Dennis McCiernan - Into the Forge

"How far?" gasped Beau.

"Two leagues or three," came Loric's panting answer.

"To the left," puffed Phais.

Now leftward from Bellon by perhaps as much as seven miles, both buccen could see a second falls, a silvery cascade of water plunging over the escarpment and down. It was Vanil Falls, where beyond a turn in the rim the east-flowing River Nith hurtled out from Darda Galion to plummet into the westernmost reach of the Cauldron.

Tip glanced back. In the near distance the Hyrinian riders flew over the grass at full gallop, and swords waved above their heads and their mouths were agape in howls, though Tip could not hear them above Bellon's roar.

"We'll never make it," gasped Tip. "Take the coin and go without us. We'll try to hold them here."

But Beau gritted, "Run!"

And run they did, as swift as they could…

… yet the horses were swifter still.

Another mile they ran, no more, and up a gentle rise.

And Loric stopped.

As did the others.

Panting, Loric drew his sword. "Here on this slope we will make our stand."

Gasping and with trembling hands, Tip set an arrow to string.

Likewise did Beau load his sling as Phais unsheathed her blade.

And twenty-four Hyrinian riders came thundering up the hill.

Tip took a deep breath and exhaled half… And riders howled in triumph as they charged upward…

… and with eyes for nought else, Tip took aim…

… and Hyrinians leaned outward, making ready to hack and chop as they swept by…

… and Tip loosed…

And a sleet of arrows hissed downslope and slammed into the riders.

"Waugh!" burst out Tipperton as a dozen or more arrows pierced Hyrianian throats and eyes and hearts, and riders tumbled backwards to crash to the ground or to be stirrup-dragged as another sleet of arrows flew at those yet galloping forward. And free-running horses hammered past Tip and Beau and Loric and Phais, the four dodging this way and that to keep from being trampled, as yet another volley of arrows hissed past and into the foe.

And when the riderless horses had thundered by, Tip gaped at the arrow-slain Hyrinians and then in amazement at his bow and turned to the others…

… to see…

… hard-breathing, bow-bearing Elves striding over the crest. And among them one called out, "Well, Loric, it seems we arrived just in time."

"Alor Galarun!" Loric sheathed his sword.

As some Lian went after the loose horses and other Lian moved down to make certain of the Hyrinians, Galarun grinned and clasped Loric's hand. He turned to Phais and embraced her, then stepped back and held her at arm's length. "Dara Phais, too many seasons have passed since thy beauty has graced these eyes."

"Alor Galarun," acknowledged Phais.

Dressed in an elusive grey-green, Galarun stood nearly six feet tall. His hair was dark brown, nearly black, and his clear eyes a deep shade of grey. And a smile seemed barely withheld from his generous mouth.

Now Galarun released Phais and glanced at the Waerlinga.

"Alor Galarun," said Phais, turning to the buccen, "may I present Sirs Tipperton Thistledown and Beau Darby, Waerlinga of the Wilderland."

Tip, yet shaken, looked up at Galarun and took a deep breath and blew it out, though he couldn't seem to utter any words; even so, he did cant his head in acknowledgement.

"Oh, my," said Beau, "but am I glad you and the others came, else we would have been deaders for sure… though not without taking some of them down with us."

Galarun gestured up at the escarpment. "We saw ye running ere dawn, with horsemen coming after, following thy track by bright moonlight. I gathered these of the march-ward and we hastened down, hoping to arrive in time… as it haps we did."

"In the nick, thereof," said Phais. " 'Twas a close thing."

"Too close," said Tip, finding words at last as he passed trembling fingers across his brow. "Oh, don't take me wrong. We were in desperate need, and we thank you for saving us."

"Speaking of desperate need and of saving us," piped up Beau, "have you any food? I mean, every time I've been rescued by Elves, it seems I am starving. And at this very moment, I swear, my stomach is eating itself."

They rode Hyrinian horses the last five miles to come to where Vanil Falls plummeted into the Cauldron, the water furiously churning under the onslaught while rainbows shined in the mist. A grove of willows stood nearby on the banks of the thundering pool. By hand signals Galarun bade them to dismount, for all speech was lost in the roar.

With a few more gestures Galarun directed eight of the Lian to gather the horses and ride eastward, for they would take them to the outflow of the Cauldron, where they would signal others on the far banks and fare across the Argon on rafts and into the Greatwood beyond. Along with Tip and Beau and Loric and Phais, Galarun kept the remaining seven Lian of the march-ward with him, and he turned toward the escarpment at hand.

And as they started for the way up, Tip wondered why he and Beau and Phais and Loric didn't simply take some of the horses and cross the great river and continue on toward the city of Dendor in Aven, where King Agron sat.

Hold on now, bucco: we have no supplies for that long journey and frankly, you are too spent to go on without considerable rest-and the same is true of Beau. And what better place to recover than Wood's-heart, the Elven strongholt in the Larkenwald above?

And so up a long and steep path switching back and forth they made their way toward the top of the escarpment, stopping often to rest, for they were climbing fully a thousand feet up to the high rim overhead, the way arduous and narrow and precipitous, the outer edge of the path plunging sheer, with no railing whatsoever, and both Tip and Beau stayed as far from the brink as they could, eight or ten feet at most-in places it narrowed down to three. And although elsewhere the Great Escarpment could be scaled by determined climbers, this was the Long Stair, an entry into Darda Galion above, and one of the few places where climbing gear was not needed at all, though Tip would have felt more secure were they all roped together. The higher they went, the slower they fared, for the War-rows were weary beyond measure, having run throughout the previous night and a bit after dawn. And finally, in spite of their protests, Lian Guardians bore them pickaback the last hundred feet or so and into the march-ward camp beyond, where among the towering Eld Trees with soft grey twilight glowing though it was yet day, both Tip and Beau fell asleep, their wafers of mian but half eaten, their mugs of tea but half quaffed.

The buccen slept through the rest of the day and the whole of the night till dawn, but even with all this sleep, they were yet weary the next morn. Even so they were awakened at dayrise by the singing of Silverlarks, and then drawn from their beds by the smell of food, for it was the break of fast, and Lian Guardians prepared them eggs and bacon, toast and tea, and even laded out some cherry preserves.

It was the first hot meal they'd had for weeks on end, and Beau's eyes filled with tears at the sight of it. And they ate their fill and more.

"I'm stuffed," groaned Beau, even as he reached for another dab of preserves. "Maybe our stomachs have shrunk."

"I'll swear, Beau," said Tip, popping the last of his toast into his mouth, "I've never seen you look so slender. Why, you're practically a skeleton."

Beau shuddered and paused in slathering jam on toast. "Oh, don't say that, Tip. If I'm to be a skeleton, I'd rather not know it in advance." He resumed spreading the sweet preserve. "Oh, I know someday I'll be nothing but bones, yet I hope it's years from now after a long and uneventful life."