Dennis McCiernan - Into the Forge

"Aye. 'Tis nearly a hundred leagues."

"Three hundred miles?"

"Aye, three hundred miles, Tipperton. And can we walk seven leagues a day, then a fortnight 'twill be."

Tip groaned. "Twenty-one miles a day for fourteen days-oh, my aching feet."

Beau snorted and said, "Huah, Tip, compared to our slip-sliding on ice most of the way through Drearwood, this little jaunt to the Eldwood will be a lark. I mean, what could be better than walking on soft sod across a grassy plain? Besides, bucco, you've got to remember, given the choices we faced, this is the quickest way."

Tip cast his friend a skeptical eye, but did not respond as he groaned to his feet preparatory to standing the first short turn at watch.

Just after dawn they set out northeastward across the rolling plains of Valon, the prairie covered with tall grass as far as the eye could see. Though the grass itself came to midthigh on the Elves, it was chest high on the Warrows, and it rippled in long green waves, stirred by a morning breeze blowing down from the Gunarring behind. Far across the rolling land, a thin smudge of smoke yet stained the sky, drifting up and eastward, driven by the breeze as well. And toward the unseen origin of this smear they trod.

"What if it is a town like Annory-burnt, destroyed with a passle of maggot-folk camped therein?" asked Beau. "What'11 we do, the four of us?"

Phais sighed. "Pass it by."

"You mean just leave them alone?" asked Tip.

Phais nodded. "Aye. Most likely they will be too many and we too few."

Tip growled. "But the Dwarves attacked nineteen foe, and they were only five."

Loric shook his head in resignation. "The Drimma are a fierce race, where honor stands well above prudence. Aye, they attacked nineteen head-on, with axes swinging, depending on surprise and brute force to quickly carry the day. Yet were we faced with the same odds, I would hope that we would use stealth and cunning and guile to accomplish the same ends. Yet heed: stealth and cunning and guile take time, and should we come across a large number of foe, would we soon accomplish this mission to Agron, then we must pass them by."

Tip frowned, and Phais, noting his look, said, "Tipper-ton, if we are to engage every foe 'tween here and Dendor in Aven, then I suspect it will be many a year ere we see Agron King."

"Even so," added Loric, " 'tis meet we gather knowledge of the foe along the way, and pass on such particulars to those who need to know."

"Somewhat like scouts?" asked Beau. "-I mean, as long as we don't stray too far from our mission to Agron in Aven, that is."

"Exactly so," replied Loric, smiling down at the buccan.

And across the plains of Valon they went, toward drifting smoke afar, while in the distant sky above, birds circled and spiraled down.

"Ssst!" hissed Loric just as they reached the crest of a rise. "Down!"

They dove into the grass. "What?" whispered Tip. "What is it?"

"Horses," breathed the Alor, unbuckling his pack and drawing his sword. Phais nodded in affirmation and pulled her blade as well and slipped free from her pack.

Beau, lying prone, put his ear to the ground. His eyes widened and he motioned for Tip to do the same. And Tip's own eyes widened as he heard the thudding of many hooves knelling within the soil. He raised his head slightly. "What if they're friends?" he asked.

"What if they're foes?" whispered Beau right after.

Phais said, "Friends we'll hail; foes we will not."' Then she put her finger to her lips and signaled for quiet.

But Beau sucked in a deep breath and then hissed, "Oh, my, what if they're Ghflls on Helsteeds?"

Remaining hidden down within the rippling green, Tipperton wriggled free from his pack and set an arrow to string. Beau likewise shed his own pack and laded his sling.

Now even without an ear to the ground the buccen could hear the hammer of hooves, and Tipperton lifted up just enough to peer outward through swaying heads of grass.

From the north they came, rounding the flank of a low hill, a cavalcade of riders-men on horses, thirty or more-and running alongside were men afoot, twice as many as the riders, it seemed, and all bearing spears. Dark and swarthy were the riders and dressed in turbans and long, flowing robes, with curved swords slung loosely at their sides; the men afoot were even darker, nearly black, and wearing nought but short belted skirts 'round their waists, their feet shod in sandals, their long hair gathered and held behind by tortoise-shell clasps; and on their bodies a sheen of sweat glistened.

"Down," sissed Loric, pulling Tipperton low. " 'Tis the foe."

Through the swale below they ran, their breathing heavy, that of the horses and running men. Yet still they pounded on southward, and soon passed from sight in the long folds of the grassland.

Cautiously Loric raised up, first peering above the un-dulant green, and then rising to his knees, and finally standing.

He motioned the others up as well.

Tip got to his feet and looked southward. Nothing but long, rolling waves of green grass did he see. "What-who were they?"

"Men of Hyree," said Loric, "and men of Chabba."

"The ones on horses-?"

"Hyrinians," replied Loric.

"And those afoot-?"

"Chabbains."

"Hoy," said Beau, "there's something about the Chabbains I should remember, but just what, I can't bring to mind."

"Say, weren't they the ones who burned Gleeds?" asked Tip. "I think my da told me so." Tip looked to Phais for confirmation.

"Aye, back in the First Era," she said.

"But we're over two thousand years into the Second Era; what are they doing here now?" asked Beau.

Phais sighed. "Seeking vengeance for deeds done long past."

At the buccen's raised eyebrows, Phais continued: "Gleeds was the city of wood on the Argon, established there by the very first High King, Awain. Some sixty summers after, Chabba and Pellar did dispute certain trade routes with one another, and the Chabbains crossed the Avagon sea in ships and burnt the young city down. Yet the then High King's army did entrap the invaders and, but for a niggling few, slew them one and all, e'en though many had surrendered. Long have the Chabbains clutched hatred unto their breasts and sworn one day to avenge those who were slaughtered.

" 'Twas from the ruins of the city the High King did move the center of government unto Caer Pendwyr."

"That's right," said Beau. "I remember now. -The history, that is… not that I was there. But oh, my, that was long, long ago, and the Chabbains yet seek revenge?"

"Lor', Beau, but you're right," agreed Tip. He turned to Phais. "You say that was back in the First Era?"

Phais frowned. "Aye, near the very beginning: in King Rolun's time, the grandson of Awain. 'Twas Awain who established Gleeds, and Rolun who saw it burnt to the ground."

Tip shook his head. "Well, Beau, given that it was near the beginning of the First Era, that was some twelve thousand years ago." Tip looked up at Phais. "Are you telling us that the Chabbains have held a grudge all this time?"

"Not only for that slaughter, but for other defeats as well," replied Phais. "They venerate the ghosts of their kindred and carry hatreds on, believing that all dark deeds need avenging, whether done of late or long past. Else the ghosts will find no rest, no solace, and their wailing will inflict misery upon any kindred yet alive."

"Well, I must say-" began Beau, but then, "Oh, down! Down, I say!"

As the comrades ducked low in the grass, upon a far distant roll of land the cavalcade and runners hove into view. Quickly they topped it and passed beyond, yet running south, their pace not slackening a bit. And then they were gone from sight once more.

Phais turned to Loric. "They have a camp nigh."

Loric nodded in agreement.