Dennis McCiernan - Into the Forge

"How do you know this?" asked Beau, peering about warily.

"They carried no supplies, wee one," replied Loric.

"Oh, my," said Beau, pointing to the fore, where in the near distance faint tendrils of smoke yet rose into the sky, "do you think that could be their camp?"

Loric frowned, and Phais said, "The pall we saw yester-eve seemed not like that of campfires but rather of a burning thorp, and the birds are an ominous sign. Even so, we should go forth in caution."

As Loric shouldered his pack, he said, "Henceforth we must leave little trace of our passage, else we are fordone should they come across our trail and follow it to us."

"I say, couldn't we walk in their path?" asked Tipperton, pointing downslope to where the cavalcade had passed. "I mean, then our tracks would be lost in theirs."

"Aye, we could," said Loric. "Yet if this is a trail they often follow, I'd rather not be in their lane."

Not knowing what lay ahead, the foursome walked in silence awhile, keeping a span between themselves and the wide track beaten in the grass by the cavalcade. And where they stepped, they left no permanent wake, for Loric had shown the Waerlinga how to ease their feet among the tall stalks so that the blades sprang back upright. Even so, their passage was slowed considerably by the need to leave no trace.

And still they pressed toward the rising smudge just ahead of the circling, spiraling birds, dreading what they might find.

To break the somber mood, Beau asked, "This first High King Awain, what year did he come to power?"

"Why, in the Year One of the First Era," replied Phais.

Beau frowned and looked up at her.

" 'Twas with the coronation of the very first High King that the counting of Eras began," she added.

Beau's mouth made a silent O of enlightenment. "I always wondered how they got started."

Tip nodded. "Me too. I mean, the counting of Eras had to begin somewh-"

Suddenly Tip's words jerked to a halt, for they had come to a crest of a hill, and down in the plain below smoldered the ruins of a town. The town had been burned, buildings destroyed, and nought but charred timbers and scattered stones remained. Yet that was not the worst of it, for carnage littered the streets. Whatever had once been alive was now not. People-Humans-young, old, male, female, babes, ancients-all were dead. Horses, dogs, sheep, cattle, fowl-all had been slain as well.

Yet there was a stir among the dead, for gorcrows feasted and kites. Vultures stalked and drove away lesser birds, though there was more than enough for all. And midst squawks and graks and chortles, beaks tore at flesh and gobbets of raw meat dangled to disappear down ravenous gullets.

Beau burst into tears, and Tipperton turned and stared in the direction of the cavalcade, hatred burning in his gaze.

Phais took in a deep breath and sighed. "Come. There's nought we can do here."

And they passed beyond the place that now was no longer a town.

They found a rare stand of trees and set camp among them that eve, where they built a small fire and brewed tea.

"Lor'," said Beau, "but I think I'll never purge that sight from my mind."

"I don't ever want to forget what I've seen," gritted Tip. "They should pay for what they did, and if ever it is in my power to avenge those souls, then so shall I do."

"Thou dost sound as one of them, Tipperton," said Phais, "so like the Chabbains, I mean."

"Unh?" grunted Tip, startled.

"Retribution: it drives their lives. Gyphon and His agents see to it."

"Are you saying that evil deeds should go unpunished?"

"Nay, Tipperton. Yet thou must take care thou dost not fall into the same set of mind as they. Hatred must not drive thy life, else it will consume thy spirit, thy very soul."

"But what about those you slew because of the Felling of the Nine? Wasn't that retribution?"

Phais's eyes widened, and she glanced at Loric, and he said, "Aye, it was. There are times when just retribution need be extracted."

"Well then, I think this is one of those times."

Phais sighed and nodded in agreement, then said, "Nevertheless, Tipperton, let not hatred consume thee."

A silence fell upon the campsite, and remote stars wheeled in spangled heavens above.

At last Beau said, "Tip, if I get killed in this venture of ours, see to it that I get a proper burial. I mean"-he shuddered-"I don't want crows pecking out my eyes, kites rending my face, vultures tearing at my guts, all squabbling over my remains."

"Don't worry, bucco, you're not going to die," said Tip.

"But if I should…"

Tip threw an arm about his friend. "All right. I promise."

"Good," said Beau.

They sat in morose silence a moment more; then Beau looked up through the leaves at the stars and said, "If by chance I should die, think only this of me: that in some corner of a foreign field in a foreign land is a place that forever will be the Boskydells."

"Oh, Beau, don't say such a thing," said Tipperton. "I'm sure one day you'll be in your beloved Boskydells again."

Beau looked 'round at Tip and sighed. "We can only hope, Tip. We can only hope. -But, say, you're coming too, aren't you? To the Boskydells, that is. There's plenty of need for millers." Tipperton glanced at his lute. "What about bards?"

"Them too, Tip. Them too."

The following morn they set out again northeasterly, aiming for the place where the River Nith plunged over the Great Escarpment and down into the Cauldron, some two hundred eighty miles away in all. Yet they had gone no more than a mile or so than they espied more tendrils of smoke rising into the sky ahead. Beau gasped. "Oh, my, is it another burning town?" "Nay, Beau, these are campfires," replied Loric. "But whether those of friend or foe, that I cannot say." Cautiously they moved forward, though swinging wide to the left, for should it be foe they would need give wide berth and pass beyond.

" Tis foe," hissed Loric.

The camp lay nearly two miles away.

Even so, both Tip and Beau could see the site held men like those who had passed in yesterday's cavalcade.

"Three flags fly," said Phais, "-nay, four: Hyree, Chabba, Kistan, and Modru's ring of fire."

"We must gauge how many are encamped," said Loric. "And take word with us to Wood's-heart."

Beau looked up across at Loric. "Wood's-heart?"

"The Lian strongholt in Darda Galion," replied the Alor.

"But the encampment goes to the other side of the hill," said Tip.

Phais pointed off at a rise in the land. "I'll move around and count from there."

Tip glanced at the Dara. "I'll go with you."

Loric raised an eyebrow, but Phais nodded in agreement.

They spent nearly all day observing, as cavalcades came and went, and now and again in the far distance black smoke would rise into the sky.

"They're burning farmsteads," said Phais.

Tip made a fist and pounded the ground in rage.

When night fell, at a far distance they began slowly arcing 'round the large campsite, seeking to pass it by, for it held nearly two thousand men in all, or so they judged. Now and again they would crouch down in the grass, for returning raiders would pass nearby on their way back to camp.

The camp was yet in sight when dawn came.

"We must rest," said Phais, cocking an eye at Loric, then looking casually at the flagging Waerlinga.

And so they spent a second day hidden within the grass atop a long low mound, alternately keeping watch and dozing throughout the flight of the sun.

And this day, too, cavalcades came and went.

That night they finally got free from sight of the camp, and yet leaving no trace of their passage they walked most of the next day, too, before stopping in the afternoon.

They rested well that night and the following day resumed their northeastward trek.