Dennis McCiernan - Into the Forge

"Wren like the bird?"

Rynna laughed, and Tip couldn't but catch his breath from the sound of it. "No, no, Tipperton, it's r-y-n, though some claim otherwise-"

"As do I," said a voice from behind, and Tip turned to see a golden-haired Elf standing at hand. "Feisty she is and small and red-brown with a golden eye, and chatters sharply when angry, and if that does not describe a wren-"

"Oh, Silverleaf, you're nought but a great tease," declared Ryn, laughing, though Tip thought he could detect a fiery glint in her perfectly lovely eyes -and then he suddenly realized: "She called you Silverleaf!"

"Aye, in the common tongue I am Silverleaf; in Sylva, Vanidar; and in Darda Erynian some have another name for me in that lilting tongue of theirs."

As with all of immortal Elvenkind, Vanidar appeared to be no more than a lean-limbed youth, though his actual age had to be several millennia, for he had been Coron when the trees of the Eldwood forest were but seedlings, and now they were giants. He had golden hair cropped at the shoulder and tied back with a simple leather headband, as was the fashion among most Lian. He was clad in dark blue and wore a silver belt which held a long-knife. His feet were shod in soft leather dyed pale blue, and he stood perhaps five feet nine or ten. And even standing perfectly still, he seemed endowed with the grace of a cat.

"I'm Tipperton Thistledown," said Tip, bowing, "miller of Twoforks, though not of late."

Silverleaf smiled. "I know, and 'tis thee I came to find, for I would hear thy tale. But first"-he turned to Rynna- "wouldst thou see that these twain-Sir Tipperton and Sir Beau-are properly quartered, then fetch them unto the war room?"

"Gladly," replied Rynna, smiling at Tip, and once again his heart flopped.

Canting his head forward in acknowledgement, "In a candlemark or so," said Silverleaf, and then turned back toward the caer.

"Where are your goods?" asked Rynna.

Tip looked at Beau, only to receive a shrug. "Urn, I suppose at the stables," said Tip, swinging 'round and trying to locate them. "At least, that's where I assume Loric and Phais took the horses. Our goods were on them."

Rynna nodded and, linking her arm through Tipperton's, said, "Then that's where we'll go look." And she set off across the bailey, pulling Tip along, and he looked in wonder at her arm circling his… and tripped.

As they wound their way through the labyrinthine hallways of the caer, with its many twists and turns and shadowy corners and corridors, Tip, his bedroll and other belongings in hand, asked, "What are so many Warrows doing in Caer Lindor?"

Rynna made a low sound in her throat, and Tip thought it a growl. "The Rucks and Hloks and other such drove us here."

"Oh, my," said Beau.

"Oh, my, indeed," replied Rynna bitterly.

She came to a cross corridor and led them rightward. She glanced at Tip and sighed. "We lived in Springwater, a village on the Rissanin up beyond Eryn Ford, up near the headwaters along the Rimmen Range."

"The mountains," said Tip, remembering the maps he had seen.

"Yes. North and east of here."

Tip groaned, and Beau said, "North and east, eh? That's the way to Aven, right?"

"Aven? Yes. Or rather it would be the way were a Horde not standing athwart. But Aven itself lies far beyond Springwater. Beyond Riamon, in fact."

"I'm sorry, Ryn," said Beau. "I interrupted."

Rynna shrugged. "There's not that much to tell, Beau. As I was saying, our village lies some fifty leagues upstream, up the River Rissanin… er, rather I should say, it used to lie up there, but no more: the Horde entirely destroyed it. We had small warning that they were coming, and less than half of us survived the initial onslaught." They came to another cross hall, where Rynna turned leftward. As they started down this way, she clenched a fist. "Those of us with weapon skills remained behind and fought, delaying the Foul Folk vanguard, leading them astray, while granthers and granddams and buc-can and damman, some with younglings in their arms, made their way toward the safety of Darda Erynian, where the Dyl-vana and the Hidden Ones dwell."

Beau gulped but did not speak.

"After we had covered the flight of the others unto the safety of the forests, we turned upon the foe, raiding, ambushing, and taking down lone patrols. But in all they were too many for us, though we gave good account of ourselves."

Again Rynna sighed. "Yet no matter how well laid our plans, still there were casualties. Finally we-" Abruptly Rynna stopped before a hallway door. "Oh, here we are."

Rynna reached up and slipped the latchstring. "You can bunk in here," she said, pushing open the panel to reveal a small room, small for a Human or Elf, that is, but quite adequate for Warrows.

"These used to be Elven monks' cells, I am told," said Rynna, stepping inward, Tip and Beau following. "They worshipped someone called the Great Creator."

"We've heard of the Great Creator," said Tip. "-But go on with your tale."

"Oh, that. There's little more. When we were driven into the woods, we knew that we would need help in the destruction of the Horde, and so we came here. -Say, is that a lute?"

Tip nodded as he placed the instrument in its casings on one of the two bunks.

Rynna smiled at him. "I play a pennywhistle and I know quite a few tunes. Do you think we can make music together?"

Beau laughed and dropped his bedroll on a locker at the foot of his bunk.

"O-o-oh, yes," said Tip. "Though I don't know very many songs."

"I'll teach you some then… but later. For now we've got to get to the war room. Silverleaf awaits."

Silverleaf shook his head, then passed on the pewter token to the tall, black-haired Lian. "What dost thou think, Aravan? Canst thou sense any peril?"

Setting aside his crystal-bladed spear, Aravan took the disk and examined it, his sapphire-blue eyes full of curiosity. After a moment he shook his head. "Nay, Silverleaf, no peril do I sense." He frowned. "It seems nought more than a plain pewter coin minted with a hole in it, like many found throughout the world, though this has no stamp of the realm where it was struck. As to why Blaine would send such unto Agron…" Aravan shrugged and held out the token to a giant of a man, fully ten or twelve inches taller than Aravan's own considerable six-foot height. "Urel?"

Before the big man reached for the coin, he looked at Aravan. "Your stone?"

Aravan touched a small blue stone on a thong ' round his neck. "As I said, Urel, I sense no harm. Yet Tarquin's gift does not warn against all peril, and so as to the token I cannot say."

Somewhat assured, the brown-haired, brown-eyed Baeran took the coin. "I do not think that Blaine would send something of peril unto Agron. After all, they were fast friends when my father taught them the ways of the woods."

"The ways of the woods?" asked Beau.

"Aye. Kings oft send their children to the Baeron to learn the ways of the land and to learn to husband its wealth. 'Tis a manner of teaching young Princes of the keeping of the world."

Urel frowned at the pewter disk, then muttering, "Commander," he gave it over to Rynna, who held out her hand, tiny when compared to the Baeran's.

"Commander?" said Beau, looking at Rynna.

"Aye," replied Silverleaf. "Ryn leads the Waerlinga on our raiding forays."

"And better scouts we could not ask," added Aravan.

Beau's gaze flew wide, but Ryn looked up from the coin at Tip and closed one eye in a wink.

And Tipperton blushed and looked away, looked at Urel, and the big man rumbled, "If I were you, wee one, I would have a Mage examine that coin at first chance."

Now it was Tip's eyes that widened, and he glanced from Urel to the token. "Mage?"

Urel nodded, and glanced at Aravan's amulet and then at Aravan's spear, with its dark crystal and the long black shaft, the weapon nearly eight feet overall in length. "It could hold some kind of charm."