Dennis McCiernan - Into the Forge

"Lor'," said Beau, "I thought the twilight of Darda Galion was magical, but this light all about is magical, too."

Tip nodded. "It seems safe, doesn't it?"

Beau's mouth dropped open. "Hoy now, but you're right. Not at all like"-Beau looked back over his shoulder-"like Blackwood behind."

"I think it's the light," said Tip. "After all, we're still in Black wood."

"Oh no we're not. Phais said it herself: a forest in a forest, that's what it is, and I'll thank you to not tell me otherwise."

Tip laughed and turned to fetch his lute, and soon a lively tune sprang from the argent strings as they rode among silver birch.

The day waned as they rode onward, and before them the land began to rise. "Bircehyll," said Loric, pointing at the gentle slope, and up the incline they fared. And as the sun sank below the horizon and twilight crept upon the land, they came in among white-stone, thatch-roofed cottages, dwellings much the same as those in Arden Vale as well as those in Wood's-heart, and these were lighted with lanterns, glowing yellow as evening fell. Dylvana paused in whatever tasks they were doing, Darai and Alori watching as on upward rode the four, and the comrades could see that here, too, just as in Darda Galion, just as in Arden Vale, Elves were preparing to set out on some campaign, for they polished armor and sharpened blades and checked riding tack and gear.

"Why is it," Beau asked, "that every time we come to an Elvenholt, they seem to be on the verge of riding to battle? Do we bring this down on their heads? If so, then I suggest next time we pass them entirely by."

Loric smiled and said, "The war is wide, my friend. The war is very wide."

On upward they pressed, and now Tip could see that the crest of the hill was bare of dwellings, and the clusters of silver birch trees thereon were sparse and widely spaced.

Loric did not ride across the crown of the mound but circled 'round instead.

At last on the north side of the hill they came to the Coron Hall, this too a thatch-roofed building, long and low and wide.

Coron Ruar at a slender five foot three stood an inch shorter than Phais. His hair was dark brown, as were his eyes, and the clothes he wore were dark brown as well.

He slid the coin back across to Tipperton. " 'Tis quite the tale ye tell, yet I know nought of what this token means." As Tip retrieved the coin, Ruar turned to Phais. "Aye, we knew that Draedani walk among the Hordes, though not the fact that Skail of the Barrens and mayhap other renegade Drakes have sided with Modru. Tis ill news indeed. Yet heed, this I do know: thy chances of winning through to Aven are enhanced if ye ride with us."

"Join thy forces?" asked Phais.

"Aye, for we will soon hie north, where the Baeron muster, and thence into Riamon to help break the siege on Mineholt North."

"Mineholt North?" asked Beau.

Loric glanced across at the buccan. " 'Tis a Drimmen-holt within the Rimmen Mountains nigh Dael."

"Another Dwarvenholt under siege?" asked Tip. "Like Drimmen-deeve?"

"Aye," said Ruar.

Tip frowned. "What is it about Dwarvenholts that Modru sets siege upon them?"

"The Drimma are mighty fighters," replied Ruar, "and should they win free, they will cause great destruction among Modru's Swarms. Hence, his Hordes set siege, for 'tis easier to do battle 'gainst someone trapped than to defend 'gainst them loose."

Beau's eyes flew wide. "I say, perhaps it's not to keep the Dwarves trapped inside but to keep people out; I mean, after all, Dwarvenholts are said to be the only places safe from Dragons."

Tip looked at his friend in surprise. "Goodness, Beau, but you're right. With Dragons at Modru's beck, the last thing he wants are havens from their flames."

Both Tip and Beau turned to Ruar, but the Dylvana Coron held up a hand. "Ye may be right, my friends, yet still the Drimma need aid."

Phais cleared her throat. "When dost thou plan on marching?"

"Within a fortnight."

Tip shook his head and sighed. "Two weeks? Another two weeks delayed?"

"Aye," replied Ruar. "Yet by delaying two weeks and riding with us thy chances of reaching Dendor increase many fold."

Tip looked at Beau, and that buccan said, "It's taken us a half year just to get this far, Tip. Whatever the meaning of that coin, whatever message Blaine has sent to Agron… well, I just don't think two weeks one way or another will make matters better or worse. Besides, it's as Ruar says, by riding with him, our chances in fact will improve. Perhaps the two-week delay will save time overall."

Tip looked at Phais. She shrugged and said, "Stand now or go, only in hindsight will our vision clear. As thou dost know, each decision represents a turning point, and each action taken as a result, or delayed or not taken at all, these are the stones cast in the waters. How the waves will ripple outward to act 'gainst others, only time will tell."

"Yes, indeed," said Beau, nodding. "All things are connected." He turned to Tip. "Another thing, bucco: given what happened to us when we crossed Drearwood all alone, I now think I'd much rather go into peril surrounded by an army than not."

Tip sighed and reluctantly agreed.

And so the buccen waited and watched as the Dylvana of Bircehyll prepared not only for a campaign to lift the siege of Mineholt North, but also prepared for a prolonged war.

On the morning of the third day in the Elvenholt, as the Warrows sat at breakfast Beau said, "I wonder how they'll get supplies? -The army, I mean."

"Hmm, by wagons or some such, I should think," said Tip, sopping up egg yolk with a chunk of bread.

Beau looked about the common hall where Dylvana ate, and then down at the food on his plate. "You know, Tip, back in Arden Vale, Aris told me that in summer they take the sheep up into the mountain vales, while the cattle stay down lower… and the chickens and pigs and such, well, their coops and wallows and pens are never moved, though for the sake of breathing, they are kept a ways north of the Elvenholt. And we saw the fields where they raised the grain and other crops… their orchards too. But sitting here in the middle of a forest, I'm wondering: just where in this place, or in Darda Galion, for that matter, where do they raise their foodstuff? -That is, the grain, vegetables, fruit. Where do they graze their herds? -Assuming of course that they have herds. For that matter, where do they grind their grain? Where are their mills? And do they have tanneries? And-?"

Tip held up a hand to staunch Beau's words. "Whoa, bucco. Look. I don't know where they keep gardens and fields and herds and other such, but surely they must have them somewhere, right? I mean, else they'd starve."

Again Beau looked at his plate. "Righto, they must, else we'd be hungry too." And he scooped up a spoonful of eggs and shoveled it into his mouth.

At a table next to the buccen, an Elven warrior stood. As he carried his trencher past the Waerlinga, he paused and said, "In scattered glens throughout the darda."

"Mmhnh?" asked Beau, his mouth full.

"That's where the herds are, the grain fields, the gardens. As for orchards… fruit trees are spread throughout."

Tip looked up at the warrior. "And the mills?"

The Elf smiled. "Where else?"

"Along a stream here and there," answered Tip, grinning back.

The Dylvana nodded, then moved onward.

Tip turned to Beau. "Satisfied?"

The summit of the hill was kept free of dwellings and there it was that Dylvana went to meditate, or so the buccen had been told. And after breaking their fast, the two of them wandered up above the Coron Hall and in among the silver birch clusters sprinkled across the grassy crest. The morning was cool, and widely scattered clouds drifted through the sky above.

Beau flopped down in the grass and lay on his back looking upward. Tip sat nearby, leaning against a tree.