Into the Forge

Chapter 20

South they rode through the folds of the land, faring another ten miles beyond the Crossland Road before setting camp in a meager copse. And as before, while Phais and Loric took care of the horses, Tip and Beau made camp, though on this night they set no fire, for the thicket was too sparse to shield the light it would cast.

Loric and Phais fed the animals an amount of grain from their replenished supplies, for ere the foursome had left the encampment under the Lone Eld Tree, Alaria had insisted upon replacing the small amount of grain the horses had taken when coming down through the vale. In addition to the grain, she had replenished the meager amount of provender the four had consumed as well, adding even more dried fruit and vegetables, tea, jerky, and mian- food of the Elven wayfarer.

During his watch Tip stood at the edge of the thicket, peering through the twilight and to the south, his jewel-eyed vision probing the growing dark. The moon in its last quarter had set long past, and the glimmering stars were yet to fully emerge. Even so, the Grimwall loomed dark against the gloaming, the chain but some twenty miles away. But Tip's mind was elsewhere, and not dwelling upon mountains to the east or Drearwood to the west, or Arden Vale northward and behind. Instead his thoughts lay southward, where unknown events waited.

Phais came and stood beside him, and for a long while neither spoke, but at last Tip said, "Is it true, Lady, that all things are somehow linked?"

Phais looked down at the Waerling. "What wouldst thou say?"

"Well, part of yesterday and all day today, Beau has concocted the wildest tales concerning how a seemingly insignificant event in one time and place can cause great havoc in another. Oh, he started out mildly enough, where accidental meetings ultimately result in marriages and families, and that I can readily see. And then he spoke of how a puff on a dandelion could provoke an avalanche on a distant mountain. And the chains linking the first event to the last kept getting longer and longer, where a minor initial cause eventually resulted in a major catastrophe-such as bees gathering nectar among meadow flowers giving rise to a great storm half a world away, or a simple sneeze resulting in the total destruction of the moon." Tip looked up at Phais, silhouetted against the darkening lavender sky. "But you know, each of the links in those long chains of his seemed reasonable. I mean, like the puff and the avalanche: Beau presupposed someone plucking a tufted dandelion and blowing the seeds into the air, where they are caught up by a gentle zephyr, and the zephyr in turn swirling up into the sky, where a stronger wind whirls away one of those seeds and bears it far over land and sea and over land again to a distant mountaintop, where that wind-borne seed finally lodges 'gainst a pebble on the high slopes, where months later a foraging mouse comes across the seed and takes it up and in the process dislodges the pebble, which causes the avalanche which destroys the town below and all the people therein. Who knows what might result from this catastrophe?… a catastrophe that never would have been had someone somewhere not months ago puffed on a tufted dandelion a thousand miles away.

"And so I ask you again, Phais, are all things linked? If so, then how can any of us do even the slightest of things for fear of causing ruin?"

Tip fell silent and Phais stood looking at the emerging stars-more to the east, where the sky was darkest, than in the still glowing west. Then she took a deep breath and gazed down at the wee buccan. "Thou hast asked if all things are linked, to which I say, indeed." Tip groaned, but Phais did not pause. "If not directly then, as thou hast said, through chains long and short. But e'en were there no chain whatsoever, still would all things be conjoined, or so I believe, for ultimately do not all things spring from a common source: the Great Creator Himself?

"Yet though all things are connected, events here or there need not result in disaster; good can result as well as ill. Too. events occur which seem to lead to nothing at all.

"Hear this: had the dandelion seed instead been one of flax carried aloft not by the wind but rather by a bird, and had it fallen on fertile ground far away, and years later had people discovered the resulting field, then they could create fine linen and linseed oil and their lives would be better for it.

"And so dost thou see that events here can bring benefit there?"

"Yes," said Tip, "I can see that."

"Then think on this: some events are driven by erratic chance, while others are deliberate. We do not control those which are haphazard, but we do have a say over choices we intentionally make. Those are the ones I bid thee to consider, for choices made are much like stones cast in a vast pond, the resulting ripples moving outward in an ever widening circle, causing echoes in all they touch.

"Yet as the ripples widen, their effect diminishes the farther they travel."

"Yes," said Tip, "but it is also true that the greater the stone, the greater the waves created, no matter the distance."

Phais nodded. "Indeed, thou art right. Each event is a stone cast in the water-some large, some small, some nearby, some distant-and the resulting waves and wavelets cross and recross in complex patterns-strengthening here, weakening there, diminishing with distance. Sometimes even the weakest of waves, no matter how far they have traveled, come together to spark an event which will ultimately lead to great harm-a dandelion seed, a wee mouse, a small dislodged stone, and rocks balanced precariously on the slopes of a mountain above a village. At other times strong waves in places, no matter how close, completely annul one another-tyrant slaying tyrant, where neither survive to crush the conquered. Yet for the most part we cannot know how deliberate choices will eventually interact with one another or how chance events will come into play, for there are too many, the pattern too complex, to have certainty in the outcome.

"Adding here, subtracting there, the intermingled ripples and echoes and patterns can lead to peace and plenty or to famine and war, to lofty joys or deep frustrations, to amiable comfort or petty worry, to gentle convenience or feeble bother, to a fleeting smile or a momentary frown, or can result in ends which have little or no lasting effects one way or the other, for the pebble cast into the water was too small, or the wave too diminished by distance."

Tip growled. "You mean, Lady Phais, that no matter how well intentioned our choices, the outcome may be unexpectedly bad?"

Phais smiled. "Or mayhap unexpectedly benevolent."

Again Tipperton groaned, saying, "Well, if we can't tell, why choose at all?"

"Because we must," replied Phais, "else evil will triumph through our inactions."

They stood a moment in brooding silence, and then Phais added, "This I will say, Sir Tipperton: mayhap in the majority of choices one cannot predict with any certainty whether a given decision will result in great good or great ill, or in lesser good or ill, or become so insubstantial that the effects vanish altogether.

"This does not diminish in any way the truth that all things are related, for it is in the nature of the Great Creator to make them so-some forged with links virtually unbreakable; others with links tenuous at best.

"And so, my friend, whether by choice or by chance, events can lead to good or ill… or perhaps to nothing at all.

"As to those we choose, we can only hope the choices we make are worthy and do not lead toward ill. But for those events which overtake us-be they random or driven by the choice of another-it is how we respond to them which may help determine the nature and degree of what will come about in the end."

Phais fell silent, and Tip stood long without speaking, but at last he said, "To what ends, I wonder, will our choices bring us?"

"That, my wee one, I cannot say." After a while, Phais returned to the camp, leaving Tip in the dark alone.

Although Elves pay little heed to the passage of time, of days and weeks and even months, seeming to note only the passing of the seasons, still they know at all times where stands the Sun, Moon, and stars. And at the appropriate time Tipperton was relieved in his watch by Loric.

Loric in turn was relieved by Phais, and she in turn awakened Beau for his stand at ward.

"Huah," said Beau as he and Tip tied thongs 'round the bedrolls, "ripples and waves crossing and recrossing, I never thought of it that way."

Beau tied another knot, then added: "Modru has dropped a vast boulder in the water, and a frightful wave rolls outward. We can only hope it doesn't drown the world."

Three more days they bore southward, riding parallel to and fifteen or so miles west of the Old Way, a north-south trade route running down the western side of the Grimwall Mountains. The land they passed through was rough, high moor with sparse trees and barren thickets and lone giants, many now setting forth new green leaves in the crisp spring air. In the folds of the land grew brush and brambles, and here and there winter snow yet lingered down in the shaded recesses 'neath ledges. Yet the route they followed was rugged, and slowly across the upland they went, bearing ever southward, and only occasionally did they see signs of animal life: birds on the wing afar, heading for more bountiful realms; an occasional hare; and once a distant fox. But for the most the harsh land was meager of game of any kind.

Five days past they had left the Elvenholt in the northernmost reaches of Arden Vale, some forty leagues behind. Although they had covered nearly sixty miles the first two days after setting forth, they were now moving only twenty or so miles a day out on the open wold, for the land was hard and they would not press their steeds beyond the pace they could sustain in the long days to come.

The seventh day on the open wold, they turned at last toward the Old Way-a road Alaria had said was patrolled by Foul Folk-for a westward spur of the Grimwall Mountains stood out across the route, and they would have to gamble on passing unseen along the road through a wide gap in the low chain ahead.

Tip and Beau readied their weapons and scanned the countryside, for they were come to a dangerous pass, and if Ghulen patrols or Rucks and such roamed it, the way would be filled with risk. Yet with sharp Elven eyes to guide them, likely any movement would be seen by Lian ere the reverse occurred, though if the Foul Folk lay in ambush…

Southward they went, through rising hill country, another ten miles before coming to the Old Way where it first entered the wide gap. No enemy did they see, though the way seemed churned by many feet tramping.

"A Horde," said Loric, remounting.

"The one from Dhruousdarda," said Phais. She turned in her saddle. "Keep a sharp eye, Sir Tipperton, Sir Beau, for somewhere ahead lies a Swarm."

Into the gap they went, eyes alert, nerves taut, Tip's heart beating rapidly. He looked at Beau to find that War-row nervously loading and unloading his sling. They rode another two leagues, and the land began to fall, the close hills spreading out, while the route they followed swung southeastward, rounding the side chain and heading for the Quadran through rising hill country.

"Well, my friends," said Loric, "it appears there was no trap, and mayhap the danger is past, for the land opens up and we can leave this abandoned road once more." Then he turned to Phais. "Even so, we must return to this route ere we come to Quadran Pass, for from it rises the single road which lies across that col."

Phais nodded, then said, "Let us pray that the Horde has not captured that way as well."

Southeasterly they rode, another five miles or so, but evening drew nigh, and so out of sight in the shelter of a hollow they set their nightfall camp.

"Another day's ride should see us to the foot of Quadran Pass," said Loric. "And then the following day we'll ride up the Quadran Road and over."

"Can we make it all the way across in one day?" asked Tip, remembering Talarin's maps. "I mean, it's forty or fifty miles, isn't it?"

Loric shook his head. "Nay. Thou art thinking of the way under, for Gildor says the winding way he went passes 'neath Aevor Mountain to the south and Coron in the north. The way over is shorter, for it crosses the col between those same two peaks. Even so, it will press the horses to go up and back down in one day, yet we can relieve them by walking much of the way, and by going lesser distances in the following days."

"Then where? I mean, after we get across."

"After that we must cross the Argon River, and to do so we have two choices: six or seven days east and south lies the ferry at Olorin Isle; ten or eleven days northward lies Landover Road Ford."

Phais shook her head. "Not north, Alor Loric, for not only does that way lie alongside the Grimwall, where Spaunen dwell, but since Crestan Pass is held by the Foul Folk, mayhap they hold the ford as well; recall, but twenty leagues lie between the two. Rather would I cross at Olorin, for it is more likely to be free, standing as it does nigh the marges of Darda Galion."

Now it was Loric who shook his head. "But the ford itself lies on the marge of Darda Erynian and is not likely to be in the hands of the foe. And didst thou forget, Dara, our other choice, the ferry, is plied by Rivermen."

"Nay, Alor, I did not forget."

Beau looked up from his mian. "Rivermen?"

"Aye," replied Loric.

"I mean, is it bad that Rivermen ply a ferry?"

Loric shrugged. "Mayhap, for apast the Rivermen on Great Isle acted as guardians of the Argon, and for this protection they exacted tolls from merchants who plied the flowing tradeway. Yet the Rivermen turned to piracy- some say at the behest of Gyphon or one of His acolytes- slaying the merchants and looting the cargo, making it appear to be boating accidents in the rocky straits of the Race, a dangerous narrows downriver. To give truth to this lie, much of the wreckage and cargo would be set adrift, to be salvaged by their ferrymen kindred on Olorin Isle, a goodly way below the Race. The woodsmen of the Argon Vales, the Baeron, discovered the piracy of those on Great Isle and banded together and destroyed their fortress, slaying many of the pirates, perhaps all, though some may have escaped.

"Yet far downstream the Rivermen on Olorin Isle claimed innocence, saying that they knew nothing of what their kindred did upriver, and maintaining that whatever flotsam and jetsam was salvaged from the wrecks in the narrows, the ferrymen came by it honestly. Nought could be proved otherwise.

"Even so, after the destruction of the fortress upriver, and the subsequent loss of drifting salvage, many of the Rivermen on Olorin Isle went to live elsewhere. Only a few families remained behind to ply the ferry."

"And you think they were guilty," declared Beau, "-all the Rivermen, I mean."

"Aye," replied Loric.

"Well then, why did they go unpunished?"

"Suspicion alone is not proof."

Tip turned to Phais. "And yet you want us to go by the ferry?"

Phais nodded. "Those events are long past, and the Rivermen alive today are not those who committed the acts."

"That notwithstanding, Dara," said Loric, "back then they were Gyphon's puppets, or so I do believe. And in these dire times Rivermen may be His puppets still."

Phais turned up her hands. "Nevertheless, Alor Loric, the ferry seems safer than riding alongside the Grimwall all the way north to Landover Road Ford, even though the ford itself may be free of the foe."

Loric frowned in thought, then grinned and said, "Aye, it does at that."

Beau expelled a great breath. "Well, I'm glad that's settled. Tomorrow we go to the foot of Quadran Pass. The next day we cross over and, following that, make for the ferry."

Twilight turned to night, and Tip walked up to the rim of the hollow to stand his turn at watch. Yet upon reaching there he immediately spun about and ran down again, hissing, "Loric, Phais, Beau-fire in the Grimwall."

To the rim they all rushed, and far to the east and on the slopes of a great mountain, a long ribbon of fire shone, twisting its way up the stone.

Loric groaned and Beau asked, "What is it? A forest aflame? What?"

Phais sighed. "Nay, Sir Beau. I ween 'tis instead the missing Horde."

"The Horde?"

"Aye, for 'tis campfires and torchlight we see. They are encamped along the Quadran Road."

"But couldn't it be the Dwarves instead?" protested Tip, grasping at straws. "I mean, after all, it is the Quadran, and Dwarves dwell below."

Loric shook his head. "Nay. Were it the Drimma of Drimmen-deeve, then 'twould not be torches we see, but Drimmen lanterns instead."

"I don't understand."

"Their lanterns illume with a blue-green glow." said Phais. "Yet among the brighter lights of the campfires we see on yon slopes of Coron Mountain are minor glints- the ruddy light of brands, favored by the Foul Folk."

"Oh, no," groaned Tip. "This means we have to go farther south."

"Not necessarily," said Beau. "I mean, they could merely be crossing over."

"The light moves not," growled Loric.

"Well, crossing over on the morrow, then."

"Nay, Sir Beau," said Phais. "I agree with Loric. They are encamped. Too, if they intended to cross over, then they would have done so long past, for they left Dhruous-darda in mid April and now it is mid May. I agree with Sir Tipperton; south we must go."

"To Gunar Slot?" asked Beau.

"Nay, not that pass but to the Dusk Door instead, and seek permission from the Drimma to go the way under."

Now both Tip and Beau groaned.

To the east and south they rode, faring across the open moors. And as they went the land began to rise, for they were bordering upon the foothills of the Grimwall. Four candlemarks they rode, and then four more, heading for the distant vale that would in turn lead them to the western entrance into Drimmen-deeve.

And they rode at a goodly clip, yet at a varying gait, for they must needs husband the strength of the steeds, for the entrance to the vale of Dusk Door lay some fifteen or twenty leagues southeastward-forty-five to sixty miles away-or so Loric said.

"More than one day altogether," groaned Tip.

"Aye," replied Loric. "We must camp tonight."

"I just hope no Vulgs are about," muttered Beau to himself, his hand touching the pocket holding the silver container of gwynthyme.

Through the hills they wended, ever bearing southeastward, and the land grew rougher as they went, and now and again they could glimpse Quadran Road wending upward over the pass, and although the Warrows could but vaguely make out movement thereon, both Loric and Phais with their keener sight assured them that it was indeed a Horde. And onward the foursome rode.

"I say," piped up Beau as through a slot in the foothills he again glimpsed the Quadran Road, "isn't this bringing us closer to the Rucks and such?"

"Aye, it is," responded Loric. "Nevertheless, 'tis the quickest way to our goal."

"Fear not, Sir Beau," said Phais. "The Horde is well in the pass, and we are reasonably away from its flanks."

"Adon, but I hope she's right," muttered Beau, as they turned among great rounded stones and skirted thickets and rode along the faces of low-walled sheer bluffs.

But at last, as the day drew to an end, they came into a set of low rounded hills, the slopes thick with silver birch trees.

"Here we camp," said Loric, and set camp they did.

That night, again the torchlight blazed, though now it was closer, much closer.

"Oh, my," exclaimed Beau, "it looks as if we are on their very doorstep. How far away would you judge they are?"

Loric pointed. "That way, two miles by your measure, is the place where the Quadran Road splits off from the Old Way to ascend into the pass above. Mayhap the fringe of the Horde encamps there."

Beau swallowed. "Lor", I don't think I'm going to sleep well at all."

The next morning, bleary-eyed, Tip and Beau were rolling the blankets when Phais hissed, "Be quiet."

Tip looked up at her, and she stood attentively, listening. Yet Tip heard nothing, and he glanced across at Beau, who shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, that buccan too at a loss.

"The battle has begun," said Phais, Loric nodding in agreement. And then they resumed saddling the steeds and lading gear on the packhorses.

Hearing nothing but the faint rustling of birch leaves, again Tip looked at Beau, and received another shrug.

They returned to their tasks.

Out from the birches they rode, and high up in Quadran Pass, they could see a place on the road where it seemed a struggle was taking place. But neither Beau nor Tip could tell which side was which, or even whom the Foul Folk were fighting, though Loric and Phais said 'twas Drimma.

"How can you tell?" asked Beau.

"I can see them well," said Phais.

"Well then, how can we tell who is who? -Tip and me, I mean."

Phais frowned, but Loric said, "Do ye see one side is darker than the other?"

"Unh," grunted Beau, but Tip said, "Oh, yes, now that you mention it, one side is darker-the side on the higher ground."

"They are the Drimma, dressed in their black-iron chain."

"Oh, I see."

No sound came to the buccen from the battle on the mountain, the distance lending the illusion of two vast armies confined to a narrow road, and where they met they battled in eerie silence. Yet both Loric and Phais seemed to hear the conflict.

"Lor'," whispered Beau to Tip, "are their ears that much better than ours?"

"It would seem so," murmured Tipperton.

"I agree as well," said Loric from his place ahead.

Both buccen's eyes flew wide.

South they rode, away from the conflict, now aiming for a vale some fifteen miles removed, a valley that would lead them to the western door into Drimmen-deeve.

Yet neither Tip nor Beau could keep their gazes away from the combat up in the pass. And so they rode, twisting about, ever peering hindward.

After a while Beau said, "Oh, look! I think the Dwarves are winning."

And indeed it seemed that the darker force had pressed the Horde down the mountain somewhat.

Onward they rode another mile, but then Tip said, "What's that in the sky?"

Beau turned and looked back. "Where?"

"Up there, way back along the Grimwalls, one-two-three-four-five, no, six peaks back. Um, moving this way, I think. See it? A silvery speck."

The horses stopped.

"No, I don't see it," growled Beau, nettled. "Six peaks, you say? Counting from where?"

Before Tip could answer, Phais gasped, "Adon, is it true?"

Tip turned to see both Loric and Phais looking back as well, their features pale with shock.

"Six peaks from where?" demanded Beau.

"Is what true?" asked Tip, startled by the grim looks on the faces of the Lian.

"Counting from where?" gritted Beau.

Tip turned to see Beau angrily glaring at him. "Up there, Beau," Tip said, pointing. "See it? Oh, my, it's only five peaks away now, and getting bigger."

Beau gazed up toward where Tip pointed. "Oh, yes," he said at last. "Why, it seems to be a… a silver bird."

"Nay," came Loric's voice. "No bird is that, but a Dragon instead."

Dragon! both buccen gasped simultaneously.

"Settle down, my friends," said Loric. "The Drake is yet far away."

And so the buccen relaxed somewhat and watched as the great beast flew along the Grimwall peaks.

"Skail?" asked Phais. "Or is it Sleeth instead?"

"I know not," replied Loric, "for neither one have I seen before."

"I have seen each," said Phais. "They are much alike. And renegades both, I add."

"Renegades?" asked Beau, glancing at Tip.

"Those who did not take the pledge at Black Mountain," said Tip. "Don't you remember us talking about it back at Arden Vale? 'The Ballad of Arin,' the Dragonstone, and all."

"Oh, yes," said Beau. "Now I recall."

"Why is a Dragon in these parts, I wonder?" asked Tip.

Still they watched as the Drake drew onward, ever near-ing, growing larger with every beat of its wings, while in Quadran Pass a mighty battle raged, the Dwarves driving the Horde hindward, pressing them down the ribbon of road.

"I say," said Beau, glancing about nervously, "with the Dragon nearing, shouldn't we get out of sight?"

Loric looked at Phais, and she said, "The Waerling is right, for Drakes have a taste for horse meat."

"To say nothing of tasty Warrows," muttered Tip.

Loric scanned the countryside, then pointed at a thicket a furlong or so away. "In there," he said, and spurred his steed, Phais doing likewise, the pack animals coming after.

Safely ensconced among the trees, they all dismounted and tethered the horses and walked to the edge of the copse.

Still the battle raged, and still the Dragon drew closer, now but three peaks away from the conflict.

" 'Tis Skail of the Barrens," said Phais at last.

"How can you tell?" asked Beau.

Phais sighed. "I see him well."

"You must have the eyes of an eagle," said Tip.

"Not quite," replied the Dara, smiling.

"As thou hast said, Sir Beau," murmured Loric, "the Drimma indeed are winning."

Tip shifted his gaze from the Drake to the battle in the pass. The black-iron-armored Dwarves had driven the Swarm even farther downslope.

Now Skail was but two peaks away from the conflict.

"Look! Look!" cried Beau. "The Swarm flees!"

Downward fled the Horde in silence, or so it seemed, Dwarves racing after.

Skail was one peak away.

Of a sudden Phais cocked her head as if listening. "Horns. Ruptish horns blow. Mayhap a hundred or more. 'Twas the signal to flee, though the sound is but now reaching us."

Loric nodded, though neither Tip nor Beau heard aught.

Now the great Dragon swung outward, westward, away from the peaks of the chain. Out he flew and out.

Still the Dwarves pursued the fleeing Spawn.

Now Skail wheeled on his great leathery pinions, turning toward Quadran Pass and swooping low, following along the road upward.

Still the Horde fled.

Yet the Dwarves stopped, for they had seen the gleaming Drake rushing through the air.

Flame gouted from Skail, washing over Riipt.

Tipperton shouted, "He fights for the Dwar-" but his voice chopped shut as Skail's flame spewed across the Dwarves as well, and they turned and fled upward, burning with Dragonfire.

Now Skail had passed beyond the Dwarven ranks, and up he soared and up, upward into the crystal air above the peaks of the Quadran, where once again he wheeled in the sky, turning on his vast wings. And then down he plunged, aiming for the gap.

And in that moment the vast roar of gushing Dragon-flame reached the thicket, for it was far enough away from the conflict that sound lagged well behind sight.

And even the Warrows heard the mighty bellow of fire mingled with a Dragonshout of triumph.

Back down hurtled Skail, and once again Dragonfire ravaged, burning not only Dwarves but raking over fleeing Spaunen as well.

Still the Dwarves fled upward, those in the lead to disappear from sight of the foursome, their vision blocked by a flank of Aevor, the mountain just south of Coron.

Once more Skail wheeled, and again came the delayed roar of his bellowing flame and his trumpet of exultation.

Again and again he ravaged the Dwarves, raining fire down upon them, his strikes affecting the Spawn less and less the higher the Dwarves fled.

And still the Dwarves ran fleeing, those that were not dead and burning.

Finally the foursome could see the Dwarves no more, for all had passed from their sight beyond the intervening shoulder. Yet still the Dragon flew and stooped and vomited more terrible fire.

Pass after pass he made, flame and glee roaring.

But at last he made a pass and no flame spewed, and then he settled on the very summit of Coron Mountain, and bellowed in elation over what he had done.

"Dragons attacking warring armies," said Beau. "What does it mean?"

"He is a renegade," said Tip, as if that were enough.

"Nay, wee one," said Phais. "I deem it much worse than a mere renegade harassing victims."

"Oh, how so?"

"I fear the rumors are true: that Modru has somehow wooed Dragons unto his cause."

"But he burned Rucks, too," protested Beau.

"Modru cares not if he loses Spaunen," gritted Loric. "They are nought but fodder for his cause."

Phais nodded in agreement, then added, "Ye can see Skail does not now attack the Swarm. His mission was to slay Drimma, and slay them he did, until they were all dead or had escaped back through their high mountain door. The fact that Rupt were burnt as well is merely a trivial consequence of war to Modru."

"Remember the trumps? 'Twas a trap," said Loric, "for at signal the Spaunen did flee downward, drawing Dwarves after, when Skail came winging nigh."

Beau nodded, and Tip said, "If it's true that Modru has Dragons at his beck, then it's no small pebble he's dropped in the pond, is it now?"

Phais nodded grimly. "Indeed, Sir Tip, indeed."

Beau sighed, then said, "Well, pebble or no, what are we going to do now? I mean, given our horses and all, we can't very well set out for the Dusk Door with Skail up there shouting in glee."

Loric turned up his hands, and Phais said, "Thou art right, Sir Beau. We have no choice but to wait."

It was midafternoon when Skail stopped his triumphant bellowing and took to wing, flying away northward, back the way he had come.

Untethering the steeds, Loric said grimly, "I deem we must now strike for the Old Way and make a run for it if we are to reach the Dusk Door into Drimmen-deeve ere dark."

"What about the Rucks and such?" asked Beau. "I mean, isn't the road dangerous?"

"Mayhap, yet where we now ride the land is rough, and reaching our goal will be slow going."

Tip looked to Phais, and she said, "The Foul Folk are licking their wounds. I think they will not be coming this way."

Loric nodded in agreement, and so they turned and deliberately pressed toward the road, riding through the ruptured land. Within four candlemarks they found the way, yet when they did, it too had been churned by many feet.

"They seem to be going both ways on this road," said Loric, kneeling, "north as well as south."

"I say that we ride the road regardless," said Tip, "for the sooner we are within Drimmen-deeve, the sooner we are safe from marauding Drakes."

Loric remounted and looked at Phais, and she shrugged. And so southward they rode at a swift pace, the horses cantering over trodden ground. Yet the sun sank low in the sky as evening drew near, for much time had been lost to Skail.

They reached the entrance to the vale of the Dusk Door just as the gloaming fell.

As they came to the mouth of that long valley, suddenly Phais threw up a hand and reined to a halt, Loric stopping as well.

"What is it?" asked Tipperton.

But even as the question flew from his lips, his gaze followed the line of Loric's outstretched arm. And there in the distance down the high-walled glen ruddy firelight gleamed.