Dennis McCiernan - Into the Forge

"Next in numbers are the Ghulka, what ye name Ghuls and some name them the corpse-folk. These ye have seen in the depths of Dhruousdarda, and a dire foe are these man-sized beings. Dead white they are and bloodless, or so it would seem, for the corpse-foe are nigh unkillable in common battle, taking dreadful wounds without effect; even so they may be slain by wood through the heart, by beheading and dismemberment, and by fire, as well as special weapons, such as Bale and Bane, the blades Alor Gildor bears. Barbed spears they use, cruel as their own cruel hearts. Helsteeds they ride, horselike but hairless and scaled, with cloven hooves and snakelike tails, and they are trained to kill-so 'ware these slayers, too, their trampling and slashing of teeth as well as the lash of their tails.

"And speaking of dark animals, there are the Vulgs, Gyphon's hounds. Black as night and large as a pony. Their bite is poisonous, a venom which gwynthyme will dispel if ye survive their rending."

"They were after us in Drearwood," said Tip, "but we gave them the slip. Is it true they hunt mainly by sight?"

Loric nodded. "Yet ye were fortunate, for ye left little scent on the ice."

"I interrupted, Loric. Please go on."

Loric glanced at Phais, then continued: "Next among the Foul Folk come the Trolls-Ogrus ye name them. Scaled and dunnish tan or pale green they are, and huge-ten or twelve feet tall-and with a stonelike hide which makes them most difficult to bring down in battle, though a well-placed stroke will slay them-in the eye, or ear, or the soft of the mouth-whatever will pierce the brain. Otherwise, they may be slain by a fall from a great height or a massive rock dropped from above. And it is said that they cannot swim a stroke and so will plummet to the bottom and drown. The sole of the foot seems tender as well, for caltrops will turn them aside. Their numbers are few, yet not many are needed, for they are strong beyond belief and with great warbars they smash aside foes as if they were but mere stalks of straws."

"Oh, my," said Beau. "They sound the worst."

"Nay, my friend," said Phais, "there are more dreadful things by far."

"The Draedani?" said Tip.

"Aye, the Draedani."

"What weaponry do they use?" asked Tip.

"What do they look like?" added Beau. "Have you ever seen one?"

"Nay," said Phais, "and I hope I never do. Even so, still I can describe them. Eight feet tall they are, grey and stonelike, scaled as is a serpent but walking upright on two legs, a malevolent evil parody of Human or Elf. As to their weapons, some say they can sense intruders in their domain, and this very act inspires dread… as does the mere presence of one. And their direct gaze benumbs victims with fear, a terror so strong that one so transfixed cannot make any move whatsoever. The Gargoni hands are taloned, and their lizardlike mouth is filled with long, glittering fangs, and victims caught in their gazes are rended asunder by tooth and claw alone."

"Oh, my," said Beau, looking at Tip, "it seems you can't even run away."

"Aye," said Loric, "not if ye are captured in his gaze. 'Tis this very power of dreadful fear casting and transfixion which causes some to name them a spawn of demonkind."

"Then surely these are the worst foes of all," said Tip.

Phais shook her head. "Nay, wee one. For there are those who say the Fire-Drakes are worse, and yet others who name creatures of the deep more potent still. Yet I deem the worst foes of all are those whose behests they follow."

Beau raised an eyebrow. "And they are…?"

"The Black Mages."

"Modru," breathed Beau.

But Tip, wide-eyed, held up a hand and said, "Oh, wait, there is a worse foe still."

Loric turned to the Waerling. "And that is…?"

"You told me yourself yesternight," said Tip. "It is Gyphon Himself, for He rules them all."

"I say," declared Beau, "right nice quarters, eh?… though the furnishings are somewhat overlarge."

Tip nodded abstractly as he stood at the window and looked outward across the snow running downslope through scattered pines to fetch up against the brink of the Tumble River, called Virfla by the Elves.

"And look, Tip, we have two beds," continued Beau, "though as big as they are, one would serve, with you at one end and me at the other."

"Umn," grunted Tip, not turning to see, his mind elsewhere.

While Tipperton brooded at the window, Beau went about the cottage, opening drawers, looking in cupboards, peering up at shelves, looking under counters, and commenting on whatever he found: cooking utensils, blankets and linens, washcloths and towels and lye soap and a tub for laundry as well as tallow soap for baths, a fireplace with cooking irons and a cauldron, a well-stocked pantry, an indoor pump and buckets and a washstand with a porcelain basin and pitcher, chairs, tables, a writing desk equipped with parchment and quills and inkpots and other such. Beau glanced out the back door, to see a stock of firewood nearby and a privy house across a short expanse of snow.

"Well," said Beau, coming at last to stand beside Tip, "it seems we have everything we need for living while we wait for the thaw."

Tip sighed. "I wonder if we're doing the right thing by waiting, Beau. Look, we don't know what may happen between now and then, and should these Gargon things invade this vale… well, you heard Talarin-we'd be on the run to who knows where. Perhaps it would be better if we simply set out southerly now."

"But Tip, even if we did leave today or tomorrow, who knows what we'd encounter? I mean, there's like to be Vulgs and Gargons and other Spawn all along the way, no matter which path we choose. At least here among the Elves we're safe for now. And by waiting for the thaw we'll be exposed much less time to whatever dangers lie before us… and as Phais and Talarin said, we'll still get to Agron sooner by the direct route than the longer roundabout way."

Again Tipperton sighed. "I know you're right, Beau, just as are they. Even so…" Tip's words trailed off into silence.

"Even so, you'd rather be doing something instead of hanging about doing nothing, eh?" said Beau. "Well, me too. And what I plan on doing is talking to Elven healers and seeing just what I can learn."

Tip looked up at his friend. "I suppose I could hone my skills with a bow. And you know, bucco, you could use some practice with that sling of yours."

Beau groaned and nodded reluctantly. "I guess you're right, Tip. I mean, back in Drearwood I was right dreadful at casting stones. And even though I'd rather heal than kill, if it comes down to it… well, I suppose I could hit 'em in the head with a rock."

Loric had gone back on march-ward, but Phais gladly arranged for the Waerlinga to sharpen their skills, providing Tip with an Elven-made bow-to replace his split one- along with additional arrows, and Beau with an Elven-made sling and more bullets.

"Oh, my, this is a beauty," said Tip, caressing the polished yew and bone laminate. "But I cannot accept such a gift. It needs to remain with its maker."

Phais laughed. "Nay, wee one, I'll not take it back. 'Tis the first time in seasons uncounted I have come across someone who can use it, for it is entirely too small for me now, this thing of my infancy. And its maker, my sire, will be delighted that it once again finds a use."

"Your da made this?"

"Aye, back on Adonar, when I was but a child."

Tip shook his head. "Wull, when this is all over-this war-I'll give it back to you so that your own children can use it, that is, should you have any."

Phais smiled. "Loric and I have talked of returning to Adonar to have a child when conditions among Elvenkind permit."

Beau looked up from his new sling. "When conditions permit?"