Into the Forge

Chapter 29

North they rode away from Caer Lindor, Tip morose, Loric and Phais delighting in the green of Darda Erynian, Beau timorously looking this way and that, for not only was this Darda Erynian-Greenhall Forest-this was also Blackwood, where Hidden Ones are said to dwell, and everyone knew that Hidden Ones were… were… well, they just were. And if you went into their "closed places," then you most likely would never be seen alive again, or so Aunt Rose had always said when speaking of those places in the Weiunwood.

"Birds and wild things," she would say, "deer, hare, foxes, voles, and other such, things that fly, run, crawl, slither-even snakes-for them to live in those places or just to wander through, well, that's all right. But for folk to intrude-" Here Aunt Rose would always shudder, and Beau's eyes would fly wide, trying to imagine the horrible fate of any who would be so foolish.

And now here he was, riding right through the heart of their domain. And he twitched and started at every movement, every sound, some imagined, some not, and looked all 'round, trying to see, trying to see, well, he just didn't know quite what, but trying to see regardless.

But as it had been when they had crossed through that southernmost corner of Blackwood, going from the ferry landing to the fortress of Caer Lindor, Beau saw nought except perhaps flickers of movement at the corners of his eyes, yet when he looked straight-on, it seemed nothing was there but shadows coiling 'round the feet of the trees.

"It gives me the shivers, it does."

Tip roused a bit. "What? What did you say?"

"I said, Tip, it gives me the shivers." Beau gestured all 'round.

"These woods?"

"Yar."

Tip sighed and nodded, but said nothing more, as they rode onward through the sun-dappled green galleries of the forest, with its birds flitting from limb to limb and voles rustling through leaves, and hares bounding away as the horses and mules and ponies approached.

All that day they rode northerly, their track paralleling the waters of the Rissanin, Tip's gaze turning ever and again toward the river flowing in the opposite direction, southerly and away. Toward my Rynna.

Now and again Loric or Phais would turn sharply-left at times, rightward at others-to ride 'round a section of woods… sometimes a stand of trees-oaks, birch, maple, pine, and the like-other times they would bypass an open sward, a pool or stream, a rocky outcrop, or other such, as if deliberately avoiding these places.

Tip paid no heed, but Beau knew, indeed, Beau knew… or so he thought.

"We will make for Bircehyll," Phais said during one of their frequent pauses.

"Bircehyll?" asked Beau.

"Aye. 'Tis where Coron Ruar will be, or so I think."

"Another Coron?"

"Aye. Of the Dylvana."

"What some call the wood Elves," added Loric, "for they are more reclusive than we Lian, seldom venturing forth from their Dardas."

"Lady Arin ventured forth," said Tip, momentarily emerging from his gloom.

Beau frowned, trying to remember.

"The Dragonstone," said Tip.

"Oh, yes," said Beau, enlightened. "She was a Dylvana, eh?"

"Indeed," said Phais, glancing into the nosebag of her horse. "Ah, the grain is gone."

Sighing, Tip stepped to his pony. Its feed was gone as well, and so he unsnapped the bag and slipped it in among the gear as Loric and Phais and Beau did likewise.

They rode another league or so and then set camp for the night. And during his watch by the light of the fire Tip softly played his lute, remembering… remembering.

And as he played, wild animals, it seemed, came to listen, or so it appeared, for among the trees eyes could be seen glowing, casting back the flame.

"I had the strangest dream, Tip."

"Oh?"

"I dreamt I was awakened in the night by someone speaking in a strange tongue, and saw Phais conversing with a small shadow, while nearby stood a fox."

"Mmm. That is strange. Was there any more?"

"No." Beau chrked his tongue, and his pony picked up the pace a bit, for he and Tip had lagged too far behind the riders ahead. "I must have dreamt I went back to sleep," called Beau over his shoulder.

Tip shrugged, then chrked his tongue as well.

Ahead, both Phais and Loric looked at one another and smiled.

In camp that night they heard foxes barking somewhere off in the woods, the high-pitched yips seeming to come from all quarters.

Progress was slow through the forest, for unlike Darda Galion with its mossy underfooting and wide-set trees, here the undergrowth was thick and in places the trees seemed to crowd 'round, as if trying to bar the way. Yet now and again they would come to an open glade, or field, or glen-and if they did not detour around it, they would kick the horses and ponies into a swift trot and ride across, the mules protesting at this unseemly gait, yet unable to do aught but follow after, drawn on the tethers tied to the rear cantles of Phais's and Loric's saddles.

But in one of these open places-a large field covered entirely with mounds, each some eight or ten feet high and twice as wide at the base, each hillock covered with a strawlike yellowish grass, or what seemed to be grass- Phais cautioned the Waerlinga to follow directly behind, and with the animals moving at a walk, she and Loric carefully threaded among the knolls, the buccen coming after.

Of a sudden, "Oh my," hissed Beau, calling back to Tipperton. "One of them moved, Tip. I swear one of them moved."

"One of the mounds?"

"Yes yes, one of the mounds. That one over there."

Tip looked where Beau pointed. As far as Tip was concerned, the mound looked insignificantly different from all the others, with nothing in particular to single it out.

"It turned a bit and, I vow, it seemed to, urn, squat somewhat."

Tip started to speak, but Beau snapped, "And don't tell me I'm imagining things."

Tipperton closed his mouth and carefully followed in Beau's tracks, while Beau in turn carefully followed Phais and her pack mule, the buccan nervously twitching this way and that in his saddle, as if trying to look all directions at once.

That night again they heard foxes nearby, and when Tipperton played, eyes shined at him from the dark.

The following day, even though a grey overcast covered the sky, Tip awakened in a better humor, as if resigned that it would be awhile before he saw his Rynna again.

And during breakfast he said to Beau: "Just so she's safe, that's all I want, and I can't think of a safer place than Caer Lindor."

As they resumed their journey northward, down through the trees the rain began falling, leaves catching water in mid plummet but then shedding it down adrip. And although the earth drank it thirstily, still rivulets and streamlets ran underfoot and -hoof. And as the day grew, so did the rain as it fell down and down. Streams rose, their woodland courses running to the brim, some overflowing the banks, and birds sat grumpy and wet among the branches above and now and again shook away water or preened in vain.

Through it all the comrades continued northward, cloaks wrapped 'round tightly, warding off the wetness, though hair and faces were drenched.

Yet though it rained, still among the trees along their flanks did silent shadows run.

That night the rain continued to fall, and the four had no campfire to ward away the wetness, for no dry wood could be found. Even so, Loric erected a pair of lean-tos and they escaped the worst of it.

By the following morning the rain had stopped, but the forest remained adrip, and as they pushed through the heavily laden branches, rider and horse and mule and pony became thoroughly soaked.

Turbulent streams raced across the way, shallow for the most part, and here the animals had little trouble crossing. Yet they came to a wide forest tributary of the Rissanin and had to fare upstream several miles to find a shallow enough ford.

That night again they set a fireless camp, for the wood was drenched, and when Tip played his lute, if there were watchers and listeners, he saw no gleam of eyes.

In midafternoon of the eighth day after setting out from Caer Lindor, the four came in among what seemed a boundless stand of silver birch, the close-set white trunks marching off before them, with no end in sight.

" 'Tis a forest within a forest," said Phais, "and here Dylvana dwell."

"Oh," said Tip. "Is this Bircehyll? The place where we'll see Coron… Coron…?"

"Ruar," said Loric. "Coron Ruar. And we'll see him if he is at court. But to answer your other question, Bircehyll itself lies a distance ahead, another two leagues or so."

With serrated green leaves rustling overhead and burbling rivulets flowing below, they rode into the silver birch weald, the trees all around glowing brightly in the afternoon sun, the bark of the clusters lucent in the radiance.

"Lor'," said Beau, "I thought the twilight of Darda Galion was magical, but this light all about is magical, too."

Tip nodded. "It seems safe, doesn't it?"

Beau's mouth dropped open. "Hoy now, but you're right. Not at all like"-Beau looked back over his shoulder-"like Blackwood behind."

"I think it's the light," said Tip. "After all, we're still in Black wood."

"Oh no we're not. Phais said it herself: a forest in a forest, that's what it is, and I'll thank you to not tell me otherwise."

Tip laughed and turned to fetch his lute, and soon a lively tune sprang from the argent strings as they rode among silver birch.

The day waned as they rode onward, and before them the land began to rise. "Bircehyll," said Loric, pointing at the gentle slope, and up the incline they fared. And as the sun sank below the horizon and twilight crept upon the land, they came in among white-stone, thatch-roofed cottages, dwellings much the same as those in Arden Vale as well as those in Wood's-heart, and these were lighted with lanterns, glowing yellow as evening fell. Dylvana paused in whatever tasks they were doing, Darai and Alori watching as on upward rode the four, and the comrades could see that here, too, just as in Darda Galion, just as in Arden Vale, Elves were preparing to set out on some campaign, for they polished armor and sharpened blades and checked riding tack and gear.

"Why is it," Beau asked, "that every time we come to an Elvenholt, they seem to be on the verge of riding to battle? Do we bring this down on their heads? If so, then I suggest next time we pass them entirely by."

Loric smiled and said, "The war is wide, my friend. The war is very wide."

On upward they pressed, and now Tip could see that the crest of the hill was bare of dwellings, and the clusters of silver birch trees thereon were sparse and widely spaced.

Loric did not ride across the crown of the mound but circled 'round instead.

At last on the north side of the hill they came to the Coron Hall, this too a thatch-roofed building, long and low and wide.

Coron Ruar at a slender five foot three stood an inch shorter than Phais. His hair was dark brown, as were his eyes, and the clothes he wore were dark brown as well.

He slid the coin back across to Tipperton. " 'Tis quite the tale ye tell, yet I know nought of what this token means." As Tip retrieved the coin, Ruar turned to Phais. "Aye, we knew that Draedani walk among the Hordes, though not the fact that Skail of the Barrens and mayhap other renegade Drakes have sided with Modru. Tis ill news indeed. Yet heed, this I do know: thy chances of winning through to Aven are enhanced if ye ride with us."

"Join thy forces?" asked Phais.

"Aye, for we will soon hie north, where the Baeron muster, and thence into Riamon to help break the siege on Mineholt North."

"Mineholt North?" asked Beau.

Loric glanced across at the buccan. " 'Tis a Drimmen-holt within the Rimmen Mountains nigh Dael."

"Another Dwarvenholt under siege?" asked Tip. "Like Drimmen-deeve?"

"Aye," said Ruar.

Tip frowned. "What is it about Dwarvenholts that Modru sets siege upon them?"

"The Drimma are mighty fighters," replied Ruar, "and should they win free, they will cause great destruction among Modru's Swarms. Hence, his Hordes set siege, for 'tis easier to do battle 'gainst someone trapped than to defend 'gainst them loose."

Beau's eyes flew wide. "I say, perhaps it's not to keep the Dwarves trapped inside but to keep people out; I mean, after all, Dwarvenholts are said to be the only places safe from Dragons."

Tip looked at his friend in surprise. "Goodness, Beau, but you're right. With Dragons at Modru's beck, the last thing he wants are havens from their flames."

Both Tip and Beau turned to Ruar, but the Dylvana Coron held up a hand. "Ye may be right, my friends, yet still the Drimma need aid."

Phais cleared her throat. "When dost thou plan on marching?"

"Within a fortnight."

Tip shook his head and sighed. "Two weeks? Another two weeks delayed?"

"Aye," replied Ruar. "Yet by delaying two weeks and riding with us thy chances of reaching Dendor increase many fold."

Tip looked at Beau, and that buccan said, "It's taken us a half year just to get this far, Tip. Whatever the meaning of that coin, whatever message Blaine has sent to Agron… well, I just don't think two weeks one way or another will make matters better or worse. Besides, it's as Ruar says, by riding with him, our chances in fact will improve. Perhaps the two-week delay will save time overall."

Tip looked at Phais. She shrugged and said, "Stand now or go, only in hindsight will our vision clear. As thou dost know, each decision represents a turning point, and each action taken as a result, or delayed or not taken at all, these are the stones cast in the waters. How the waves will ripple outward to act 'gainst others, only time will tell."

"Yes, indeed," said Beau, nodding. "All things are connected." He turned to Tip. "Another thing, bucco: given what happened to us when we crossed Drearwood all alone, I now think I'd much rather go into peril surrounded by an army than not."

Tip sighed and reluctantly agreed.

And so the buccen waited and watched as the Dylvana of Bircehyll prepared not only for a campaign to lift the siege of Mineholt North, but also prepared for a prolonged war.

On the morning of the third day in the Elvenholt, as the Warrows sat at breakfast Beau said, "I wonder how they'll get supplies? -The army, I mean."

"Hmm, by wagons or some such, I should think," said Tip, sopping up egg yolk with a chunk of bread.

Beau looked about the common hall where Dylvana ate, and then down at the food on his plate. "You know, Tip, back in Arden Vale, Aris told me that in summer they take the sheep up into the mountain vales, while the cattle stay down lower… and the chickens and pigs and such, well, their coops and wallows and pens are never moved, though for the sake of breathing, they are kept a ways north of the Elvenholt. And we saw the fields where they raised the grain and other crops… their orchards too. But sitting here in the middle of a forest, I'm wondering: just where in this place, or in Darda Galion, for that matter, where do they raise their foodstuff? -That is, the grain, vegetables, fruit. Where do they graze their herds? -Assuming of course that they have herds. For that matter, where do they grind their grain? Where are their mills? And do they have tanneries? And-?"

Tip held up a hand to staunch Beau's words. "Whoa, bucco. Look. I don't know where they keep gardens and fields and herds and other such, but surely they must have them somewhere, right? I mean, else they'd starve."

Again Beau looked at his plate. "Righto, they must, else we'd be hungry too." And he scooped up a spoonful of eggs and shoveled it into his mouth.

At a table next to the buccen, an Elven warrior stood. As he carried his trencher past the Waerlinga, he paused and said, "In scattered glens throughout the darda."

"Mmhnh?" asked Beau, his mouth full.

"That's where the herds are, the grain fields, the gardens. As for orchards… fruit trees are spread throughout."

Tip looked up at the warrior. "And the mills?"

The Elf smiled. "Where else?"

"Along a stream here and there," answered Tip, grinning back.

The Dylvana nodded, then moved onward.

Tip turned to Beau. "Satisfied?"

The summit of the hill was kept free of dwellings and there it was that Dylvana went to meditate, or so the buccen had been told. And after breaking their fast, the two of them wandered up above the Coron Hall and in among the silver birch clusters sprinkled across the grassy crest. The morning was cool, and widely scattered clouds drifted through the sky above.

Beau flopped down in the grass and lay on his back looking upward. Tip sat nearby, leaning against a tree.

"I always liked watching the clouds above," said Beau, "and to find whatever forms I could in their shapes: fish, people, trees, birds, Dragons, and other such."

Tip nodded but did not speak.

"My Aunt Rose used to say that in the daytime the clouds were one thing, but at night they were quite another, and when I was but a nipper she would at times lift me from my bed and take me out to see. And in autumn and winter, when the wind howled and the moonlit clouds scudded above, she would tell me that it was the Wind Wolves chasing cloud deer across the sky.

"Even now when I hear the wind at night, I think of my Aunt Rose and the desperate race above."

Beau fell silent, and they sat long moments without speaking. But finally Beau said, "Oh, that one looks like the head of a pony. I didn't see it at first; it's upside down."

Tip looked up, but the birch tree leaves stood in the way.

Beau glanced at Tip, then pointed skyward. "Over the- Hoy now, what's all this?" Beau sat up and looked about, his face twisted into a puzzled frown.

"What is it?" asked Tip, peering about as well yet seeing nothing untoward.

Beau shook his head in dismissal. "I thought I heard something." He flopped back down, and immediately sat up. "There it is agai- No wait, it's gone."

Then he turned and looked at the grass, and carefully put his ear to the ground. "Oh, my, Tip, listen. It sounds like your mill."

Frowning, Tipperton crawled to Beau's side and put his ear to the ground as well.

The earth groaned, but not as though great cogs and wheels turned within. Instead it was as if huge stones somehow had a voice, or as if the very ground mourned.

Tip looked at Beau in amazement. "What in the world?"

Somewhere downslope foxes barked.

Tip looked 'round, seeing nothing unusual, then put his ear back to the ground.

Still the earth groaned.

Again foxes barked.

Both buccen sat up.

"I say, Tip. Does it seem to you that these woods are full of foxes? I mean, we heard them all about as we came northward, and-"

"Look," said Tip, pointing. Downslope, Ruar ran from the Coron Hall and leapt astride a horse. He went racing down and away.

"I wonder what that's all about?" said Beau, looking at Tip in puzzlement.

"I don't know, Beau, but perhaps we'd ought to go down and see."

Tip stood, but Beau said, "Just a moment," and placed his ear against the earth once more. "It's still going on," he said, then stood as well.

They waited in the Coron Hall for what seemed a long while, and then Loric, Phais, and Ruar stepped within.

"I say," called Beau, but abruptly stopped, for Phais was weeping, and both Loric's and Ruar's aspects were grim.

Tip sucked air in between his teeth, and he stood and walked toward the three, Beau at his heels.

"What is it?" asked Tip as Beau took Phais by the hand. "What's wrong?"

Ruar looked at him, then said, "Caer Lindor has fallen."

"Oh, my," said Beau.

"Fallen?" asked Tip. "How do you know this?"

Ruar looked at Loric, and at his nod the Coron turned to the buccen. "Eio Wa Suk passed word to the Pyska."

"Eio wa suk-?"

"Groaning Stones and Fox Riders," said Loric. "They are some of the Hidden Ones, the Fey."

"Groaning?" Beau looked at Tip. "The ground. That was what we heard. Groaning Stones. And the foxes barking-"

Tip flung out a hand to stop Beau's words. "But Caer Lindor: what happened?"

"They were betrayed in the night, and-"

"The Rivermen!" spat Tip.

"Aye. They opened the gates and-"

"Wait!" cried Tip. "What matters is, is…" Tip choked to a halt.

"Only a few survived," said Ruar, "a handful of Baeron and Lian, Silverleaf among them, though he suffered terrible wounds."

'What about the Warrows. What about…" Again Tip could not finish his query, yet his heart plummeted when he saw the tears now running down Ruar's face.

The Dylvana shook his head. "I'm so sorry, my friend, but all Wee Folk in Caer Lindor died fighting valiantly."

Tip felt as if he'd been struck a deadly blow. "N-no, not all the Warrows. Not Rynna."

Ruar placed a hand on Tip's shoulder. "All, Tipperton. All are slain."

Ruar caught the buccan as he collapsed.