Into the Forge hc-1 Page 8

  Rubbing red-rimmed eyes, Tip said, "Well, bucco, let's hope we have no cause to find out."

  As Beau's first watch came to an end, Tip groaned awake and wearily stood and said, "Beau, we've got to get out of these woods ere nightfall. I think we should take one more warding each, and then go."

  Beau haggardly nodded, and slumped down as Tip leaned against the tree and with bleary eyes scanned the dark glassy glitter of Drearwood.

  East they went and east, steps skidding on the glaze and feet slipping out from under them now and again, more weary from trying to walk upon uneven icy slopes than they were from the travel itself. Tempers were short and they snapped at one another out of fatigue, and they were ravenously hungry and bone tired. Yet still they pushed on, and aided one another upslope and down, or helped each other to regain their feet after a fall. Stumbling, skidding, sliding, eastward they floundered on insecure feet, seeking an end to Drearwood, yet entangled within. And the diamond-bright sun shed little warmth and relentlessly marched toward the west. As evening drew nigh there sounded faint bugle blats echoing among the hard-clad trees, their direction completely uncertain.

  The sun set and the short winter twilight fell over the icy gloom, and a quarter moon waxed overhead, shedding its light down through the glassy branches to glimmer upon the sheathed land. And as Tip and Beau struggled over a small rise, ahead through the ice-laden galleries Tipperton saw-"Beau, look! I think we've come to the end."

  "It could be another clearing," cautioned Beau, yet his heart cried out for it to not be so.

  Slipping and sliding, across the glaze they went, down a tiny vale, close-set trees at hand.

  And the twilight vanished into night, leaving but moon and stars to dimly light the way through the dark and drear woods. Still the Warrows pushed on, striving to reach the clear way ahead, and the trees seemed to draw in closer, as if to block their escape.

  Now they came to the pinch of the vale, where they could almost reach out to touch the thickly wooded sides, and of a sudden dark shapes hurled out from the trees and Beau was smashed down from behind as Tip was wrenched upward from the ground, seized in an iron grip, and the glimmer of sharp steel flashed in the moonlight.

  Tipperton futilely clawed for the dagger at his belt, and he shrilled, "Blut vor blut!" an ancient battlecry in the old Warrow tongue of Twyll. Yet he could not get his dagger, as a gleaming long-knife flashed in the starlight, ready for the killing stroke.

  "Kest!" came a sharp cry from one of the man-sized assailants, crouching over Beau and staring into the buccan's face. "Slean nid! Eio ra nid Rucha tha Waerlinga nista! "

  "Aw?"

  The knife moved away from Tipperton's throat, but still he struggled as a dark figure moved toward him and threw the buccan's hood back, then in Common said, "This one is a Waerling, too."

  Now Tip was set to the icy ground and released, and the one who had seized him said, "Fear not, wee one, for we are Lian."

  "Lian!" exclaimed Beau, looking up from the ground.

  "What ye call Elves," replied one of the tall slender warriors, then adding, "from Arden Vale." And he cast back his hood to reveal golden hair to his shoulders tied back by a leather headband, and tipped ears and tilted eyes, seemingly green, though in the light of but stars and moon it was difficult to say. "I am Vanidor."

  Tip buried his face in his hands, and he slumped to the ground.

  Vanidor knelt at his side. "Art thou ill, wee one?"

  Tip looked up, tears streaming down his face. "N-no. I-I mean, I'm fine. It's just that we have been trying to reach you and it's been so very hard."

  The Elf reached out and put a hand on Tip's shoulder. "Weep not, wee one, for thou and thy comrade, ye have found us, whatever be thy need."

  "I say," piped up a plaintive voice from behind; it was Beau, now sitting up. "Speaking of need, have you anything to eat? Even crue will do."

  Chapter 11

  "This is delicious," said Beau. "What is it?"

  "Mian," replied fair-haired Loric, the warrior Elf who had given the wafers of Elven waybread to the buccen. " 'Tis made of honey and oats and various nuts, and it will last long, several seasons, in fact, without turning."

  Tip and Beau and two of the Elves made their way across an open wold, the slope gently rising and falling, the land yet covered by a sheath of ice, yet the buccen were steadied by their sure-footed escort. Free of the woods at last, they were headed for a campsite said by the Elves to be safe, and Loric and Arandar had been assigned to conduct them there.

  "Well it certainly puts crue to shame," said Beau, taking another bite, "and I'm glad we ran into you, even though you did try to kill us."

  "We thought ye to be a pair of Rucha, small as ye are."

  "Well, that makes us even, I suppose," said Tip, speaking around a mouthful, "for when you grabbed me I thought you and your comrades were Hloks."

  "Lucky for us you were not," added Beau, taking another bite.

  "Indeed, Fortune turned Her smiling face toward ye, for Spaunen set ambush in that vale earlier," said Arandar, his dark eyes grim, his steady hand on Beau's shoulder.

  "Lor'," breathed Beau. "We could have walked right in among them, just as we did you… -Say, what happened to these, um, Spaunen?"

  "They no longer enjoy life," replied Arandar.

  "Oh, my," said Beau.

  They walked for long moments without speaking, but at last Loric said, "It must be quite a tale as to why ye two were traipsing about in that dire wood-"

  "Traipsing? " blurted Tipperton 'round his last mouthful of mian.

  "-but it can wait until we reach the safety of our camp and Alor Vanidor and the others finish the patrol."

  Tip looked up at Loric. "Alor? Alor Vanidor?"

  "Lord," replied Loric. "Lord Vanidor."

  Tip's eyes widened, but he said no more.

  With the weary buccen flagging rapidly, the moon sailed another two handspans of nightsky ere the two Elves and two Warrows crossed a frozen stream, to pause at the far bank before a grove of ice-laden pine while Loric sounded the low chitter of a night-feeding winter-white weasel. A like chitter answered him, and together the four of them moved up the icy slope and in among the trees, where they passed a pair of sentries, who said nought but stared at the Waerlinga in wide-eyed wonder, for the Wee Folk were a most uncommon sight in this part of the world. Stepping through the grove, Tip and Beau and their Elven escort came to a hidden fissure jagging back into a low stone bluff, where another sentry marveled as the buccen passed by. They stepped into the cleft and 'round a bend, where they waited while Arandar lit a small lantern taken from a niche in the wall.

  "Lor'," said Beau, stamping a boot to the dry rock of the cave floor, "solid footing at last. I'll tell you, I've had enough of slipping and sliding in my very own tracks."

  Tip grunted a noncommittal reply as Arandar set off in the lead, the lantern hood but barely cracked, a thin slit of light showing the way. And they zigged and zagged through the narrow slot with dark stone arching above, and here and there both Loric and Arandar had to stoop, though Tip and Beau did not.

  At length they came to the end of the rift and stepped out into a fair hollow where starlit sky stood overhead. All around, the bound of the basin rose up and inward, forming a broad overhang, and 'neath this sheltering jut and against the curved wall stood stone dwellings, ruins for the most part, though here and there an undamaged cote remained. To the left a small smokeless campfire flickered and Elves were gathered about, lounging on nearby boulders or sitting on the ground. Beau released a great sigh and Tip sagged in relief, their anxiety taking wing, for they had reached the Elven encampment and felt safe at last.

  "Welcome to Kolare an e Ramna," said Loric, "where Lian stand vigil on this one sector of the long Drearwood marge."

  Tipperton looked up at Loric. "Kol-kol-"

  "Kolare an e Ramna," repeated Loric, "The Hollow of the Vanished."

  "The Vanished?"

  Loric gest
ured at the ruins. "Those who built these dwellings. We know not who they were, for they were long gone ere we discovered this basin, and other than these ruins, they left nothing behind to signify who they were-no symbols, no carvings, nought.

  "But come, let us to the blaze-for warmth and hot tea at the least." Loric turned leftward and started for the fire.

  Tears came into Beau's eyes as he followed. "Lor', a fire and hot tea. We haven't had either, or warmth for that matter, for, let me see…"

  "Ten days," said Tip. "Or thereabouts. Ever since leaving Twoforks."

  "Twoforks?" said Arandar. "On the River Wilder?"

  "Yes," replied Tipperton.

  "Then ye passed west to east through the full of Drear-wood." His words were a statement and not a question.

  Tip nodded.

  "Ye twain and none else?"

  Again Tip nodded.

  Both Loric and Arandar looked at the two buccen in amazement, and Arandar exclaimed, "Ai, but indeed Dame Fortune did smile down upon ye."

  "Hal, Loric, Arandar!" called one of the Lian at the fire. "Ana didron enistori? "

  "Hai!" replied Loric. "Waerlinga! En a Dhruousdarda."

  "Waerlinga?" cried some voices in surprise, while others called out "En a Dhruousdarda?" Lian stood and peered toward these oncoming wee folk, waiting to see just who these Waerlinga visitors were who had come from the Drearwood.

  A place was made near the fire for Tip and Beau, and mugs of hot tea were passed over to them. The buccen wrapped their hands around the warm cups and took long draughts and closed their gemlike eyes in bliss.

  At a sign from Arandar, two steaming bowls of stew were passed to them, along with torn chunks of bread. Spoons were handed over, and with tears brimming, Tip and Beau dug into their first hot meal since the one Tessa had fed them back at the Red Fox Inn.

  "From the Drearwood?" asked a ginger-haired warrior, shaking his head in wonderment and looking at Arandar.

  "Aye," he replied. "In Vagan's Vale."

  "Vagan's Vale, a bad place that, nehl"

  Arandar nodded, and Loric said, "Had they come but a candlemark or two earlier, it would have been Rupt they met and not us. But we came across the Spaunen first, and so those in the trap were trapped. None escaped."

  "Kala!" exclaimed the Lian, making a fist, other Guardians doing likewise.

  "They were lying in wait," said Arandar, "mayhap for us, mayhap for the Waerlinga, mayhap for reasons else-wise. Yet Alor Vanidor sensed the ambuscade, there in Vagan's Vale, and we divided and took them by surprise instead."

  "Did any take wounds?" asked the ginger-haired Elf.

  "Nay, Ragan," replied Arandar, then smiled grimly, "none but the Rupt, that is."

  "All fatal, I deem," said Ragan, his tilted eyes flinty.

  "Aye, all fatal."

  Ragan glanced across at the Waerlinga, both buccen using bread to sop up the dregs of stew from their bowls. "And then…?"

  "And then these twain came along-we thought them Rucha come to join their brethren in the snare. We nearly slew them by mistake."

  Wide-eyed, Ragan gestured at the buccen. "But what were Waerlinga doing in Drearwood?"

  Loric held out a hand. "Let us wait for Alor Vanidor before having our guests answer that question, else they will be telling the same tale twice." Then he looked down at the Waerlinga and smiled, for warm and well fed, both were nodding over their empty bowls, sleep overtaking them.

  Quietly Loric signaled the others, and they carefully took the bowls and spoons from lax buccen hands and gently lifted the two Waerlinga up and bore them to one of the stone cotes against the arched wall and lay them down on dry straw pallets and covered them with blankets of down.

  Vanidor held the coin up to light. "And he gave thee this?"

  Tip nodded. "And told me to deliver it to Agron and to warn all east. But the trouble is, I don't know who or what this Agron is, and I don't know what warning I'm supposed to give."

  "But right after," added Beau, "that's when we saw the fire on Beacontor, and we thought it might have something to do with that."

  Vanidor looked at the Waerlinga. " 'Tis likely." Vanidor looked across at Loric. "With Beacontor captured, any alarm from Challerain Keep would be delayed."

  Tipperton shook his head. "But as I said, Lord Vanidor, Prell's boy Arth brought word that all the Spawn who had done it were dead, killed by a man and his nephew. The boy was also killed, but the man survived and lit the balefire."

  "But don't forget, Tip, the spawn that went by your mill, they might have taken one of the beacon hills in the Dellin Downs," cautioned Beau.

  "Mayhap 'tis as we feared," said Loric, "that war has come. For something vile is afoot, with Hordes of Rupt marching down through Kregyn from Gron and into Drearwood."

  "Wull," said Beau, "Hordes marched out of Drearwood as well."

  Vanidor's eyes widened. "Say on, wee one."

  Beau glanced at Tipperton, then cleared his throat. "It was a sevenday back, the day we first entered Drearwood. On my watch a Horde began marching out. It took all night for them to pass where we were hidden. And they had Rucks and Hloks and Ogrus-"

  "Trolls?" Again Vanidor's eyes widened. "Down from their mountain haunts?"

  Beau nodded. "Only we call them Ogrus… pulling great wagons."

  Tip cleared his throat. "Don't forget, Beau, there were also those ghastly men or some such-pale white they were, and riding horses that were not horses but were scaled-"

  "Ghulka!" hissed Loric. "On Helsteeds."

  "I don't know what the men-things were," said Tip, "but the horses had cloven hoofs, or so the tracks showed us the next day."

  "The men-things, thou wouldst call them Ghuls, wee one," said Vanidor, and Tip and Beau both gasped in alarm, "or corpse-folk, but by any name they are a terrible foe." Then he turned to Beau. "And thou sayest it took all night for the Swarm to pass?"

  Beau nodded.

  "Did ye see aught else in Drearwood?" asked Arandar.

  "Well, something huge got our pack pony and nearly us besides," said Beau. He glanced at Tipperton. "But Tip feathered it with an arrow and we managed to escape."

  Vanidor looked at Tipperton and smiled, and Tip said, "That was before my bow got cracked. But as to the monster, well, it was so big I couldn't miss, but I think my arrow only irritated the brute. Regardless, we ran away."

  "Slipped and slid, you mean," said Beau. "The ice, you know.

  "And speaking of slipping and sliding, the next night something monstrous slithered across the ice like a giant snake, but we didn't see what it was. Only heard it as it passed us by."

  The Elves cast glances at one another but said nought.

  "Something large flapped overhead," said Tip, "and we heard a couple more things stalking past, like the monster that got our pack pony. But except for the first, none of the others detected us."

  "Ye were fortunate," said Arandar, "for ill things are awake out of season."

  "Stirred by Modru?" asked Loric.

  Both Vanidor and Arandar shrugged, and Vanidor said without elaboration, "Mayhap."

  Suddenly Beau snapped his fingers. "Oh, I almost forgot." He reached into his eiderdown jacket and beneath his jerkin and pulled forth a crumple of ebon cloth. He shook it out and held it up for all to see, saying, "A dead Ruck was lying atop this."

  It was the black banner enscribed with its circle of fire.

  Vanidor, Loric, and Arandar all drew air in between clenched teeth, and Loric said, "Gron."

  "Gron?" asked Tip.

  " 'Tis the banner of Gron, Modru's realm in the north," said Arandar.

  Vanidor turned to Loric. "My sire need hear of this, Loric, and from the mouths of these Waerlinga. I would have thee take them there, for he may have questions to ask of them."

  Loric canted his head. "Aye, Alor."

  Now Vanidor turned to Beau. "Keep the flag, Sir Beau, to show to my sire, Talarin, for he will want to see it with his own eyes." As Beau stuffed the ban
ner 'neath his jerkin once again, Vanidor handed the drab coin back to Tipperton and said, "As to the coin itself, Sir Thistledown, or as to the one who gave it to thee, I cannot tell thee aught. But the warning he asked thee to sound seems plain-that war has come, driven by Modru, or so say all the signs. Yet heed, as to the name of Agron, this I do know: he is the King of Aven. Across the Grimwall and past Darda Erynian and beyond the Circle of Rimmen in Riamon and farther still unto the city of Dendor, there thou wilt find his throne. It is to him the coin is intended, and it is to him thou must go."

  Chapter 12

  The next morning, as the Warrows and Loric prepared to set out, "Here," said Ragan, holding out a sheaf of arrows to Tipperton. "Twenty Lian shafts, trimmed to thy length, wee one. From the looks of thy quiver, thou didst use most of thine arrows in Drearwood 'gainst creatures dire."

  Tip looked at the ground in embarrassment. "Actually, Ragan, I lost most of them when I skidded and fell and slid down a hill in the night."

  Ragan laughed, then said, "Nevertheless, Sir Tipperton, thou wilt most likely need these."

  "But my bow is cracked, even though you did wrap it last night, still it may break." Tip had awakened to find Ragan had wound a short length of thong tightly about the upper limb to keep the split from growing, and a second thong about the lower limb to balance out the throw.

  "It may not cast as fair nor as far, yet it should hold for a while, and what good is a bow without enough arrows?"

  Gratefully, Tip took the arrows and measured the bundle against a shaft of his own-an exact match… as Ragan had said, they had been trimmed to fit the buccan.

  Now Ragan turned to Beau and handed him a small pouch, saying, "And thou wilt need these, Sir Beau."

  Frowning, Beau opened the bag and reached inside and withdrew a molded slingstone. Made of lead, its ovoid form was shaped to fit a sling pouch. "Oh, my," said Beau, dropping the bullet back inside the bag and drawing the strings tight. "I cannot take these, Ragan. I mean, I'm not good enough for such. Why, I could but barely manage to hit that wall yon were I to try. You must give these to someone with the skill to use them." Beau held the pouch out to Ragan.