Into the Forge hc-1

by Dennis L Mcciernan

  Silverleaf shook his head, then passed on the pewter token to the tall, black-haired Lian. "What dost thou think, Aravan? Canst thou sense any peril?"

  Setting aside his crystal-bladed spear, Aravan took the disk and examined it, his sapphire-blue eyes full of curiosity. After a moment he shook his head. "Nay, Silverleaf, no peril do I sense." He frowned. "It seems nought more than a plain pewter coin minted with a hole in it, like many found throughout the world, though this has no stamp of the realm where it was struck. As to why Blaine would send such unto Agron…" Aravan shrugged and held out the token to a giant of a man, fully ten or twelve inches taller than Aravan's own considerable six-foot height. "Urel?"

  Before the big man reached for the coin, he looked at Aravan. "Your stone?"

  Aravan touched a small blue stone on a thong ' round his neck. "As I said, Urel, I sense no harm. Yet Tarquin's gift does not warn against all peril, and so as to the token I cannot say."

  Somewhat assured, the brown-haired, brown-eyed Baeran took the coin. "I do not think that Blaine would send something of peril unto Agron. After all, they were fast friends when my father taught them the ways of the woods."

  "The ways of the woods?" asked Beau.

  "Aye. Kings oft send their children to the Baeron to learn the ways of the land and to learn to husband its wealth. 'Tis a manner of teaching young Princes of the keeping of the world."

  Urel frowned at the pewter disk, then muttering, "Commander," he gave it over to Rynna, who held out her hand, tiny when compared to the Baeran's.

  "Commander?" said Beau, looking at Rynna.

  "Aye," replied Silverleaf. "Ryn leads the Waerlinga on our raiding forays."

  "And better scouts we could not ask," added Aravan.

  Beau's gaze flew wide, but Ryn looked up from the coin at Tip and closed one eye in a wink.

  And Tipperton blushed and looked away, looked at Urel, and the big man rumbled, "If I were you, wee one, I would have a Mage examine that coin at first chance."

  Now it was Tip's eyes that widened, and he glanced from Urel to the token. "Mage?"

  Urel nodded, and glanced at Aravan's amulet and then at Aravan's spear, with its dark crystal and the long black shaft, the weapon nearly eight feet overall in length. "It could hold some kind of charm."

  "Charm? M-magic? -Oh, Rynna, perhaps you ought not to handle it." Tip reached out.

  She laughed her silvery laugh and tossed the disk and thong in the air and caught it. Then she sobered when she saw how serious he was. "Oh, Tipperton, I don't think it carries peril. I mean, you've told us your tale, and it seems you've borne it many a day without coming to harm."

  Tip frowned. "I don't know about that, Ryn. I mean, we, Beau and I, well, ever since we got hold of this coin, we've nearly been killed a goodly number of times."

  "Say," piped up Beau, "you don't think it attracts peril to the holder, do you now?"

  Ryn frowned at the token, then smiled. "Oh, I think not, for you've also met up with many a good friend as well- those in Arden Vale and Darda Galion and elsewhere- Loric, Phais, Silverleaf, Aravan, Urel, the Dwarves in Annory, and many others"-she looked at Tipperton with her golden eyes-"me…"

  At her gaze, Tip felt his heart leap.

  "Lor', Beau, but she's the most beautiful damman I've ever seen."

  "Bucco, she's the only damman you've ever seen."

  Tip frowned, but then his smile beamed forth again. "You're forgetting my dam."

  "I thought you told me you could but barely remember her."

  "Well, I did," snapped Tip. "I mean, that's right. Yet I just wanted to, to-"

  "You just wanted to show my words false, eh?" said Beau, grinning. "Well, here's what I'll concede: she's one of two female Warrows you've seen. Yet even with all your vast experience, bucco, I will tell you this about Rynna: I've never seen a damman in the Bosky more comely, and that's saying some. And she can really shoot an arrow."

  "Oh, but that's not all, Beau. She's witty and clever and has got a temper and-"

  A soft tap came on the door.

  Tip opened it to find Ryn standing with a tin whistle in hand, her amber-gold eyes aglitter. "Take up your lute, Tipperton. We'll go to the battlements after we eat and play a tune or two."

  Of the songs Rynna taught him that night, the second was a simple but sad tune: "The Waiting Maiden."

  And when they had played it through several times, Tipperton gaining in mastery, Rynna asked, "Um, Tipperton, do you have anyone waiting for you back home?"

  Tip frowned over the silver frets and set his fingers to play the most difficult chord in the tune. "Unh-uh," he muttered, yet concentrating on barring and placement. "No one." Then he struck the chord, followed quickly by a fingered progression, and silver notes cascaded forth as Rynna laughed gaily. When the last of the notes faded to silence, he looked up smiling to find Rynna smiling back.

  "Now let me teach you a more lively tune," she said, picking up her penny whistle, "and I'll teach you the words as well."

  And so they played and sang, as a gibbous moon rode among clouds across slashes of starry sky, while warders atop the battlements paced their rounds and smiled.

  Over the next seven days, as they waited for reports on the location of the eastward Horde, although Beau met the remaining Springwater Warrows-buccen all, but for Ryn-and many of the Baeron and Elves, he saw little of Loric and Phais, off in their privacy. He saw little of Tipperton, too, and when he did espy the buccan, Rynna was ever at his side, those two walking about as if they were alone in a bubble, Tipperton meeting other buccen and Lian and men, yet seeming to have time only for the damman, and she seeming to have eyes only for him.

  "Canoodling," Beau muttered, grinning as he watched them stroll by, oblivious to all others, the buccan using a word his Aunt Rose had taught him-"Canoodling, indeed"-yet Beau had seen how thunderstruck Tip was, not that she wasn't stricken likewise. Even so, they both had sworn missions to fulfill: Tip to deliver a small pewter coin; Rynna to command the Warrows on their frequent forays, as became all too apparent -For on the eve of that seventh day in Caer Lindor, word came that Foul Folk roamed along this side of the Argon, somewhere above Olorin Isle. And hastily a warband was assembled by Silverleaf, of Elves and men and Waer-linga, Rynna in command of the scouts.

  And they rode out in the night, heading westward through Darda Erynian-Warrows upon ponies, Elves and men upon horses, Silverleaf in the lead, his bow of white horn in hand. And Tip stood on the battlements above and watched by the glimmering light of the stars as Ryn rode out from the caer and across the bridge and into the woods beyond, she looking back over her shoulder and up, letting her pony find the way.

  And the next day Tipperton paced the battlements, and stood on the weapons shelf and peered out through a crenel, the buccan looking ever westward, seeking to see some sign of their return, seeking to see that Rynna and the others were all right.

  "But they'll be gone for days," said Beau, standing on the banquette walk just below. "They said so before they left."

  "I know," snapped Tipperton. Then more softly, "I know."

  "And we've got to think about our own mission, bucco," added Beau. "After all, we've been here a week."

  Tipperton, his face pale and stricken, turned and peered down at his friend. "Oh, Beau, I can't leave without knowing she's safe."

  "But Loric and Phais say they've worked out the best way to go 'round the Horde in the east, and we'll be leaving soon."

  Tip's shoulders slumped. "I know," he whispered. "I know."

  Brushing his sleeve across his eyes, Tip turned back to peer out through the crenel, and Beau clambered up beside him and threw an arm across his friend's shoulders, and together they stood and looked westward, peering out and down into the forest reaching to the horizon and beyond, seeking movement, seeing none.

  Three days passed, with no word, and at the late-day meal on the third of these days, Phais said, "We must go forth on morrow morn or the one after and no late
r, for the knowledge we have concerning the whereabouts of the Horde grows older each day we delay, and even now they may be on the move… or not."

  Tipperton felt as if he'd been struck a blow in the stomach. "But, Dara, Rynna has not returned."

  "And she may not," rumbled a bleak-eyed Baeran sitting at their table, his voice bitter, his arm bound and in a sling, a wound taken some days past during a raid eastward. "My wife did not."

  With stricken eyes Tip looked at the man. "Ach, I'm sorry, Waldan," said the Baeran, shaking his head. "I did not think before I spoke."

  His vision swimming, Tip looked away toward one of the doors of the great common room.

  Phais reached out and placed her hand over the buccan's. " 'Tis ever so in war that friends and lovers are parted. Yet thou hast a sworn mission to fulfill, just as does she."

  "I know," said Tip, his voice near breaking, his tears barely held in check. "But I… I jflst wanted to see her one last time. I wanted to tell her… I wanted to tell her…" Tip could not finish his words.

  "She knows, wee one," whispered Phais. "She knows."

  That night, in deference to Tipperton, they decided to wait one more day in Caer Lindor, but come what may, they would set out the morning after. And so Tip spent the night atop the battlements, peering through starlight in vain, and just ere dawn the warders found him asleep at his west-facing crenel.

  Wan and bleary, Tip picked at his breakfast, while Beau softly chided him about needing food and rest. Yet even though Beau was concerned for his friend, still his own appetite held strong. "Y' never know when we'll be without food again, bucco," he said. " 'Sides, we'll be on rations starting tomorrow and today's the last of the good cooking for a while."

  Tip nodded listlessly and continued to pick at his food.

  Unable to eat, he had just set aside his knife when a distant bugle sounded, to be answered by one atop the bastion walls.

  "They're here," said Beau, but Tip was already running for the door.

  Out from the caer and across the bailey he ran, Beau coming after, a rasher of bacon in hand along with a chunk of bread. Up the ramp darted Tip, up to the banquette above, where he leaped upon the weapons shelf and looked out through a crenel.

  Tip peered westerly, the rising sun at his back, yet he saw no movement along the River Rissanin nor within the entwined foliage of the woodland below. And he waited, his heart hammering.

  Beau clambered up beside him, and in that moment a slow-moving cavalcade emerged from the forest. They watched as more and more horses came out from among the trees, and for each one ridden there came another horse being led while dragging a travois behind.

  "I'd better go, Tip," said Beau, "they've got wounded."

  Tip nodded, not speaking, and Beau clambered down. Just as the buccan reached the ramp to the bailey below, Tip turned. "Beau, send someone to fetch me if, if-"

  "I know," said Beau, nodding, and then he was down and gone.

  Tipperton faced west again. Still the horses came out from among the trees.

  Ponies. No ponies. Where are the ponies? Where are the Warrows? Where is my Rynna?

  Finally, as the first of the cavalcade came onto the pontoon bridge, no more horses with riders or wounded emerged from the forest behind.

  His heart thudding in the pit of his stomach, Tip waited until the last of the horses clopped onto the bridge, and then he sprang to the banquette and darted down the ramp and into the bailey below.

  "… were there, all right," Tipperton overheard as he came in among the wounded. "We engaged them two mornings back and drove them hindward to their boats and rafts," continued the speaker, a Baeran, a bloody bandage on his arm and another wrapped 'round his head. "But they fought fiercely, as you can see"-healers squatted beside the wounded, gauging the damage, applying unguents and herbal poultices and bandages, Beau enwrapping a fresh binding on a wounded Lian-"and some in our warband were slain."

  Tip's heart lurched and he felt as if he could not breathe.

  "What of Vanidar and the others?" asked Aravan, who had remained behind in command.

  "Last I saw, Silverleaf and the Waldana were racing downstream along the bank and feathering them with arrows, though many a black shaft flew back at them. Those of the warband without bows and slings rode alongside covering the flanks just in case there were more aland, or to be on hand if those on the river turned ashore."

  "And the dead?"

  The Baeran gestured to where several of the travois had been unfastened and lay off to the side, the bodies thereon covered with blankets. "We brought back those we could, though if Silverleaf and the others take wounds, there's likely to be more."

  Again Tip's heart flopped and, trembling, he stepped toward the dead.

  Only one of those slain was the size of a Warrow, and with his breath coming harsh and gasping, Tipperton slowly raised the corner of the blanket to see, and he fell to his knees weeping, weeping in relief, for it was not Rynna, but Winkton Bruk instead.

  She's safe, oh Adon, she's safe.

  And then guilt flooded Tipperton's very soul.

  Oh, my. Oh, my. How can I rejoice when Wink lies here dead; how can I be glad that it's Wink instead of her?

  With tears running down his cheeks, Tip reached out with his fingers and smoothed back Winkton's dark hair.

  I'm so sorry, so very sorry, Wink.

  And he covered Winkton's face with the blanket once more and then stood. And he looked about, not only feeling guilty but also feeling utterly useless, for he knew nought but the most rudimentary of healing skills, and they needed more here. And his eyes sought the sight of Rynna Yet she is not here, not here, but out there somewhere still, black-shafted arrows seeking her heart. Oh, my Rynna, be safe.

  Tip trudged to a ramp and up to stand vigil once more.

  The sun had climbed to the zenith when another horn sounded from the forest, and Elves and men on horses and Warrows on ponies came plodding forth, some drawing travois behind, and on some of these drawn litters, blanket-covered bodies rode.

  His heart thudding in fear, Tip sought sign of his loved one as each pony, as each horse, plodded forth from among the trees. Yet she did not appear and did not appear, and tears sprang to his eyes, to be shaken away, for he would see.

  And then Silverleaf on his black came forth from the woodland, and none came after. And Tip cried out in despair, but in that same moment a morose Rynna rode forth from beside Silverleaf; her pony had been concealed by the larger mount.

  "Rynna!" shrieked Tipperton. "Rynna, up here!"

  And she looked up to see Tip waving madly.

  With a wild whoop Rynna spurred her pony, her little steed to gallop across the bridge, Tipperton to dash down from above.

  Tip reached the bailey at the same time Rynna did, and she haled her mount to a skidding halt, seeming to stop and dismount at one and the same time.

  And Tip caught her up and swung her about, and kissed her soundly, she kissing him just as fervently in return.

  "Oh, my buccaran," she gasped, tears running down her cheeks, "I thought you would be gone."

  "And I thought you wounded or worse," said Tip, his own eyes welling with joy. Then he gasped. "Buccaran. You called me your buccaran. Oh, my dammia, how did you know I loved you?"

  She looked at him, her amber-gold eyes wide. "I've known it from the first moment I saw you. Did you not know it in return?"

  ***

  While the Baeron bore their four slain kindred south into the Greatwood to lay them beneath leafy bowers, the Elves and Warrows built a great pyre at the edge of Darda Erynian for the remaining five dead: three Warrows and two Elves- a Lian and a Dylvana.

  As they did so, Beau turned to Tip and said, "Lor', Tip, Warrows. Warrows killed in this war." And he burst into tears, Tipperton weeping as well. And Rynna took them both in her embrace, and the three stood together and cried.

  And as the flames soared and the dead burned and the Warrows wept, Silverleaf and Aravan lifted th
eir sweet voices and sang all the souls into the sky, while deep in the Greatwood, the Baeron stood in grim silence.

  Evening fell, and in the twilight Rynna and Tip stood on the battlements and peered out at the forest and down at the river below, and as the darkness deepened they watched as stars came creeping into the moonless night.

  "Isn't it strange," said Rynna, peering down at the glimmers in the water below.

  "What?"

  "The river."

  "How so?"

  "The water continually flows and flows and yet it is always there; it is always the same, yet every moment it is new."

  "As is our love, dear heart, as is our love."

  Bone-weary-Tipperton from lack of sleep and worry, Rynna from lack of sleep and battle-after a late supper, together they walked toward her quarters.

  "We leave on the dawn," said Tip.

  "I know," replied Ryn.

  They came to her door.

  "Stay awhile," she said.

  A time later and at the request of Silverleaf, Beau went looking for Tip to have the buccan come and choose a pony. Beau walked to Rynna's door.

  He softly knocked.

  No answer.

  He knocked again.

  No answer still.

  Perhaps they 're not in, bucco. Then again perhaps they are. Of course, they may be up on the battlements watching the stars and canoodling, for surely if they were in, either Ryn or Tip would answer.

  Softly Beau opened the door. Tip and Ryn, fully clothed, were lying on her bed sound asleep spoonwise, Tip with his arm about her.

  Softly Beau closed the door. I'll just pick out his pony myself.

  Sometime in the middle of the night, Tip awakened to find Rynna lying beside him and studying his face by the light of the stars seeping in through the high window.

  She was unclothed.

  Tipperton sat up, and without speaking she knelt on the bed beside him and gently unlaced his shirt.

  And though neither had any experience, they made sweet and tender love and fell asleep once more in one another's arms.

  Stay.