Dennis McCiernan - Into the Forge

Phais looked at Beau for a long while, saying nothing. But at last she said, "Aye, Sir Beau. When conditions permit," and then she said no more, and Beau did not pry.

Over the next several weeks and under the Dara's gentle eye, they practiced long and hard at casting missiles with their newfound weapons-Tipperton's arrows flying true, thunking into the bull's-eye more often than not at ranges near and far, and Beau's facility at flinging bullets improving rapidly too, as hand and arm and aim became one with the sling. The Dara as well trained them in the skills of climbing, with rock-nail and jam and snap-ring and silken rope-skills in rappelling or moving 'cross stone faces, skills anchoring one another and paying out or taking up line, and skills at free-climbing too, relying on nought but legs and arms and fingers and toes. Upon the sheer stone of Arden's walls they climbed, upon the sides of lofty crags, down through crevices and up through cracks, backs braced hard against one side, feet against the opposite. Up to the very top of the western wall she took them, there where the stone was flat and more than a quarter mile wide. And the first time there they went to the far edge:

"Take care, wee ones, and stay low, using rock and lone trees for cover, for I would not have us silhouetted stark against the sky."

"Oh, my," breathed Beau, lying on his stomach and peering beyond the brim, looking to where a snarl of dark forest tangled out to the horizon westerly and to north and south as well. "That's Drearwood, eh?"

"Indeed it is," replied Phais.

"It's a wonder we ever made it through," said Tip, the edge of his gloved hand cupped against his forehead, shading his eyes. "Where is Kregyn Pass, the one the Gargons came through?"

"North," said Phais, pointing. "There where the hills rise up, though the pass itself cannot be seen from here."

Tip peered northward.

" 'Tis named Gruwen by men," added Phais.

"Oh," exclaimed Tip. "I've heard of it by that name, though just where…"

"There's an ancient song," said Phais, "of Geela guardians, singers of death."

"Ah, yes," replied Tip. "I say, is the tale true?"

Phais shrugged.

"I can't seem to find the Crossland Road," said Beau, peering southward.

" 'Tis beyond the horizon, Sir Beau," said Phais, "fifteen leagues, or thereabout."

Now Tip's gaze swept north and south along the capstone of the bluff. "I thought that there were warders up here on the wall, yet I see none."

Phais laughed. "They watch in secret, Sir Tip; it would not do to be seen. Yet they are here, I assure thee."

"Wull," said Beau, gesturing at Drearwood, "even though I know that Foul Folk are in there, I don't see how anything could be spotted down in that monstrous knot."

"The eye becomes accustomed to it," murmured Phais, "and movement within plucks at thy gaze."

Tip looked long and hard, then finally said, "I just hope no movement comes this way, at least until we're gone from Arden Vale." A stricken look flashed over Tipperton's features, and he turned to the Dara. "Oh, my, I didn't mean that how it sounded, Lady Phais. I did not mean to sound…" Tip struggled for the proper word.

"Selfish?" volunteered Beau.

Guilt momentarily flickered across Tip's face.

"Cowardly?" added Beau.

Anger replaced guilt. "No, Beau, not cowardly. It's just that I don't want anything to stop or delay us from delivering the coin."

The Dara smiled in understanding and gestured toward Arden Vale. "Thou didst not wish to sound unconcerned over the fate of those herein."

Tip nodded. "I am concerned. Lady. But I don't think there's one bloody thing I can do about it. Yet to take the Kingsman's token to Agron, well, that's something I can accomplish, given that nothing bars the way." He glanced easterly at the snow-laden Grimwalls rising up in the distance. "I wish the bedamned thaw would hurry and get here."

"Hoy!" called Beau. "Movement."

Phais turned. "Where?"

"Down there, down where the stream enters the wood."

Hearts pounding, long they looked, seeing nothing but dark snarls. "It's gone," said Beau at last, resignation in his voice, "if ever it was there."

During these same weeks, Rael, hearing of Tipperton's interest in legend and song, gathered the buccan under wing and began teaching him bardic lore. They spent many a candlemark sitting before Rael's fire, she and Jaith singing songs and telling tales and teaching the wee buccan how to strum a lute, though it was a bit overlarge for the Waerling and his fingers didn't seem to fit.

Too, each night of these bardic doings, Rael would take up a small iron container and loose its tiny clasp and open its hinged top and remove a crystal from a square of black silk. Pellucid it was, the crystal, five inches down its length and six-sided, each end blunt-pointed with six facets. And the Dara would peer into its depths, seeking a clue as to Tipperton and Beau's fate. Yet nought came of her gazings, and she would at last sigh and say, "Though 'tis charged with moonlight to see the future, nought do the facets reveal," and she would lay it aside.

Meanwhile, Phais introduced Beau to brown-haired, brown-eyed Aris, an herbalist. And she took him to her cottage with its trays of various soils stacked here and there and waiting for the spring, and to the attached drying shed, aromatic in its presence. And they spoke of nostrums and poultices and medicks, of simples and teas and tisanes, of mints and flowers and oils, of harvesting and drying, of stripping and pressing, of dicing and grinding, of cooking and storing and other preparation, and of growing and foraging as well, she sharing her lore, he sharing the knowledge contained in his red-bound book.

"Lor', Tip," said Beau after one of his meetings, "she knows everything!"

Tip looked up from the lute he was trying in vain to chord. "Did you tell her of your plan to treat the plague?"

"That I did, and she said it might improve things, mixing silverroot and gwynthyme. She hadn't tried it, you see, and she and I both hope we never need to."

"Well then, Beau, she doesn't know it all."

Beau shrugged. "Perhaps she doesn't know everything, but she knows a deal more than I do, that's for certain."

Tip again attempted to set his fingers to the chord. Frowning over the strings, he said, "Given the ageless lives of Elves, I suspect that she's simply had more time to learn. -By the bye, did she give you any of that mint? Gwynthyme, was it?"

Beau sighed. "She offered, but I declined. I mean, with all that's going on in Drearwood-the Spawn and Gargons and other such, Vulgs among them-I said it'd have more use here than in some trial of mine which may never come."

Plang! Tip strummed a discordant sound. "Oh, bother," he growled.

Not only did the Warrows spend their time sharpening old skills and learning new, but they also were put to work in the Elvenholt, for as the buccen quickly learned, all shared in the labor of the vale, even Talarin, even Rael. In this case, Tip and Beau joined with others working in the stables, feeding horses and mucking out stalls and rubbing tallow into tack.

During this time they watched as more and more Elven patrols left the strongholt to scout deep into Drearwood or, acting upon the information gained, watched as mounted Lian warbands left the stables and rode away on raids into that great tangle of woods, often returning with bloodied swords and empty quivers and wounded of their own.

And at these times Beau would be called upon to tend injured Lian, though mostly he watched and learned as skilled Elven healers cleansed and bound wounds and stitched cuts and treated hurts.

And Tip would grind his teeth in frustration and practice all the harder with his bow, for Lord Talarin would not allow him to go on the Elven raids; nor had the time yet come for Tip and Beau to set forth to deliver the coin.