Into the Forge

Chapter 25

They reached the eastern foot of the Walkover just as the waning half-moon rose, shining her argent light aglance across the tall grass of Valon.

"We'll camp here among the concealing crags, then set out on the morrow," said Loric, unbuckling his backpack.

"But what about the smoke we saw, the fire out there on the plains?" asked Beau. "I mean, shouldn't we go see if anyone needs our help?"

Loric glanced at Phais, then shook his head. "I deem we look upon another Stede, another Annory, Sir- Beau. 'Twas entirely too late when first we espied the burning."

Tip nodded glumly. "Besides, it's another good twenty or so miles to the site, and even if we went straightaway without any rest, still we wouldn't get there till late in the morning, perhaps at the noontide."

"Oh, my," said Beau dejectedly. "I was hoping it was closer… in miles as well as time. But to walk all night and not get there till noon, well, to tell the truth, I don't think I can go on without a bit of a lull. I mean, it isn't every day that I've gone climbing with a pack on my back up over the Gunarring and down again."

" 'Tis more or less on our path, Beau," said Phais, "and so the morrow should bring us to what burns upon the plain. But for now thou art right: 'tis rest we need."

Tip set his pack to the ground and sighed in relief, then looked back at the Gunarring. "Will it ever get any easier? This walking about, I mean."

Loric nodded "The farther we walk, the easier 'twill be, for our packs will fare lighter as the food dwindles. Our strength and endurance will grow as we cross the plains unto Darda Galion."

Beau groaned. "Oh, surely we aren't going to have to walk all the way to the Eldwood. I mean, there must be some place we can purchase horses… or ponies."

Kneeling at her backpack and untying the thongs on her bedroll, Phais sighed. "With war upon the land, who can say?"

Tip looked across at the Dara. "How soon will we reach the Eldwood if we go on foot all the way?"

Phais cocked an eyebrow at Loric. "If we tarry not," he replied, "a fortnight and some should see us there."

"A fortnight? fourteen days?"

"Aye. 'Tis nearly a hundred leagues."

"Three hundred miles?"

"Aye, three hundred miles, Tipperton. And can we walk seven leagues a day, then a fortnight 'twill be."

Tip groaned. "Twenty-one miles a day for fourteen days-oh, my aching feet."

Beau snorted and said, "Huah, Tip, compared to our slip-sliding on ice most of the way through Drearwood, this little jaunt to the Eldwood will be a lark. I mean, what could be better than walking on soft sod across a grassy plain? Besides, bucco, you've got to remember, given the choices we faced, this is the quickest way."

Tip cast his friend a skeptical eye, but did not respond as he groaned to his feet preparatory to standing the first short turn at watch.

Just after dawn they set out northeastward across the rolling plains of Valon, the prairie covered with tall grass as far as the eye could see. Though the grass itself came to midthigh on the Elves, it was chest high on the Warrows, and it rippled in long green waves, stirred by a morning breeze blowing down from the Gunarring behind. Far across the rolling land, a thin smudge of smoke yet stained the sky, drifting up and eastward, driven by the breeze as well. And toward the unseen origin of this smear they trod.

"What if it is a town like Annory-burnt, destroyed with a passle of maggot-folk camped therein?" asked Beau. "What'11 we do, the four of us?"

Phais sighed. "Pass it by."

"You mean just leave them alone?" asked Tip.

Phais nodded. "Aye. Most likely they will be too many and we too few."

Tip growled. "But the Dwarves attacked nineteen foe, and they were only five."

Loric shook his head in resignation. "The Drimma are a fierce race, where honor stands well above prudence. Aye, they attacked nineteen head-on, with axes swinging, depending on surprise and brute force to quickly carry the day. Yet were we faced with the same odds, I would hope that we would use stealth and cunning and guile to accomplish the same ends. Yet heed: stealth and cunning and guile take time, and should we come across a large number of foe, would we soon accomplish this mission to Agron, then we must pass them by."

Tip frowned, and Phais, noting his look, said, "Tipper-ton, if we are to engage every foe 'tween here and Dendor in Aven, then I suspect it will be many a year ere we see Agron King."

"Even so," added Loric, " 'tis meet we gather knowledge of the foe along the way, and pass on such particulars to those who need to know."

"Somewhat like scouts?" asked Beau. "-I mean, as long as we don't stray too far from our mission to Agron in Aven, that is."

"Exactly so," replied Loric, smiling down at the buccan.

And across the plains of Valon they went, toward drifting smoke afar, while in the distant sky above, birds circled and spiraled down.

"Ssst!" hissed Loric just as they reached the crest of a rise. "Down!"

They dove into the grass. "What?" whispered Tip. "What is it?"

"Horses," breathed the Alor, unbuckling his pack and drawing his sword. Phais nodded in affirmation and pulled her blade as well and slipped free from her pack.

Beau, lying prone, put his ear to the ground. His eyes widened and he motioned for Tip to do the same. And Tip's own eyes widened as he heard the thudding of many hooves knelling within the soil. He raised his head slightly. "What if they're friends?" he asked.

"What if they're foes?" whispered Beau right after.

Phais said, "Friends we'll hail; foes we will not."' Then she put her finger to her lips and signaled for quiet.

But Beau sucked in a deep breath and then hissed, "Oh, my, what if they're Ghflls on Helsteeds?"

Remaining hidden down within the rippling green, Tipperton wriggled free from his pack and set an arrow to string. Beau likewise shed his own pack and laded his sling.

Now even without an ear to the ground the buccen could hear the hammer of hooves, and Tipperton lifted up just enough to peer outward through swaying heads of grass.

From the north they came, rounding the flank of a low hill, a cavalcade of riders-men on horses, thirty or more-and running alongside were men afoot, twice as many as the riders, it seemed, and all bearing spears. Dark and swarthy were the riders and dressed in turbans and long, flowing robes, with curved swords slung loosely at their sides; the men afoot were even darker, nearly black, and wearing nought but short belted skirts 'round their waists, their feet shod in sandals, their long hair gathered and held behind by tortoise-shell clasps; and on their bodies a sheen of sweat glistened.

"Down," sissed Loric, pulling Tipperton low. " 'Tis the foe."

Through the swale below they ran, their breathing heavy, that of the horses and running men. Yet still they pounded on southward, and soon passed from sight in the long folds of the grassland.

Cautiously Loric raised up, first peering above the un-dulant green, and then rising to his knees, and finally standing.

He motioned the others up as well.

Tip got to his feet and looked southward. Nothing but long, rolling waves of green grass did he see. "What-who were they?"

"Men of Hyree," said Loric, "and men of Chabba."

"The ones on horses-?"

"Hyrinians," replied Loric.

"And those afoot-?"

"Chabbains."

"Hoy," said Beau, "there's something about the Chabbains I should remember, but just what, I can't bring to mind."

"Say, weren't they the ones who burned Gleeds?" asked Tip. "I think my da told me so." Tip looked to Phais for confirmation.

"Aye, back in the First Era," she said.

"But we're over two thousand years into the Second Era; what are they doing here now?" asked Beau.

Phais sighed. "Seeking vengeance for deeds done long past."

At the buccen's raised eyebrows, Phais continued: "Gleeds was the city of wood on the Argon, established there by the very first High King, Awain. Some sixty summers after, Chabba and Pellar did dispute certain trade routes with one another, and the Chabbains crossed the Avagon sea in ships and burnt the young city down. Yet the then High King's army did entrap the invaders and, but for a niggling few, slew them one and all, e'en though many had surrendered. Long have the Chabbains clutched hatred unto their breasts and sworn one day to avenge those who were slaughtered.

" 'Twas from the ruins of the city the High King did move the center of government unto Caer Pendwyr."

"That's right," said Beau. "I remember now. -The history, that is… not that I was there. But oh, my, that was long, long ago, and the Chabbains yet seek revenge?"

"Lor', Beau, but you're right," agreed Tip. He turned to Phais. "You say that was back in the First Era?"

Phais frowned. "Aye, near the very beginning: in King Rolun's time, the grandson of Awain. 'Twas Awain who established Gleeds, and Rolun who saw it burnt to the ground."

Tip shook his head. "Well, Beau, given that it was near the beginning of the First Era, that was some twelve thousand years ago." Tip looked up at Phais. "Are you telling us that the Chabbains have held a grudge all this time?"

"Not only for that slaughter, but for other defeats as well," replied Phais. "They venerate the ghosts of their kindred and carry hatreds on, believing that all dark deeds need avenging, whether done of late or long past. Else the ghosts will find no rest, no solace, and their wailing will inflict misery upon any kindred yet alive."

"Well, I must say-" began Beau, but then, "Oh, down! Down, I say!"

As the comrades ducked low in the grass, upon a far distant roll of land the cavalcade and runners hove into view. Quickly they topped it and passed beyond, yet running south, their pace not slackening a bit. And then they were gone from sight once more.

Phais turned to Loric. "They have a camp nigh."

Loric nodded in agreement.

"How do you know this?" asked Beau, peering about warily.

"They carried no supplies, wee one," replied Loric.

"Oh, my," said Beau, pointing to the fore, where in the near distance faint tendrils of smoke yet rose into the sky, "do you think that could be their camp?"

Loric frowned, and Phais said, "The pall we saw yester-eve seemed not like that of campfires but rather of a burning thorp, and the birds are an ominous sign. Even so, we should go forth in caution."

As Loric shouldered his pack, he said, "Henceforth we must leave little trace of our passage, else we are fordone should they come across our trail and follow it to us."

"I say, couldn't we walk in their path?" asked Tipperton, pointing downslope to where the cavalcade had passed. "I mean, then our tracks would be lost in theirs."

"Aye, we could," said Loric. "Yet if this is a trail they often follow, I'd rather not be in their lane."

Not knowing what lay ahead, the foursome walked in silence awhile, keeping a span between themselves and the wide track beaten in the grass by the cavalcade. And where they stepped, they left no permanent wake, for Loric had shown the Waerlinga how to ease their feet among the tall stalks so that the blades sprang back upright. Even so, their passage was slowed considerably by the need to leave no trace.

And still they pressed toward the rising smudge just ahead of the circling, spiraling birds, dreading what they might find.

To break the somber mood, Beau asked, "This first High King Awain, what year did he come to power?"

"Why, in the Year One of the First Era," replied Phais.

Beau frowned and looked up at her.

" 'Twas with the coronation of the very first High King that the counting of Eras began," she added.

Beau's mouth made a silent O of enlightenment. "I always wondered how they got started."

Tip nodded. "Me too. I mean, the counting of Eras had to begin somewh-"

Suddenly Tip's words jerked to a halt, for they had come to a crest of a hill, and down in the plain below smoldered the ruins of a town. The town had been burned, buildings destroyed, and nought but charred timbers and scattered stones remained. Yet that was not the worst of it, for carnage littered the streets. Whatever had once been alive was now not. People-Humans-young, old, male, female, babes, ancients-all were dead. Horses, dogs, sheep, cattle, fowl-all had been slain as well.

Yet there was a stir among the dead, for gorcrows feasted and kites. Vultures stalked and drove away lesser birds, though there was more than enough for all. And midst squawks and graks and chortles, beaks tore at flesh and gobbets of raw meat dangled to disappear down ravenous gullets.

Beau burst into tears, and Tipperton turned and stared in the direction of the cavalcade, hatred burning in his gaze.

Phais took in a deep breath and sighed. "Come. There's nought we can do here."

And they passed beyond the place that now was no longer a town.

They found a rare stand of trees and set camp among them that eve, where they built a small fire and brewed tea.

"Lor'," said Beau, "but I think I'll never purge that sight from my mind."

"I don't ever want to forget what I've seen," gritted Tip. "They should pay for what they did, and if ever it is in my power to avenge those souls, then so shall I do."

"Thou dost sound as one of them, Tipperton," said Phais, "so like the Chabbains, I mean."

"Unh?" grunted Tip, startled.

"Retribution: it drives their lives. Gyphon and His agents see to it."

"Are you saying that evil deeds should go unpunished?"

"Nay, Tipperton. Yet thou must take care thou dost not fall into the same set of mind as they. Hatred must not drive thy life, else it will consume thy spirit, thy very soul."

"But what about those you slew because of the Felling of the Nine? Wasn't that retribution?"

Phais's eyes widened, and she glanced at Loric, and he said, "Aye, it was. There are times when just retribution need be extracted."

"Well then, I think this is one of those times."

Phais sighed and nodded in agreement, then said, "Nevertheless, Tipperton, let not hatred consume thee."

A silence fell upon the campsite, and remote stars wheeled in spangled heavens above.

At last Beau said, "Tip, if I get killed in this venture of ours, see to it that I get a proper burial. I mean"-he shuddered-"I don't want crows pecking out my eyes, kites rending my face, vultures tearing at my guts, all squabbling over my remains."

"Don't worry, bucco, you're not going to die," said Tip.

"But if I should…"

Tip threw an arm about his friend. "All right. I promise."

"Good," said Beau.

They sat in morose silence a moment more; then Beau looked up through the leaves at the stars and said, "If by chance I should die, think only this of me: that in some corner of a foreign field in a foreign land is a place that forever will be the Boskydells."

"Oh, Beau, don't say such a thing," said Tipperton. "I'm sure one day you'll be in your beloved Boskydells again."

Beau looked 'round at Tip and sighed. "We can only hope, Tip. We can only hope. -But, say, you're coming too, aren't you? To the Boskydells, that is. There's plenty of need for millers." Tipperton glanced at his lute. "What about bards?"

"Them too, Tip. Them too."

The following morn they set out again northeasterly, aiming for the place where the River Nith plunged over the Great Escarpment and down into the Cauldron, some two hundred eighty miles away in all. Yet they had gone no more than a mile or so than they espied more tendrils of smoke rising into the sky ahead. Beau gasped. "Oh, my, is it another burning town?" "Nay, Beau, these are campfires," replied Loric. "But whether those of friend or foe, that I cannot say." Cautiously they moved forward, though swinging wide to the left, for should it be foe they would need give wide berth and pass beyond.

" Tis foe," hissed Loric.

The camp lay nearly two miles away.

Even so, both Tip and Beau could see the site held men like those who had passed in yesterday's cavalcade.

"Three flags fly," said Phais, "-nay, four: Hyree, Chabba, Kistan, and Modru's ring of fire."

"We must gauge how many are encamped," said Loric. "And take word with us to Wood's-heart."

Beau looked up across at Loric. "Wood's-heart?"

"The Lian strongholt in Darda Galion," replied the Alor.

"But the encampment goes to the other side of the hill," said Tip.

Phais pointed off at a rise in the land. "I'll move around and count from there."

Tip glanced at the Dara. "I'll go with you."

Loric raised an eyebrow, but Phais nodded in agreement.

They spent nearly all day observing, as cavalcades came and went, and now and again in the far distance black smoke would rise into the sky.

"They're burning farmsteads," said Phais.

Tip made a fist and pounded the ground in rage.

When night fell, at a far distance they began slowly arcing 'round the large campsite, seeking to pass it by, for it held nearly two thousand men in all, or so they judged. Now and again they would crouch down in the grass, for returning raiders would pass nearby on their way back to camp.

The camp was yet in sight when dawn came.

"We must rest," said Phais, cocking an eye at Loric, then looking casually at the flagging Waerlinga.

And so they spent a second day hidden within the grass atop a long low mound, alternately keeping watch and dozing throughout the flight of the sun.

And this day, too, cavalcades came and went.

That night they finally got free from sight of the camp, and yet leaving no trace of their passage they walked most of the next day, too, before stopping in the afternoon.

They rested well that night and the following day resumed their northeastward trek.

"How far have we come these past days of edging through the grass?" asked Beau, slipping his feet carefully among the tall blades.

"Twelve leagues or so," said Loric, glancing at the sun.

Tip sighed. "That's only ten or twelve miles a day. At this rate it'll take us two or three fortnights to reach Darda Galion instead of just one."

"On the morrow we'll pick up the pace," said Loric, "for we are enough away from the campsites of the raiders and their cavalcades that the chances of them cutting our track is remote."

"I say," said Beau, "what we should have done is steal some horses from that camp."

Phais smiled. "Horses know not how to hide their tracks, Beau. Yet could we have taken two or three swift steeds, we would have raced them across these plains, tracks or no."

The next day they set out at a swift pace, no longer trying to hide their wake. Even so, the grass was hardy, and Loric judged that in less than a day it would spring back to fullness and only a well-practiced eye would discern their passage-"… unlikely from the back of a moving steed."

Over the next several days they fared northeasterly, their progress slowed by the need to be vigilant and the need to hide, for often a cavalcade would be seen coursing afar, or at times a single horseman with two runners afoot crossing the plain, and the comrades would crouch down and watch, remaining still so as to keep from being seen.

And distant trails of smoke wreathed up into the sky.

And they came across another burned town, this but a small hamlet, and all things that had lived were slain. And they passed it by, pressing on toward the Great Escarpment and Darda Galion above.

"Why don't we rest by day and move by night," asked Tip at a stop, "when there's less chance of being seen?"

Phais looked at Loric and her mouth split into a great grin.

And so they fared at night thereafter.

And the dark of the moon came and went.

Yet the days were growing long and the nights short, and even though they made good progress under the stars, still when the sun came early and stayed late, their pauses between treks grew longer.

"We'll move through part of the day as well," said Loric. "Else as you once declared, Tipperton, it will take more than several fortnights to reach our goal."

And so in the days thereafter, they continued until mid-morn, and rested well through the heart of the day, and set out again in midafternoon.

"It looks like a burnt farmstead," said Beau.

Tip glanced at the sun, gauging it to be four hands from setting. "Our provisions are low," he said. "Let's go see can we find anything to take with us."

Down into the swale they went and past a destroyed corral, rounding the burnt hulk of a byre. Of a sudden Tip stopped, for there, bloated, maggots writhing just under the skin, lay the corpse of a woman, though the only way of knowing it was a female was by the clothing she wore. She was clutching the corpse of a child, bloated and infested too, skin swollen and ready to burst.

And the stench was unbearable.

Tipperton turned and vomited, and Beau sank to his knees in dismay, his eyes wide, his hands pressed to his mouth.

"Oh, Adon, what is it we see?" whispered Beau.

"Death," said Loric.

"War," amended Phais.

And soon they moved onward, striding into the grass again.

Rain fell down and down, and lightning stalked across the plains. And during the three days of the violent storm, little progress was made.

Streams became raging torrents, and often they would have to walk far ere they found a place to cross, and these dangerous to the Waerlinga as small as they were. Yet with Loric and Phais's help, across the roiling waters they went.

And when the skies finally cleared, they were far afield of their chosen path. Yet once again across the plains they went, now and then espying riding Hyrinians or running Chabbains or both and hiding whenever they did. And still they had to take wide detours to cross 'round waters yet wild.

And they ran out of food.

"We need to take a day to hunt, to forage, while we yet have the strength," said Loric. "Else we'll be too weak to reach our goal."

"On the morrow, then," said Phais, "we hunt."

The buccen strode back into the camp together.

"I feathered a fat marmot," said Tip, raising his bow in his left hand and the arrow-pierced burrower in his right.

"And I brought down a rabbit," said Beau, canting his head toward the long-legged, long-eared hare slung over his shoulder.

"Stealthy Waerlinga," said Loric, smiling at Phais, then turning back to the buccen. "We garnered nought from any of our snares."

"Even so," said Phais, "there are these." And she held up a bundle of wild leeks.

Loric looked at the fare. "With careful rationing, two days, I would say, then we must hunt again."

"Huah!" snorted Beau, pausing to look leftward as his companions strode on. "So that's the Great Escarpment, eh?"

In the far distance, low on the rim of the world and lit aslant by the rising sun, stood a long upjut of land, running from horizon to horizon west to east.

"Aye," replied Loric, striding past the buccan, " 'tis the Great Escarpment, her steeps well warded by Lian Guardians, for above stands Darda Galion."

Beau shook his head. "Well, it doesn't look so great to me," he said, trotting after the others.

"How far away is it?" asked Tipperton, trailing behind Phais.

"Some fourteen leagues," replied Loric.

"Fourteen leagues!" blurted Beau, catching up to Tipperton again. "Forty-two miles?"

"Aye."

"Hmm," mused Tipperton. "Then it must be rather tall."

"Aye. Two hundred fathoms in places, though east of the Argon it dwindles to the level of the land on which the Greatwood stands."

Beau shaded his eyes and peered again. "Two hundred fathoms, four hundred yards, twelve hundred feet: that's quite high. Hmm, perhaps it is rather great after all." He glanced at Loric. "When will we reach it?"

Loric pointed straight ahead northeasterly. "Vanil Falls and the Cauldron lie mayhap thirty leagues afar. Can we maintain a goodly pace, and given that we yet need a day or two along the way to hunt for food, mayhap we'll be there in a fiveday or seven."

Tipperton sighed and strode on.

The following day, Year's Long Day, they went another five miles before the sun set, and they continued walking under the stars and a gibbous waxing moon. Yet at the mid of night and by the argent light of the westering moon, Loric and Phais and Tip and Beau trod out the Elven rite of Summerday in the tall green grass of Valon.

Step… pause… shift… pause… glide… pause… step. Phais chanting, Loric singing, step… pause… step…

The moon had fallen considerably when they took up the trek again, and they walked until dawn and a bit after ere stopping for the day.

During the hunt the next day they brought down no game, Beau missing the only quarry seen, a ring-necked pheasant that had taken to wing at his very feet.

Yet Phais managed to find double handfuls of small root vegetables she named nepe but which both buccen knew as rutabaga, though these were wild and immature.

"Lor'," said Beau, taking another bite and making a sour face, "but I didn't think I'd be eating young raw turnips out here in the open plain. Regardless, this one meal a day isn't to my liking, for my stomach is touching my backbone, and so raw or not, wild or not, these'll do."

Tip, chewing, looked at his friend through watering eyes. "A bit tart, though, wouldn't you say?"

Loric laughed, then sobered. "We will have to hunt again, if not on the morrow, then certainly the day after."

Tip swallowed and looked at the Great Escarpment, yet some distance off to their left. "Are you certain that we're drawing closer to our goal, Loric? I mean, we seem to be getting no nearer."

Loric peered northeastward. "Another twenty or twenty-five leagues, my friend, will find us ascending the Long Stair next to Vanil Falls."

Beau took another bite of the pungent fleshy root, then said 'round the mouthful, "Well I for one will be glad to be shed of these plains, what with riders and runners about."

After resting throughout the long day, they took up the trek again in the eve and walked through the night. The following morn they made camp in a small grove.

"Lor', but I'm famished," said Beau, "and thinking of eating grass."

"We need to hunt and forage once more," said Loric. "Else we'll not have the strength for the climb when we do reach the Cauldron."

"But first we should rest," said Phais. "Then hunt."

They bedded down, all but the one on watch, and slept through the heart of the day, but in midafternoon they set out in separate directions to forage: Beau with his sling, Tip with his bow, and Phais and Loric running the line of snares they had set while the Waerlinga had slumbered.

Tip found another set of burrows and settled down to watch, his back against a nearby mound, an arrow set to string. Yet worn as he was, he dozed in the afternoon light.

The sun had reached the horizon when a sound startled him awake, and he looked up to see "Yaahhh!" shouted the spear-bearing Chabbain, leaping at the Warrow, spear stabbing forward even as the shrieking buccan desperately rolled aside, his arrow lost to his grasp.

Shnk! the blade of the weapon knifed into the soil, only to be jerked free and plunged again at Tip.

But Tipperton had gained his feet, and he darted aside, the spear catching nought but Elven cloak, the cloth sliding across the blade and away.

"Maut!" sissed the Chabbain, whirling after the fleeing Warrow.

Tipperton ran toward the thicket, and Thkk! the spear flew past him to bury itself in the sod.

And all in one motion Tip stabbed to a halt and spun while snatching an arrow from his quiver and set it to string and drew and loosed, impaling the rushing Chabbain square through the heart, the dark man to tumble dead at the buccan's feet.

And Tipperton heard another shout and looked up to see a second Chabbain running at him with raised spear in hand, while a Hyrinian on horseback thundered after.

Calmly, Tip nocked a second arrow to string and loosed, and even as it flew, he set the third shaft to his bow.

"Ungh!" grunted the Chabbain, and looked in surprise at the feathered shaft that sprang full-blown from his chest even as he pitched to the ground.

Now the horseman hauled back on the reins, the animal squealing in pain as the rider sawed the steed about.

Sssss… Tipperton's third arrow whispered through the air to slam into the Hyrinian's side, the stricken man yawl-ing in pain, yet spurring away.

With sword in hand, Loric burst forth from the woods behind the buccan, Phais on his heels, her weapon drawn as well, as Tipperton snatched another arrow from his quiver and whirled about, ready to slay whoever was coming at his back; yet when he saw it was Loric and Phais, he spun back toward the bolting rider and aimed and loosed, but this shaft flew beyond the fleeting Hyrinian, now distant and drawing away.

Loric ran past the Waerling and after the galloping steed, running as if to catch the racing horse now flying across the plain, clots of dirt and sod flinging up from its hooves. Yet the horse was too swift and Loric quickly fell behind, the Elf stopping after sprinting a hundred paces or so.

Tipperton was shaking when Phais came to his side, and suddenly the strength went out of the buccan's legs and he fell to his knees gasping.

"I couldn't-he almost-they nearly-"

"Shhh, shhh," shushed Phais, kneeling beside Tip and drawing him to her.

Beau came running from the thicket, his sling in hand, and his face twisted into anguish when he saw Phais down on the ground holding Tip. "Oh, my. Oh, my," he groaned. Then: "I'll get my medical satchel," he called, and spun back toward their campsite.

But Phais called out, "No need, Sir Beau, for none here are wounded." Then she whispered, "Except perhaps in heart."

Beau turned and rushed to the Dara's side.

On the way back, Loric stopped at the distant slain Chabbain and rolled the corpse over. Then he walked past the huddle of Tip and Phais and Beau to the dead Chabbain nearby, and with a thuck! he pulled Tip's arrow free, wiping the shaft and blade clean of blood on the tall waving grass.

"I went to sleep. I went to sleep," whispered Tip, "and it nearly proved our undoing."

Arrow in hand, Loric came to stand at their side. Phais looked up at him. "We will have little time," said the Alor.

Phais glanced at the running horseman afar and nodded.

"Little time?" asked Beau.

Loric canted his head toward the distant Hyrinian. "He will bring others. We must run."

Tip drew in a shuddering breath. "It's all my fault-"

Phais clutched him hard by the shoulders. "Nay, Sir Tipperton. 'Tis not the fault of any here."

"But I fell aslee-"

"They were tracking us, I ween," growled Loric. He held out the arrow to Tip. "The other was broken when the Chabbain fell."

Tip took a deep breath and then exhaled, and reached out to accept the arrow. He stood and shoved the missile into his quiver and gazed at the fleeing Hyrinian, now disappearing beyond a distant roll in the land. "How far to safety?" he asked, looking at Loric.

Loric gazed at the Great Escarpment rising in the distant sky, the length of its face mostly enshadowed in the setting sun. "Ten leagues, mayhap fifteen."

"Then we'd better begin," said Tip, "for either way- thirty miles or forty-five-it's a deal to go."

"And on an empty stomach, too," groaned Beau.

Across the prairie they fled, not attempting to hide their tracks, for as Loric had said, "They know we are here and are certain to overtake us should we walk carefully. Instead, we'll choose haste over caution."

And so in the light of a flush full moon they alternately walked and trotted: five hundred paces of hard strides followed by five hundred at a run, over and again, five hundred and five hundred, throughout the short bright night, pausing but occasionally for brief rests, these especially for the flagging Warrows.

Just after dawn when they rested again, Tip said, "We're just slowing you down, Loric, Phais. You should go on ahead without-"

"Nonsense, Sir Tipperton," said Phais. "Fear not, for we have but a short way to go, for even now I can hear the roar of mighty Bellon."

Tip looked at her. "Again I bid you to drop the 'sir' and just call me Tip; that or Tipperton will do. I mean, after the way I let everyone down, I don't-"

Phais thrust a hand palm out toward Tip to shut off the flow of his words. "Aye, I will call thee Tip or Tipperton. 'Tis only in the stress of the moment I-"

"Riders!" called Loric, pointing.

All gazes followed the line of Loric's outstretched arm. On the distant horizon a band of riders topped a crest to disappear down in the grass again.

"How many?" asked Tip.

"A score and some," replied Loric.

"Let's go," said Beau, and once again they started northeastward, now running alongside the towering flank of the Great Escarpment.

And they trotted without pause, no longer alternating their pace with that of a walk.

And the breath of the Waerlinga grew harsh and labored.

While behind the riders drew on.

And now the four rounded a long, curving haunch of the escarpment, and in the distance before them they could see an enormous torrent pouring over the lip of the steep. Here it was that the mighty south-flowing Argon River fell a thousand feet into a churning basin below, for here did Bellon Falls plunge into the Cauldron. And the roar of the cataract thundered outward from the escarpment to shake the very air.

"How far?" gasped Beau.

"Two leagues or three," came Loric's panting answer.

"To the left," puffed Phais.

Now leftward from Bellon by perhaps as much as seven miles, both buccen could see a second falls, a silvery cascade of water plunging over the escarpment and down. It was Vanil Falls, where beyond a turn in the rim the east-flowing River Nith hurtled out from Darda Galion to plummet into the westernmost reach of the Cauldron.

Tip glanced back. In the near distance the Hyrinian riders flew over the grass at full gallop, and swords waved above their heads and their mouths were agape in howls, though Tip could not hear them above Bellon's roar.

"We'll never make it," gasped Tip. "Take the coin and go without us. We'll try to hold them here."

But Beau gritted, "Run!"

And run they did, as swift as they could…

… yet the horses were swifter still.

Another mile they ran, no more, and up a gentle rise.

And Loric stopped.

As did the others.

Panting, Loric drew his sword. "Here on this slope we will make our stand."

Gasping and with trembling hands, Tip set an arrow to string.

Likewise did Beau load his sling as Phais unsheathed her blade.

And twenty-four Hyrinian riders came thundering up the hill.

Tip took a deep breath and exhaled half… And riders howled in triumph as they charged upward…

… and with eyes for nought else, Tip took aim…

… and Hyrinians leaned outward, making ready to hack and chop as they swept by…

… and Tip loosed…

And a sleet of arrows hissed downslope and slammed into the riders.

"Waugh!" burst out Tipperton as a dozen or more arrows pierced Hyrianian throats and eyes and hearts, and riders tumbled backwards to crash to the ground or to be stirrup-dragged as another sleet of arrows flew at those yet galloping forward. And free-running horses hammered past Tip and Beau and Loric and Phais, the four dodging this way and that to keep from being trampled, as yet another volley of arrows hissed past and into the foe.

And when the riderless horses had thundered by, Tip gaped at the arrow-slain Hyrinians and then in amazement at his bow and turned to the others…

… to see…

… hard-breathing, bow-bearing Elves striding over the crest. And among them one called out, "Well, Loric, it seems we arrived just in time."