Dennis McCiernan - Into the Forge

Loric peered northeastward. "Another twenty or twenty-five leagues, my friend, will find us ascending the Long Stair next to Vanil Falls."

Beau took another bite of the pungent fleshy root, then said 'round the mouthful, "Well I for one will be glad to be shed of these plains, what with riders and runners about."

After resting throughout the long day, they took up the trek again in the eve and walked through the night. The following morn they made camp in a small grove.

"Lor', but I'm famished," said Beau, "and thinking of eating grass."

"We need to hunt and forage once more," said Loric. "Else we'll not have the strength for the climb when we do reach the Cauldron."

"But first we should rest," said Phais. "Then hunt."

They bedded down, all but the one on watch, and slept through the heart of the day, but in midafternoon they set out in separate directions to forage: Beau with his sling, Tip with his bow, and Phais and Loric running the line of snares they had set while the Waerlinga had slumbered.

Tip found another set of burrows and settled down to watch, his back against a nearby mound, an arrow set to string. Yet worn as he was, he dozed in the afternoon light.

The sun had reached the horizon when a sound startled him awake, and he looked up to see "Yaahhh!" shouted the spear-bearing Chabbain, leaping at the Warrow, spear stabbing forward even as the shrieking buccan desperately rolled aside, his arrow lost to his grasp.

Shnk! the blade of the weapon knifed into the soil, only to be jerked free and plunged again at Tip.

But Tipperton had gained his feet, and he darted aside, the spear catching nought but Elven cloak, the cloth sliding across the blade and away.

"Maut!" sissed the Chabbain, whirling after the fleeing Warrow.

Tipperton ran toward the thicket, and Thkk! the spear flew past him to bury itself in the sod.

And all in one motion Tip stabbed to a halt and spun while snatching an arrow from his quiver and set it to string and drew and loosed, impaling the rushing Chabbain square through the heart, the dark man to tumble dead at the buccan's feet.

And Tipperton heard another shout and looked up to see a second Chabbain running at him with raised spear in hand, while a Hyrinian on horseback thundered after.

Calmly, Tip nocked a second arrow to string and loosed, and even as it flew, he set the third shaft to his bow.

"Ungh!" grunted the Chabbain, and looked in surprise at the feathered shaft that sprang full-blown from his chest even as he pitched to the ground.

Now the horseman hauled back on the reins, the animal squealing in pain as the rider sawed the steed about.

Sssss… Tipperton's third arrow whispered through the air to slam into the Hyrinian's side, the stricken man yawl-ing in pain, yet spurring away.

With sword in hand, Loric burst forth from the woods behind the buccan, Phais on his heels, her weapon drawn as well, as Tipperton snatched another arrow from his quiver and whirled about, ready to slay whoever was coming at his back; yet when he saw it was Loric and Phais, he spun back toward the bolting rider and aimed and loosed, but this shaft flew beyond the fleeting Hyrinian, now distant and drawing away.

Loric ran past the Waerling and after the galloping steed, running as if to catch the racing horse now flying across the plain, clots of dirt and sod flinging up from its hooves. Yet the horse was too swift and Loric quickly fell behind, the Elf stopping after sprinting a hundred paces or so.

Tipperton was shaking when Phais came to his side, and suddenly the strength went out of the buccan's legs and he fell to his knees gasping.

"I couldn't-he almost-they nearly-"

"Shhh, shhh," shushed Phais, kneeling beside Tip and drawing him to her.

Beau came running from the thicket, his sling in hand, and his face twisted into anguish when he saw Phais down on the ground holding Tip. "Oh, my. Oh, my," he groaned. Then: "I'll get my medical satchel," he called, and spun back toward their campsite.

But Phais called out, "No need, Sir Beau, for none here are wounded." Then she whispered, "Except perhaps in heart."

Beau turned and rushed to the Dara's side.

On the way back, Loric stopped at the distant slain Chabbain and rolled the corpse over. Then he walked past the huddle of Tip and Phais and Beau to the dead Chabbain nearby, and with a thuck! he pulled Tip's arrow free, wiping the shaft and blade clean of blood on the tall waving grass.

"I went to sleep. I went to sleep," whispered Tip, "and it nearly proved our undoing."

Arrow in hand, Loric came to stand at their side. Phais looked up at him. "We will have little time," said the Alor.

Phais glanced at the running horseman afar and nodded.

"Little time?" asked Beau.

Loric canted his head toward the distant Hyrinian. "He will bring others. We must run."

Tip drew in a shuddering breath. "It's all my fault-"

Phais clutched him hard by the shoulders. "Nay, Sir Tipperton. 'Tis not the fault of any here."

"But I fell aslee-"

"They were tracking us, I ween," growled Loric. He held out the arrow to Tip. "The other was broken when the Chabbain fell."

Tip took a deep breath and then exhaled, and reached out to accept the arrow. He stood and shoved the missile into his quiver and gazed at the fleeing Hyrinian, now disappearing beyond a distant roll in the land. "How far to safety?" he asked, looking at Loric.

Loric gazed at the Great Escarpment rising in the distant sky, the length of its face mostly enshadowed in the setting sun. "Ten leagues, mayhap fifteen."

"Then we'd better begin," said Tip, "for either way- thirty miles or forty-five-it's a deal to go."

"And on an empty stomach, too," groaned Beau.

Across the prairie they fled, not attempting to hide their tracks, for as Loric had said, "They know we are here and are certain to overtake us should we walk carefully. Instead, we'll choose haste over caution."

And so in the light of a flush full moon they alternately walked and trotted: five hundred paces of hard strides followed by five hundred at a run, over and again, five hundred and five hundred, throughout the short bright night, pausing but occasionally for brief rests, these especially for the flagging Warrows.

Just after dawn when they rested again, Tip said, "We're just slowing you down, Loric, Phais. You should go on ahead without-"

"Nonsense, Sir Tipperton," said Phais. "Fear not, for we have but a short way to go, for even now I can hear the roar of mighty Bellon."

Tip looked at her. "Again I bid you to drop the 'sir' and just call me Tip; that or Tipperton will do. I mean, after the way I let everyone down, I don't-"

Phais thrust a hand palm out toward Tip to shut off the flow of his words. "Aye, I will call thee Tip or Tipperton. 'Tis only in the stress of the moment I-"

"Riders!" called Loric, pointing.

All gazes followed the line of Loric's outstretched arm. On the distant horizon a band of riders topped a crest to disappear down in the grass again.

"How many?" asked Tip.

"A score and some," replied Loric.

"Let's go," said Beau, and once again they started northeastward, now running alongside the towering flank of the Great Escarpment.

And they trotted without pause, no longer alternating their pace with that of a walk.

And the breath of the Waerlinga grew harsh and labored.

While behind the riders drew on.

And now the four rounded a long, curving haunch of the escarpment, and in the distance before them they could see an enormous torrent pouring over the lip of the steep. Here it was that the mighty south-flowing Argon River fell a thousand feet into a churning basin below, for here did Bellon Falls plunge into the Cauldron. And the roar of the cataract thundered outward from the escarpment to shake the very air.