Into the Forge

Chapter 18

"But what does it mean?" asked Tip.

Rael, her hand slightly trembling, took another sip of bracing tea. Pale she was and weary, yet in spite of Beau's suggestion she refused to retire.

But it was Faeon who responded to Tipperton's question. "Ythir at times upon peering in her crystal speaks arcane redes. This is one of those times. Yet we cannot know if the message she uttered is meant for one at hand or someone afar. Neither do we know whether the words relate to the past, the present, or the future."

Tip shook his head. "No, Lady Faeon. What I meant was, what did she say? We don't speak your tongue, but for a word or two."

"And these weren't any words we know," added Beau, yet standing by to chafe Rael's wrists again if it seemed needed.

"Yes, Ayan, I too would like to know what I said," murmured Rael, taking another sip of strong tea.

"Oh," said Faeon. She drew a deep breath and then repeated: "Jes a at an thas nid mahr Ut cwenz afyra an rok, Als Vyir raifant avel ulsan E iul peraefiral."

Rael's eyes widened, and she pondered a moment, while Tip and Beau looked from her to her daughter and back.

"Well?" said Tip.

Rael turned her gaze toward the buccan and said, "A bard would translate it thus: "Seek the aid of those not men To quench the fires of war, Else Evil triumphant will ascend And rule forevermore."

"Oh, my," exclaimed Beau.

"Indeed," said Eloran. "Dara, 'tis true thou dost not know for whom this rede is intended?"

Rael shook her head. "As Faeon has said, it could be one at hand or another afar."

Tip frowned. "What does it mean, 'not men'? Who are the 'not men'?"

Rael shrugged. "That I cannot say. Mayhap it means not Human, or not male, or not people altogether."

Beau's eyes flew wide. "Not people? You mean, um, like plants-trees and such? Or say animals? Horses, birds, whatever?"

Again Rael shrugged.

Tipperton shook his head. "No offense, Lady Rael, but what good is a rede if no one knows what it means?"

Rael turned up her hands. "Would that I could wholly master this gift, yet redes come at their own beck, and not at the behest of another. And their import is obscure until someone somewhere divines their true intent. As to when if ever someone will divine this rede's true meaning, I know not." Rael paused to take another sip of tea, then continued: "This rede may be for one of us in this very chamber, or mayhap more than one-Alori Eloran, Tala-rin, Gildor, or Vanidor, or Dara Faeon, or Sir Beau, or thyself, Sir Tipperton, or even me. Then again, it may have nought to do with anyone herein, or even anyone without. It may have significance in a time gone by or one yet to come. I cannot say. But heed, my belief is that it is meant for this age, for someone of this time. For we are faced with a peril dire: war now stirs across the land, driven by an evil who may rule forevermore can we not find a way to win."

Beau drew in a gasping breath, then managed to say with a shudder, "Oh, my."

With the pall of certain war now hanging o'er the vale and the High King in retreat, the celebration the next evening, the third and final day of the equinox, was subdued, the ballads of the Elven singers generally morose or dire, though occasionally one would sing of heroic deeds done. Still, for the most part quiet converse filled the hall rather than song and gay chatter, and only now and again would someone take up harp or lute, timbrel or flute.

Tip and Beau sat at a table with Eloran, Aleen, Gildor, Phais, Jaith, and Vanidor. And only Eloran seemed to relish the food, for he had been long on the trail. For the most part the others ate little and drank little and talked hardly at all, muteness filling the void.

Finally, to break the silence, Tip said, "Tell me, Eloran, just how does one go about finding one of these crossing points to go in-between."

The Dylvana set aside his joint of beef and quaffed a hearty draft of wine. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and looked at the buccan and said, "Elwydd Herself pointed the way to the circle of stones, or so it is said. As to the others, in my experience 'tis by happenstance we find them. We must look for places congruent from Plane to Plane, places resembling one another."

As Eloran took up a chunk of bread, Tip said, "And this stone circle…?"

"It is set atop a hillock, Sir Tipperton, where the rivers Firth and Hath join one another."

"A difficult crossing, I heard you say."

"Aye, 'tis that, for although the circles themselves in Mithgar and Adonar reflect one another, the 'scape nearby is contrary-there being but one matching river in Adonar at that site. Even so, the crossing from Mithgar unto Adonar will be easier than the crossing opposite."

"Oh, why's that?"

"I will be going home, Sir Tipperton."

"Home?"

"To Adonar. 'Tis said-and I've found it to be true- that going to where one's blood calls, that is the easy path. Going opposite is harder. Why? I cannot say."

Eloran looked about the table to see if others might know why, but all the Lian shrugged, for they knew not, either, though Vanidor cleared his throat and said, "Aye, 'tis true. Even Humans themselves find it so when they come back to Mithgar."

Beau looked up, startled. "Humans cross the in-between?"

"Aye," replied Vanidor. "Any who master the rites can do so. And all find it easier to go where their blood calls."

"Even the Riicks and such, I suppose," said Tip glumly. "Everyone but us, that is."

Beau sighed. "I just wish they would all go home."

They sat in silence for a while, and then Tip said, "I say, perhaps the Riicks can't go home on their own."

Jaith looked across and raised an eyebrow.

"I mean," said Tip, "perhaps they are like horses and such, and need to be in another's aura."

Phais shook her head. "I think not, Sir Tipperton, for then they would be nought but dumb beasts."

Tip grinned. "And who's to say they're not?"

Gildor barked a laugh and all the others smiled, the first good humor they'd had that night.

Just after the cold dawning of an overcast day on the twenty-sixth of March, Eloran and Aleen prepared to set out for the circle of stones, Eloran to return to King Blaine and bear Talarin's pledges as well as his warning of the presence of the Draedani within Modru's ranks. Aleen was to accompany him, for in the few days Eloran had been in the Vale, robust Aleen had taken him as her lover, she a half head taller, but he diminished in no way by her statuesque size. Yet she was not going merely because she and he were lovers; nay, Talarin would have an emissary at King Blaine's side, not only to represent Arden Vale, but to give tactical advice; Aleen was well trained in the arts of war-the conduct of battles her special forte.

Tipperton, Beau, Phais, and Rael all stood at hand, and a chill breeze blew at their backs.

Talarin stepped to Aleen's side. "Though I would have thee at hand in the coming conflict, Dara, High King Blaine can use thy knowledge and arm as well. Too, I would have him know that Arden stands at his side, and thou art the champion I send."

Aleen touched the hilt of the sword at her waist and canted her head forward. "Well will I represent thee, my Alor."

Canting his head in return, Talarin acknowledged her pledge, and then he turned to Eloran.

"A better warrior thou couldst not ask," said Talarin to the Dylvana, nodding toward Aleen, the Dara now astride her horse. "None more fit to fight at thy side or to watch thy back."

Eloran grinned and nodded, then mounted, casting a salute to Talarin and the others near.

"Ward each other well," said Talarin, stepping back.

Eloran glanced at Aleen, and at a nod, they spurred away across the clearing, clots of earth flying from racing hooves.

"May Fortune's smiling face be ever turned your way," cried Tipperton after them, but in that same moment they disappeared among the trees, and if they heard him, he could not say.

As Tip and Beau trudged toward their cottage. Tip sighed and said, "I just wish it were us who were setting out."

Beau looked up at the distant white crests of the Grimwall, and then down at the Virfla at hand, the river running swift with snowmelt. "Don't worry, bucco. Phais said we'd be riding over Crestan Pass within five weeks or so. I mean, look, spring has come, and the thaw can't be far behind."

As if to put a lie to his words, snow began falling down.

March came at last to an end, and then April plodded by, though the month itself was marked by birds returning with the spring, and still the buccen practiced at weaponry and mucked out stalls and watched as warbands came and went. Too, Tip yet attended Rael and Jaith and listened to them sing and tell tales, while he attempted on his own to master the lute with little if any progress. On the other hand, Beau spent time with Aris learning herb lore and other such, and he recorded all in a companion journal to his red-bound book. And Beau continued to help with the healing of Lian who had taken wounds. In addition, both Tip and Beau attended strategic meetings called by Talarin and his planners, as all tried to decide how best to aid King Blaine and oppose Modru. In these meetings neither Tip nor Beau proved to be of significant aid, for they were not trained in the arts of war. Even so, Talarin insisted that they be there, for they alone in Arden Vale could represent their kind.

In mid April, word came from the east march-ward that a Horde was on the move. South it tramped, down through Rhone, heading it seemed for Rhone Ford to cross over into Rell-into Lianion of Old. Talarin dispatched scouts- Flandrena and Varion-to follow at a safe distance until the Horde's destination became clear and, if necessary, to skirt 'round the Horde and warn those ahead.

In the last week of April, Loric returned from the marches, he and Phais to prepare for the journey unto Aven, for they yet were to escort Tip and Beau unto that distant land. And together with the Waerlinga, they selected and set aside whatever supplies they were likely to need.

As they worked, Phais said, "The Baeron should have Crestan Pass cleared by the first week in May."

Beau looked up from the jerky he was bundling. "Baeron?"

"Aye, the woodsmen of the Argon vales. Though mostly they live in Darda Erynian and Darda Stor. They also keep clear the pass, and charge tolls for doing so."

"Um, where is Darda Erynian and Darda Stor?" asked Tip, Beau nodding vigorously that he would like to know as well.

"Oh, ye have seen them on Alor Talarin's maps: in the common tongue, one goes by the name Blackwood or Greenhall, and the other by the name Greatwood."

"Oh, yes," said Tipperton, remembering the sketch of Tessa's map as well as those Talarin had in his war room. "Along the eastern side of the Argon, stretching from the Rimmen Mountains all the way down to Pellar."

But Beau remembered only vaguely where lay these two woods; even so, he did recall a rumor: "I say, isn't one of these woods haunted? I seem to recollect Tessa saying so, though which one it is, I can't bring to mind."

Phais laughed. "If either is haunted, wee one, then 'twould be news unto me. Mayhap she speaks of Darda Erynian, for Hidden Ones dwell therein."

"Hidden Ones? Oh, my. Then perhaps it is 'closed,' like places in the Weiunwood."

For three days they hemmed and hawed over things needed for the long journey, Loric saying, "If war has come unto the towns along the way, we'll be hard-pressed to resupply should the need arise. Even so, we cannot take more than it is wise for two packhorses to bear-ye twain, spare clothing, bedding, grain for the steeds, food for ourselves, and the wherewithal to prepare it."

"Can't we live off the land?" asked Beau. "I mean, Tip here is a splendid archer, and I can sling a fair rock."

"If we would get to Aven soon, 'tis better that we carry our food, for need we hunt or fish or forage, 'twill slow our journey markedly."

But even as they prepared, a swift-running horse bearing a Lian messenger came galloping into the stead. And within a candlemark, Alor Talarin called the Waerlinga and Phais and Loric to the Elven war room.

Alor Talarin's face held a stony look as they entered, and Gildor, Vanidor, and Rael were at hand, their faces hard as well. Too, there stood flaxen-haired Inarion, one of Talarin's chief planners. Mud-spattered, the messenger was at the table as well, his dark hair plastered down by sweat. A map showing part of the Grimwall Mountains lay open on the table.

As the Waerlinga took their places, Talarin gestured to the messenger and said, "Duorn brings ill news."

Talarin turned to the Elf. Duorn cleared his throat and stabbed a finger down to the map at a place in the mountains no more than ten leagues from Arden Vale. Tip's heart fell when he saw where Duorn's finger landed, and his worst fears were confirmed when Duorn gritted, "Crestan Pass has fallen into the hands of Modru. One of his Hordes now occupies those heights and stands across the way."

"Hold on, now," protested Beau. "We're supposed to go through that pass." He turned to Tip, to find that buccan grinding his teeth in frustration.

"I know, wee one. I know." Talarin closed his hand into a fist, gripping so hard his knuckles shone white.

"But we've waited all this time," said Tip, "and now the way is shut? We've got to get through there somehow, else our plans are all for nought."

Rael's soft voice sounded. "It cannot be, Sir Tipperton, Sir Beau. As opposed to Dhruousdarda, ye cannot hope to pass through a Horde athwart the way, for unlike gnarled trees and scattered Foul Folk, in Crestan thousands stand alert and across the only path. We must needs make other plans."

Tipperton groaned yet otherwise remained silent, but Beau slammed his fist to the table and gritted, "Damn the Rupt! Damn the Rupt! Damn, damn, damn."

Phais turned the map about so that the Warrows could clearly see it, and she said, "We shall have to go a different way."

"The next pass south crosses the slopes of Coron Mountain," said Vanidor, "just north of Aevor." His finger touched the map along the mountain chain some fifty leagues south of Crestan Pass.

"Over Drimmen-deeve," said Gildor, nodding. "I have been that way."

Tipperton, mastering his frustration, said, "Drimmen-deeve? Isn't that the Dwarvenholt under the Quadran?"

"Aye," said Loric.

"But wait," said Beau. "A Horde marched south from Drearwood two weeks back. What if they've captured this pass over the mountains, too?"

Tipperton looked up at Gildor as the Elf stroked his chin. Then he touched the map, a finger tracing a route through the chain. "Then mayhap, Sir Beau, Sir Tip, the Drimma will allow ye passage through their deeves, from west to east, debouching here on the Falanith slopes."

"You mean for us to go under the mountain?" asked Beau, looking at the map. "Why, it must be thirty, forty miles that way under all that stone. Just thinking about it gives me the blue willies."

Gildor nodded. "Aye. 'Tis all of that and mayhap more, for once on a trade mission I traveled that way-under the stone, as thou dost say. And I would hope never to have to travel that way again, for as thou hast said, it gives one pause."

"Blue willies," muttered Beau, staring at the chart. "Blue willies indeed."

Tip shook his head. "Beau is right about the Horde that marched south. What if they're across our way, not necessarily in the pass over the Quadran, but elsewhere?"

"We can avoid them, Sir Tipperton, if they are in the open," said Loric, "for Elven eyes are keen. Tis only in the straits where they are like to trap us."

"The passes," said Tip bitterly.

"Aye, the passes," agreed Loric.

"All right then, what other ways are there? I mean, other than Crestan and the pass at the Quadran and the way under."

"Gunarring Gap," said Vanidor, pointing even farther south. "Through Gunar Slot to Gunarring Gap."

Tip groaned. "But that's even farther, another three, four hundred miles."

"And what if the slot is under Modru's control?" asked Beau. "What then?"

"Ralo Pass," answered Talarin.

"How about we go north instead?" asked Tip. "Isn't there a pass through the Grimwalls to the north?"

"The only one we can easily reach is Kregyn," replied Phais. "And the Rupt march through that from Gron. Too, I would not care to ride into Modru's very realm, 'cept were it to take war unto him. Nay, on a mission such as this, Kregyn is not the way to go."

"We could circle 'round Drearwood and go up through Rian," said Beau. "No, wait… Rian itself is under attack by the Foul Folk. I mean, Challerain Keep has fallen and all. Barn rats! That won't work."

"Drat!" agreed Tipperton. "It seems no matter where we turn, Modru bars the way."

"Not necessarily," said Inarion, speaking at last, "for even though one of his Swarms has gone south, we are not certain he bars all the ways through. Surely one or more will be open."

Tipperton looked up at Talarin. "What say you, Lord Talarin?"

Talarin stood a long while looking at the chart, but at last he said, "Alor Inarion is right." Talarin's finger touched down to the map and traced a course. "South through Rell seems the least of the evil choices ye face. Can ye not pass 'cross Coron Mountain-a mountain some name Stormhelm-then try the way under, through the holt of Drimmen-deeve. If it, too, is blocked"-his finger moved southward-"then there is Gunar Slot and the Gunarring Gap beyond. If the Slot is closed"-again his finger moved, sliding westerly this time-"then Ralo Pass may be open. If that way is barred, then mayhap ye can go farther downchain to where Trellinath meets Gothon"- now Talarin's hand moved to the border between the two, more than a thousand miles west of the pass into Gunar- "for I seem to recall there is a way through the mountains nigh here, leading into Tugal. Beyond that I cannot say, for if the choices come to such, only ye four will be able to weigh what needs at that time to be done."

With every one of Talarin's words, Tip's spirits fell, for each of the subsequent choices given seemed to be pushing them farther and farther away from Dendor in Aven, where King Agron ruled. Sighing, Tip touched his breast where the token rested and wondered if his vow to a dying Kings-man would ever be fulfilled.

Two days later, sunrise found Tip and Beau and Phais and Loric in the stables, saddling two horses and lading two others with provisions and a smattering of gear. Soon all was ready, and Phais and Loric each took the reins of two steeds and began leading them from the mews, Tip and Beau following. But even as they did so, they met Aris and Rael and Jaith coming down the passage within, and each bore a small bundle, yet what each held lay concealed within enwrapping cloth.

The three Darai stepped aside to let Phais and Loric and the four steeds pass. Then they beckoned the Waerlinga unto them.

The buccen stepped forward to say their farewells.

"I will miss our days together, Sir Tipperton," said Jaith,

"for 'twas a joy to play and sing for thee, as well as to tell thee legendary tales."

Tip smiled. "I just wish I could have learned the lute, my Lady, to play along as you sang."

Jaith laughed. "Fear not, my friend, for thou wilt one day learn. And speaking of lutes, I have for thee a parting gift." Smiling, Jaith unwrapped her bundle and presented Tipperton with a lute small enough to fit his hands.

Made of light and dark wood it was-blond clasped in ebony-and had silver frets and six silver strings tuned by black wooden pegs set in the head. A grey baldric embellished with a green tree looped from the neck piece to a small peg at the base of the body. "Oh," breathed Tipper-ton, taking the lute and handling it as if it were a precious fragile thing. And he fingered a chord and strummed the argent strands, and concordant tones sounded pure and silver.

He looked up at Jaith, tears standing in his eyes. "Oh, Lady Jaith, I cannot take this where I am going, for it is entirely too precious. You keep it till I return." And he thrust it toward her.

"Nonsense, Sir Tipperton," responded Jaith, refusing. "Bards as thyself oft travel the world, and neither heat, cold, storm, wind, nor wave, neither fair weather nor foul, stay them from their ramble… as neither do peril nor peace. Into hazard thou dost now go, yet song must go with thee as well."

"But I have nothing to carry it in to protect it from the weather."

Rael smiled and said, "Fear not, Sir Tipperton, for we have thought of all." And she presented to Tipperton a dark velvet bag and one of brown leather as well, saying, "These will keep thy instrument safe from the elements."

Tipperton reached out and took the bags, each inscribed identically with Elven runes-one sewn by hand in silver thread, the other branded in gold. And each was affixed with a carrying strap which could be set wide to slip 'round a shoulder or short to carry by hand. As well, there were thongs attached for tying onto saddles or racks.

Tipperton started to slip the lute into the velvet bag, but then stopped and looked at Jaith. "Do I need loosen the lute strings? I mean, where I go, there will be rain, heat, morning dew-"

Jaith held out a hand to stop his words. "Nay, Sir Tipperton. 'Tis Elven made, and will not warp. I saw to it myself. Too, the strings should last forever, for silver is mingled with starsilver."

"You made the lute?"

Jaith nodded, adding, "And drew and wrapped the strings."

Again tears welled in Tip's eyes, but he swiped at his eyes with his sleeve and then gently slipped the lute into the velvet bag and pulled the drawstring secure and then in turn slid that bag into the leather one and cinched the thong at the opening tight and wrapped it 'round the neck and knotted it. As he did so, he asked, "What say the runes, my Lady?"

"Why, 'tis thy name, Tipperton Thistledown, scribed in Sylva."

Tipperton grinned, then adjusted the buckle and slung the strap 'cross his shoulder and chest, and settled the lute at his back.

Now Aris stepped to Beau's side. "Much have I enjoyed our talks, my friend, and much I have learned from thy red-bound book and from thy lore as well."

"Not one whit as much as I," replied Beau. "Ignorant was I when I came into this glen, and ignorant am I still, yet much less so, thanks to you, my Lady. I just wish that I could stay here longer, then maybe I'd know even more. But Modru has seen to that, eh? For now I must go."

Aris nodded solemnly. "And where thou goest is into peril, and I would have ye take this to have at hand should the need arise." And she unwrapped the cloth she held and took from it a small silver case and gave it over to Beau.

His eyes wide, Beau slipped the catch and opened the case; inside he found pressed leaves of a golden mint. "Gwynthyme!" he breathed, then looked up at Aris. "Oh, but you will have more need of this than I, what with Vulgs in Drearwood nearby."

Aris shook her head. "Vulgs might lie along thy path as well, Sir Beau, and shouldst thou or thy companions be bitten, then this will counter the venom. Thou knowest the way of its use. Husband it well, for 'tis but six doses in all."

Carefully he closed the silver box and slipped it into the left breast pocket of his jacket, saying, "I thank you for this gift, my Lady, more precious by far than gold. Close to my heart will I keep it ever to remind me of you." Then he made a sweeping bow to Aris, and she smiled in return.

Then did Rael step forward again, and this time she presented the Waerlinga with hooded cloaks sized to fit them-an elusive dun brown on one side, a shadowy grey-green on the other. Dark metal clasps were affixed at the collars. "Now that ye go into peril, wear these well. Choose which side to mantle inward and which to mantle out depending upon the surround, and hard-pressed will be eyes to see ye, whether they belong to friend or foe."

Oohing and Ahhing and turning the grey-green side out, the buccen donned the garments, Tipperton setting aside his lute to do so.

Twirling about, Beau said, "Well then, how do I look?"

"Like a wee Alor, my Lord," replied Jaith, and then she and the other Darai burst into gay laughter, Tip and Beau joining in.

But then Beau sobered and looked at Tip and said, "But we have nothing to give in return."

"That ye go against Modru is enough," said Rael.

"Speaking of going against Modru," said Beau, glancing at the open stable doors and the sunshine beyond, "it looks as if the time has come."

Catching up his lute and shouldering it, Tip said, "If we're ever to deliver this coin…"

They turned to go, yet Rael stayed them with her hand, and kneeling, she kissed them both, then said, "Though we know not what they mean, remember the words of the rede: seek the aid of those not men."

"Lady Rael, surely your words are not meant for us," protested Tip, "but for Eloran instead. He is the one riding to the High King's side, not us. All we have to fulfill is my promise to a Kingsman dead."

Rael stood and looked down at the two Waerlinga. "Nevertheless, Sir Tipperton. Sir Beau, ye both were present when those words were said."

"Yes," agreed Beau, "we were there. But so were others:

Eloran, Gildor, Vanidor, Faeon, and Talarin… and yourself, of course, Lady Rael. I agree with Tip: surely those words were meant for someone other than us, for we're nothing but a couple of country bumpkins and totally inconsequential."

"Nay, Sir Beau, inconsequential thou art not," said Rael.

Jaith cleared her throat. "When thou dost get a chance, Sir Tipperton, tell Sir Beau thy sire's tale of the curious fly and the sleeping giant."

Tip laughed. "That I will, Lady Jaith. That I will."

Rael smiled, then looked down the passageway and said, "Loric and Phais, they await ye without."

Tip took a deep breath and looked at Beau, and together they started down the corridor leading from the mews, the three Darai coming after.

And they found outside a gathering of Lian, come to see them off, for they had made many friends in the eleven weeks following their capture by the march-ward at the edge of Drearwood. Too, resembling as they did Elven children, many had come to see them embark on this mission dire, for their hearts would not let them do otherwise. And when the Waerlinga, resplendent in their Elven cloaks, stepped out from the stables and into the bright sunshine of spring, many gasped and turned aside, tears springing to their eyes, for it was as if precious young of their own were setting forth on a mission which would put them athwart harm's way.

Now Talarin stepped before them, his gaze somber but clear. And he said in a voice all could hear, "Fare ye well, my friends, fare ye well. And may the hand of Adon shelter ye from all harm."

Then he embraced Loric and Phais, and knelt and embraced each of the Waerlinga and kissed them as well, whispering to each, "Take care, my wee one. Take care."

Now other Elves came unto the four, and many knelt and kissed the buccen, some weeping openly as they did so. And Tip found tears on his own cheeks as well, yet whether they were his or those of the Lian, he could not say.

Last to come unto the buccen were Jaith and Aris and finally dark-haired Elissan. And when Elissan kissed them both, she turned to Tipperton and forced a smile and said,

"When next thou doth take a bath, keep thine eyes open; else thou mayest once again have thy splendor revealed."

Tip blushed and even though both were weeping, they managed to laugh through their tears.

And then the buccen were lifted up to the backs of the packhorses, where amid the cargo they straddled fleece-covered frames built especially for them, with stirrups on short straps for their feet.

Mounted on their own steeds, Loric and Phais turned to the buccen tethered behind. "Art thou ready?" asked Phais.

Tip nodded, and Beau said, "As ready as I ever will be."

But then Tip called out, "For Adon and Mithgar!"

And all the Elves lifted their voices in return: "For Adon and Mithgar! "

And then Loric and Phais spurred their horses, and across the clearing they galloped, packhorses and buccen trailing after, with Beau on the one behind Loric, and Tip on the one after Phais.

And all the Elves, some yet weeping, stood and watched as the foursome rode away, to reach the edge of the clearing and pass into the trees beyond…

… and then they were gone.

And only the sound of the spring-swollen Virfla broke the quiet of the vale.