Into the Forge

Chapter 22

As Beau wound bandages 'round Loric's rib cage, the buccan said, "Another handbreadth to the left, my foolish Lord Loric, and we'd be setting fire to your funeral bier… although I must say I am grateful you saved me. Even so, your action put our mission in jeopardy. I mean, Tip is the one carrying the coin, not me, and he's the one you've got to get to King Agron. And to do that you shouldn't be taking such risks."

In the flickering light of the small sheltered fire, Loric glanced at Phais. She smiled and said, "List not to his chiding, chier, for I would not have thee abandon our companions. E'en so, I also do not desire thy Death Rede."

"Death Rede?" asked Beau as he took up a knife and cut a split in the cloth preparatory to binding it off. "Sounds ominous."

Loric looked up at Phais and, at her nod, said, " 'Tis a… gift given to Elven folk, by Adon or Elwydd, we think: a gift of… leave-taking."

Beau tied a knot, then frowned at Loric. "I don't understand. I mean, the only rede I know of is the one Lady Rael said. Goodness, hers is not a Death Rede, is it?"

Loric sighed. "Nay, hers is a rede of advice, of counsel, whereas a Death Rede is like unto a final message-a sending of feelings, visions, words, more-imparted to a loved one, no matter the distance, no matter the Plane, when death o'ertakes one of Elvenkind."

"Oh, my," said Beau, his eyes flying wide. "Sounds more like a curse than a gift."

"Nay, my friend, 'tis no curse," said Loric, "but a final touching of souls."

Blinking back sudden tears, Phais drew in a tremulous breath and turned and walked toward the edge of the woods.

Shaking his head, Beau tied a final knot and stepped back. "There. All done. We'll look at it again in a day or two. Now drink that gwynthyme tea, for we know not if the arrow was poisoned, Rucks being such as they are."

Loric did not respond, but instead looked toward retreating Phais.

Beau waved a hand in front of Loric's eyes. "Did you hear me, Lord Loric?"

Loric frowned and looked at the Waerling and shook his head. "Nay, Sir Beau. My thoughts were elsewhere."

"I said, drink that gwynthyme tea, for we know not if the arrow was poisoned, Rucks being such as they are."

Loric nodded and took up the cup of still warm tea and sipped slowly.

As Beau washed and dried his hands, he added, "My Aunt Rose always said that Rucks and such are born without any heart, and that's why they are so sneaky and underhanded and cruel and wicked and… and well, she had a thousand names to call them, none of them good."

"Thine Aunt Rose was a wise Waerling, Sir Beau," said Loric. "The Foul Folk are born without compassion or conscience. Gyphon deliberately made them that way."

"But why would he make them such? Such uncaring things, I mean."

"It was a testament to his own nature: that the strong should take from the weak, the powerful from the vulnerable, the wicked from the innocent."

"Oh, my, how appalling." Beau put away needle and gut and bandage cloth and medicks and then buckled his medical bag shut. "By the bye, speaking of the Foul Folk, d'y' think they'll come at us this night?"

Loric shrugged, then winced from the pain of it. "Nay. The band we saw marching has traveled far and likely will not come after. And the ones we rode past at the ford are yet licking their wounds. They will think twice ere coming after, for mayhap as many as a dozen of their own lie dead in our wake-"

"A dozen!" Beau's eyes flew wide.

"Aye, or so I do believe: some by thy sling, some by Sir Tipperton's bow, some under the hooves of the horses, and two or three felled by Elven blade."

"Oh, my," said Beau, looking at his hands as if expecting to see them dripping with blood.

With the crescent moon just setting, Phais made her way to where Tipperton, on watch, sat on a fallen tree.

He looked up. "How is Loric?"

Phais took in a deep breath. "Sir Beau has stitched his wound and treated it with a poultice enhanced with a bit of the gwynthyme tea to counter any poison. Loric will be in some pain for a span, yet it will pass as he heals."

"Good," said Tip, exhaling in relief. "I was worried."

"As was I," replied the Dara.

They looked out over the land for a while without speaking, but at last Tip said, "I think my heart has finally stopped racing."

Phais turned and took a place beside the buccan.

"Lor', but it was scary," added Tip, comforted by her presence, "though at the time I don't think I even noticed. I mean, it wasn't till afterwards, after we got free of the mess, that I had time to realize just how close a thing it had been."

"That is the way of it, Sir Tipperton. Fear before, fear after, but only action and reaction during."

Tip's eyes widened. "You were afraid as well?"

Phais smiled. "Aye, just as wert thou: before and after, but not during."

They sat together in silence, peering back along the road in the direction of the ford, some fifteen miles arear. At last Tip sighed. "Back in my youngling days I used to play at being a warrior: rescuing dammen and slaying foul creatures and all. But now I don't have the slightest inclination to do so. Why, I loosed five arrows in all, or so I think, yet I can't really remember if any found the mark, though I seem to recall one or two striking true."

Phais smiled. "I am put in mind of my first battle, when I, too, could not remember the number pricked."

"Oh?"

"Aye. 'Twas after the Felling of the Nine. For seasons I was advisor unto High King Bleys. When word came of the slaughter of the Eld Trees, I was enraged, yet at the time there was a Kistanian blockade to deal with in the Avagon Sea. When they had been defeated, I asked leave to join the Lian of Darda Galion in teaching the Rupt a lesson. King Bleys and a platoon of Kingsguards rode with me. We fared unto the Grimwall north of Drimmen-deeve, for that was where the retribution was at that time. We joined up with Coron Aldor's warband, and just afterward the company came to a stronghold of Spaunen, and we confronted their leader, their cham, and showed him the remains of the despoilers. Foolishly, he decided to fight. Afterward they told me that I had slain twelve with my bow, yet I remember but one or two."

"You were too busy nocking and aiming and loosing, right?"

"Exactly so, Sir Tipperton. I was too busy to see. I have since learned 'tis common to disremember much in the rage of battle."

Tip took up his bow and appeared to examine it in the starlight. But then he shuddered. "I do remember the one I hit in the throat. But none of the others, Lady Phais. None of the others."

Phais reached out and briefly hugged the Waerling unto her.

Again a quietness fell between the two, and somewhere an owl hooted, to be answered by another afar.

" 'Twas there I met Alor Loric," said Phais at last.

"There? In battle?"

"In the Company of Retribution."

"Company of Retri-? Oh, you mean in the Elven company going after the Rupt."

"When I first met him, I knew I loved him. Yet he was with another."

"With another," Tipperton echoed, but he asked no question.

Even so, Phais answered. "Ilora was her name… at the time a Bard like thee. The common ground between the twain faded, and so they went separate ways: she to follow her heart to the bell ringers in the temples of the distant east; he to learn about horses on the Steppes of Jord.

" 'Twas after his time in Jord, five hundred summers past, he came unto Arden Vale, where we met again. Then did he find that our two hearts beat as one, though I knew it all along."

Tip sighed. "I wish I could find the one of my heart." "Mayhap thou wilt, Sir Tipperton. Mayhap thou wilt." They sat awhile longer, listening for the owls, but the raptors had fallen silent and only the soft-stirring air and the chirrup of springtime crickets was heard. At last Phais said, "Thy watch has come to an end, Sir Tipperton. 'Tis time thou wert abed."

Tip sighed and stood, and started away, only to have Phais call after him: "Know this, my friend: of the five arrows thou didst loose, I but saw the flight of three, and of those three, all hit the mark."

Just after dawn Tip was awakened by a drizzling mist, and as the day grew, so did the rain, and so did the wind. Huddled under their cloaks, Beau behind Tip on the lone packhorse, through the strengthening downpour they rode into the vast cleft known as Gunar Slot, cutting through the Grimwall Mountains, connecting the land of Rell to the realm of Gunar. Here it was that the Grimwall Mountains changed course: running away westerly on one side of the Slot, curving to the north on the other.

And all that day into the teeth of the storm they rode through the great rift, ranging in breadth from seven miles at its narrowest to seventeen at its widest. And the walls of the mountains to either side rose sheer, as if cloven by a great axe. Trees lined the floor for many miles, though now and again long stretches of barren stone frowned at the riders from one side or the other or both. The road they followed, the Gap Road, would run for nearly seventy-five miles through the Gunar Slot ere debouching into Gunar, and so, a third of the way through, the four camped well off the road and within a stand of woods in the great notch that night.

And still the rain fell.

And still the wind blew, channelled up the cleft by high stone to either side.

Loric built a lean-to as Phais tended the horses, but the scant shelter did little to ward away swirling showers from the blowing rain.

It rained the next day as well, though not steadily. Even so, at times water poured from the skies, while at other times only a glum overcast greeted the eye.

"Lor', but I wish we had ponies," said Beau during one of the lulls in the rain.

"Or even another horse," said Tip. "Oh, not that I mind riding with you, Beau, but should the Foul Folk jump us again, well, I'll just hamper your slinging."

"We'll hamper each other, bucco," said Beau. "And you're right, another horse would do. Too bad the one I was riding took one of those black arrows."

"Oh, is that what happened?"

"Yar. The arrow went in right behind the shoulder."

"Heart shot, he was?"

Beau nodded. "Looks that way. Must have been struck just as we broke through the line. I think he ran another twenty strides or so before he collapsed, though to tell the truth, I was too busy loading and slinging to know."

"You, too? Oh, Beau, so was I-loading and loosing, that is. And I don't know how many I hit-Phais says that it's common not to know-but I seem to recall one or two."

Beau expelled a breath. "I remember the Hlok I slew at the last. Loric says altogether we killed perhaps a dozen, and from what he said, I think it was mostly your arrows and my bullets that did the job."

"Adon," breathed Tip. "Quite a bloody pair, we two, eh?"

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

With these words chill rain began falling from the grey skies above.

That eve they camped among thickset trees well off the road.

"Another day should see us out of this slot," said Loric as he shared out jerky and mian.

"Is there a town somewhere near after that?" asked Beau. "I'd like to sleep in a bed, if you please, and have a warm bath."

"Aye. Stede lies a league or so beyond. 'Tis but a hamlet now, yet once was a town of import when trade flowed into and out of Rell."

"Yes, but will they have an inn?"

Loric smiled. "Mayhap, wee one. Mayhap."

"If not," added Phais, "then surely one of the villagers will put us up."

"Well, I'd like an ale, myself," said Tip. "After a bath and before a bed."

"I am hoping we can replace the horse," said Loric. "And take on some additional supplies. We lost much when the steed was slain."

"Yes, yes, a horse, but after the bath and the ale and the bed, if you don't mind," said Beau.

Once again the skies opened up and rain came tumbling down.

All the next day it continued to mizzle, fine mist blowing through the slot.

"Lor'," said Beau, "even if we don't get a bed and a bath and an ale, just to get out of this drizzle will be enough."

"Aye," agreed Tip, "I'll be glad to simply get before a fire."

"With hot tea," added Beau.

"And soup," appended Tip.

"Or stew," amended Beau.

"Anything warm," said Tip as the chill wet wind swirled 'round.

"Lor'," breathed Beau. "What happened?"

Afoot, they stood looking at charred ruins in the glum light of the dismal late day, the hamlet entirely destroyed, the blackened wood sodden with three days of rain, ashes washed to slag. Only here and there did stone chimneys stand, though some stood broken, as if deliberately shattered, and still others lay scattered across the ground.

The horses snorted as if something foul filled their nostrils, and Loric and Phais spoke words to soothe them.

Loric squatted on the wet ground and took up a burnt split of wood and smelled it and plucked a bit of char and rubbed blackness 'tween thumb and forefinger. He looked at Phais and shrugged, saying, "I cannot say when this misfortune befell, for the rain has washed away the day of the burning."

Leading the skittish horses through the damp air, on into the ruins they fared afoot.

"Hoy, what's this?" called Tip, and he stepped to one of the fallen chimneys and picked up a broken arrow shaft. Black it was and fletched with ebon feathers, wet and mud caked. "Maggot-folk," he declared, stepping back and handing it over to Beau, that buccan to look at it briefly before passing it on to Phais.

"Aye," said the Dara, " 'tis one from the Rupt."

Even though they could see no foe across the leveled town, still they readied their weapons, and then on they went, Phais going wide to the right, Loric wide to the left, and Tip and Beau in between.

Soon they came to the end of the wrack, and Loric joined the buccen.

Beau looked up at the Elf and said, "Well, one thing for certain, even if the maggot-folk did this, the villagers must have got away."

Tip cocked an eyebrow. "How so?"

"No corpses, Tip."

"Perhaps any who were killed are buried, Beau. By those who escaped. That or they burnt up in the fires."

Loric shook his head. " 'Tis said that horseflesh is not the only provender favored by the Rupt."

Beau's eyes flew wide. "Surely you don't mean-"

"Over here," called Phais from the lip of a small ravine, her horse shying back.

And there in the shadows they found the dead-hacked, smashed, pierced with black arrows-men, women, children, babies, thirty-seven in all, bloated in death, some with great chunks of flesh torn away, as if eaten by animals. A faint miasma of rot drifted on the rain-washed air.

Beau turned away trembling, but Tip stood looking down, his face twisted in rage. "They're not even armed," he gritted.

"It matters not to the Rupt," said Phais.

"It looks as if they were herded here and then slain."

Loric nodded. "Aye, as lambs to slaughter."

"How long?" asked Tip.

Phais stepped before Beau and knelt. "How long, wee one?"

Beau swallowed, then turned and faced the carnage and after a while said, "From their condition, two weeks or thereabouts, or so I would gauge."

Phais canted her head in concurrence. "I agree."

"Does that mean there's a Horde somewhere in Gunar?" asked Tip.

Loric turned up his hands. "Mayhap. Mayhap not. This could have been committed by a small band of ravers rather than a full Horde. Yet whoever did so may no longer be in Gunar at all."

Beau shuddered. "All this slaughter by a small band of ravers?"

"Look and see," said Phais. "A third are old men and women. A third are but children or babes. The remainder are all who could have put up a fight-how effectively, I cannot say-yet they number no more than ten or twelve in all."

Beau nodded numbly.

Loric glanced at the waning sun. "We must make camp."

"Not here," said Beau. "Please."

"Nay, we will press on some way from this place of death."

"What about the dead?" asked Tip. "Shouldn't we bury them or place them on a pyre?"

Phais shook her head. "War yields little time for such, Sir Tipperton. We have no dry wood to give them proper burning, and burial would take many days."

Tip nodded sharply once, then turned away, saying, "Let's go."

"But I didn't want to look."

Tip nodded. "I know, Beau. Neither did I. But even though it's terrible, I think she's just trying to get us to look at war straight on-to look at sights such as that one back there without flinching-so we don't fall apart at the wrong moment."

"Nevertheless, it was hideous, Tip. The babies… the babies…"

Tears spilled down Beau's cheeks as the horses pressed oil through the gloaming, but Tip's own eyes were filled with rage.

Over the next days, down through Gunar they passed, following along the Gap Road, camping far from it at night, for mayhap Foul Folk went that way as well, though they saw none.

Gunar itself was a land embraced on the east and south by two long, arcing spurs of the Grimwall, reaching out like enfolding arms ringing the land 'round to hug it tight against the main range all along the northwesterly bound. This encircling reach was named the Gunarring, and in the southeasterly quadrant where these two spurs met stood the Gunarring Gap, a passage through the mountains and into the land of Valon. It was through this wide defile that the four hoped to escape through the Grimwall barrier and turn northeasterly to head toward the city of Dendor in Aven afar.

And so along the Gap Road they fared, a full two hundred miles down through the land of Gunar on a southerly course, passing across plains and among occasional stands of trees as the deepening spring days grew longer.

On the eighth night after leaving the ruins of Stede, as they made camp Loric said, "Somewhere not far ahead lies the hamlet of Annory, at the joining of the Gap Road and the one named Ralo. If the town yet stands, there we will resupply and gain another steed. Yet I would not have us ride into the village without first making certain it is safe. Hence, we will reconnoiter ere faring within."

"Reconnoiter?" asked Beau.

Tip looked up from the small smokeless fire he had built. "He means scout it out, Beau. And, Loric, I should be the one to do so."

Loric frowned, but Tip plunged on. "None can move as silently as Warrows. We're small, and that makes it easy for us to hide in the most scant of cover. Besides, just being a tagalong is beginning to wear thin."

Loric shook his head. "Tagalong thou art not, Sir Tipperton. Even so-"

"Even so," interjected Phais, "Sir Tipperton is correct. Ever have the wee folk made some of the best scouts."

Tip's eyes flew wide. "We have?" he blurted. Then, recovering, "Indeed, we have," he said more confidently.

Phais laughed aloud, then shook her head. "I was so told by Aravan, who occasionally took Waerlinga on his voyages to act as scouts."

Beau frowned in puzzlement. "A scout at sea?"

Again Phais laughed. "Nay, wee one, but aland instead, for Aravan's voyages were to places of adventure. And in these sites of peril he said the Waerlinga made the best of scouts-silent, small, clever, and, when properly trained, quite fierce in a fight."

"There you have it, Alor Loric," said Tip. "And Lady Phais agrees. Besides, if I don't do something, I'm going to go entirely 'round the bend."

Now Loric laughed and held up two hands in submission. "Well, wee one, we must not have thee go mad." Beau cleared his throat. "Wull, if you're-" "No, Beau," interrupted Tip. "One has a better chance of going undetected than two. Besides, we can't risk losing you and your medical skills should aught go wrong." Beau glanced at Phais. "He is right, Sir Beau." Beau frowned and shook his head, yet remained quiet.

The next day they rode another twenty miles ere making their way off the road and into the surrounding forest, jumping up a herd of deer which ran scattering among the trees. "Lor'," said Beau, "but if we'd only been ready, perhaps we could have supped on venison tonight."

'"Mayhap in Annory we'll find an inn where venison is served," replied Tip.

"I can only hope," said Beau as onward they pressed.

There was yet a goodly amount of daylight left as they passed among the trees, but Annory lay at the far edge of the woods, and so they continued forward. Yet ere the sun had fallen another three hands, they came to the final reach of the timber.

As they dismounted, Loric said, "We are nigh the splicing of the two roads; the village lies to the west less than a third of a league. Here we will wait until sunset, Sir Tipperton, for within four candlemarks after, the moon will rise nigh full and shed her silver light the better for thine eyes to see by."

And so they waited: Tipperton sighting down his arrow shafts, inspecting for trueness and finding them straight; Beau fretting and sorting through his medical bag, then as'king to examine Loric's wound, now some twelve days on the mend; Phais sitting quietly and sharpening her steel; and Loric standing watch.

At last the sun set.

Tipperton gave over the coin on its thong to Beau, saying,

"Should aught happen to me, see that this makes it to Agron."

Beau tried to refuse the token, but Tipperton prevailed.

And in the twilight Tip took up his Elven-made bow and began making his way among the trees and to the west… and was soon lost to the sight of the others.

The moon rose, nearly full and bright.

"Lor'," gritted Beau, stopping his pacing, "how long has it been? Twelve candlemarks? Fourteen? Sixteen? Something is wrong. Tip should be back by now."

"He has been gone nigh ten candlemarks, Sir Beau," said Loric. "See Elwydd's light?"

Beau looked aslant at the moon and sighed, for the argent orb had traveled less than a hand up the sky. "All right. So it's been ten candlemarks. Surely he should have returned."

Phais glanced at Beau through the moonshadows and said, "Another two candlemarks and we shall go and see. Ere then thou shouldst rest, else the trench made by thy pacing will be too deep for escape."

"My tren-? Oh."

Beau plopped down on a log, but within moments was back on his feet pacing again.

His back to the remnants of a shattered stone wall, Tipper-ton crouched within an arching, tumble-down mass of climbing-rose vines, the thorny tangle yet clinging to the base of the ruin an arm's length to his left, the buccan motionless and scarcely daring to breathe as guttural voices neared, harsh laughter ringing. What they said he could not tell, for it was in a tongue he knew not. Yet he had heard words such as this before: in Drearwood, among the maggot-folk.

The village of Annory itself had been burnt, just as had been Stede. Yet Tip had caught sight of a campfire amid the ruins, and he had crept close to see if it warmed friend or foe.

Foe. Definitely foe. And now you 're in a fine pickle, bucco.

With his heart hammering, Tip gripped his bow, arrow nocked to string, and still the voices came onward.

"I can't stand it any longer," said Beau. "We've got to do something."

"Another candlemark, my friend," said Phais. "Then we'll see."

Footsteps crunched through debris on the opposite side of the broken wall, moving nigh, now passing, and now scuffing away. His heart yet racing, Tip breathed a sigh of relief, then moved past thorns to a gap in the stonework and cautiously peered 'round.

Count 'em, bucco: one, two, three…

Phais stood and unsheathed her sword. Loric, too, uncovered his blade.

Beau looked up.

" 'Tis time," she said.

The buccan sprang to his feet, his sling already laden with a bullet. And together they moved silently away, the horses left tethered behind.

Tip sensed he was not alone before he heard or saw aught, and he slid back behind the arching jumble of vines, thorns snagging at his Elven cloak but unable to find any purchase. He scanned past tumbled rock and char and at last saw a stir within the moonshadows as a dark figure- nay, as several dark figures-four or five altogether, each the size of a Hlok-slipped among the burned timbers and ash and rubble and toward the campfire. Tip shrank even farther into the bramble and cast his cloak hood over his head and pulled the garment tightly 'round himself. All right, bucco, let's hope that everything you 've heard about Elven cloaks deceiving the eye is true.

Even as Tip sought concealment, as if at silent signal the figures spread apart, but still they came onward. And Tip's heart leapt into his throat, for one of them moved directly toward his imperiled hiding place, moonlight dully glinting off wicked edges of a double-bitted broad-headed axe.

"Hsst!" breathed Loric, pausing among the trees. "Rupt-is'h voices to the fore-"

Of a sudden the stillness was broken by howls torn from bellowing throats.

"Tip!" cried Beau, springing forward, running heedlessly ahead. "They've discovered Tip!"