"Ungh," groaned Beau at one of the stops, "I'll be sore on the morrow, you can stake your life on that."
"I'd rather not, Beau," replied Tip. "I mean, just going on this little sojourn of ours to Aven, well, we've already staked our lives quite nicely, and I don't care to add something as trivial as sore legs to the wager."
"Oh, don't say that, Tip."
They sat in silence for a moment or more, and then Beau said, "Lor', but I also could use a week or two in a comfortable inn. This walking about and living on jerky and mian and sleeping on the ground isn't for me. And I wouldn't mind a good barrel of beer, too."
Tip nodded, saying, "Perhaps we'll find an inn in Valon."
Loric shook his head. "I would not count on it, my friends, for did not Ralk say that mayhap the foe strides across that realm?"
"Oh, I don't even want to think about that," said Beau. "Let's talk about something else."
Silence again fell among them, but finally Phais said, "Tell me, chier, what didst thou say unto Raggi in the Drimmen tongue?"
Loric turned up a hand. " 'Chakka shok, Chakka cor, ko ka ska.' In Common, that translates as 'Dwarven axes, Dwarven might, come what may.' "
"You speak the Dwarven tongue?" asked Tip, his eyes wide.
Loric grinned. "Aye. Chakur. I learned it long past from a Dwarf named Kelek. We were stranded for three summers on an island in the Bright Sea. He taught me Chakur; I taught him Sylva."
"You'll have to tell me that tale sometime," said Tip.
"One day, Sir Tipperton, but not now, for although we tarry, the sun does not, and we must press on."
Along with the others Tip sighed and stood, lifting his pack and settling it into place, then slinging his lute as well. But before they set out he said, "Alor Loric and Dara Phais, we've known each other a goodly while and I have a formal request to make."
Both Lian looked at him questioningly, for seldom did he address them by their titles.
"It's just this: you insist on calling us 'Sir Tipperton' and 'Sir Beau.' Well, I've had enough of it. And though Beau's a splendid healer, I'm just a plain miller, so from now on I'd rather you drop the 'sir' and simply call me Tip or Tipperton"-he glanced at Beau and found him nodding vigorously-"and perhaps call him Beau. But if you do insist on some kind of formality, then please save it for very special occasions"-Tip gestured about-"and living on dirt and eating rations isn't what I'd call special."
Phais looked at Loric and, at his nod, turned to the Waer-linga. "Agreed, Sir-agreed, Tipperton; agreed, Beau. Mayhap in court we will speak of ye as Sirs, but thou dost speak true in that living on dirt and eating field rations certainly is not special."
Beau laughed, then said, "Not special unless 'specially bad' qualifies."
Grinning all, and with Loric leading and Phais trailing, they set off upslope once again.
"Lor'," said Beau, his voice sounding hollow in the darkness of the narrow way, "Raggi was right. A fat pony couldn't make it. Why, I can reach out and touch both sides."
Though the Warrows walked upright, in the lead Loric stooped low as he made his way through the natural rock tunnel. Bringing up the rear, Phais did the same.
"Huah," grunted Tip. "Not only a fat pony but a tall one as well-neither could make it through… and as I said before, given their shoulders the Dwarves would have to walk sideways."
They rounded a turn and ahead an arch of light showed they had come to the end, and shortly they emerged into the sunlight.
"Two furlongs, I make it," said Loric, ere any could ask.
"Why don't the Dwarves enlarge it?" asked Beau. "I mean, with their skill at carving mountains-"
"Because," interjected Tip, "were it made wider, it likely would become a well-known route. This way the Dwarves keep it hidden. Besides, if they were being pursued, here just one Dwarf could hold off an army of foe." "Oh," said Beau, enlightened, as on down the slope they fared, the path now heading down the opposite side, though crags and bluffs and massifs stood in the way of Valon.
As the day grew toward evening and they took up the trek again, Beau's eyes widened. "I say, Tip, I just thought of something."
Tip looked at Beau, a question in his eyes.
"Just this," said Beau. "Dwarves are not men."
Tip frowned. "And…?"
"Don't you see: 'Seek the aid of those not men,' she said, did Rael, 'to quench the fires of war.' Well, we were aided by the Dwarves-Dwarves who are not men. Perhaps their aid will mean the quenching of the fires of war."
Now Tip's own eyes widened at the thought. "But Beau, that assumes the rede she spoke was meant for us, and I don't see how that can be."
"I don't see how it can be, either, bucco, but let's keep it in mind just in case. Remember, a small event in one place can cause great catastrophe in another; all things are somehow connected, you know."
Tip shook his head but made no reply as onward they pressed down the way.
Down they strode and down, and came to a place where at last they could see out across the land ahead, out where a vast grassy plain swept to the horizon and beyond. Yet Tip gasped in dismay, for in the far distance a pall of black smoke curled into the afternoon sky.
Upon Valon burned War.
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 n
ot 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 fo
llow, 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.
Into the Forge hc-1 Page 23
