Dennis McCiernan - Into the Forge

And now here he was, riding right through the heart of their domain. And he twitched and started at every movement, every sound, some imagined, some not, and looked all 'round, trying to see, trying to see, well, he just didn't know quite what, but trying to see regardless.

But as it had been when they had crossed through that southernmost corner of Blackwood, going from the ferry landing to the fortress of Caer Lindor, Beau saw nought except perhaps flickers of movement at the corners of his eyes, yet when he looked straight-on, it seemed nothing was there but shadows coiling 'round the feet of the trees.

"It gives me the shivers, it does."

Tip roused a bit. "What? What did you say?"

"I said, Tip, it gives me the shivers." Beau gestured all 'round.

"These woods?"

"Yar."

Tip sighed and nodded, but said nothing more, as they rode onward through the sun-dappled green galleries of the forest, with its birds flitting from limb to limb and voles rustling through leaves, and hares bounding away as the horses and mules and ponies approached.

All that day they rode northerly, their track paralleling the waters of the Rissanin, Tip's gaze turning ever and again toward the river flowing in the opposite direction, southerly and away. Toward my Rynna.

Now and again Loric or Phais would turn sharply-left at times, rightward at others-to ride 'round a section of woods… sometimes a stand of trees-oaks, birch, maple, pine, and the like-other times they would bypass an open sward, a pool or stream, a rocky outcrop, or other such, as if deliberately avoiding these places.

Tip paid no heed, but Beau knew, indeed, Beau knew… or so he thought.

"We will make for Bircehyll," Phais said during one of their frequent pauses.

"Bircehyll?" asked Beau.

"Aye. 'Tis where Coron Ruar will be, or so I think."

"Another Coron?"

"Aye. Of the Dylvana."

"What some call the wood Elves," added Loric, "for they are more reclusive than we Lian, seldom venturing forth from their Dardas."

"Lady Arin ventured forth," said Tip, momentarily emerging from his gloom.

Beau frowned, trying to remember.

"The Dragonstone," said Tip.

"Oh, yes," said Beau, enlightened. "She was a Dylvana, eh?"

"Indeed," said Phais, glancing into the nosebag of her horse. "Ah, the grain is gone."

Sighing, Tip stepped to his pony. Its feed was gone as well, and so he unsnapped the bag and slipped it in among the gear as Loric and Phais and Beau did likewise.

They rode another league or so and then set camp for the night. And during his watch by the light of the fire Tip softly played his lute, remembering… remembering.

And as he played, wild animals, it seemed, came to listen, or so it appeared, for among the trees eyes could be seen glowing, casting back the flame.

"I had the strangest dream, Tip."

"Oh?"

"I dreamt I was awakened in the night by someone speaking in a strange tongue, and saw Phais conversing with a small shadow, while nearby stood a fox."

"Mmm. That is strange. Was there any more?"

"No." Beau chrked his tongue, and his pony picked up the pace a bit, for he and Tip had lagged too far behind the riders ahead. "I must have dreamt I went back to sleep," called Beau over his shoulder.

Tip shrugged, then chrked his tongue as well.

Ahead, both Phais and Loric looked at one another and smiled.

In camp that night they heard foxes barking somewhere off in the woods, the high-pitched yips seeming to come from all quarters.

Progress was slow through the forest, for unlike Darda Galion with its mossy underfooting and wide-set trees, here the undergrowth was thick and in places the trees seemed to crowd 'round, as if trying to bar the way. Yet now and again they would come to an open glade, or field, or glen-and if they did not detour around it, they would kick the horses and ponies into a swift trot and ride across, the mules protesting at this unseemly gait, yet unable to do aught but follow after, drawn on the tethers tied to the rear cantles of Phais's and Loric's saddles.

But in one of these open places-a large field covered entirely with mounds, each some eight or ten feet high and twice as wide at the base, each hillock covered with a strawlike yellowish grass, or what seemed to be grass- Phais cautioned the Waerlinga to follow directly behind, and with the animals moving at a walk, she and Loric carefully threaded among the knolls, the buccen coming after.

Of a sudden, "Oh my," hissed Beau, calling back to Tipperton. "One of them moved, Tip. I swear one of them moved."

"One of the mounds?"

"Yes yes, one of the mounds. That one over there."

Tip looked where Beau pointed. As far as Tip was concerned, the mound looked insignificantly different from all the others, with nothing in particular to single it out.

"It turned a bit and, I vow, it seemed to, urn, squat somewhat."

Tip started to speak, but Beau snapped, "And don't tell me I'm imagining things."

Tipperton closed his mouth and carefully followed in Beau's tracks, while Beau in turn carefully followed Phais and her pack mule, the buccan nervously twitching this way and that in his saddle, as if trying to look all directions at once.

That night again they heard foxes nearby, and when Tipperton played, eyes shined at him from the dark.

The following day, even though a grey overcast covered the sky, Tip awakened in a better humor, as if resigned that it would be awhile before he saw his Rynna again.

And during breakfast he said to Beau: "Just so she's safe, that's all I want, and I can't think of a safer place than Caer Lindor."

As they resumed their journey northward, down through the trees the rain began falling, leaves catching water in mid plummet but then shedding it down adrip. And although the earth drank it thirstily, still rivulets and streamlets ran underfoot and -hoof. And as the day grew, so did the rain as it fell down and down. Streams rose, their woodland courses running to the brim, some overflowing the banks, and birds sat grumpy and wet among the branches above and now and again shook away water or preened in vain.

Through it all the comrades continued northward, cloaks wrapped 'round tightly, warding off the wetness, though hair and faces were drenched.

Yet though it rained, still among the trees along their flanks did silent shadows run.

That night the rain continued to fall, and the four had no campfire to ward away the wetness, for no dry wood could be found. Even so, Loric erected a pair of lean-tos and they escaped the worst of it.

By the following morning the rain had stopped, but the forest remained adrip, and as they pushed through the heavily laden branches, rider and horse and mule and pony became thoroughly soaked.

Turbulent streams raced across the way, shallow for the most part, and here the animals had little trouble crossing. Yet they came to a wide forest tributary of the Rissanin and had to fare upstream several miles to find a shallow enough ford.

That night again they set a fireless camp, for the wood was drenched, and when Tip played his lute, if there were watchers and listeners, he saw no gleam of eyes.

In midafternoon of the eighth day after setting out from Caer Lindor, the four came in among what seemed a boundless stand of silver birch, the close-set white trunks marching off before them, with no end in sight.

" 'Tis a forest within a forest," said Phais, "and here Dylvana dwell."

"Oh," said Tip. "Is this Bircehyll? The place where we'll see Coron… Coron…?"

"Ruar," said Loric. "Coron Ruar. And we'll see him if he is at court. But to answer your other question, Bircehyll itself lies a distance ahead, another two leagues or so."

With serrated green leaves rustling overhead and burbling rivulets flowing below, they rode into the silver birch weald, the trees all around glowing brightly in the afternoon sun, the bark of the clusters lucent in the radiance.