Loric touched his own temple. "Thou art right, Dara, I had forgotten."
"Oh," said Beau, disappointed. "But I say, let's draw straws anyway just to see what would have happened."
Loric glanced over at Phais, and when she shrugged, he held out the trimmed needles. And when they compared, Tip had the first watch, Beau the last, and Phais followed Loric in between.
"Ah," said Loric, grinning, "Sense and Fortune agree."
That eve, as Tip and Beau took a trip to the river to draw fresh water for the morrow, "Coo," said Beau, squatting by the run, the flux chill with high-mountain snowmelt. "Something that Phais said, well, I just never thought of it that way."
"Never thought what way of what?" asked Tip.
"That the choices we make now may have consequences so far in the future that none then will know the cause of it all."
"Like what?"
"Oh, I dunno," replied Beau, scratching his head. "Oh wait, here's one: how did your da meet your dam?"
A soft look came over Tipperton's face. "He said that once when he was delivering a load of flour, he saw her pass by in a wagon, and was so smitten by her that the next time he was in Stonehill he asked after her, and met her, and events went their natural way."
"Well, then, what if your da had chosen to deliver the flour a different day? Perhaps, bucco, you wouldn't have been born, we wouldn't have met, and there'd be no one to deliver the coin to King Agron, and the whole course of the war would have been changed because of it. So, it's because of your da's choice to deliver flour that day, and your dam's choice to be riding in the wagon, that the entire war will be won."
"Oh, I do hope you're right, Beau. -About the war being won, that is."
A silence fell between them as they filled water skins. But then Beau said, "Oh. Here's another one. And this one is about a choice even further back-one made two thousand or so years ago. Imagine this: what if Lord Talarin and Lady Rael had never decided to settle Arden Vale way back when they did. Wull then, we wouldn't have been rescued those two thousand years later by Vanidor and Loric and such. And that means we wouldn't get to deliver the coin, and who knows what would have happened then?"
Tip's eyes widened, then narrowed, and he said, "Listen, bucco, we still haven't delivered the bloody coin. What if we never do?"
"Oh, Tip, don't say such things." And the wee buccan looked over his shoulder, as if attempting to see dark fate lurking in the shadows behind.
"Or how about this one?" said Beau to Tip at breakfast the next morn. "When Gyphon and Adon had their debate long past, who then could have known the consequences? I mean, here we are involved in a struggle, one that may be a direct result of that quarrel."
Phais looked up from her tea. "Indeed, I never thought then that the disputation, though bitter, would lead to the darkness which followed."
Tip's eyes flew wide, but ere he could say aught, Beau asked, "Darkness? You mean the war, eh?"
"That and more," replied Phais. "For Gyphon not only ruled the Low Plane, He also seduced others on other Planes unto His unworthy cause, and these became Black Mages and rovers and ravers-any who were won over to His precept that the strong shall take whatever they wish to gratify their desires, regardless of the consequences to those they take from."
Phais fell silent, but Tip said, "Lady, did I hear you right, that you never thought then that the disputation, though bitter, would lead to the darkness which followed?"
Phais nodded.
"But then, I mean," stammered Tip, "that is, by putting it that way, it makes you sound as if you were there. I mean, there during the debate itself."
Phais smiled gently. "I was there, wee one. Indeed, I was there."
Now Beau's mouth fell open. "In the glade with the gods? Oh, my. Oh, oh, my."
"Then you actually witnessed what we saw depicted on the tapestry in Talarin's hall?"
Phais turned up her hands and said, "The artisans who wove it did so from my description."
"Oh, my," said Beau again.
Tip took a long pull on his mug of tea. "I see what you mean by unforeseen consequences arising from things long past."
"Are they really beings of light?" blurted Beau. "The gods, I mean?"
Phais turned to the buccan. "That is how they seemed to me, Sir Beau, as beings of light; yet 'tis said that each one sees them differently."
"Oh, my," said Beau, his eyes wide and gazing at Phais as if she were somehow touched by the gods themselves.
Phais laughed and stood. " 'Tis time we were on our way."
That morning as they rode southward through the vale, with Tip practicing on his lute and Beau, as soon as he had recovered from his astonishment, prattling about unforeseen consequences of even the simplest acts, and he kept up a running chatter with Tipperton:
"I mean, I could jump up a coney and it run into the jaws of a fox and the fox not raid a henhouse and the farmer sell the nonstolen hen to a sailor who would take it across the sea to Jung or another one of those faraway places, where it lays eggs which are sold to a peddler who in turn sells them to a royal cook, who prepares them wrong and as a result a king or emperor or some such dies, and then the realm falls into ruin… all because I kicked up a coney one day."
After perhaps the hundredth example-where a sneeze in the Boskydells resulted in the total destruction of the moon-Tipperton stopped chording his lute and said, "Oh, Beau, I just remembered: Jaith told me to tell you my da's tale of the curious fly and the sleeping giant."
"That's right, she did," said Beau. "Though I don't remember why."
"Well, bucco, it was right after you had declared we were country bumpkins and totally inconsequential."
Beau shook his head. "Haven't you been listening to me, Tip? I mean, I don't believe that anymore. Look, if a sneeze in the Bosky can destroy the moo-"
"Yes, yes," interrupted Tip. "But I'll tell you the tale regardless." And before Beau could object, Tip began:
"It seemed there was this curious fly, and a very clever fly at that, who wanted to travel the world and see all it could see in the time allotted to its short life. Well, one day it came across the greatest fortress it had ever seen. Huge it was, with solid stone walls hundreds of feet high and set on a sheer-sided headland above the rolling waves of a sea. Formidable it was, this mighty bastion, and it belonged to a great giant, and none had ever conquered it, though several fools had tried, for 'twas rumored that there was a great hoard within.
"Now on this spring day when the fly flew by, the windows were open wide, for the giant's wife was airing the bedchambers to clear out the winter just past. 'Well, as long as they're open,' says the fly to itself, 'I think I'll see what's within, for I've certainly never been to such a large and fine and invincible fortress in all my life.' And so the fly, curious as ever, flew through the window and in.
"Inside the fortress were many fine chambers and even one laden with gold, for the rumors were true, you see. And the fly coursed throughout the whole of the fortification, its jewellike eyes sparkling with wonder at all the greatness revealed. But in the kitchen the fly came across the greatest apple pie it had ever hoped to see, and it settled down for a meal.
"Long did it eat, filling its tiny belly, for it had been awhile since the fly had supped on such fine repast, its last splendid meal a days-old dead rat gloriously rotting in the sun.
"As you may suspect, with its stomach full near to bursting, the fly became drowsy. And so, up behind the warm chimney it flew to settle down for a nap.
"Some time later it seems, the fly awoke, eager to see the rest of the world. 'I'll fly up the chimney,' it said to itself, but a fire yet burned in the stove. 'Not to worry,' said the fly, 'I'll just go out the way I came in.' And so it flew back to the bedchamber window, but lo, the sash had been slammed to, for the giant's wife had aired out the entire stronghold and every window and door was now shut tight.
" 'Oh, woe is me,' said the fly to itself. 'Now I will never get to see the other great won
ders of the world.'
"But then it espied the monstrous giant himself, taking an afternoon nap on the bed.
"Now this particular fly, although of small stature and seemingly insignificant, was a very clever fly, and so it devised a scheme to escape from this unbreachable bastion.
"Down it flew to the sleeping monster and landed on the giant's immense face, where it began licking and daubing spittle on the behemoth's left cheek, right at the rim of the eye.
"Slap! went the giant against his own face, but the fly evaded the blow. And once again the fly settled to the giant's left cheek and daubed oozing spittle again.
"Slap! The giant struck another open-handed smack, once more missing, though this time the blow nearly succeeded. The fly's plan, you see, was not without risk, yet it was desperate to escape.
"Slap! struck the giant, and Slap! again, and Slap! and Slap! and Slap! each time coming closer and closer. Yet the fly was wily and persistent.
"By now the giant was fully awake and totally enraged, and he bellowed at the tiny fly, his voice a thunderous boom. And he leaped out from his bed and, raving, began pursuing the pest about the bedchamber and swinging his great fists.
"This was just what the fly wanted, for the monster was trying to kill it. And so the fly lit on the wall nigh the window, and Boom! the maddened giant smashed his fist against the masonry, but the fly was not there, having just barely escaped the mighty and devastating stroke.
"Well, the wall collapsed from the horrendous blow, and great cracks shattered throughout the entire fortress, and the whole of it crumbled into the sea, carrying the giant and his wife and a vast treasure under the billows below.
"But as the shattered bastion fell, the fly itself flew away, completely free at last, its only regret was that the great apple pie had been swallowed by the waves as well.
"And so you see, Beau, as my da used to tell me when I was but a wee child, though at times it might be risky, even the most insignificant, inconsequential one can bring down the mightiest of all, given a clever enough plan."
Beau laughed and then said, "Yar, but for the mighty to fall, there needn't even be a plan. I mean, like the Boskydell sneeze that destroyed the moon, there was no plan involved, just an inevitable chain of connected events. And speaking of unforeseen outcomes, I've thought of another, Tip…"
And on they rode through the vale, Tip trying to master a song on his lute, and Beau prating of exceedingly dire consequences of ostensibly innocent acts.
In midafternoon they came to a place where the river curved 'round a bend. And as they passed beyond the shoulder of the stone palisade looming to their right, in the distance ahead they could see the Lone Eld Tree towering into the sky. Too, the distant rumble of Arden Falls sounded within the vale, white mist roiling up into the sunlight shining aslant through the high stone gap of the embracing walls.
Under the branches of the soaring giant they stopped for a bite to eat, and spoke with Alaria, captain of the South Arden-ward, to give her what tidings they held and to hear of any news in return.
"Aye, the pass itself is held by the Spaunen, and corpse-foe on Helsteeds patrol the road-"
"Road?" asked Tip.
"Aye, the Old Way down through Rell."
Beau turned to Phais. "Isn't that the road we were to follow?"
Glumly Phais nodded. "It means we must instead ride cross the open wold, avoiding the Ghulka altogether."
Tip sighed and shook his head. "Our best-laid plans gone askew once again."
Loric made a negating gesture. " 'Tis but a minor inconvenience."
Phais turned to Alaria. "What knowest thou of the Horde gone south from Dhruousdarda?"
Alaria shrugged. "Nought. And although Flandrena and Varion came through in the mid of April to follow the march and give warning at need, neither have returned."
"Did you see Eloran and Aleen?" asked Beau.
"Aye. Late March they passed on their way south, riding to the ring of stones."
Beau nodded and said, "That puts them well ahead of either the Horde going south out of Drearwood or the Ghuls patrolling the road."
Tip growled and said, "Would that we had gone when they did. Then we'd be well past those dangers too." Then he glanced across at Phais and held out a hand. "I know. I know. Hindsight and perfect vision and all."
Loric looked at Captain Alaria. "Is there aught else, Dara?"
Alaria shook her head, but then said, "Vulgs have been heard howling in the Grimwall up nigh the pass. Take care, for they may patrol the road as well."
"Oh, my," breathed Beau, his hand involuntarily touching the breast pocket which held the silver case of golden mint.
Bellowing greatly, the spring-swollen Virfla roared out through the high gap and thundered into the churn below, and behind the falls rode the four, the slant of the hidden rock road awash with water running down the stone slope. Yet the horses were sure-footed, and nought went amiss, though when they reached the concealing crags beyond, steed and rider all were adrip with water, drenched by the swirling mist.
Among tall upjuts of soaring rock they wended to the base of the rampart to enter among screening pines, and within this wood they rode southerly, the sound of the cataract diminishing behind.
Less than a mile south, the Tumble River curved away westward, yet the four did not follow its course but bore on southerly, to pass over the Crossland Road winding upward into the Grimwalls. This route, too, they ignored as they rode on south and into the wolds of Rell.
With his Elven-made bone-and-wood bow now at hand and his quiver of arrows strapped to his thigh, Tip looked leftward to the east, where loomed the towering Grimwall, blood-red in the afternoon sun, a stony barrier 'tween him and his goal. And he looked rightward toward the west, where, just beyond the horizon and unseen, dreadful Drear-wood lay, a place he hoped never to set foot in again. And he looked rearward, to the north, where silvery Arden Falls plunged over the high linn and down, the vale beyond the swirling mist a safe haven, yet he was leaving it behind. And lastly he looked to the south, across distant folds of land, toward… toward… who knew what? Toward an unknown future, was all. And he gripped his bow and a shiver shook him in silence, though he knew not why.
Beau, too, seemed stricken to muteness, for he prattled of consequences no more.
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 starte
d 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.
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