Into the Forge hc-1

by Dennis L Mcciernan

  Loric mounted and said to Phais, "Chieran?"

  Phais smiled at him, her eyes glistering. "Vi chier ir, Loric."

  "E vi chier ir," he replied tenderly.

  Phais looked ahead and drew her sword, saying, "When we round the cant of the hill…" Then with a light touch of her heels, she urged her horse to a walk. Loric, his own sword in hand, moved forward as well. And riding on packhorses trailing, the buccen followed after.

  Around the foot of the hill they went, four horses, two warriors, two Warrows, and when they reached the place where Hath Ford came into view, Phais and Loric spurred the horses to a gallop, the tethered animals running fleetly after.

  Now they came to the road, the ford but a furlong ahead, the road itself running a short way to enter among the bordering trees and down to the swift-flowing water.

  Along the hard-packed course galloped the horses, then into the long afternoon shadows cast by the verging woods, and within ten running strides the steeds splashed into the chill rush of the ford, their forward pace slowed by the deepening water, the current hock high on the coursers.

  And from somewhere behind there sounded a distant bugle blat, a Ruptish horn blowing -Tip gasped and his hands involuntarily clenched, and he nearly lost his grip on the arrow nocked to his bow string. But then relief swept over him. They are behind us! We 've beaten them to the -the blat to be answered by a loud horn blare ahead.

  And still the horses lunged through the shallows, while on the opposite bank dark forms rose up among the en-shadowed trees on each side of the road.

  "Down!" cried Phais, leaning low against the neck of her steed and spurring the horse forward as black-shafted arrows whined through the air.

  And from the back of the following packhorses, Tipper-ton took aim at one of the figures and let fly, reaching down for another arrow even as the one just loosed hissed over the water and into the Somewhere someone screamed, yet not from vicinity where Tip had aimed, but he heard Beau cry out in Twyll: "Blut vor blut!"

  And once again Tip aimed, loosing just as an arrow sissed past his ear; yet whether or not his own shaft sped true he knew not, for he was busy nocking another arrow to string, even as someone among the foe shrieked in agony.

  Out from the water and up the far bank now plunged the horses, and howling dark forms rushed into the road ahead. Rucks and such, Tip could now see, and he aimed and loosed again.

  "Deyj lit a Rupt!" cried Loric, raising his sword on high as his steed with Beau after thundered toward the Foul Folk barring the way.

  Over the thin line of Spaunen they hammered, first Loric, then Phais, with Beau and Tip coming after, Rucks scattering aside or shrieking in death as hooves smashed them down and under, with Hloks swinging tulwars at the four, Loric and Phais answering with Elven steel as they flashed past and away, black-shafted arrows sissing after.

  Yet within twenty running strides, of a sudden, Beau's horse collapsed, pitching to the roadway, hurling Beau tumbling ahead and snapping the long tether tied to Loric's rear saddle cantle.

  "Beau!" cried Tip as he galloped past. Then, "Phais! Loric!"

  Behind, Foul Folk howled and rushed toward the fallen steed as Beau floundered to his feet, disoriented.

  Loric wrenched on his reins, the steed squealing in pain as it jolted to a skidding halt and turned and leaped forward, running toward the downed buccan and the oncoming Spaunen beyond.

  Now Phais turned her own mount, Tip's horse running to a halt behind. Then she, too, spurred toward the felled Waerling.

  Beau looked wildly 'round, then laded his sling and let fly, the missile crashing through the skull of the lead Hlok, though he was yet a hundred feet away, and the Spawn pitched backward, dead ere hitting the ground.

  Black-shafted arrows flew in response, sissing through the air.

  "Sir Beau!" cried Loric, thundering toward the buccan. Beau looked back, then ran to the felled horse and with his dagger he cut something loose from the cargo.

  Tip let fly with another arrow, and this one he saw strike one of the Rucken archers in the neck, the dark creature to gasp and gargle and clutch his throat as he fell.

  More arrows flew, and Loric grunted in pain, yet he leaned down low in his saddle and held out an arm. And amid flying arrows Beau stood upright, his rescued medical satchel in his left hand, his right hand held high, Loric to catch him by the wrist, jerking him up and away from the road and across the horse's withers, shafts hissing all 'round.

  Now Loric turned his steed, and Phais, still approaching, slowed and turned as well, while Tip loosed another shaft at the Spaunen coming on still.

  Yet now the steeds raced away, and within a furlong left the Foul Folk behind, while in the distance beyond the ford they had just crossed a Ruptish bugle blatted.

  Chapter 22

  As Beau wound bandages 'round Loric's rib cage, the buccan said, "Another handbreadth to the left, my foolish Lord Loric, and we'd be setting fire to your funeral bier… although I must say I am grateful you saved me. Even so, your action put our mission in jeopardy. I mean, Tip is the one carrying the coin, not me, and he's the one you've got to get to King Agron. And to do that you shouldn't be taking such risks."

  In the flickering light of the small sheltered fire, Loric glanced at Phais. She smiled and said, "List not to his chiding, chier, for I would not have thee abandon our companions. E'en so, I also do not desire thy Death Rede."

  "Death Rede?" asked Beau as he took up a knife and cut a split in the cloth preparatory to binding it off. "Sounds ominous."

  Loric looked up at Phais and, at her nod, said, " 'Tis a… gift given to Elven folk, by Adon or Elwydd, we think: a gift of… leave-taking."

  Beau tied a knot, then frowned at Loric. "I don't understand. I mean, the only rede I know of is the one Lady Rael said. Goodness, hers is not a Death Rede, is it?"

  Loric sighed. "Nay, hers is a rede of advice, of counsel, whereas a Death Rede is like unto a final message-a sending of feelings, visions, words, more-imparted to a loved one, no matter the distance, no matter the Plane, when death o'ertakes one of Elvenkind."

  "Oh, my," said Beau, his eyes flying wide. "Sounds more like a curse than a gift."

  "Nay, my friend, 'tis no curse," said Loric, "but a final touching of souls."

  Blinking back sudden tears, Phais drew in a tremulous breath and turned and walked toward the edge of the woods.

  Shaking his head, Beau tied a final knot and stepped back. "There. All done. We'll look at it again in a day or two. Now drink that gwynthyme tea, for we know not if the arrow was poisoned, Rucks being such as they are."

  Loric did not respond, but instead looked toward retreating Phais.

  Beau waved a hand in front of Loric's eyes. "Did you hear me, Lord Loric?"

  Loric frowned and looked at the Waerling and shook his head. "Nay, Sir Beau. My thoughts were elsewhere."

  "I said, drink that gwynthyme tea, for we know not if the arrow was poisoned, Rucks being such as they are."

  Loric nodded and took up the cup of still warm tea and sipped slowly.

  As Beau washed and dried his hands, he added, "My Aunt Rose always said that Rucks and such are born without any heart, and that's why they are so sneaky and underhanded and cruel and wicked and… and well, she had a thousand names to call them, none of them good."

  "Thine Aunt Rose was a wise Waerling, Sir Beau," said Loric. "The Foul Folk are born without compassion or conscience. Gyphon deliberately made them that way."

  "But why would he make them such? Such uncaring things, I mean."

  "It was a testament to his own nature: that the strong should take from the weak, the powerful from the vulnerable, the wicked from the innocent."

  "Oh, my, how appalling." Beau put away needle and gut and bandage cloth and medicks and then buckled his medical bag shut. "By the bye, speaking of the Foul Folk, d'y' think they'll come at us this night?"

  Loric shrugged, then winced from the pain of it. "Nay. The band we saw marching has
traveled far and likely will not come after. And the ones we rode past at the ford are yet licking their wounds. They will think twice ere coming after, for mayhap as many as a dozen of their own lie dead in our wake-"

  "A dozen!" Beau's eyes flew wide.

  "Aye, or so I do believe: some by thy sling, some by Sir Tipperton's bow, some under the hooves of the horses, and two or three felled by Elven blade."

  "Oh, my," said Beau, looking at his hands as if expecting to see them dripping with blood.

  With the crescent moon just setting, Phais made her way to where Tipperton, on watch, sat on a fallen tree.

  He looked up. "How is Loric?"

  Phais took in a deep breath. "Sir Beau has stitched his wound and treated it with a poultice enhanced with a bit of the gwynthyme tea to counter any poison. Loric will be in some pain for a span, yet it will pass as he heals."

  "Good," said Tip, exhaling in relief. "I was worried."

  "As was I," replied the Dara.

  They looked out over the land for a while without speaking, but at last Tip said, "I think my heart has finally stopped racing."

  Phais turned and took a place beside the buccan.

  "Lor', but it was scary," added Tip, comforted by her presence, "though at the time I don't think I even noticed. I mean, it wasn't till afterwards, after we got free of the mess, that I had time to realize just how close a thing it had been."

  "That is the way of it, Sir Tipperton. Fear before, fear after, but only action and reaction during."

  Tip's eyes widened. "You were afraid as well?"

  Phais smiled. "Aye, just as wert thou: before and after, but not during."

  They sat together in silence, peering back along the road in the direction of the ford, some fifteen miles arear. At last Tip sighed. "Back in my youngling days I used to play at being a warrior: rescuing dammen and slaying foul creatures and all. But now I don't have the slightest inclination to do so. Why, I loosed five arrows in all, or so I think, yet I can't really remember if any found the mark, though I seem to recall one or two striking true."

  Phais smiled. "I am put in mind of my first battle, when I, too, could not remember the number pricked."

  "Oh?"

  "Aye. 'Twas after the Felling of the Nine. For seasons I was advisor unto High King Bleys. When word came of the slaughter of the Eld Trees, I was enraged, yet at the time there was a Kistanian blockade to deal with in the Avagon Sea. When they had been defeated, I asked leave to join the Lian of Darda Galion in teaching the Rupt a lesson. King Bleys and a platoon of Kingsguards rode with me. We fared unto the Grimwall north of Drimmen-deeve, for that was where the retribution was at that time. We joined up with Coron Aldor's warband, and just afterward the company came to a stronghold of Spaunen, and we confronted their leader, their cham, and showed him the remains of the despoilers. Foolishly, he decided to fight. Afterward they told me that I had slain twelve with my bow, yet I remember but one or two."

  "You were too busy nocking and aiming and loosing, right?"

  "Exactly so, Sir Tipperton. I was too busy to see. I have since learned 'tis common to disremember much in the rage of battle."

  Tip took up his bow and appeared to examine it in the starlight. But then he shuddered. "I do remember the one I hit in the throat. But none of the others, Lady Phais. None of the others."

  Phais reached out and briefly hugged the Waerling unto her.

  Again a quietness fell between the two, and somewhere an owl hooted, to be answered by another afar.

  " 'Twas there I met Alor Loric," said Phais at last.

  "There? In battle?"

  "In the Company of Retribution."

  "Company of Retri-? Oh, you mean in the Elven company going after the Rupt."

  "When I first met him, I knew I loved him. Yet he was with another."

  "With another," Tipperton echoed, but he asked no question.

  Even so, Phais answered. "Ilora was her name… at the time a Bard like thee. The common ground between the twain faded, and so they went separate ways: she to follow her heart to the bell ringers in the temples of the distant east; he to learn about horses on the Steppes of Jord.

  " 'Twas after his time in Jord, five hundred summers past, he came unto Arden Vale, where we met again. Then did he find that our two hearts beat as one, though I knew it all along."

  Tip sighed. "I wish I could find the one of my heart." "Mayhap thou wilt, Sir Tipperton. Mayhap thou wilt." They sat awhile longer, listening for the owls, but the raptors had fallen silent and only the soft-stirring air and the chirrup of springtime crickets was heard. At last Phais said, "Thy watch has come to an end, Sir Tipperton. 'Tis time thou wert abed."

  Tip sighed and stood, and started away, only to have Phais call after him: "Know this, my friend: of the five arrows thou didst loose, I but saw the flight of three, and of those three, all hit the mark."

  Just after dawn Tip was awakened by a drizzling mist, and as the day grew, so did the rain, and so did the wind. Huddled under their cloaks, Beau behind Tip on the lone packhorse, through the strengthening downpour they rode into the vast cleft known as Gunar Slot, cutting through the Grimwall Mountains, connecting the land of Rell to the realm of Gunar. Here it was that the Grimwall Mountains changed course: running away westerly on one side of the Slot, curving to the north on the other.

  And all that day into the teeth of the storm they rode through the great rift, ranging in breadth from seven miles at its narrowest to seventeen at its widest. And the walls of the mountains to either side rose sheer, as if cloven by a great axe. Trees lined the floor for many miles, though now and again long stretches of barren stone frowned at the riders from one side or the other or both. The road they followed, the Gap Road, would run for nearly seventy-five miles through the Gunar Slot ere debouching into Gunar, and so, a third of the way through, the four camped well off the road and within a stand of woods in the great notch that night.

  And still the rain fell.

  And still the wind blew, channelled up the cleft by high stone to either side.

  Loric built a lean-to as Phais tended the horses, but the scant shelter did little to ward away swirling showers from the blowing rain.

  ***

  It rained the next day as well, though not steadily. Even so, at times water poured from the skies, while at other times only a glum overcast greeted the eye.

  "Lor', but I wish we had ponies," said Beau during one of the lulls in the rain.

  "Or even another horse," said Tip. "Oh, not that I mind riding with you, Beau, but should the Foul Folk jump us again, well, I'll just hamper your slinging."

  "We'll hamper each other, bucco," said Beau. "And you're right, another horse would do. Too bad the one I was riding took one of those black arrows."

  "Oh, is that what happened?"

  "Yar. The arrow went in right behind the shoulder."

  "Heart shot, he was?"

  Beau nodded. "Looks that way. Must have been struck just as we broke through the line. I think he ran another twenty strides or so before he collapsed, though to tell the truth, I was too busy loading and slinging to know."

  "You, too? Oh, Beau, so was I-loading and loosing, that is. And I don't know how many I hit-Phais says that it's common not to know-but I seem to recall one or two."

  Beau expelled a breath. "I remember the Hlok I slew at the last. Loric says altogether we killed perhaps a dozen, and from what he said, I think it was mostly your arrows and my bullets that did the job."

  "Adon," breathed Tip. "Quite a bloody pair, we two, eh?"

  "Oh, Tip, don't say that."

  With these words chill rain began falling from the grey skies above.

  That eve they camped among thickset trees well off the road.

  "Another day should see us out of this slot," said Loric as he shared out jerky and mian.

  "Is there a town somewhere near after that?" asked Beau. "I'd like to sleep in a bed, if you please, and have a warm bath."

  "Aye. Sted
e lies a league or so beyond. 'Tis but a hamlet now, yet once was a town of import when trade flowed into and out of Rell."

  "Yes, but will they have an inn?"

  Loric smiled. "Mayhap, wee one. Mayhap."

  "If not," added Phais, "then surely one of the villagers will put us up."

  "Well, I'd like an ale, myself," said Tip. "After a bath and before a bed."

  "I am hoping we can replace the horse," said Loric. "And take on some additional supplies. We lost much when the steed was slain."

  "Yes, yes, a horse, but after the bath and the ale and the bed, if you don't mind," said Beau.

  Once again the skies opened up and rain came tumbling down.

  All the next day it continued to mizzle, fine mist blowing through the slot.

  "Lor'," said Beau, "even if we don't get a bed and a bath and an ale, just to get out of this drizzle will be enough."

  "Aye," agreed Tip, "I'll be glad to simply get before a fire."

  "With hot tea," added Beau.

  "And soup," appended Tip.

  "Or stew," amended Beau.

  "Anything warm," said Tip as the chill wet wind swirled 'round.

  "Lor'," breathed Beau. "What happened?"

  Afoot, they stood looking at charred ruins in the glum light of the dismal late day, the hamlet entirely destroyed, the blackened wood sodden with three days of rain, ashes washed to slag. Only here and there did stone chimneys stand, though some stood broken, as if deliberately shattered, and still others lay scattered across the ground.

  The horses snorted as if something foul filled their nostrils, and Loric and Phais spoke words to soothe them.

  Loric squatted on the wet ground and took up a burnt split of wood and smelled it and plucked a bit of char and rubbed blackness 'tween thumb and forefinger. He looked at Phais and shrugged, saying, "I cannot say when this misfortune befell, for the rain has washed away the day of the burning."

  Leading the skittish horses through the damp air, on into the ruins they fared afoot.