout."

Now Tip's gaze swept north and south along the capstone of the bluff. "I thought that there were warders up here on the wall, yet I see none."

Phais laughed. "They watch in secret, Sir Tip; it would not do to be seen. Yet they are here, I assure thee."

"Wull," said Beau, gesturing at Drearwood, "even though I know that Foul Folk are in there, I don't see how anything could be spotted down in that monstrous knot."

"The eye becomes accustomed to it," murmured Phais, "and movement within plucks at thy gaze."

Tip looked long and hard, then finally said, "I just hope no movement comes this way, at least until we're gone from Arden Vale." A stricken look flashed over Tipperton's features, and he turned to the Dara. "Oh, my, I didn't mean that how it sounded, Lady Phais. I did not mean to sound…" Tip struggled for the proper word.

"Selfish?" volunteered Beau.

Guilt momentarily flickered across Tip's face.

"Cowardly?" added Beau.

Anger replaced guilt. "No, Beau, not cowardly. It's just that I don't want anything to stop or delay us from delivering the coin."

The Dara smiled in understanding and gestured toward Arden Vale. "Thou didst not wish to sound unconcerned over the fate of those herein."

Tip nodded. "I am concerned. Lady. But I don't think there's one bloody thing I can do about it. Yet to take the Kingsman's token to Agron, well, that's something I can accomplish, given that nothing bars the way." He glanced easterly at the snow-laden Grimwalls rising up in the distance. "I wish the bedamned thaw would hurry and get here."

"Hoy!" called Beau. "Movement."

Phais turned. "Where?"

"Down there, down where the stream enters the wood."

Hearts pounding, long they looked, seeing nothing but dark snarls. "It's gone," said Beau at last, resignation in his voice, "if ever it was there."

During these same weeks, Rael, hearing of Tipperton's interest in legend and song, gathered the buccan under wing and began teaching him bardic lore. They spent many a candlemark sitting before Rael's fire, she and Jaith singing songs and telling tales and teaching the wee buccan how to strum a lute, though it was a bit overlarge for the Waerling and his fingers didn't seem to fit.

Too, each night of these bardic doings, Rael would take up a small iron container and loose its tiny clasp and open its hinged top and remove a crystal from a square of black silk. Pellucid it was, the crystal, five inches down its length and six-sided, each end blunt-pointed with six facets. And the Dara would peer into its depths, seeking a clue as to Tipperton and Beau's fate. Yet nought came of her gazings, and she would at last sigh and say, "Though 'tis charged with moonlight to see the future, nought do the facets reveal," and she would lay it aside.

Meanwhile, Phais introduced Beau to brown-haired, brown-eyed Aris, an herbalist. And she took him to her cottage with its trays of various soils stacked here and there and waiting for the spring, and to the attached drying shed, aromatic in its presence. And they spoke of nostrums and poultices and medicks, of simples and teas and tisanes, of mints and flowers and oils, of harvesting and drying, of stripping and pressing, of dicing and grinding, of cooking and storing and other preparation, and of growing and foraging as well, she sharing her lore, he sharing the knowledge contained in his red-bound book.

"Lor', Tip," said Beau after one of his meetings, "she knows everything!"

Tip looked up from the lute he was trying in vain to chord. "Did you tell her of your plan to treat the plague?"

"That I did, and she said it might improve things, mixing silverroot and gwynthyme. She hadn't tried it, you see, and she and I both hope we never need to."

"Well then, Beau, she doesn't know it all."

Beau shrugged. "Perhaps she doesn't know everything, but she knows a deal more than I do, that's for certain."

Tip again attempted to set his fingers to the chord. Frowning over the strings, he said, "Given the ageless lives of Elves, I suspect that she's simply had more time to learn. -By the bye, did she give you any of that mint? Gwynthyme, was it?"

Beau sighed. "She offered, but I declined. I mean, with all that's going on in Drearwood-the Spawn and Gargons and other such, Vulgs among them-I said it'd have more use here than in some trial of mine which may never come."

Plang! Tip strummed a discordant sound. "Oh, bother," he growled.

Not only did the Warrows spend their time sharpening old skills and learning new, but they also were put to work in the Elvenholt, for as the buccen quickly learned, all shared in the labor of the vale, even Talarin, even Rael. In this case, Tip and Beau joined with others working in the stables, feeding horses and mucking out stalls and rubbing tallow into tack.

During this time they watched as more and more Elven patrols left the strongholt to scout deep into Drearwood or, acting upon the information gained, watched as mounted Lian warbands left the stables and rode away on raids into that great tangle of woods, often returning with bloodied swords and empty quivers and wounded of their own.

And at these times Beau would be called upon to tend injured Lian, though mostly he watched and learned as skilled Elven healers cleansed and bound wounds and stitched cuts and treated hurts.

And Tip would grind his teeth in frustration and practice all the harder with his bow, for Lord Talarin would not allow him to go on the Elven raids; nor had the time yet come for Tip and Beau to set forth to deliver the coin.

February had gone, and March slowly trod toward the coming of spring. During the second week of that raw month, Rael and Elissan and Seena came to the cote of the Waerlinga, and they bore with them clothing sized to fit the buccen: breeks, jerkins, tunics, stockings, vests, underclothing, and more. Among the garments were silken vestments, finely embroidered with Elven runes.

"I say," said Beau, holding up his russet silken robe, "these are splendid."

Tip held up one of lavender. "What are they for?"

Rael smiled. "In a sevenday and some comes the first of the cycle of the seasons, and we would have ye join us in celebration. E'en in troubled times such as these, three days we rejoice, three days of banquet, the midmost of which is the turn."

"Oh, I love parties," said Beau enthusiastically.

"Of needs ye must work," said Jaith, "for e'en in this 'tis share and share alike."

Tip nodded. "Gladly," he replied, then glanced at his lute in the corner. "Will there be music?"

Seena nodded. "That and dance."

"Then sign us up," said Beau, smiling broadly. "When do we work and when do we play, and what would you have us do?"

"Ye may take labor on the first night with me," said dark-haired Elissan. "On nights two and three we shall play." She smiled at Beau and winked at Tipperton, and still Tip blushed, for he yet recalled the night she had stepped into the bathing room and he standing there in the tub, blinded with soap and all unclothed.

Over the next week and some, as the days fled and the new moon slowly grew, the grim air of war was alleviated somewhat by knowledge of the coming celebration. Too, a warm wind blew up from the south, and much of the snow thawed in the deep-notched glen, though it clung stubbornly to the heights of the Grimwall. Even so, all took the melt within the vale as a sign of the spring to come. Finally, the three days of banquet came, and on the first of these days, Tip and Beau were assigned the kitchen task of running and fetching, while others tended the fires, and yet others prepared fish and game and vegetables, while still others cooked. A full third of the Elves were in some manner preparing the celebration for the others to enjoy. On the morrow and the next, another third and a third after would do the same, and those who worked this eve would celebrate in turn.

At last the sun set, with the waxing half-moon in the sky. And Elvenkind gathered in the great hall. And with great pomp and formality, the dishes of food were paraded about the hall for all to see, trenchers laden with venison and trout and goose and leg of lamb, with creamed parsnips and peas, brown beans, and breads and sweet breads and honey and jellies and jams… and more. And now with the cooking done, Tip and Beau along with several others were assigned the task of keeping the wine and mead and pure mountain water flowing from pitcher to chalice, and it seemed as if every Elf, Dara and Alor alike, called on the buccen to serve, for Waerlinga in their small-ness and tipped ears and tilted eyes and bright smiles are much like the children of Elvenkind, and it had been long since any Elfchild had been seen. And so, thither and yon scurried the Warrows, bearing silver ewers of bloodred wine and filling the cups of soft-gazing Lian, some with tears in their eyes.

But finally the meal was over, and now commenced singing and dancing and the playing of harp and flute and lute and drum… and the epic telling of tales, though these sagas were spoken in Sylva. If it had not been for Elis-san's whispered translations, neither Tip nor Beau would have understood a word of aught said, even though their hearts pounded in response to the wide-rolling words.

On this night Jaith sang a song so heartrending that all in the hall wept, even the Warrows, though they knew not a single word sung.

At last the celebration ended, and Tip and Beau helped with the cleaning, and dawn stood in the eastern sky when they fell into bed at last.

On the second night of celebration, Tip and Beau dressed in their raiment, silken vestments o'er all. Yet as they made ready, there came a tap on the cottage door, and Phais stood outside. "I am to escort ye to the clearing, for this is the eve of the day when light and dark exactly balance one another, and there the celebration begins."

Tip and Beau were led through the pines, and they could see a glowing spectrum of candlelit paper lanterns hanging from branches ahead. They came to a snow-covered meadow, red and blue and yellow and green lambency in trees ringing 'round. All Elves were present, those who could be spared, for some yet stood march-ward on the bounds of the vale, and others watched over Dhruousdarda to the west and Kregyn Pass to the north. Yet this night Loric and Arandar were present as were both Gildor and Vanidor-the two so like one another that only someone who had known them a long while might be able to tell which was which.

Dark-haired Elissan stood at one of the twin's side, while redheaded Jaith stood at the other's.

As Phais escorted Tip and Beau into the gathering, Loric came and offered his arm to the Dara, and together they accompanied the Waerlinga to a central point, where stood Talarin and Rael between two standards planted firmly- they bore the sigil of Arden Vale: green tree on grey field, the Lone Eld Tree standing in twilight.

Talarin glanced up at the gibbous moon nearing fullness. "Well and good, ye are here, and we would have ye join our observance of this special day, for spring strides onto the land and winter fades."

"What would you have us do?" asked Tipperton.

Rael smiled. "Pace with us our ritual."

"Bu-but," stammered Beau, "we don't know your rite."

Now Talarin stepped forward and held out a hand to each. "Just do as I do," he said, smiling.

Taking a hand of each Waerling, Talarin nodded to Rael. And she held up her hands and all in the clearing fell silent as all moved to a starting place, silks and satins rustling, leathers brushing in the quiet, Darai and Alori opposite one another, Darai facing north, Alori facing south. When movement ceased, Rael began to sing, or perhaps to chant, for it was something of each, and in this she was joined bit by bit by all Darai there.

Now Talarin took up the chant, or perhaps it was a song, and he too was joined by the Alori, each linking in seemingly at random, yet it was anything but.

And in the argent light of the silvery moon shining down on white snow, Darai and Alori began stepping out the turning of the seasons.

Singing, chanting, and pacing slowly pacing, they began a ritual reaching back through the ages. And enveloped by moonlight and melody and harmony and descant and counterpoint and feet soft in the silvery white, the Elves trod solemnly, gravely… yet their hearts were full of joy.

Step… pause… shift… pause… turn… pause… step.

Slowly, slowly, move and pause. Voices rising. Voices falling. Liquid notes from the dawn of time. Harmony. Euphony. Step… pause… step. Rael turning. Talarin turning. Darai passing. Alori pausing. Counterpoint. Descant. Step… pause… step…

And down among the shifting Lian and treading at Tala-rin's side, Tip and Beau were lost in the ritual… step… pause… step.

When the rite at last came to an end-voices dwindling, song diminishing, movement slowing, till all was silent and still-Darai and Alori once again stood in their beginning places: females facing north, males facing south. The motif of the pattern they had paced had not been random but had had a specific design, had had a specific purpose, and the same was true of the song, yet as to the overall design, as to the hidden intent, neither Tip nor Beau could say.

Yet they were exhilarated.

Now Talarin called for all to retire to the great hall, for food and drink and dance and song and story awaited them all. And amid song and laughter, to the hall they went.

Tip and Beau were given places of honor at the table just to the right of Talarin and Rael's dais, and once again the food was paraded 'round the hall, to the applause of all.

This night there was succulent wild boar, and duck and pheasant, and brook trout, and breads with honey and jellies and jams, and vegetables galore, and an assortment of nuts along with sweetmeats of crystallized fruit.

Mead flowed and wine and water and this night a ginger beer.

And Tip and Beau stuffed themselves as if they would never eat again.

And when the meal was done and the tables cleared-all but the drinking cups and pitchers of water and wine and ale-once again there were songs and singing, once again there were timbrels and strings and wind, and once again there were sagas spoken and chanted-and this night 'twas a ginger-haired, strapping Dara named Aleen, wearing leathers and bearing weapons, who whispered translations unto the buccen.

It was in the middle of "The Saga of Tugor and the Serpent's Eye" that the door swung wide and a bespattered Elf strode into the hall. Compact he was with dark hair and dark eyes, and a sword rode across his back.

The hall fell silent as his hard stride fell upon the wooden floor.

"Alor," said Talarin, standing at the Elf's approach, " 'tis not often one of the Dylvana graces this hall."

"I hight Eloran of Darda Erynian, yet I am come from Adonar these past four days."

"Adonar? Then thou hast ridden the in-between."

"Aye, the difficult crossing at the circle of stone."

Talarin raised an eyebrow. "Yet thou hast come here instead of riding unto thy Darda."

"I am sent on a mission, Alor Talarin, to bring thee tidings: Adon has sundered the way from Neddra to Mithgar."

A collective gasp rippled throughout the chamber, and Beau looked at Tip wide-eyed. "What does this mean?"

Robust Aleen sitting next to them clenched a fist and growled, "It means Adon has taken up the challenge and Gyphon's invasion will cease."