"Mineholt North?" asked Beau.
Loric glanced across at the buccan. " 'Tis a Drimmen-holt within the Rimmen Mountains nigh Dael."
"Another Dwarvenholt under siege?" asked Tip. "Like Drimmen-deeve?"
"Aye," said Ruar.
Tip frowned. "What is it about Dwarvenholts that Modru sets siege upon them?"
"The Drimma are mighty fighters," replied Ruar, "and should they win free, they will cause great destruction among Modru's Swarms. Hence, his Hordes set siege, for 'tis easier to do battle 'gainst someone trapped than to defend 'gainst them loose."
Beau's eyes flew wide. "I say, perhaps it's not to keep the Dwarves trapped inside but to keep people out; I mean, after all, Dwarvenholts are said to be the only places safe from Dragons."
Tip looked at his friend in surprise. "Goodness, Beau, but you're right. With Dragons at Modru's beck, the last thing he wants are havens from their flames."
Both Tip and Beau turned to Ruar, but the Dylvana Coron held up a hand. "Ye may be right, my friends, yet still the Drimma need aid."
Phais cleared her throat. "When dost thou plan on marching?"
"Within a fortnight."
Tip shook his head and sighed. "Two weeks? Another two weeks delayed?"
"Aye," replied Ruar. "Yet by delaying two weeks and riding with us thy chances of reaching Dendor increase many fold."
Tip looked at Beau, and that buccan said, "It's taken us a half year just to get this far, Tip. Whatever the meaning of that coin, whatever message Blaine has sent to Agron… well, I just don't think two weeks one way or another will make matters better or worse. Besides, it's as Ruar says, by riding with him, our chances in fact will improve. Perhaps the two-week delay will save time overall."
Tip looked at Phais. She shrugged and said, "Stand now or go, only in hindsight will our vision clear. As thou dost know, each decision represents a turning point, and each action taken as a result, or delayed or not taken at all, these are the stones cast in the waters. How the waves will ripple outward to act 'gainst others, only time will tell."
"Yes, indeed," said Beau, nodding. "All things are connected." He turned to Tip. "Another thing, bucco: given what happened to us when we crossed Drearwood all alone, I now think I'd much rather go into peril surrounded by an army than not."
Tip sighed and reluctantly agreed.
And so the buccen waited and watched as the Dylvana of Bircehyll prepared not only for a campaign to lift the siege of Mineholt North, but also prepared for a prolonged war.
On the morning of the third day in the Elvenholt, as the Warrows sat at breakfast Beau said, "I wonder how they'll get supplies? -The army, I mean."
"Hmm, by wagons or some such, I should think," said Tip, sopping up egg yolk with a chunk of bread.
Beau looked about the common hall where Dylvana ate, and then down at the food on his plate. "You know, Tip, back in Arden Vale, Aris told me that in summer they take the sheep up into the mountain vales, while the cattle stay down lower… and the chickens and pigs and such, well, their coops and wallows and pens are never moved, though for the sake of breathing, they are kept a ways north of the Elvenholt. And we saw the fields where they raised the grain and other crops… their orchards too. But sitting here in the middle of a forest, I'm wondering: just where in this place, or in Darda Galion, for that matter, where do they raise their foodstuff? -That is, the grain, vegetables, fruit. Where do they graze their herds? -Assuming of course that they have herds. For that matter, where do they grind their grain? Where are their mills? And do they have tanneries? And-?"
Tip held up a hand to staunch Beau's words. "Whoa, bucco. Look. I don't know where they keep gardens and fields and herds and other such, but surely they must have them somewhere, right? I mean, else they'd starve."
Again Beau looked at his plate. "Righto, they must, else we'd be hungry too." And he scooped up a spoonful of eggs and shoveled it into his mouth.
At a table next to the buccen, an Elven warrior stood. As he carried his trencher past the Waerlinga, he paused and said, "In scattered glens throughout the darda."
"Mmhnh?" asked Beau, his mouth full.
"That's where the herds are, the grain fields, the gardens. As for orchards… fruit trees are spread throughout."
Tip looked up at the warrior. "And the mills?"
The Elf smiled. "Where else?"
"Along a stream here and there," answered Tip, grinning back.
The Dylvana nodded, then moved onward.
Tip turned to Beau. "Satisfied?"
The summit of the hill was kept free of dwellings and there it was that Dylvana went to meditate, or so the buccen had been told. And after breaking their fast, the two of them wandered up above the Coron Hall and in among the silver birch clusters sprinkled across the grassy crest. The morning was cool, and widely scattered clouds drifted through the sky above.
Beau flopped down in the grass and lay on his back looking upward. Tip sat nearby, leaning against a tree.
"I always liked watching the clouds above," said Beau, "and to find whatever forms I could in their shapes: fish, people, trees, birds, Dragons, and other such."
Tip nodded but did not speak.
"My Aunt Rose used to say that in the daytime the clouds were one thing, but at night they were quite another, and when I was but a nipper she would at times lift me from my bed and take me out to see. And in autumn and winter, when the wind howled and the moonlit clouds scudded above, she would tell me that it was the Wind Wolves chasing cloud deer across the sky.
"Even now when I hear the wind at night, I think of my Aunt Rose and the desperate race above."
Beau fell silent, and they sat long moments without speaking. But finally Beau said, "Oh, that one looks like the head of a pony. I didn't see it at first; it's upside down."
Tip looked up, but the birch tree leaves stood in the way.
Beau glanced at Tip, then pointed skyward. "Over the- Hoy now, what's all this?" Beau sat up and looked about, his face twisted into a puzzled frown.
"What is it?" asked Tip, peering about as well yet seeing nothing untoward.
Beau shook his head in dismissal. "I thought I heard something." He flopped back down, and immediately sat up. "There it is agai- No wait, it's gone."
Then he turned and looked at the grass, and carefully put his ear to the ground. "Oh, my, Tip, listen. It sounds like your mill."
Frowning, Tipperton crawled to Beau's side and put his ear to the ground as well.
The earth groaned, but not as though great cogs and wheels turned within. Instead it was as if huge stones somehow had a voice, or as if the very ground mourned.
Tip looked at Beau in amazement. "What in the world?"
Somewhere downslope foxes barked.
Tip looked 'round, seeing nothing unusual, then put his ear back to the ground.
Still the earth groaned.
Again foxes barked.
Both buccen sat up.
"I say, Tip. Does it seem to you that these woods are full of foxes? I mean, we heard them all about as we came northward, and-"
"Look," said Tip, pointing. Downslope, Ruar ran from the Coron Hall and leapt astride a horse. He went racing down and away.
"I wonder what that's all about?" said Beau, looking at Tip in puzzlement.
"I don't know, Beau, but perhaps we'd ought to go down and see."
Tip stood, but Beau said, "Just a moment," and placed his ear against the earth once more. "It's still going on," he said, then stood as well.
They waited in the Coron Hall for what seemed a long while, and then Loric, Phais, and Ruar stepped within.
"I say," called Beau, but abruptly stopped, for Phais was weeping, and both Loric's and Ruar's aspects were grim.
Tip sucked air in between his teeth, and he stood and walked toward the three, Beau at his heels.
"What is it?" asked Tip as Beau took Phais by the hand. "What's wrong?"
Ruar looked at him, then said, "Caer Lindor h
as fallen."
"Oh, my," said Beau.
"Fallen?" asked Tip. "How do you know this?"
Ruar looked at Loric, and at his nod the Coron turned to the buccen. "Eio Wa Suk passed word to the Pyska."
"Eio wa suk-?"
"Groaning Stones and Fox Riders," said Loric. "They are some of the Hidden Ones, the Fey."
"Groaning?" Beau looked at Tip. "The ground. That was what we heard. Groaning Stones. And the foxes barking-"
Tip flung out a hand to stop Beau's words. "But Caer Lindor: what happened?"
"They were betrayed in the night, and-"
"The Rivermen!" spat Tip.
"Aye. They opened the gates and-"
"Wait!" cried Tip. "What matters is, is…" Tip choked to a halt.
"Only a few survived," said Ruar, "a handful of Baeron and Lian, Silverleaf among them, though he suffered terrible wounds."
'What about the Warrows. What about…" Again Tip could not finish his query, yet his heart plummeted when he saw the tears now running down Ruar's face.
The Dylvana shook his head. "I'm so sorry, my friend, but all Wee Folk in Caer Lindor died fighting valiantly."
Tip felt as if he'd been struck a deadly blow. "N-no, not all the Warrows. Not Rynna."
Ruar placed a hand on Tip's shoulder. "All, Tipperton. All are slain."
Ruar caught the buccan as he collapsed.
Chapter 30
"Kill them all." The words wrenched out of Tipperton, anguish and rage distorting the buccan's features as tears spilled down his face. "We've got to kill them all."
"What?" said Beau, his own eyes welling in grief. "Kill who?"
"All the Rucks, Hloks, all the Foul Folk, all the River-men, the Hyrinians, Chabbains, Kistani, Modru, Gyphon, all of them."
"But Tip-"
"No, Beau," sobbed Tipperton, wiping his nose on his sleeve, "no buts. We'll just go kill them, kill them all."
Phais knelt by the weeping Waerling and embraced him. He tried to push her away, yet she held him in spite of his resistance. And suddenly he clung to her and sobbed as if his world had come to an end. "Weep, my friend, weep," she whispered, stroking his hair.
Pulling his wits together, Beau wiped his eyes with the heels of his hands. He looked at Ruar. "How-? When did this happen?"
"Down the Rissanin they came sneaking, did the Horde, along the border 'tween the Greatwood and Darda Erynian, to eliminate this thorn in their side. And last night Caer Lindor was betrayed, sentries slain by traitors inside, by Rivermen, and the west gate flung wide unto the Horde massed and hidden among the bordering trees of the Great-wood. Into the bailey they rushed and swarmed up to the battlements, seizing nearly all before the defenders mustered. Valiantly they fought, yet they were o'erwhelmed, and so Silverleaf led the battle to the east gate, for the Horde yet swarmed inward through the west. With a handful he held it until those who were not already slain could escape, their numbers but few. Silverleaf was among the last to leave, and he bears the wounds to show it, or so the Groaning Stones relay. The Horde did not pursue, but instead stood on the walls and jeered, and even now Trolls ply hammers and mauls and rams to destroy the battlements from within. Caer Lindor will be a ruin ere another day has passed."
"And the Warrows?"
Ruar shook his head. "All were slain in the taking of the gate to win free."
Silence fell but for Tipperton's soft weeping. Yet at last Beau drew in a great shuddering breath. "Does this mean our plans are changed? That we'll be marching south instead of north? That we'll engage the Horde at Caer Lindor instead of the Swarm besieging Mineholt North?"
"Nay, Beau," replied Ruar. "Our mission is north and east, and-"
"No," gritted Tipperton, choking back his sobs and pushing free of Phais. "We should go south, not north, and throw these vile ones down."
Ruar shook his head. "Nay, Tipperton, for the Horde has bitten off more than it can chew. The Hidden Ones are enraged that the Foul Folk have encroached upon the Greatwood and stand on the borders of Darda Erynian, and even now the muster is underway: Fox Riders, Living Mounds, Groaning Stones, Vred Tres, Sprygt, Tomte, Ande-Fey and Peri of all kind. Modru will rue the day he sent Foul Folk into their domain."
With fire in his eye, Tipperton looked up at the Coron. "Then I would go with them and slay these killers."
Ruar shook his head. "Thou hast a promise to fulfill."
Crying "To Neddra with this worthless coin!" Tipperton jerked the thong at his neck, snapping the leather in two, and threw token and all across the chamber, the coin to strike the wall and land with a faint ching. "I will avenge my Rynna."
His eyes wide, Beau stepped toward the coin as Phais said, "Thou must not take on the mantle of the Foul Folk, Tipperton, and become as one of them, with nought but hatred filling thy heart."
"But I want them dead," gritted Tip.
Loric squatted and looked at Tip level in the eye. "The Fey will see that just retribution is extracted."
As Beau took up the coin and broken strand, Tip stared back at Loric but said nought.
Loric took Tip by the shoulders. "This will I say: seldom do the Hidden Ones rise up as one, yet when they do, nothing can stay their hand within the margins of their domain."
"Then why don't they march on Modru?"
Loric shook his head and released the buccan. "Given their history, given the wrongs done to them in the past, they would avoid all contact with outsiders, avoid acting upon aught that does not directly overstep the boundaries they have set."
Beau retied the broken leather and bore thong and coin back across the room and held it out to Tipperton.
Tip struck at the offering but missed, for Beau twitched it aside.
Again Beau held it forth.
Tip pushed it away, saying, "Oh, Beau, can't you see that this has changed everything?"
Beau shook his head. "No it hasn't, Tip, not one whit."
Tip looked at him, anguish filling his gaze, and he turned up his hands in silent query.
Beau peered down at the coin and then back at Tipperton. "Let me ask you this, Tip: if it were you who had fallen instead of Rynna, would you expect her to abandon her command, to abandon her post, to set aside her sworn mission, and come to avenge your death?"
"But I didn't die," cried Tipperton.
"No you didn't, Tip, but she did, and that's a cruel fact. But this is a fact, too: she would expect no less of you than you would expect of her. She had a mission she kept to the end; you have a mission yet to fulfill. What would she ask of you?"
Again Beau held out the coin.
Tip looked down at the floor and then directly into Beau's eyes, sapphire meeting amber.
Again Beau said, "What would she ask of you?"
With a sob Tip reached out and took the coin. He looked at it long moments; then drawing a deep breath, he turned to Ruar. "I will fulfill my promise to a dead Kings-man, Coron Ruar, yet hear me: on this mission to Mineholt North, I would be a scout, and when it comes to battle, I would ride among the warriors and take as much revenge upon the Foul Folk as battle will allow."
Ruar raised an eyebrow. "I have heard it said that Waerlinga make the best of scouts."
Tipperton knelt upon one knee and held out the coin and thong to Ruar. "Then accept my service, Coron of the Dylvana."
The Coron took the offering and slipped it over the Waerling's bowed head. "Rise, Sir Tipperton, for so do I accept thy terms and count thee as scout and warrior among mine host."
With single-minded intensity, Tip began fletching arrows to fit his draw, and he urged Beau to go to the Elven forge and cast lead bullets for his sling. But Beau had pledged to Ruar his healing skills for the mission to Mine-holt North, and the buccan spent his days foraging for herbs and roots and leaves of mint and whatever else he could find that he could strip and peel and dry and grind to stock his medical supplies.
And whenever Beau went afield he was accompanied by Alor Melor, a slender Dylvana, some five foot two in hei
ght, with russet-colored hair and amber eyes. As Beau had said to Ruar, "I don't fancy being out there in the woods all alone with the Hidden Ones about. I mean, even though you say they are to be trusted, still, if one of them didn't get the word that Beau Darby was a friend, well then, Beau Darby just might come up among the missing."
Ruar had laughed but nevertheless had called to Melor and asked him to accompany Beau on the buccan's jaunts into the woods.
Melor himself was a healer, though he did carry a spear and seemed quite adept in its use, for when Beau had asked Melor to show him the way of such a weapon, Melor had demonstrated:
" 'Tis known as one of the great weapons," said Melor, flourishing the spear. "Thou canst stab with it-hai!-or use its blade as a cutting weapon-uwah!-nigh as well as a sword, though I must admit it has a long helve for such. Too, thou canst wield it in place of a quarterstaff-an e da!-or as a lance ahorse-cha! Lastly, thou canst cast it at a foe"-Melor hurled the weapon and spitted a shock of hay-"yet I would not advise flinging any weapon away except if no other choice presents itself."
"Huah," exclaimed Beau, "here all along I thought a spear was for throwing and little else."
"Nay, my friend"-Melor drew the spear from the hay and brushed stray stems from the blade-"that is the last of its uses."
Together Melor and Beau ranged far and wide across the glades and among the trees, and down in the fens as well. And Beau soon had his medicks well stocked, for Melor was an excellent herbalist and guide.
Tipperton, on the other hand, when he wasn't fletching, spent candlemarks at the target field, honing his already superb skill into one even the Elves admired.
And in the evenings he attended meetings held just for the scouts-poring over maps and listening to detailed descriptions of nearly every inch of the terrain 'tween here and there.
As days eked past, Tip's woe turned inward, and his eyes held an anguish deep… yet there, too, burned a simmering fire of rage. During the days he managed to set aside his heartache and devote his attention to preparing for war. Yet at night, at night, and alone in his bed, did grief in the darkness come sit at his side and fill the world entire.
Into the Forge hc-1 Page 30
