Tip took a deep breath and looked at Beau, but neither buccan said aught.
"Tell me, Loric," said Tipperton, "just what are all the foe we face?"
Loric cocked his head and raised a brow.
"What I mean is," added Tip, "name the allies of Modru and tell us what they are like, how they fight. I mean, here we are in the thick of things, or will be soon it seems, and neither Beau nor I know a pittance of what we should about any of the enemy. I mean, we didn't even know about these Draedani, these Gargons, until today. Yet the more we know, the better our chances of winning through whatever is to come."
Sitting on the bench beside Tip, Beau vigorously nodded in agreement.
Loric steepled his fingers and glanced at Phais, then turned to the Warrows. " 'Tis wise ye ask, for indeed the more ye know of thine enemies, the more ye can fend. As to the foe, there are these we know of:
"The Ruch-what ye name Ruck-is the most numerous. Small they are, though a hand or three taller than ye. They are skinny-armed and bandy-legged and dark in appearance, with bat-wing ears and viper eyes and wide-mouthed with pointed teeth set wide. Cudgels and hammers and other smashing weapons are their wont, for they have little battle skills, though some use bows and black-shafted arrows. What battle skills they lack they more than make up for by swarming over and whelming a foe by sheer weight of numbers alone.
"The Lok is next, that which ye name Hlok. Like the Ruch he appears, yet with straight legs and arms, and taller as well-as tall as an Elf or a Human. Yet unlike the Ruch, the Lok is skilled in battle, preferring edged weaponry, such as tulwars and scimitars. Yet both they and the Ruch use other weapons as well-whips, knives, flails, scythes, strangling cords, and more-the Loka with greater skill."
Tip and Beau nodded, for this agreed with what they had been told about Rucks and Hloks. Too, they had seen both of these kind lying dead in Tipperton's mill yard and had even placed them on pyres.
"Next in numbers are the Ghulka, what ye name Ghuls and some name them the corpse-folk. These ye have seen in the depths of Dhruousdarda, and a dire foe are these man-sized beings. Dead white they are and bloodless, or so it would seem, for the corpse-foe are nigh unkillable in common battle, taking dreadful wounds without effect; even so they may be slain by wood through the heart, by beheading and dismemberment, and by fire, as well as special weapons, such as Bale and Bane, the blades Alor Gildor bears. Barbed spears they use, cruel as their own cruel hearts. Helsteeds they ride, horselike but hairless and scaled, with cloven hooves and snakelike tails, and they are trained to kill-so 'ware these slayers, too, their trampling and slashing of teeth as well as the lash of their tails.
"And speaking of dark animals, there are the Vulgs, Gyphon's hounds. Black as night and large as a pony. Their bite is poisonous, a venom which gwynthyme will dispel if ye survive their rending."
"They were after us in Drearwood," said Tip, "but we gave them the slip. Is it true they hunt mainly by sight?"
Loric nodded. "Yet ye were fortunate, for ye left little scent on the ice."
"I interrupted, Loric. Please go on."
Loric glanced at Phais, then continued: "Next among the Foul Folk come the Trolls-Ogrus ye name them. Scaled and dunnish tan or pale green they are, and huge-ten or twelve feet tall-and with a stonelike hide which makes them most difficult to bring down in battle, though a well-placed stroke will slay them-in the eye, or ear, or the soft of the mouth-whatever will pierce the brain. Otherwise, they may be slain by a fall from a great height or a massive rock dropped from above. And it is said that they cannot swim a stroke and so will plummet to the bottom and drown. The sole of the foot seems tender as well, for caltrops will turn them aside. Their numbers are few, yet not many are needed, for they are strong beyond belief and with great warbars they smash aside foes as if they were but mere stalks of straws."
"Oh, my," said Beau. "They sound the worst."
"Nay, my friend," said Phais, "there are more dreadful things by far."
"The Draedani?" said Tip.
"Aye, the Draedani."
"What weaponry do they use?" asked Tip.
"What do they look like?" added Beau. "Have you ever seen one?"
"Nay," said Phais, "and I hope I never do. Even so, still I can describe them. Eight feet tall they are, grey and stonelike, scaled as is a serpent but walking upright on two legs, a malevolent evil parody of Human or Elf. As to their weapons, some say they can sense intruders in their domain, and this very act inspires dread… as does the mere presence of one. And their direct gaze benumbs victims with fear, a terror so strong that one so transfixed cannot make any move whatsoever. The Gargoni hands are taloned, and their lizardlike mouth is filled with long, glittering fangs, and victims caught in their gazes are rended asunder by tooth and claw alone."
"Oh, my," said Beau, looking at Tip, "it seems you can't even run away."
"Aye," said Loric, "not if ye are captured in his gaze. 'Tis this very power of dreadful fear casting and transfixion which causes some to name them a spawn of demonkind."
"Then surely these are the worst foes of all," said Tip.
Phais shook her head. "Nay, wee one. For there are those who say the Fire-Drakes are worse, and yet others who name creatures of the deep more potent still. Yet I deem the worst foes of all are those whose behests they follow."
Beau raised an eyebrow. "And they are…?"
"The Black Mages."
"Modru," breathed Beau.
But Tip, wide-eyed, held up a hand and said, "Oh, wait, there is a worse foe still."
Loric turned to the Waerling. "And that is…?"
"You told me yourself yesternight," said Tip. "It is Gyphon Himself, for He rules them all."
Chapter 16
"I say," declared Beau, "right nice quarters, eh?… though the furnishings are somewhat overlarge."
Tip nodded abstractly as he stood at the window and looked outward across the snow running downslope through scattered pines to fetch up against the brink of the Tumble River, called Virfla by the Elves.
"And look, Tip, we have two beds," continued Beau, "though as big as they are, one would serve, with you at one end and me at the other."
"Umn," grunted Tip, not turning to see, his mind elsewhere.
While Tipperton brooded at the window, Beau went about the cottage, opening drawers, looking in cupboards, peering up at shelves, looking under counters, and commenting on whatever he found: cooking utensils, blankets and linens, washcloths and towels and lye soap and a tub for laundry as well as tallow soap for baths, a fireplace with cooking irons and a cauldron, a well-stocked pantry, an indoor pump and buckets and a washstand with a porcelain basin and pitcher, chairs, tables, a writing desk equipped with parchment and quills and inkpots and other such. Beau glanced out the back door, to see a stock of firewood nearby and a privy house across a short expanse of snow.
"Well," said Beau, coming at last to stand beside Tip, "it seems we have everything we need for living while we wait for the thaw."
Tip sighed. "I wonder if we're doing the right thing by waiting, Beau. Look, we don't know what may happen between now and then, and should these Gargon things invade this vale… well, you heard Talarin-we'd be on the run to who knows where. Perhaps it would be better if we simply set out southerly now."
"But Tip, even if we did leave today or tomorrow, who knows what we'd encounter? I mean, there's like to be Vulgs and Gargons and other Spawn all along the way, no matter which path we choose. At least here among the Elves we're safe for now. And by waiting for the thaw we'll be exposed much less time to whatever dangers lie before us… and as Phais and Talarin said, we'll still get to Agron sooner by the direct route than the longer roundabout way."
Again Tipperton sighed. "I know you're right, Beau, just as are they. Even so…" Tip's words trailed off into silence.
"Even so, you'd rather be doing something instead of hanging about doing nothing, eh?" said Beau. "Well, me too. And what I plan on doing is talking to Elve
n healers and seeing just what I can learn."
Tip looked up at his friend. "I suppose I could hone my skills with a bow. And you know, bucco, you could use some practice with that sling of yours."
Beau groaned and nodded reluctantly. "I guess you're right, Tip. I mean, back in Drearwood I was right dreadful at casting stones. And even though I'd rather heal than kill, if it comes down to it… well, I suppose I could hit 'em in the head with a rock."
Loric had gone back on march-ward, but Phais gladly arranged for the Waerlinga to sharpen their skills, providing Tip with an Elven-made bow-to replace his split one- along with additional arrows, and Beau with an Elven-made sling and more bullets.
"Oh, my, this is a beauty," said Tip, caressing the polished yew and bone laminate. "But I cannot accept such a gift. It needs to remain with its maker."
Phais laughed. "Nay, wee one, I'll not take it back. 'Tis the first time in seasons uncounted I have come across someone who can use it, for it is entirely too small for me now, this thing of my infancy. And its maker, my sire, will be delighted that it once again finds a use."
"Your da made this?"
"Aye, back on Adonar, when I was but a child."
Tip shook his head. "Wull, when this is all over-this war-I'll give it back to you so that your own children can use it, that is, should you have any."
Phais smiled. "Loric and I have talked of returning to Adonar to have a child when conditions among Elvenkind permit."
Beau looked up from his new sling. "When conditions permit?"
Phais looked at Beau for a long while, saying nothing. But at last she said, "Aye, Sir Beau. When conditions permit," and then she said no more, and Beau did not pry.
Over the next several weeks and under the Dara's gentle eye, they practiced long and hard at casting missiles with their newfound weapons-Tipperton's arrows flying true, thunking into the bull's-eye more often than not at ranges near and far, and Beau's facility at flinging bullets improving rapidly too, as hand and arm and aim became one with the sling. The Dara as well trained them in the skills of climbing, with rock-nail and jam and snap-ring and silken rope-skills in rappelling or moving 'cross stone faces, skills anchoring one another and paying out or taking up line, and skills at free-climbing too, relying on nought but legs and arms and fingers and toes. Upon the sheer stone of Arden's walls they climbed, upon the sides of lofty crags, down through crevices and up through cracks, backs braced hard against one side, feet against the opposite. Up to the very top of the western wall she took them, there where the stone was flat and more than a quarter mile wide. And the first time there they went to the far edge:
"Take care, wee ones, and stay low, using rock and lone trees for cover, for I would not have us silhouetted stark against the sky."
"Oh, my," breathed Beau, lying on his stomach and peering beyond the brim, looking to where a snarl of dark forest tangled out to the horizon westerly and to north and south as well. "That's Drearwood, eh?"
"Indeed it is," replied Phais.
"It's a wonder we ever made it through," said Tip, the edge of his gloved hand cupped against his forehead, shading his eyes. "Where is Kregyn Pass, the one the Gargons came through?"
"North," said Phais, pointing. "There where the hills rise up, though the pass itself cannot be seen from here."
Tip peered northward.
" 'Tis named Gruwen by men," added Phais.
"Oh," exclaimed Tip. "I've heard of it by that name, though just where…"
"There's an ancient song," said Phais, "of Geela guardians, singers of death."
"Ah, yes," replied Tip. "I say, is the tale true?"
Phais shrugged.
"I can't seem to find the Crossland Road," said Beau, peering southward.
" 'Tis beyond the horizon, Sir Beau," said Phais, "fifteen leagues, or thereabout."
Now Tip's gaze swept north and south along the capstone of the bluff. "I thought that there were warders up here on the wall, yet I see none."
Phais laughed. "They watch in secret, Sir Tip; it would not do to be seen. Yet they are here, I assure thee."
"Wull," said Beau, gesturing at Drearwood, "even though I know that Foul Folk are in there, I don't see how anything could be spotted down in that monstrous knot."
"The eye becomes accustomed to it," murmured Phais, "and movement within plucks at thy gaze."
Tip looked long and hard, then finally said, "I just hope no movement comes this way, at least until we're gone from Arden Vale." A stricken look flashed over Tipperton's features, and he turned to the Dara. "Oh, my, I didn't mean that how it sounded, Lady Phais. I did not mean to sound…" Tip struggled for the proper word.
"Selfish?" volunteered Beau.
Guilt momentarily flickered across Tip's face.
"Cowardly?" added Beau.
Anger replaced guilt. "No, Beau, not cowardly. It's just that I don't want anything to stop or delay us from delivering the coin."
The Dara smiled in understanding and gestured toward Arden Vale. "Thou didst not wish to sound unconcerned over the fate of those herein."
Tip nodded. "I am concerned. Lady. But I don't think there's one bloody thing I can do about it. Yet to take the Kingsman's token to Agron, well, that's something I can accomplish, given that nothing bars the way." He glanced easterly at the snow-laden Grimwalls rising up in the distance. "I wish the bedamned thaw would hurry and get here."
"Hoy!" called Beau. "Movement."
Phais turned. "Where?"
"Down there, down where the stream enters the wood."
Hearts pounding, long they looked, seeing nothing but dark snarls. "It's gone," said Beau at last, resignation in his voice, "if ever it was there."
During these same weeks, Rael, hearing of Tipperton's interest in legend and song, gathered the buccan under wing and began teaching him bardic lore. They spent many a candlemark sitting before Rael's fire, she and Jaith singing songs and telling tales and teaching the wee buccan how to strum a lute, though it was a bit overlarge for the Waerling and his fingers didn't seem to fit.
Too, each night of these bardic doings, Rael would take up a small iron container and loose its tiny clasp and open its hinged top and remove a crystal from a square of black silk. Pellucid it was, the crystal, five inches down its length and six-sided, each end blunt-pointed with six facets. And the Dara would peer into its depths, seeking a clue as to Tipperton and Beau's fate. Yet nought came of her gazings, and she would at last sigh and say, "Though 'tis charged with moonlight to see the future, nought do the facets reveal," and she would lay it aside.
Meanwhile, Phais introduced Beau to brown-haired, brown-eyed Aris, an herbalist. And she took him to her cottage with its trays of various soils stacked here and there and waiting for the spring, and to the attached drying shed, aromatic in its presence. And they spoke of nostrums and poultices and medicks, of simples and teas and tisanes, of mints and flowers and oils, of harvesting and drying, of stripping and pressing, of dicing and grinding, of cooking and storing and other preparation, and of growing and foraging as well, she sharing her lore, he sharing the knowledge contained in his red-bound book.
"Lor', Tip," said Beau after one of his meetings, "she knows everything!"
Tip looked up from the lute he was trying in vain to chord. "Did you tell her of your plan to treat the plague?"
"That I did, and she said it might improve things, mixing silverroot and gwynthyme. She hadn't tried it, you see, and she and I both hope we never need to."
"Well then, Beau, she doesn't know it all."
Beau shrugged. "Perhaps she doesn't know everything, but she knows a deal more than I do, that's for certain."
Tip again attempted to set his fingers to the chord. Frowning over the strings, he said, "Given the ageless lives of Elves, I suspect that she's simply had more time to learn. -By the bye, did she give you any of that mint? Gwynthyme, was it?"
Beau sighed. "She offered, but I declined. I mean, with all that's going on in Drearwood-
the Spawn and Gargons and other such, Vulgs among them-I said it'd have more use here than in some trial of mine which may never come."
Plang! Tip strummed a discordant sound. "Oh, bother," he growled.
Not only did the Warrows spend their time sharpening old skills and learning new, but they also were put to work in the Elvenholt, for as the buccen quickly learned, all shared in the labor of the vale, even Talarin, even Rael. In this case, Tip and Beau joined with others working in the stables, feeding horses and mucking out stalls and rubbing tallow into tack.
During this time they watched as more and more Elven patrols left the strongholt to scout deep into Drearwood or, acting upon the information gained, watched as mounted Lian warbands left the stables and rode away on raids into that great tangle of woods, often returning with bloodied swords and empty quivers and wounded of their own.
And at these times Beau would be called upon to tend injured Lian, though mostly he watched and learned as skilled Elven healers cleansed and bound wounds and stitched cuts and treated hurts.
And Tip would grind his teeth in frustration and practice all the harder with his bow, for Lord Talarin would not allow him to go on the Elven raids; nor had the time yet come for Tip and Beau to set forth to deliver the coin.
February had gone, and March slowly trod toward the coming of spring. During the second week of that raw month, Rael and Elissan and Seena came to the cote of the Waerlinga, and they bore with them clothing sized to fit the buccen: breeks, jerkins, tunics, stockings, vests, underclothing, and more. Among the garments were silken vestments, finely embroidered with Elven runes.
"I say," said Beau, holding up his russet silken robe, "these are splendid."
Tip held up one of lavender. "What are they for?"
Rael smiled. "In a sevenday and some comes the first of the cycle of the seasons, and we would have ye join us in celebration. E'en in troubled times such as these, three days we rejoice, three days of banquet, the midmost of which is the turn."
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