Into the Forge hc-1 Page 10

  Beau's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, I see. Like Darda Galion, it means Galion Forest, eh?"

  "Darda Galion, Darda Erynian, Darda Vrka, exactly so. There is but one forest we name not Darda, and that is the Skog far to the east… an ancient wood, said to be the eldest in all of Mithgar."

  "Skog, eh?"

  Loric nodded, and silence fell upon the trio.

  "So," said Tipperton after a while, "you haven't been at march-ward all of the days 'tween the Felling of the Nine and the capture of the twain, eh?"

  Beau looked at Tip. "Capture of the twain? -Oh, you mean when they captured us."

  Tip grinned and nodded.

  Loric grinned too. "No, wee one, I was not at march-ward all those seasons. After the retribution, I turned my hand to silversmithing-two hundred summers or so-and thence to planting grain and harvesting it for a like while, and thence to shearing sheep.

  "I lived in the mountains for seasons, sifting for gold, though not mining as do the Drimma."

  "Drimma?"

  "Dwarves."

  "Oh."

  Beau piped up, "All these things you name, Loric, seem close to the earth or seem to be common crafts."

  "When faced with the span of Elvenkind, wee one, they are the only things of lasting merit-things of the earth and of arts and crafts and of home and hearth, and preserving all or leaving it better than when found. Crafting, husbanding, mastering skills, celebrating life and love-what better way to live?"

  Tipperton glanced at the long-knife girted at Loric's waist. "How does that creed reconcile with standing march-ward and the killing of Rucks and the like?"

  Loric sighed. After a moment he said, "Long past, Elvenkind nearly destroyed itself. In those days madness gripped us and we sought power, dominance, command over all, sought dominion even over one another. We cared not what we did to our world, plundering it just as we plundered our own kind. And as we stood on the brink, one came along who said, 'No more! If there is ever to be peace among Elvenkind, let it begin with me.' And he set aside his vile ways and walked our world spreading his message and asking others to 'take his pledge-Let it begin with me. Elvenkind was slow to learn, yet finally we grasped the truth of his words and turned away from the madness that once gripped us and began to revere life and love and to cherish the simple ways.

  "Yet even though we revere life, there are those who would destroy all-among them the Rupt. And we came to realize that in order to preserve life, we must protect it from those who would raze the world and turn it into an ash heap, protect it from those who seek dominion and maim and kill for their own gratification-those who slaughter in glee, ravage in delight, butcher for no reason other than the ultimate act of dominance and gain pleasure from doing so.

  "And so when thou dost ask how standing march-ward reconciles with Elven doctrine… it is part and parcel of the whole. We are the Lian Guardians, each and every member of my folk, male and female alike, and when evil threatens, as in these times, we stand counter… though from what ye have reported and from what we ourselves have seen, Lian alone will not be able to stay the present menace."

  Darkness seemed to fall upon the camp and little was said the rest of the evening, but as Tipperton and Beau took to their sleeping bags, Beau whispered, "Lor', Tip, think on this: if Elves' lives are timeless, what must it mean when one of them gets killed? I mean, with all of forever before them, why, no matter their age, their lives are just beginning. And to lose that endless life just as it has begun, well… what a terrible thing it must be."

  A stricken look fell upon Tipperton's features, and he glanced at Loric, some distance away and sitting with his back to a tree. "Adon, Beau," Tip whispered back, "and still they take up the mantle of Lian Guardianship and put themselves in harm's way even though to lose their lives is to lose forever."

  Loric, his eyes closed, turned his face away from the fire.

  The sun had passed beyond the western rim of the gorge, and the glen had fallen into shadow, when Loric rode in among the thatched dwellings of the Elves of Arden Vale, the horse-mounted Waerlinga trailing after. The few Lian outside the candlelit dwellings looked up from wherever they happened to be, their eyes widening in wondering delight at the sight of the Wee Folk, for, excepting their gem-like eyes, Waerlinga resembled Elven children, though a bit sturdier of build. And for their part, Beau and Tipperton stared 'round in wondrous delight, for here was where Elven Folk dwelled in graceful though simple elegance.

  Among cottages nestled amid the pines, down a path they wended, to come at last to a broad central shelter, a long, low building, its roof thatched as well. Loric dismounted and tied the horses to a hitching rail as Tip and Beau jumped down. All three stepped up onto the porch and past a door warden and entered the hall. Vivid colors and warmth and the smell of food and the liquid syllables of the Sylva tongue assaulted the buccen's senses as they entered the great hall, lambent with yellow lamps glowing in cressets and fires burning in hearths. Banquet tables with benches and chairs were ranged 'round the tapestried walls, but the center floor thronged with fair Elves smiling and filling the hall with bright converse and gay laughter. And through this cheerful crowd strode Loric, with Tip and Beau following, the trio travel-stained and Loric's face grim. Lian turned to see the warder and two Waerlinga striding past, and voices fell to hushed silence and the assembly quickly parted as Loric escorted the buccen toward the far end, where sat the Elven leader of Arden Vale with his consort at his side.

  Finally they reached the dais and Loric bowed, saying, "Alor Talarin e Dara Rael. "

  "Alor Loric," replied Talarin, gazing at the Waerlinga and rising to his feet. He was tall and slender, with golden hair and eyes green, dressed in soft grey.

  But it was Lady Rael who captured Tip's wondering vision. Fair she was, and graceful, and dressed in green, and her golden locks were wound with green ribbons. And she smiled down at the Waerlinga, a sparkle in her deep blue gaze, and Tip's sapphire eyes sparkled in return, as did the amber eyes of Beau.

  Now Loric held a hand out toward the Warrows and said in a voice all could hear, "Alor Talarin e Dara Rael, vi estare Sir Tipperton Thistledown e Sir Beau Darby, Waerlinga en a Wilderland. Lona eiofaenier ivo Dhruousdarda-"

  A collective intake of breath swept the chamber, some % gasping Dhruousdarda? while others whispered Lona?

  Lord Talarin's eyes widened and he looked at the Waerlinga and said, "This is so? Ye came alone through the Drearwood?"

  Mutely, both Tip and Beau nodded.

  Talarin's mouth turned up in a grudging smile and he slowly shook his head. "Ye are either brave or desperate or fools or all three."

  Tip grinned back. "Well, sir, I don't know about brave, but fools no doubt we were and indeed desperate at times."

  Talarin laughed and spread his arms wide to the throng. "Ealle hdl va Waerlinga, Fors avor!"

  "Hal!" the throng roared, and they turned smiling faces toward the buccen.

  Beau tugged on Loric's sleeve. "What did he say?"

  Loric smiled. "All hail these Waerlinga, Fortune favored."

  "Oh. Well, then." The center of attention, Beau shuffled his feet in embarrassment.

  Now Lady Rael leaned forward. "And what news do ye bring, Sir Tipperton, Sir Beau? Encouraging, I hope."

  Tip shook his head. "Nay, Lady, 'tis not. From all the signs that we have seen-loose bands of Foul Folk moving 'cross the Wilderland, Kingsmen slain, a balefire on Bea-contor, and a great Horde on the march-wide war has come unto Mithgar to the woe of all. Yet by whom and against whom I cannot say, though Beau has a flag which may tell."

  Beau slipped the banner out from under his jerkin and held it up for all to see-a circle of fire on black.

  Talarin reached out and took the flag and stared down at it as he held it draped over both hands, the circle of fire showing. A fell look came over his face. "Modru," he growled, "against High King Blaine."

  But Rael shook her head. "Nay, chieran, I think not. Oh, indeed, as we suspected,
Modru casts his forces 'gainst Blaine, yet behind it all I ween we see Gyphon's hand."

  "Gyphon?" blurted Beau. "Do you really mean Gyphon?"

  Rael canted her head.

  "B-but Gyphon is a god. What would he have to gain?"

  Rael sighed. "The whole of creation, wee one. Crushing dominion o'er all."

  "Oh, my," breathed Beau, turning a stricken face to Tip. "Oh, my."

  Chapter 13

  "How will a war on Mithgar give Gyphon dominion over all of creation?" asked Tipperton. "And this Modru-just who or what is he?"

  Talarin sat back down. " 'Tis a long tale, Sir Tipperton, Sir Beau, and one best told after ye have had a chance to wash away all travel stains and to take a meal. We sup in four candlemarks. Join us and we will speak of these things afterward. Too, ye can tell us a tale of how ye twain came to pass through Dhruousdarda, through the Drearwood."

  "Four candlemarks?" said Beau. "Oh, my, that would be enough time for a full bath-that is, if you have hot water and a bathing room."

  Rael laughed, her voice a silver trill. "Oh, yes, Sir Beau, a bath indeed we can furnish, though I'm afraid you'll have to provide thine own fresh clothing, for we have nought sized to fit thee or Sir Tipperton."

  Beau's face fell. "Urn, I'm afraid we'll just have to put these back on, m'Lady. All our goods were lost in Drear-wood when- But here, I get ahead of myself. That tale'11 have to wait until we've cleaned up a bit… scraped some, of the dirt off, so to speak."

  Rael's brow wrinkled, but then she smiled, saying, "Alor Loric, if thou wilt show our guests the way…"

  Loric bowed and murmured, "Aye, crystal seer."

  Loric turned and started across the wooden floor, Tip and Beau in his wake. Behind, Dara Rael called out in Sylva to the gathering, and just as the buccen and their Lian escort exited from the hall, Tip looked back to see her whispering urgently to Elfmaidens gathered 'round, while at the same time eyeing the departing trio.

  Followed by the Warrows, their breath blowing white in the frigid mountain air, Loric crossed the snow to another long, low building, smoke from chimneys rising into the sky. Stepping inside and past another door, the Warrows found themselves in a warm bathing chamber, where copper tubs filled with water asteam sat on iron plates laid over a raised hearth below which ruddy embers glowed. And Loric and the buccen doffed their garments-gritty clothes which they had worn for weeks without respite-and hung them on hooks, all but their socks, which they draped over their boots. Loric shared out towels from a shelf, along with scrub cloths and soap mildly scented with the fragrance of meadow bluebells. They each eased into the large tubs-Tip and Beau in one, Loric in another-and the water came up to the wee buccen's chins, though only up to Loric's chest.

  "Oh, Lor'," groaned Beau, "but this feels wonderful. It seems a lifetime since I've truly been warm."

  Tip nodded, adding, "And another lifetime since I've been clean."

  Leaning back, Tip and Beau luxuriated in the water, quiescent, not speaking at all, lolling as the grime and sweat of trek and flight and fear and hiding soaked away. Loric, too, slid down into his steaming bath and lazed, for he had been long on patrol.

  After a goodly while, Loric said, "A candlemark or so, and they'll be expecting us."

  Both Tip and Beau were awakened from a drowse by Loric's words, and they yawned and stretched, and Beau looked at his hands and fingers and said, "Lor', but I'm as wrinkled as a raisin."

  Tip looked at his own crinkled hands and laughed, and both buccen ducked completely under, then stood and took up cloths and soap and began liberally lathering themselves. Tip was in the middle of scrubbing his hair when the door opened and an Elfmaiden came into the chamber and "Hoy, now," sputtered Beau, dropping down into the water. "I say, you should knock or give warning or something." Tip remained standing, for his eyes were closed against the soap slathering down from his locks.

  The dark-haired Elfmaiden laughed aloud as she stepped to their clothes, and at this sound of femininity Tip gasped and splashed down and under, only to flounder up spluttering and wiping his eyes as he peered over the edge.

  Loric grinned and canted his head and simply said, "Dara Elissan."

  "Alor Loric," Elissan replied, plucking their clothes from the hooks and gracefully kneeling to take up their socks. Standing, she turned to leave.

  "But, wait!" protested Beau. "We're going to need those."

  Elissan looked down at the garments and wrinkled her nose in mild aversion. "Oh, I think not, wee one, at least not until they've been thoroughly boiled."

  "But what'11 we…?" Beau's question went unanswered as she vanished out the door. He looked at Tip and shrugged, adding, "I suppose we can wrap ourselves up in towels to attend the banquet."

  Tip slowly began lathering himself, and he glanced over at Loric. "I say, Loric, do your dammen-er, uh, do your Elfmaidens usually come barging in on bathers? I mean, I stood there naked as a newborn, and yet she, uh…" Tip's words stumbled to a halt, and he turned up his hands.

  But Beau chimed in. "I think what Tip's trying to ask is, don't your kind have any manners of modesty?"

  Loric barked a laugh. "When ye have lived as long as we, modesty at bathing and such is found for the most to be unnecessary. However, Elissan in her haste simply forgot that others share not this same-"

  Loric's words were interrupted by a knock on the door, but before any could answer, Rael and Elissan and three other Elfmaidens came sweeping in.

  Once again Tip and Beau plopped down in their tub, though Loric, seated, nonchalantly canted his head, saying, "Darai."

  "We have brought ye raiment," said Rael, turning to other of the Elfmaidens. Forward stepped a trio of Darai, each bearing folded garments. As one moved toward Loric, he murmured, "Chier."

  Slender she was and had black hair and brown eyes. She kissed Loric and said, "Chieran, ir awn soil."

  Loric nodded and grinned and said, "Hai," and though he remained sitting in soapy water, he held his arms wide in display, adding, "neh?"

  Now the Dara laughed, then turned and laid the folded clothes on a nearby bench.

  The two Elfmaidens facing Tip and Beau smiled at the Waerlinga, both buccen peering over the edge of their tub, wrinkled fingers gripping the rim, water dripping and dribbling down their faces from fresh-washed hair.

  "May I present Darai Seena and Jaith," said Loric, then added, "And she who kissed me is Dara Phais."

  All three Elfmaidens curtseyed, and Tip and Beau both bobbed their heads and mumbled embarrassed hullos. Then dark-eyed Seena and redheaded Jaith held forth two folds of clothes, and Seena said, "These must needs do as garments." And Jaith added, "While those ye wore are laundered well." Then they, too, turned and lay the clothing on the bench.

  Now Rael smiled at the Waerlinga. "I deem they will fit ye, for we all have a good eye. -Darai?"

  Rael turned and glided from the room, followed by the others, including Elissan, who smiled at the Waerlinga and winked at Tip as she stepped from the chamber, leaving Tip blushing furiously, while Beau and Loric laughed.

  Clean and warm at last and dressed in modified Elven tunics-their sleeves cut down and their waists gathered at the back to fit Waerlinga-Tip, in dark blue, and Beau, in pale yellow, sat with their feet dangling and swinging from Elven chairs, tall for the likes of the wee buccen. They were ensconced in a warm alcove with Talarin and Rael and Loric and Phais. Wrapped 'round the three walls of the retreat, a single muted tapestry hung, subtle colors seeming to move in the shifting light of the hearthfire, the hues and shades and tints depicting bowl-shaped slopes of an open grove wherein figures reclined to listen as a being in white held forth. The meal was long past, and the six had retired to these quarters, where Talarin served each a small cup of hammered silver filled with dark Vanchan wine. And as the night grew older, Tip and Beau related their tale-of the skirmish at the mill and the wounded Kingsman and his coin and request and warning ere he was foully slain, of the fire atop Beacontor following the ca
pture and destruction of that signal post and its subsequent recapture, of the track of the Spawn into the Dellin Downs, of the finding of the flag and the muster at Twoforks and of Willoby and Harl's discovery of other slain Kingsmen, of the decision to bear the coin through Drearwood and east to Agron, and of the westward march of the Swarm and of the buccen's subsequent travails, ending with their capture by Vanidor's squad of march-ward Elves "… though perhaps rescue is a better term," said Tip, "for we were at the end of our string, and surely had the Spawn been lying in wait for us in that gulch, we would not now be here telling you this."

  "Even had the Rucks and such not been there at all," added Beau, "most likely we would have starved to death, out there on the ice, for we didn't know where Elvenkind lived, nor would we have ever found Arden Vale, for it is truly hidden. Loric and Vanidor and Arandar and the others saved our necks right enough, and in more ways than one."

  Both of the buccen raised their drinks in salute to Loric, and he raised his chalice in return.

  Talarin stood and took up the flask to refresh each of their cups, and Tipperton said, "Well, that's our story, and a sad one it is, what with us losing our ponies and goods and all, and nearly getting killed more times than I care to remember."

  Talarin paused in his task and raised an eyebrow. "That ye survived at all is testament to your wiliness, for to come afoot through the whole of Drearwood in these times and without heavy escort is nigh miraculous."

  "Adon must have had ye in His hand," said Rael.

  "Indeed," replied Tipperton.

  "Hoy, now," said Beau, "speaking of Adon, what's all this about Gyphon? Just who is this Modru, and why would he go against High King Blaine?"

  All eyes turned to Talarin, but he in turn looked at Rael. "Chieran."

  Rael took a deep breath. "I will answer thy last question "first, and thy first question last, Sir Beau."

  She paused as Talarin refilled her own cup, and Loric murmured, "Settle back, my wee friends, for the crystal seer's tale may be a long one."