Dennis McCiernan - Into the Forge

"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."