Into the Forge hc-1

by Dennis L Mcciernan

  "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."

  Chapter 26

  "Alor Galarun!" Loric sheathed his sword.

  As some Lian went after the loose horses and other Lian moved down to make certain of the Hyrinians, Galarun grinned and clasped Loric's hand. He turned to Phais and embraced her, then stepped back and held her at arm's length. "Dara Phais, too many seasons have passed since thy beauty has graced these eyes."

  "Alor Galarun," acknowledged Phais.

  Dressed in an elusive grey-green, Galarun stood nearly six feet tall. His hair was dark brown, nearly black, and his clear eyes a deep shade of grey. And a smile seemed barely withheld from his generous mouth.

  Now Galarun released Phais and glanced at the Waerlinga.

  "Alor Galarun," said Phais, turning to the buccen, "may I present Sirs Tipperton Thistledown and Beau Darby, Waerlinga of the Wilderland."

  Tip, yet shaken, looked up at Galarun and took a deep breath and blew it out, though he couldn't seem to utter any words; even so, he did cant his head in acknowledgement.

  "Oh, my," said Beau, "but am I glad you and the others came, else we would have been deaders for sure… though not without taking some of them down with us."

  Galarun gestured up at the escarpment. "We saw ye running ere dawn, with horsemen coming after, following thy track by bright moonlight. I gathered these of the march-ward and we hastened down, hoping to arrive in time… as it haps we did."

  "In the nick, thereof," said Phais. " 'Twas a close thing."

  "Too close," said Tip, finding words at last as he passed trembling fingers across his brow. "Oh, don't take me wrong. We were in desperate need, and we thank you for saving us."

  "Speaking of desperate need and of saving us," piped up Beau, "have you any food? I mean, every time I've been rescued by Elves, it seems I am starving. And at this very moment, I swear, my stomach is eating itself."

  They rode Hyrinian horses the last five miles to come to where Vanil Falls plummeted into the Cauldron, the water furiously churning under the onslaught while rainbows shined in the mist. A grove of willows stood nearby on the banks of the thundering pool. By hand signals Galarun bade them to dismount, for all speech was lost in the roar.

  With a few more gestures Galarun directed eight of the Lian to gather the horses and ride eastward, for they would take them to the outflow of the Cauldron, where they would signal others on the far banks and fare across the Argon on rafts and into the Greatwood beyond. Along with Tip and Beau and Loric and Phais, Galarun kept the remaining seven Lian of the march-ward with him, and he turned toward the escarpment at hand.

  And as they started for the way up, Tip wondered why he and Beau and Phais and Loric didn't simply take some of the horses and cross the great river and continue on toward the city of Dendor in Aven, where King Agron sat.

  Hold on now, bucco: we have no supplies for that long journey and frankly, you are too spent to go on without considerable rest-and the same is true of Beau. And what better place to recover than Wood's-heart, the Elven strongholt in the Larkenwald above?

  And so up a long and steep path switching back and forth they made their way toward the top of the escarpment, stopping often to rest, for they were climbing fully a thousand feet up to the high rim overhead, the way arduous and narrow and precipitous, the outer edge of the pa
th plunging sheer, with no railing whatsoever, and both Tip and Beau stayed as far from the brink as they could, eight or ten feet at most-in places it narrowed down to three. And although elsewhere the Great Escarpment could be scaled by determined climbers, this was the Long Stair, an entry into Darda Galion above, and one of the few places where climbing gear was not needed at all, though Tip would have felt more secure were they all roped together. The higher they went, the slower they fared, for the War-rows were weary beyond measure, having run throughout the previous night and a bit after dawn. And finally, in spite of their protests, Lian Guardians bore them pickaback the last hundred feet or so and into the march-ward camp beyond, where among the towering Eld Trees with soft grey twilight glowing though it was yet day, both Tip and Beau fell asleep, their wafers of mian but half eaten, their mugs of tea but half quaffed.

  The buccen slept through the rest of the day and the whole of the night till dawn, but even with all this sleep, they were yet weary the next morn. Even so they were awakened at dayrise by the singing of Silverlarks, and then drawn from their beds by the smell of food, for it was the break of fast, and Lian Guardians prepared them eggs and bacon, toast and tea, and even laded out some cherry preserves.

  It was the first hot meal they'd had for weeks on end, and Beau's eyes filled with tears at the sight of it. And they ate their fill and more.

  "I'm stuffed," groaned Beau, even as he reached for another dab of preserves. "Maybe our stomachs have shrunk."

  "I'll swear, Beau," said Tip, popping the last of his toast into his mouth, "I've never seen you look so slender. Why, you're practically a skeleton."

  Beau shuddered and paused in slathering jam on toast. "Oh, don't say that, Tip. If I'm to be a skeleton, I'd rather not know it in advance." He resumed spreading the sweet preserve. "Oh, I know someday I'll be nothing but bones, yet I hope it's years from now after a long and uneventful life."

  Tip choked on his tea. When he recovered his breath- "Long and uneventful? It'll take many a year to make these days fade, my lad."

  Beau grinned and nodded. "I should say so, bucco. Indeed so I would say."

  ***

  Throughout the rest of this day they napped, waking long enough for meals and to relieve themselves. Waking as well to marvel over the towering trees all 'round.

  Like the Lone Eld Tree these forest giants were, yet here they stood seemingly without number, with twilight galleries reaching inward to fade beyond sight among the massive boles. And like the Lone Eld Tree, these towered upward toward the sky, three hundred feet or more.

  And high among the branches, silvery birds winged. These were the Silverlarks, the Vani-lerihha, who lived by day in Mithgar and by night in Adonar, their singing and flight somehow allowing crossings of the in-between, flying unto Adonar at the eventide, returning to Mithgar on the dawn. It was from these argent birds that this mighty forest took one of its names: the Larkenwald.

  "Aye, 'twas started by Vanidar Silverleaf long past, this forest, transplanted as seedlings," responded Galarun to a question by Beau at the evening meal. He paused and looked long at the enshadowed giants. "It reminds us of home," he said at last.

  "Transplanted!" exclaimed Beau, his eyes wide with wonder as he peered all 'round. "Why, it must have taken forever.-Centuries at least."

  "Millennia," corrected Galarun.

  "Oh, my," breathed Beau.

  Galarun smiled. "We had the time, wee one. We had the time."

  Tip looked askance at the Elf. "You say it reminds you of home?"

  At Galarun's nod, Tip continued: "Do you miss the High World?"

  The Alor stroked his chin and then said, "At times. But it is a simple matter to return and renew ties." He glanced at Phais across the fire. She nodded. Galarun looked again at Tip. "You see, Sir Tipperton-"

  "You don't need to call me 'sir.' Tip or Tipperton will do. And the same for Beau."

  Galarun smiled and nodded. "Tip it is."

  "I interrupted," said Tip.

  Galarun turned up a hand. "What I was to say is that here in Darda Galion there is an in-between crossing unto Adonar, where we cross over at twilight and return upon the dawn."

  Beau frowned, pondering.

  "Dost thou have a question, Beau?" asked Galarun.

  Beau took a deep breath. "I was just wondering why you are here. I mean, what brings you to Mithgar in the first place?"

  Galarun laughed. "I assure thee, we are not invaders, though some would name us so-some of whom thou didst meet yester riding at thee up the slopes of a hill."

  Flustered, Beau reddened. "Oh, my, I didn't think you were.-Invaders, I mean. I am simply curious as to why anyone would leave their own world to live upon another. I mean, I left the Bosky because I needed to find special herbs and other such, but you…"

  "Ah, Beau, why does anyone leave anywhere of their own will if it is not to find something? Their heart's desire, adventure, peace, love, excitement, knowledge, or the like."

  "But why here? Why from Adonar to Mithgar?"

  Again Galarun threw back his head and laughed, his long hair free, his teeth flashing whitely in the firelight. "Ah, my friend, Adonar is… tamed: peaceful, placid… dull." Galarun threw his arms wide, as if to encompass all the world. "But Mithgar… Mithgar is yet wild, tempestuous, unkempt, savage, turbulent, exciting. We come here to feel… alive."

  Beau shook his head. "Wull, at the moment, what with Modru's war and his Foul Folk and Kistanians and Hyrini-ans and Chabbains running amok, I'll take dull anytime."

  The smile fled from Galarun's face. "In this case, Beau, thou art right, and gladly would I join thee in tedium."

  As dawn came and the Silverlarks returned in a burst of wings and song, Tip said, "Hmph, even the birds know how to go in-between. I don't think it can be all that hard."

  "You know, bucco," replied Beau, "after this is all ovef, the war I mean, we ought to learn just how it is done, just to see for ourselves."

  Tip shook his head. "No, no, Beau. I think my da had the right of it: Warrows ought to stay put and that's that." Tip scratched under his jerkin. "Besides, I need a bath."

  Tip asked one of the Lian, Hadron by name, where they might find some soap. "We're going to bathe in the River Nith," said Tip. "It's been awhile since we've been clean."

  "When it rained three days out on the plain," added Beau, "though that washing was completely involuntary."

  Hadron fished around in his gear and came up with a bar of mildly scented soap, its bouquet that of wildflowers. "Take care, wee ones, for the waters of the Nith are swift, and should ye get caught in her current, ye will be swept o'er the brim of Vanil and down her long silvery plume unto the Cauldron below."

  "Ooo," crooned Tip, envisioning the fall and shuddering.

  "Maybe we ought to take a rope and tie ourselves to a tree," said Beau.

  Hadron laughed. "Nay, instead I will show ye unto a safe eddy."

  Hadron left them at a shallow pool, its slow-turning water sheltered by a close-set row of boulders protecting bathers from the swift-running Nith beyond.

  "I always wondered why the Elves came to Mithgar," said Beau, hearkening back to the conversation of the night before. "And now we know. -At least, that is, we know why Galarun came."

  "Excitement," said Tip, lathering. "Hmph. It seems a rather improvident reason to come." He passed the soap to Beau.

  "Oh, I dunno," said Beau. "I mean, given the endless lifetime of Elvenkind, spending forever in dullness would seem an unending bore, don't you think?"

  "Hmm," mused Tip. "Perhaps you're right, Beau"-he reached for the soap. "Perhaps we just don't live long enough to see that peace and plenty becomes drab after a lengthy while."

  "Oh, I dunno, Tip. It seems that after a good long while of boredom, one could take up games or a hobby or a project to bring some life to life."

  Tip smiled, then his eyes widened. "I think you've hit upon it, Beau."

  "Hit upon what?"

  "Just this, bucco: pe
rhaps Mithgar is not a hobby or games to the Elves, but a project instead."

  "Project? What kind of project?"

  Tip shook his head. "I don't know, Beau, but they do call themselves Guardians… guarding against what, I can't say."

  "Perhaps it's against Modru," said Beau.

  "Perhaps it's against Gyphon instead," replied Tip.

  "Maybe it's against the rape of this world, no matter the cause," said Beau, "be it gods or acolytes or aught else."

  Tip looked at Beau. "Even mankind?"

  Beau nodded. "Even mankind. Everything's connected, you know."

  They stood well back from the brim of the Great Escarpment and looked out over the plains of Valon a thousand feet below, their sight flying far, and here and there they could see faint trails of smoke rising into the sky.

  "Lor'," said Beau. "Was it just two days past that we were rescued from the Hyrinians?"

  Tipperton nodded in affirmation but did not otherwise reply.

  "And it looks as if the war yet burns," added Beau.

  "I think it'll burn for a long while, Beau," said Tip, turning to the left, where mighty Bellon Falls thundered down. And where the water left the Cauldron, the Argon River continued onward, curving away to the south in a vast arc, marking the eastern border of Valon. Beyond the river stood a mighty forest; oh, not one like the Larkenwald with its great tall eldwood trees, but a woodland of oak and pine, or maple and birch, and other common trees. Yet this forest was vast. It was the Greatwood, and therein dwelled the Baeron, tall men and strong, and tales told that some of these Baeron took on the shapes of Bears and Wolves.

  But Tip wasn't thinking of these legends of old as he stared out across the world. Instead through his mind ran this morning's conversation about Elves and gods and acolytes and last of all of men.

  Seek the aid of those not men to quench the fires of war, she said. Certainly the Elves are "not men, " and they did save us. Ah, but her rede cannot pertain to us, to Beau and me. We are just a pair of unimportant Warrows caught up in a dreadful war.

  "A silver penny for your thoughts," said Beau.