Into the fire

Chapter 2

South-southeasterly they fared, passing by the frozen corpses of those who had fled from the city of Dael, had fled from the raging Dragonfire, had fled from the whelm-ings of Sleeth, had fled into the countryside only to be blizzard-slain. Men, women, children, babies, horses, dogs: Modru's storm had spared none. And they lay scattered along the road as testament to his cruel power.

"Oh Adon," said Beau, his tilted amber eyes wide with distress, "why didn't some survive?"

"They had no chance to prepare when they ran from Sleeth's ravagement," growled Bekki.

"But they should have made fires, found shelter, anything but this."

"Oh, Beau," said Tip, "don't you remember the shrieking wind? The blinding snow? I mean, if it hadn't been for Bekki, we would have been hard-pressed to survive ourselves, and we're well prepared for the cold."

"Aye," said Phais, smiling at Bekki, "'twas Fortune Herself who favored us with the company of this Drimm."

Bekki shot the Dara a quick glance, then looked at the road ahead, the Dwarf somehow disconcerted by her regard.

Beau sighed, then said, "Ah, me, and wellaway, but it is so tragic for so many to come to this grievous end."

"It's just one more thing that Gyphon and all his get will have to answer for," said Tip.

Loric looked at Tipperton. "Art thou still consumed by the need for revenge, wee one?"

Tip shook his head. "No, Loric. I but speak the truth." Loric nodded and said no more as on down the Sea Road they fared, riding now in silence.

The next day, the shortest of the year, they passed beyond the reach of the frozen dead, and that night, as a waning gibbous moon rose in a clear sky, Phais, Loric, Tip, and Beau all took places to step through the Elven Winter-day rite, the Dara facing north, the Alor and Waerlinga facing south. And as they looked upon one another, Phais began to sing, to chant, for it was something of each. Then Loric took up the chant, the song, and surprisingly he was joined by Tipperton, the Waerling in harmony. And Loric and Phais both smiled down at the buccan, while Beau looked at him in astonishment.

And in the argent light of the silvery moon shining down on white snow, Phais and Loric and Tip and Beau began stepping out the turning of the seasons.

Singing, chanting, and pacing slowly pacing, they followed an ancient ritual reaching back to the dawn of Elven-kind. And enveloped by moonlight and melody and harmony and descant and counterpoint and feet soft in the moonlit snow, they trod solemnly, gravely… but with filling hearts.

Step… pause… shift… pause… turn… pause… step.

Slowly, slowly, move and pause. One voice rising; two voices falling. Liquid notes from the dawn of time. Harmony. Euphony. Step… pause… step. Phais turning. Loric turning, Waerlinga in his wake. Dara passing. Alor pausing. Buccen pausing as well. Counterpoint. Descant. Step… pause… step…

And all were lost in the ritual… step… pause… step.

When the rite at last came to an end-voices dwindling, song diminishing, movement slowing, till all was silent and still-Lian and Waerlinga once again stood in their beginning places: female facing north, males facing south. And when they were finished it seemed as if the weight of the last few days had been lifted from them, and they were gladdened.

"I say," exclaimed Beau, breathlessly, "we almost know how it's done, eh?"

Loric grinned, but Tip shook his head. "Oh no. If it wasn't for Loric, we'd've floundered about in the snow."

Beau grinned back at Loric. "Even so, we're beginning to get the hang of it, neh?"

"Aye," said Loric. "Ye are at that, though e'en if ye practiced each day, still 'twould take long ere ye would be masters of the rite."

"I say, if we were Dwarves, we could master it at one pass, couldn't we?" asked Beau.

"The steps, aye, but the chant, the song, and its relation to the steps, that would take awhile."

"Speaking of Dwarves," said Tip, looking about the sparsely wooded clearing, "where has Bekki gotten to?"

Phais pointed. Atop a nearby hill stood Bekki, his arms stretched wide to the sky above. And they could hear his voice chanting words.

"What's he doing?" asked Beau.

" 'Tis the Drimmen rite of Wintemight, a calling out to Elwydd," said Loric.

"Elwydd, eh?" said Tip.

"Aye, for She is their patron."

"What's he saying?" asked Beau.

"Words nearly as ancient as the Drimma themselves," replied Loric. "I was taught the rite by Kelek, when we were shipwrecked in the Bright Sea. To do it properly, the DelfLord acts as cantor, the Drimma of the Dwarvenholt act as chorale, in alternating litany."

"Can you chant it to us?" asked Tip. "In Common, please."

Loric glanced upslope, then shook his head and said, "Even though thou and I art Chak-Sol, Tipperton, Bekki will have to do so, for it is their most solemn rite, a thing of the Drimma and not of the Lian."

"Oh," said Tip, looking up at Bekki on the moonlit hill, the snow asparkle in the silvery light, "I understand."

After a moment, Beau looked at Tip and said, "You know, we don't have solemn rites."

Tip frowned. "Who, Beau? Who doesn't have solemn rites?"

"Warrows, Tip. Warrows of the Boskydells, that is. I mean, although we note Summerday, Winterday, Spring-day, and Autumnday, they're all happy affairs, the best being Summerday."

"Oh?"

Beau nodded enthusiastically. "Oh my, yes. Look, Tip, you weren't raised in the Bosky, but on Summerday, Year's Long Day, Mid-Year's Day, there's a fair in Rood, and parades, and contests. And that's the day, Year's Long Day, when we hold a birthday celebration for anyone who's had a birthday in the past year, which of course includes everyone. -Oh my, I just thought of something."

Tip raised an eyebrow.

"We didn't celebrate our birthdays on Year's Long Day," said Beau.

"Hmph," grunted Tip. "It seems to me that on Year's Long Day we were hiking across Valon in the night with Hyrinians and Chabbains all about trying to do us in, Beau."

"Pah," said Beau, frowning, "be that as it may, still we should have celebrated. In fact, we should celebrate our birthdays right now."

"But, Beau, it isn't Year's Long Day, but Year's Short Day instead," protested Tip. "We'll be six months late or six months early, depending on how you want to look at it."

"Well, late or early, Tip, what better day for Warrows to celebrate? A short day for a short folk, eh?"Beau turned to Phais, who was grinning behind her hand. I say Phais, have we any of that venison? -And tea? Yes, tea We must have a birthday tea, with mian if we yet have some, or crue if not. And, Tip, you must play your lute: 'The Merry Man of Boskledee' will do just fine. It's a good birthday song."

"Let's wait for Bekki," said Tipperton, glancing up at the crest of the hill. But Bekki wasn't there. Instead the Dwarf came flying downslope. "What th-? Bekki!"

Loric looked up and sprang to his feet. "Quench the fire," he hissed, his hand on the grip of his sword. "Be ready to fly."

As Beau kicked the campfire into the snow, Loric and Phais stepped to the horses and began casting on saddle blankets, Tipperton doing likewise to the ponies.

"A band," huffed Bekki, as he came into the site.

"Band?" asked Beau, catching up his saddle and stepping to his pony.

"Aye. To the south along the road. Tramping this way. Squam, I think."

"How many?" asked Phais, cinching a saddle tight.

"Too many," gritted Bekki, lifting his own saddle into place. "A hundred or so."

"Does it have to be Rucks and such?" asked Beau, reaching under his pony for the belly strap dangling down opposite. "I mean, couldn't it be Daelsmen?"

"Mayhap," replied Bekki. "Though were it Loden's men, I would expect them to be riding and not on foot."

"We are well off the road," said Tip, threading cinch strap through binding rings.

"Even so…" said Phais, now turning toward one of the packhorses.

Quickly all was ready for flight, and Bekki growled, "I would keep them in sight."

Phais nodded. "Let us ride to the far side of the knoll, and then go afoot to the top."

"Aye," said Loric, " 'tis Rupt."

In the distance, in the moonlight, Tip could see the company of Foul Folk tramping northerly along the road.

"Oh my," said Beau, "they're marching to Dael. Shouldn't we ride back and warn-?"

"There is nought back there but ruins and the dead," growled Bekki.

"What about Lord Tain?" said Beau. "He's not dead."

Bekki looked at the buccan. "He might as well be."

"Nevertheless," said Beau, turning to Phais, "shouldn't he be warned?"

Phais sighed. "Thou must harden thy heart, Beau, for many will be the time the needs of the mission outweigh the needs of one."

"Barn rats, but I don't think I like that one bit."

"Still, 'tis the way of war, Beau."

"Oh, I understand the need, Phais. Even so, I don't have to like it, do I?"

"Nay, thou dost not."

"Why would they be going to Dael?" asked Tip.

"To loot," gritted Bekki. "It lies in ruins ripe for plunder."

"But how would they know it's been destroyed? I mean, if this is part of the runaway Horde, how would they know? They would think it a well-fortified city."

"Mayhap they go there at the behest of Modru," said Loric.

"But we killed his surrogate," said Tip, his mind returning to that desperate dawn in the tent. "Bekki did, that is. And since we killed Modru's eyes and ears and voice, how would they know?"

"He has more than one surrogate," said Phais.

"Perhaps they're simply deserters from the Horde," said Beau. "Running away from the fighting. Heading for the mountains."

"Well, deserters or not, fleeing or not, even if they are going to Dael," said Tip, turning to Beau, "still they might not find Lord Tain; he is well hidden, and all he needs do is remain silent."

Beau shook his head. "Not likely in his madness."

"If they do find Coward Tain," growled Bekki, "mayhap the Grg will save Loden the task of dispensing the king's justice."

Beau sighed but said nought in reply.

Long they lay atop the hill and watched the maggot-folk march up the road and past and away while the waning gibbous moon sailed overhead and down, and Beau fell asleep with the waiting. And when finally the Spawn were gone from sight, Phais awakened the buccan and down the slope they all went, back to the horses and ponies, Beau grumbling that Year's Short Day was now also gone and they hadn't gotten to have their birthday party.

"Bekki says there's a town some miles ahead," said Tip, thumbing among his map sketches, finding the one he sought and showing it to Beau. "It's here at the fork where the Ironwater meets this tributary. Perhaps we can have a good hot meal and a bath and a mug of ale."

"Oh, Tip, don't say that."

"Wha-?" Tip looked at his friend. "Why not?"

"Well, every time we've counted on getting a good hot meal and a warm bath and a good bed and such in the next town, we arrive only to find it destroyed-Stede, An-nory, that town in Valon, Braeton, Dael."

"See what I mean?" hissed Beau.

They stood in the woods and peered across the frozen Ironwater River at the small town on the far bank, where a company of swart maggot-folk looted and burned.

Tip sighed. "There are too many to fight."

Phais nodded. "We must ride on. To do otherwise is to risk the mission."

Bekki growled. "I like not this leaving of foe at our backs, yet I agree."

As they trudged among the trees toward the horses and ponies, Tip said, "There was a time, Bekki, when all I wanted was to kill Spawn. But no more. The death of Alor Lerren and others at Braeton was the first time I realized that people I knew would actually be killed while I sought my revenge. And then there were the terrible losses at Mineholt North… the price we pay is too high."

Loric looked down at the buccan. "The price paid for vengeance indeed is oft too great, wee one, yet no price is too high to pay for liberty, for it is precious beyond reckoning."

Bekki grunted. "Loric, I would argue with you concerning the worth of vengeance, yet not on the value of liberty."

They came to the place where the animals were tethered and mounted up and rode slowly through the woods, out of sight of the plundering Rupt, passing the town by, each of the comrades feeling somewhat guilty at leaving living enemy behind.

Days passed and days more, and still they followed the road through the woods bordering the Ironwater River, and ten days after leaving the ruins of Dael, they neared the town of Bridgeton, there where a gap forty miles wide broached the ring of the Rimmen Mountains. And through this gap the waterway flowed southerly, the Sea Road following along as both wended down to the far Avagon Sea. And faring across, stretching east and west, through the breach ran the Landover Road, the Grimwall Mountains at one end, far Xian at the other.

And as the five comrades neared the gap, through the river-border trees they could see trails of smoke blearing the sky.

"Oh no," groaned Beau.

None else said aught as they rode onward.

Yet at last they emerged from the woods, and Beau broke into tears, for in the gap ahead they saw a town yet whole, smoke from chimneys rising into the air.