Dennis McCiernan - Into the Forge

Tip choked on his tea. When he recovered his breath- "Long and uneventful? It'll take many a year to make these days fade, my lad."

Beau grinned and nodded. "I should say so, bucco. Indeed so I would say."

Throughout the rest of this day they napped, waking long enough for meals and to relieve themselves. Waking as well to marvel over the towering trees all 'round.

Like the Lone Eld Tree these forest giants were, yet here they stood seemingly without number, with twilight galleries reaching inward to fade beyond sight among the massive boles. And like the Lone Eld Tree, these towered upward toward the sky, three hundred feet or more.

And high among the branches, silvery birds winged. These were the Silverlarks, the Vani-lerihha, who lived by day in Mithgar and by night in Adonar, their singing and flight somehow allowing crossings of the in-between, flying unto Adonar at the eventide, returning to Mithgar on the dawn. It was from these argent birds that this mighty forest took one of its names: the Larkenwald.

"Aye, 'twas started by Vanidar Silverleaf long past, this forest, transplanted as seedlings," responded Galarun to a question by Beau at the evening meal. He paused and looked long at the enshadowed giants. "It reminds us of home," he said at last.

"Transplanted!" exclaimed Beau, his eyes wide with wonder as he peered all 'round. "Why, it must have taken forever.-Centuries at least."

"Millennia," corrected Galarun.

"Oh, my," breathed Beau.

Galarun smiled. "We had the time, wee one. We had the time."

Tip looked askance at the Elf. "You say it reminds you of home?"

At Galarun's nod, Tip continued: "Do you miss the High World?"

The Alor stroked his chin and then said, "At times. But it is a simple matter to return and renew ties." He glanced at Phais across the fire. She nodded. Galarun looked again at Tip. "You see, Sir Tipperton-"

"You don't need to call me 'sir.' Tip or Tipperton will do. And the same for Beau."

Galarun smiled and nodded. "Tip it is."

"I interrupted," said Tip.

Galarun turned up a hand. "What I was to say is that here in Darda Galion there is an in-between crossing unto Adonar, where we cross over at twilight and return upon the dawn."

Beau frowned, pondering.

"Dost thou have a question, Beau?" asked Galarun.

Beau took a deep breath. "I was just wondering why you are here. I mean, what brings you to Mithgar in the first place?"

Galarun laughed. "I assure thee, we are not invaders, though some would name us so-some of whom thou didst meet yester riding at thee up the slopes of a hill."

Flustered, Beau reddened. "Oh, my, I didn't think you were.-Invaders, I mean. I am simply curious as to why anyone would leave their own world to live upon another. I mean, I left the Bosky because I needed to find special herbs and other such, but you…"

"Ah, Beau, why does anyone leave anywhere of their own will if it is not to find something? Their heart's desire, adventure, peace, love, excitement, knowledge, or the like."

"But why here? Why from Adonar to Mithgar?"

Again Galarun threw back his head and laughed, his long hair free, his teeth flashing whitely in the firelight. "Ah, my friend, Adonar is… tamed: peaceful, placid… dull." Galarun threw his arms wide, as if to encompass all the world. "But Mithgar… Mithgar is yet wild, tempestuous, unkempt, savage, turbulent, exciting. We come here to feel… alive."

Beau shook his head. "Wull, at the moment, what with Modru's war and his Foul Folk and Kistanians and Hyrini-ans and Chabbains running amok, I'll take dull anytime."

The smile fled from Galarun's face. "In this case, Beau, thou art right, and gladly would I join thee in tedium."

As dawn came and the Silverlarks returned in a burst of wings and song, Tip said, "Hmph, even the birds know how to go in-between. I don't think it can be all that hard."

"You know, bucco," replied Beau, "after this is all ovef, the war I mean, we ought to learn just how it is done, just to see for ourselves."

Tip shook his head. "No, no, Beau. I think my da had the right of it: Warrows ought to stay put and that's that." Tip scratched under his jerkin. "Besides, I need a bath."

Tip asked one of the Lian, Hadron by name, where they might find some soap. "We're going to bathe in the River Nith," said Tip. "It's been awhile since we've been clean."

"When it rained three days out on the plain," added Beau, "though that washing was completely involuntary."

Hadron fished around in his gear and came up with a bar of mildly scented soap, its bouquet that of wildflowers. "Take care, wee ones, for the waters of the Nith are swift, and should ye get caught in her current, ye will be swept o'er the brim of Vanil and down her long silvery plume unto the Cauldron below."

"Ooo," crooned Tip, envisioning the fall and shuddering.

"Maybe we ought to take a rope and tie ourselves to a tree," said Beau.

Hadron laughed. "Nay, instead I will show ye unto a safe eddy."

Hadron left them at a shallow pool, its slow-turning water sheltered by a close-set row of boulders protecting bathers from the swift-running Nith beyond.

"I always wondered why the Elves came to Mithgar," said Beau, hearkening back to the conversation of the night before. "And now we know. -At least, that is, we know why Galarun came."

"Excitement," said Tip, lathering. "Hmph. It seems a rather improvident reason to come." He passed the soap to Beau.

"Oh, I dunno," said Beau. "I mean, given the endless lifetime of Elvenkind, spending forever in dullness would seem an unending bore, don't you think?"

"Hmm," mused Tip. "Perhaps you're right, Beau"-he reached for the soap. "Perhaps we just don't live long enough to see that peace and plenty becomes drab after a lengthy while."

"Oh, I dunno, Tip. It seems that after a good long while of boredom, one could take up games or a hobby or a project to bring some life to life."

Tip smiled, then his eyes widened. "I think you've hit upon it, Beau."

"Hit upon what?"

"Just this, bucco: perhaps Mithgar is not a hobby or games to the Elves, but a project instead."

"Project? What kind of project?"

Tip shook his head. "I don't know, Beau, but they do call themselves Guardians… guarding against what, I can't say."

"Perhaps it's against Modru," said Beau.

"Perhaps it's against Gyphon instead," replied Tip.

"Maybe it's against the rape of this world, no matter the cause," said Beau, "be it gods or acolytes or aught else."

Tip looked at Beau. "Even mankind?"

Beau nodded. "Even mankind. Everything's connected, you know."

They stood well back from the brim of the Great Escarpment and looked out over the plains of Valon a thousand feet below, their sight flying far, and here and there they could see faint trails of smoke rising into the sky.

"Lor'," said Beau. "Was it just two days past that we were rescued from the Hyrinians?"

Tipperton nodded in affirmation but did not otherwise reply.

"And it looks as if the war yet burns," added Beau.

"I think it'll burn for a long while, Beau," said Tip, turning to the left, where mighty Bellon Falls thundered down. And where the water left the Cauldron, the Argon River continued onward, curving away to the south in a vast arc, marking the eastern border of Valon. Beyond the river stood a mighty forest; oh, not one like the Larkenwald with its great tall eldwood trees, but a woodland of oak and pine, or maple and birch, and other common trees. Yet this forest was vast. It was the Greatwood, and therein dwelled the Baeron, tall men and strong, and tales told that some of these Baeron took on the shapes of Bears and Wolves.

But Tip wasn't thinking of these legends of old as he stared out across the world. Instead through his mind ran this morning's conversation about Elves and gods and acolytes and last of all of men.