Into the Forge

Chapter 28

"Beau, look!"

Beau Darby looked where Tip was pointing. "Warrows!" he exclaimed. "Let's go meet them." And he jumped down from the packhorse and motioned for Tip to do the same.

Tip glanced at Phais. She smiled and inclined her head toward the archers. "Tipperton, why Waerlinga are here in Caer Lindor, I know not. Yet 'tis thy folk, and thou shouldst mingle among thy kindred."

Tip, his bow in hand and his quiver on his hip, scrambled down from the horse and followed the other buccan through the bustle of the yard.

But for his sire and a dim memory of his dam, Tip had never seen another Warrow until Beau had come to Two-forks. And now as he looked across the bailey here were- as his da would have said-a whole gaggle of jackanapes. And with his heart pounding, he followed Beau into the cluster, most watching as two flew arrows into the shadowy forms. And just as he came among them, a cheer rose up from the gathering as an arrow struck the dark wooden silhouette dead in its pinned-leaf heart.

Turning to Beau with Tip coming after-"Oh, hullo," said one of the Warrows, a dark-haired, blue-eyed young buccan of nearly the same age as Tip and Beau, twenty-two or -three at most. "I've not seen you two before. Are you newly come?"

Beau grinned. "Aye. We just rode in. But, say, I'm Beau Darby, and my friend here is Tipperton Thistledown. We're from"-a cheer drowned out Beau's words.

"From where?"

"Twoforks," repeated Beau. "Though the Boskydells is my true home."

"The Boskydells? Now there's a place I've heard of," replied the Warrow, "but Twoforks?" He shook his head. "And by the bye"-he touched the brim of the hat he wore-"I'm Winkton Bruk, but Wink'll do."

"Wink it is, then," said Beau, grinning.

In that moment the crowd cheered again and clapped in hearty approval. Someone had won.

Wink's eyes lit up as he saw Tipperton's bow. "I say, would either of you like to join our contest? Try your hand at besting our champion?"

Before Tip could respond, Beau glanced through the applauding crowd at the archers. "Not me. My weapon is the sling. But Tip here, he's the arrow caster, and a mighty fine one at that."

Wink smiled at Tip. "Would you give it a go?"

Tip felt his face flush, and he dipped his head and mumbled, "I'm just a-"

Wink held his arms on high. "A challenge, a challenge!" he cried out above the assembly.

"But I-" said Tip as nearby Warrows turned.

"A champion of Twoforks has come!" cried Wink.

More Warrows turned, puzzlement in their jewellike eyes. Twoforks?

"Urn, wait. I don't-" began Tip, but Wink grabbed him by the wrist and towed him through the press.

As he did so, one of the archers stepped away from the shocks, leaving the contest winner behind, plucking arrows from the target, while two Warrows readied two fresh leaves to fasten in place.

"Here we go," said Wink, pulling reluctant Tip to the line. There he abandoned Tip, leaving him all alone. Tip turned to step away, only to face some twenty-five or thirty Warrows watching.

In the crowd, Beau stuck his thumb up and called, "For Twoforks and the Bosky!"

A lusty, good-humored cheer greeted these words.

Tip sighed and lifted his bow in acknowledgement. The sight of the Elven-made weapon brought forth a hushed murmur of admiration from the assembled buccen.

Tip took an arrow from his quiver and was setting it to string when a lyrical voice behind asked, "Are you ready?"

Tip turned -and fumbled the arrow, the shaft to clatter upon the ground -as he looked into the amber-gold eyes of their champion -and his heart clenched -for she was a young damman, the first Tipperton had ever seen.

Dressed in brown leathers, she stood three inches shorter than Tipperton's own three feet four. Her hair was a rusty red-brown and held back by a leather band, and she smiled up at him, a twinkle in her amber eyes.

"I, uh-" Thunderstruck, Tipperton bent down to reclaim his arrow.

Laughing, her voice silvery, the damman set a shaft to her own string and let fly at the target, the arrow to strike dead in the leaf marking the heart.

"Your go," she said, stepping back from the line.

"My g-? Oh." With his fingers trembling and his heart hammering, Tipperton nocked the retrieved shaft. He then drew in a breath and let out half and pulled the bow taut and aimed. But his hands yet shook and he lowered his bow. Get a grip, bucco. What if it were a real Ruck standing there instead of-? Again he aimed, remembering the skirmish at Annory. He loosed the arrow to fly true and pierce the heart as well, his shaft embedded not a hairsbreadth from hers.

And the crowd roared in laughter.

Tip frowned.

"Um," said the damman, stepping to his side, "nice shot, but your target is over there."

A howl went up from the watching buccen.

Tip looked at the other shock, its silhouette pristine.

Four more arrows each they flew, all to strike the heart, the last four of Tip's in his own target, his first one in hers.

As they walked forward to retrieve the shafts, Wink trotted after to come to Tip's side and said, "Sorry, old chum, but you could have tied or even won had you not aimed at the wrong heart."

Beau, also striding alongside, looked at Tip, watching as his friend's gaze followed the damman. "Hmm," said Beau, "I think more than pinned-leaf hearts have been pierced here."

"Huh?" asked Tipperton. "Sorry, Beau, my mind was elsewhere. What did you say?"

"Oh, nothing," said Beau, turning to Wink and laying a finger alongside his nose and receiving a waggle of eyebrows in return.

Tip fetched his four arrows from the soft, corklike dark wood, and then screwed up his courage to the sticking point and stepped to the other shock. His heart hammering, his palms sweating, he said, "I'm Tipperton Thistledown."

She looked up at him with her golden eyes and smiled brightly and handed him his other arrow. "Rynna Fenrush, though most call me Ryn."

"Wren like the bird?"

Rynna laughed, and Tip couldn't but catch his breath from the sound of it. "No, no, Tipperton, it's r-y-n, though some claim otherwise-"

"As do I," said a voice from behind, and Tip turned to see a golden-haired Elf standing at hand. "Feisty she is and small and red-brown with a golden eye, and chatters sharply when angry, and if that does not describe a wren-"

"Oh, Silverleaf, you're nought but a great tease," declared Ryn, laughing, though Tip thought he could detect a fiery glint in her perfectly lovely eyes -and then he suddenly realized: "She called you Silverleaf!"

"Aye, in the common tongue I am Silverleaf; in Sylva, Vanidar; and in Darda Erynian some have another name for me in that lilting tongue of theirs."

As with all of immortal Elvenkind, Vanidar appeared to be no more than a lean-limbed youth, though his actual age had to be several millennia, for he had been Coron when the trees of the Eldwood forest were but seedlings, and now they were giants. He had golden hair cropped at the shoulder and tied back with a simple leather headband, as was the fashion among most Lian. He was clad in dark blue and wore a silver belt which held a long-knife. His feet were shod in soft leather dyed pale blue, and he stood perhaps five feet nine or ten. And even standing perfectly still, he seemed endowed with the grace of a cat.

"I'm Tipperton Thistledown," said Tip, bowing, "miller of Twoforks, though not of late."

Silverleaf smiled. "I know, and 'tis thee I came to find, for I would hear thy tale. But first"-he turned to Rynna- "wouldst thou see that these twain-Sir Tipperton and Sir Beau-are properly quartered, then fetch them unto the war room?"

"Gladly," replied Rynna, smiling at Tip, and once again his heart flopped.

Canting his head forward in acknowledgement, "In a candlemark or so," said Silverleaf, and then turned back toward the caer.

"Where are your goods?" asked Rynna.

Tip looked at Beau, only to receive a shrug. "Urn, I suppose at the stables," said Tip, swinging 'round and trying to locate them. "At least, that's where I assume Loric and Phais took the horses. Our goods were on them."

Rynna nodded and, linking her arm through Tipperton's, said, "Then that's where we'll go look." And she set off across the bailey, pulling Tip along, and he looked in wonder at her arm circling his… and tripped.

As they wound their way through the labyrinthine hallways of the caer, with its many twists and turns and shadowy corners and corridors, Tip, his bedroll and other belongings in hand, asked, "What are so many Warrows doing in Caer Lindor?"

Rynna made a low sound in her throat, and Tip thought it a growl. "The Rucks and Hloks and other such drove us here."

"Oh, my," said Beau.

"Oh, my, indeed," replied Rynna bitterly.

She came to a cross corridor and led them rightward. She glanced at Tip and sighed. "We lived in Springwater, a village on the Rissanin up beyond Eryn Ford, up near the headwaters along the Rimmen Range."

"The mountains," said Tip, remembering the maps he had seen.

"Yes. North and east of here."

Tip groaned, and Beau said, "North and east, eh? That's the way to Aven, right?"

"Aven? Yes. Or rather it would be the way were a Horde not standing athwart. But Aven itself lies far beyond Springwater. Beyond Riamon, in fact."

"I'm sorry, Ryn," said Beau. "I interrupted."

Rynna shrugged. "There's not that much to tell, Beau. As I was saying, our village lies some fifty leagues upstream, up the River Rissanin… er, rather I should say, it used to lie up there, but no more: the Horde entirely destroyed it. We had small warning that they were coming, and less than half of us survived the initial onslaught." They came to another cross hall, where Rynna turned leftward. As they started down this way, she clenched a fist. "Those of us with weapon skills remained behind and fought, delaying the Foul Folk vanguard, leading them astray, while granthers and granddams and buc-can and damman, some with younglings in their arms, made their way toward the safety of Darda Erynian, where the Dyl-vana and the Hidden Ones dwell."

Beau gulped but did not speak.

"After we had covered the flight of the others unto the safety of the forests, we turned upon the foe, raiding, ambushing, and taking down lone patrols. But in all they were too many for us, though we gave good account of ourselves."

Again Rynna sighed. "Yet no matter how well laid our plans, still there were casualties. Finally we-" Abruptly Rynna stopped before a hallway door. "Oh, here we are."

Rynna reached up and slipped the latchstring. "You can bunk in here," she said, pushing open the panel to reveal a small room, small for a Human or Elf, that is, but quite adequate for Warrows.

"These used to be Elven monks' cells, I am told," said Rynna, stepping inward, Tip and Beau following. "They worshipped someone called the Great Creator."

"We've heard of the Great Creator," said Tip. "-But go on with your tale."

"Oh, that. There's little more. When we were driven into the woods, we knew that we would need help in the destruction of the Horde, and so we came here. -Say, is that a lute?"

Tip nodded as he placed the instrument in its casings on one of the two bunks.

Rynna smiled at him. "I play a pennywhistle and I know quite a few tunes. Do you think we can make music together?"

Beau laughed and dropped his bedroll on a locker at the foot of his bunk.

"O-o-oh, yes," said Tip. "Though I don't know very many songs."

"I'll teach you some then… but later. For now we've got to get to the war room. Silverleaf awaits."

Silverleaf shook his head, then passed on the pewter token to the tall, black-haired Lian. "What dost thou think, Aravan? Canst thou sense any peril?"

Setting aside his crystal-bladed spear, Aravan took the disk and examined it, his sapphire-blue eyes full of curiosity. After a moment he shook his head. "Nay, Silverleaf, no peril do I sense." He frowned. "It seems nought more than a plain pewter coin minted with a hole in it, like many found throughout the world, though this has no stamp of the realm where it was struck. As to why Blaine would send such unto Agron…" Aravan shrugged and held out the token to a giant of a man, fully ten or twelve inches taller than Aravan's own considerable six-foot height. "Urel?"

Before the big man reached for the coin, he looked at Aravan. "Your stone?"

Aravan touched a small blue stone on a thong ' round his neck. "As I said, Urel, I sense no harm. Yet Tarquin's gift does not warn against all peril, and so as to the token I cannot say."

Somewhat assured, the brown-haired, brown-eyed Baeran took the coin. "I do not think that Blaine would send something of peril unto Agron. After all, they were fast friends when my father taught them the ways of the woods."

"The ways of the woods?" asked Beau.

"Aye. Kings oft send their children to the Baeron to learn the ways of the land and to learn to husband its wealth. 'Tis a manner of teaching young Princes of the keeping of the world."

Urel frowned at the pewter disk, then muttering, "Commander," he gave it over to Rynna, who held out her hand, tiny when compared to the Baeran's.

"Commander?" said Beau, looking at Rynna.

"Aye," replied Silverleaf. "Ryn leads the Waerlinga on our raiding forays."

"And better scouts we could not ask," added Aravan.

Beau's gaze flew wide, but Ryn looked up from the coin at Tip and closed one eye in a wink.

And Tipperton blushed and looked away, looked at Urel, and the big man rumbled, "If I were you, wee one, I would have a Mage examine that coin at first chance."

Now it was Tip's eyes that widened, and he glanced from Urel to the token. "Mage?"

Urel nodded, and glanced at Aravan's amulet and then at Aravan's spear, with its dark crystal and the long black shaft, the weapon nearly eight feet overall in length. "It could hold some kind of charm."

"Charm? M-magic? -Oh, Rynna, perhaps you ought not to handle it." Tip reached out.

She laughed her silvery laugh and tossed the disk and thong in the air and caught it. Then she sobered when she saw how serious he was. "Oh, Tipperton, I don't think it carries peril. I mean, you've told us your tale, and it seems you've borne it many a day without coming to harm."

Tip frowned. "I don't know about that, Ryn. I mean, we, Beau and I, well, ever since we got hold of this coin, we've nearly been killed a goodly number of times."

"Say," piped up Beau, "you don't think it attracts peril to the holder, do you now?"

Ryn frowned at the token, then smiled. "Oh, I think not, for you've also met up with many a good friend as well- those in Arden Vale and Darda Galion and elsewhere- Loric, Phais, Silverleaf, Aravan, Urel, the Dwarves in Annory, and many others"-she looked at Tipperton with her golden eyes-"me…"

At her gaze, Tip felt his heart leap.

"Lor', Beau, but she's the most beautiful damman I've ever seen."

"Bucco, she's the only damman you've ever seen."

Tip frowned, but then his smile beamed forth again. "You're forgetting my dam."

"I thought you told me you could but barely remember her."

"Well, I did," snapped Tip. "I mean, that's right. Yet I just wanted to, to-"

"You just wanted to show my words false, eh?" said Beau, grinning. "Well, here's what I'll concede: she's one of two female Warrows you've seen. Yet even with all your vast experience, bucco, I will tell you this about Rynna: I've never seen a damman in the Bosky more comely, and that's saying some. And she can really shoot an arrow."

"Oh, but that's not all, Beau. She's witty and clever and has got a temper and-"

A soft tap came on the door.

Tip opened it to find Ryn standing with a tin whistle in hand, her amber-gold eyes aglitter. "Take up your lute, Tipperton. We'll go to the battlements after we eat and play a tune or two."

Of the songs Rynna taught him that night, the second was a simple but sad tune: "The Waiting Maiden."

And when they had played it through several times, Tipperton gaining in mastery, Rynna asked, "Um, Tipperton, do you have anyone waiting for you back home?"

Tip frowned over the silver frets and set his fingers to play the most difficult chord in the tune. "Unh-uh," he muttered, yet concentrating on barring and placement. "No one." Then he struck the chord, followed quickly by a fingered progression, and silver notes cascaded forth as Rynna laughed gaily. When the last of the notes faded to silence, he looked up smiling to find Rynna smiling back.

"Now let me teach you a more lively tune," she said, picking up her penny whistle, "and I'll teach you the words as well."

And so they played and sang, as a gibbous moon rode among clouds across slashes of starry sky, while warders atop the battlements paced their rounds and smiled.

Over the next seven days, as they waited for reports on the location of the eastward Horde, although Beau met the remaining Springwater Warrows-buccen all, but for Ryn-and many of the Baeron and Elves, he saw little of Loric and Phais, off in their privacy. He saw little of Tipperton, too, and when he did espy the buccan, Rynna was ever at his side, those two walking about as if they were alone in a bubble, Tipperton meeting other buccen and Lian and men, yet seeming to have time only for the damman, and she seeming to have eyes only for him.

"Canoodling," Beau muttered, grinning as he watched them stroll by, oblivious to all others, the buccan using a word his Aunt Rose had taught him-"Canoodling, indeed"-yet Beau had seen how thunderstruck Tip was, not that she wasn't stricken likewise. Even so, they both had sworn missions to fulfill: Tip to deliver a small pewter coin; Rynna to command the Warrows on their frequent forays, as became all too apparent -For on the eve of that seventh day in Caer Lindor, word came that Foul Folk roamed along this side of the Argon, somewhere above Olorin Isle. And hastily a warband was assembled by Silverleaf, of Elves and men and Waer-linga, Rynna in command of the scouts.

And they rode out in the night, heading westward through Darda Erynian-Warrows upon ponies, Elves and men upon horses, Silverleaf in the lead, his bow of white horn in hand. And Tip stood on the battlements above and watched by the glimmering light of the stars as Ryn rode out from the caer and across the bridge and into the woods beyond, she looking back over her shoulder and up, letting her pony find the way.

And the next day Tipperton paced the battlements, and stood on the weapons shelf and peered out through a crenel, the buccan looking ever westward, seeking to see some sign of their return, seeking to see that Rynna and the others were all right.

"But they'll be gone for days," said Beau, standing on the banquette walk just below. "They said so before they left."

"I know," snapped Tipperton. Then more softly, "I know."

"And we've got to think about our own mission, bucco," added Beau. "After all, we've been here a week."

Tipperton, his face pale and stricken, turned and peered down at his friend. "Oh, Beau, I can't leave without knowing she's safe."

"But Loric and Phais say they've worked out the best way to go 'round the Horde in the east, and we'll be leaving soon."

Tip's shoulders slumped. "I know," he whispered. "I know."

Brushing his sleeve across his eyes, Tip turned back to peer out through the crenel, and Beau clambered up beside him and threw an arm across his friend's shoulders, and together they stood and looked westward, peering out and down into the forest reaching to the horizon and beyond, seeking movement, seeing none.

Three days passed, with no word, and at the late-day meal on the third of these days, Phais said, "We must go forth on morrow morn or the one after and no later, for the knowledge we have concerning the whereabouts of the Horde grows older each day we delay, and even now they may be on the move… or not."

Tipperton felt as if he'd been struck a blow in the stomach. "But, Dara, Rynna has not returned."

"And she may not," rumbled a bleak-eyed Baeran sitting at their table, his voice bitter, his arm bound and in a sling, a wound taken some days past during a raid eastward. "My wife did not."

With stricken eyes Tip looked at the man. "Ach, I'm sorry, Waldan," said the Baeran, shaking his head. "I did not think before I spoke."

His vision swimming, Tip looked away toward one of the doors of the great common room.

Phais reached out and placed her hand over the buccan's. " 'Tis ever so in war that friends and lovers are parted. Yet thou hast a sworn mission to fulfill, just as does she."

"I know," said Tip, his voice near breaking, his tears barely held in check. "But I… I jflst wanted to see her one last time. I wanted to tell her… I wanted to tell her…" Tip could not finish his words.

"She knows, wee one," whispered Phais. "She knows."

That night, in deference to Tipperton, they decided to wait one more day in Caer Lindor, but come what may, they would set out the morning after. And so Tip spent the night atop the battlements, peering through starlight in vain, and just ere dawn the warders found him asleep at his west-facing crenel.

Wan and bleary, Tip picked at his breakfast, while Beau softly chided him about needing food and rest. Yet even though Beau was concerned for his friend, still his own appetite held strong. "Y' never know when we'll be without food again, bucco," he said. " 'Sides, we'll be on rations starting tomorrow and today's the last of the good cooking for a while."

Tip nodded listlessly and continued to pick at his food.

Unable to eat, he had just set aside his knife when a distant bugle sounded, to be answered by one atop the bastion walls.

"They're here," said Beau, but Tip was already running for the door.

Out from the caer and across the bailey he ran, Beau coming after, a rasher of bacon in hand along with a chunk of bread. Up the ramp darted Tip, up to the banquette above, where he leaped upon the weapons shelf and looked out through a crenel.

Tip peered westerly, the rising sun at his back, yet he saw no movement along the River Rissanin nor within the entwined foliage of the woodland below. And he waited, his heart hammering.

Beau clambered up beside him, and in that moment a slow-moving cavalcade emerged from the forest. They watched as more and more horses came out from among the trees, and for each one ridden there came another horse being led while dragging a travois behind.

"I'd better go, Tip," said Beau, "they've got wounded."

Tip nodded, not speaking, and Beau clambered down. Just as the buccan reached the ramp to the bailey below, Tip turned. "Beau, send someone to fetch me if, if-"

"I know," said Beau, nodding, and then he was down and gone.

Tipperton faced west again. Still the horses came out from among the trees.

Ponies. No ponies. Where are the ponies? Where are the Warrows? Where is my Rynna?

Finally, as the first of the cavalcade came onto the pontoon bridge, no more horses with riders or wounded emerged from the forest behind.

His heart thudding in the pit of his stomach, Tip waited until the last of the horses clopped onto the bridge, and then he sprang to the banquette and darted down the ramp and into the bailey below.

"… were there, all right," Tipperton overheard as he came in among the wounded. "We engaged them two mornings back and drove them hindward to their boats and rafts," continued the speaker, a Baeran, a bloody bandage on his arm and another wrapped 'round his head. "But they fought fiercely, as you can see"-healers squatted beside the wounded, gauging the damage, applying unguents and herbal poultices and bandages, Beau enwrapping a fresh binding on a wounded Lian-"and some in our warband were slain."

Tip's heart lurched and he felt as if he could not breathe.

"What of Vanidar and the others?" asked Aravan, who had remained behind in command.

"Last I saw, Silverleaf and the Waldana were racing downstream along the bank and feathering them with arrows, though many a black shaft flew back at them. Those of the warband without bows and slings rode alongside covering the flanks just in case there were more aland, or to be on hand if those on the river turned ashore."

"And the dead?"

The Baeran gestured to where several of the travois had been unfastened and lay off to the side, the bodies thereon covered with blankets. "We brought back those we could, though if Silverleaf and the others take wounds, there's likely to be more."

Again Tip's heart flopped and, trembling, he stepped toward the dead.

Only one of those slain was the size of a Warrow, and with his breath coming harsh and gasping, Tipperton slowly raised the corner of the blanket to see, and he fell to his knees weeping, weeping in relief, for it was not Rynna, but Winkton Bruk instead.

She's safe, oh Adon, she's safe.

And then guilt flooded Tipperton's very soul.

Oh, my. Oh, my. How can I rejoice when Wink lies here dead; how can I be glad that it's Wink instead of her?

With tears running down his cheeks, Tip reached out with his fingers and smoothed back Winkton's dark hair.

I'm so sorry, so very sorry, Wink.

And he covered Winkton's face with the blanket once more and then stood. And he looked about, not only feeling guilty but also feeling utterly useless, for he knew nought but the most rudimentary of healing skills, and they needed more here. And his eyes sought the sight of Rynna Yet she is not here, not here, but out there somewhere still, black-shafted arrows seeking her heart. Oh, my Rynna, be safe.

Tip trudged to a ramp and up to stand vigil once more.

The sun had climbed to the zenith when another horn sounded from the forest, and Elves and men on horses and Warrows on ponies came plodding forth, some drawing travois behind, and on some of these drawn litters, blanket-covered bodies rode.

His heart thudding in fear, Tip sought sign of his loved one as each pony, as each horse, plodded forth from among the trees. Yet she did not appear and did not appear, and tears sprang to his eyes, to be shaken away, for he would see.

And then Silverleaf on his black came forth from the woodland, and none came after. And Tip cried out in despair, but in that same moment a morose Rynna rode forth from beside Silverleaf; her pony had been concealed by the larger mount.

"Rynna!" shrieked Tipperton. "Rynna, up here!"

And she looked up to see Tip waving madly.

With a wild whoop Rynna spurred her pony, her little steed to gallop across the bridge, Tipperton to dash down from above.

Tip reached the bailey at the same time Rynna did, and she haled her mount to a skidding halt, seeming to stop and dismount at one and the same time.

And Tip caught her up and swung her about, and kissed her soundly, she kissing him just as fervently in return.

"Oh, my buccaran," she gasped, tears running down her cheeks, "I thought you would be gone."

"And I thought you wounded or worse," said Tip, his own eyes welling with joy. Then he gasped. "Buccaran. You called me your buccaran. Oh, my dammia, how did you know I loved you?"

She looked at him, her amber-gold eyes wide. "I've known it from the first moment I saw you. Did you not know it in return?"

While the Baeron bore their four slain kindred south into the Greatwood to lay them beneath leafy bowers, the Elves and Warrows built a great pyre at the edge of Darda Erynian for the remaining five dead: three Warrows and two Elves- a Lian and a Dylvana.

As they did so, Beau turned to Tip and said, "Lor', Tip, Warrows. Warrows killed in this war." And he burst into tears, Tipperton weeping as well. And Rynna took them both in her embrace, and the three stood together and cried.

And as the flames soared and the dead burned and the Warrows wept, Silverleaf and Aravan lifted their sweet voices and sang all the souls into the sky, while deep in the Greatwood, the Baeron stood in grim silence.

Evening fell, and in the twilight Rynna and Tip stood on the battlements and peered out at the forest and down at the river below, and as the darkness deepened they watched as stars came creeping into the moonless night.

"Isn't it strange," said Rynna, peering down at the glimmers in the water below.

"What?"

"The river."

"How so?"

"The water continually flows and flows and yet it is always there; it is always the same, yet every moment it is new."

"As is our love, dear heart, as is our love."

Bone-weary-Tipperton from lack of sleep and worry, Rynna from lack of sleep and battle-after a late supper, together they walked toward her quarters.

"We leave on the dawn," said Tip.

"I know," replied Ryn.

They came to her door.

"Stay awhile," she said.

A time later and at the request of Silverleaf, Beau went looking for Tip to have the buccan come and choose a pony. Beau walked to Rynna's door.

He softly knocked.

No answer.

He knocked again.

No answer still.

Perhaps they 're not in, bucco. Then again perhaps they are. Of course, they may be up on the battlements watching the stars and canoodling, for surely if they were in, either Ryn or Tip would answer.

Softly Beau opened the door. Tip and Ryn, fully clothed, were lying on her bed sound asleep spoonwise, Tip with his arm about her.

Softly Beau closed the door. I'll just pick out his pony myself.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Tip awakened to find Rynna lying beside him and studying his face by the light of the stars seeping in through the high window.

She was unclothed.

Tipperton sat up, and without speaking she knelt on the bed beside him and gently unlaced his shirt.

And though neither had any experience, they made sweet and tender love and fell asleep once more in one another's arms.

Stay.

I cannot. I have a promise to fulfill to a dead Kingsman.

Come with me.

I cannot, for I have my own pledge to carry out, an oath taken when Springwater was destroyed.

Wait for me.

Wait for me.

I will, my buccaran.

I will, O dammia mine.

And they made sweet, gentle love again.

Dawn came.

Horses and ponies were saddled and mules laden with gear and fare-grain for the animals, and rations for Li an and Waerlinga.

And Rynna gave over the gift of three red-fletched arrows to Tipperton, arrows with a woven collar of scarlet bark at the head.

As Tip accepted them he asked, "What are these?"

"Signal arrows," replied Rynna. "Light them and loose them into the sky. They make a bright crimson flare and leave a burning streak in the air behind. You never know when you may need one."

"Oh, Ryn, I have nothing to give you in exchange."

"You've given me yourself and that is enough. Just promise me you'll return."

"I will come when the coin is delivered," said Tipperton, placing the arrows in his quiver.

Rynna nodded and tried to smile brightly.

Tipperton took up his lute and tied it to the rear cantle and then stepped back from the pony and looked it over. All seemed ready. Then he turned to Rynna and embraced her. "Stay safe, my dammia," he whispered, his voice husky.

"Take care, my buccaran," she whispered back.

Tip glanced at Loric, and at a nod, they began walking the steeds across the bailey and toward the gate, Phais leading, Loric next, then Beau, with Tip and Rynna coming last.

Through the jinking passage under the wall they went, the animal hooves aclatter upon the stone way, Tipperton dreading what was to come.

"She was right, you know," said Tip above the clack and chatter and echo of shod hooves.

"Who was right?" asked Rynna.

"Phais. She said that war sunders friend from friend and lover from lover, and although I always believed it was so, never did I think it would happen to me."

Rynna sighed and nodded, but said nothing in return.

Somewhere above a horn sounded, its clarion call ringing down through the murder holes.

Ryn raised an eyebrow and glanced at Tip and took an arrow from the quiver at her hip. " 'Tis an alert, though not a battle cry."

Hastily, Tip retrieved his Elven bow from its saddle scabbard and set one of his own arrows to string, while Beau laded his sling.

They came out from under the wall and onto the pontoon bridge. Both Tipperton and Rynna scanned the edge of the woods lying a distance beyond the opposite bank, but Beau said, "Oh, look," and pointed downriver.

A number of small boats laden with men and plied by oars came rowing upstream.

"What is it?" asked Tipperton, turning to Ryn.

"I don't know, but we'd better be ready for whatever comes."

Loric and Phais began backing the steeds toward the fortress walls, the mules protesting yet grudgingly moving hindward, balking now and then. "Back," called Phais. "Take shelter, for we know not what this portends."

But in that very moment in one of the boats a man stood and held up his empty hands and cried out: "Safe haven! Safe haven!"

"I don't like this one bit, Ryn. These are Rivermen."

Rynna looked at Tip and whispered back, "Are we to deny them shelter just because of something their ancestors did long past?"

"But Rivermen were adherents of Gyphon once, and who's to say they haven't fallen back on those evil ways?"

"Are the sins of the ancestors to be visited upon the descendants?"

"Oh, Ryn, it's just that I don't want to leave you in any danger."

"Tipperton, O my Tipperton, in times such as this no place is safe."

Even as Tipperton and Rynna whispered back and forth, while the bulk of the Rivermen remained outside, their leaders negotiated with Silverleaf and Aravan, and on the walls above, Waerlinga stood with arrows nocked and ready, yet with bowstrings undrawn.

At last Silverleaf signed that all was well, and arrows were placed back in quivers and bows unstrung.

Phais and Loric came to Tip and Beau and Ryn. "Vani-dar has granted them temporary sanctuary. Aravan is to go with a warband to Olorin Isle to see if their tale rings true, and if necessary across the river to Darda Galion beyond to discover what the march-ward has seen. In this mission as in all others, Rynna, he will need scouts."

Rynna nodded, then asked, "What tale do they tell, these Rivermen?"

"That Foul Folk came downstream and plundered and raided and slew, and these Rivermen were all who escaped with their lives."

Rynna sighed. "Foul Folk, eh? Perhaps some of those we chased down the Argon."

"I thought you slew them all," said Tip.

"So did I, yet it may be that some escaped, or perhaps some went downstream before we came upon the others."

"Regardless," said Phais, glancing up at the midmorn-ing sun and then at Tip and Beau, " 'tis time we were on our way."

"With the Rivermen here?" protested Tip.

Phais glanced at Rynna and nodded grimly. "This fortress is in good hands."

"Well, I don't like it one bit," said Tip.

"Nevertheless…"

Now Rynna turned to Tip. "We'll be fine, my love. Besides, you said it yourself, that ever in war friends and lovers are parted, as we are about to be. Yet the sooner started, the sooner you'll return to me." She took a deep breath, as if to ready herself for a blow, and then said, "Now be on your way."

Tip looked at her, his eyes wide and mingled with anguish and concern. But at last he nodded.

And so, once again the four companions along with Rynna led their horses and mules and ponies under the wall and onto the pontoon bridge, this time gaining the far bank.

And Ryn hugged Beau and kissed him on the cheek and whispered for him to watch after her Tipperton, and he whispered back that he would.

And then she turned to Tip, and they embraced and kissed one another.

And while they held each other this one last time, Loric and Phais and Beau all mounted and rode to the edge of the woods, where they stopped and waited.

"I love you, Rynna Fenrush."

"And I love you, my buccaran."

Tipperton sighed and released his dammia, and she reluctantly let him go. He mounted his pony and then leaned down and kissed her once more. "Take care, my love. Take care."

She stepped away, tears in her eyes, and with a choked farewell he spurred after the others and into the woods beyond. When she could see him no more, she turned and, weeping, trudged across the wooden bridge and into Caer Lindor, while on the banks Rivermen unladed their craft and carried their goods within.