"Hoy, what's this?" called Tip, and he stepped to one of the fallen chimneys and picked up a broken arrow shaft. Black it was and fletched with ebon feathers, wet and mud caked. "Maggot-folk," he declared, stepping back and handing it over to Beau, that buccan to look at it briefly before passing it on to Phais.
"Aye," said the Dara, " 'tis one from the Rupt."
Even though they could see no foe across the leveled town, still they readied their weapons, and then on they went, Phais going wide to the right, Loric wide to the left, and Tip and Beau in between.
Soon they came to the end of the wrack, and Loric joined the buccen.
Beau looked up at the Elf and said, "Well, one thing for certain, even if the maggot-folk did this, the villagers must have got away."
Tip cocked an eyebrow. "How so?"
"No corpses, Tip."
"Perhaps any who were killed are buried, Beau. By those who escaped. That or they burnt up in the fires."
Loric shook his head. " 'Tis said that horseflesh is not the only provender favored by the Rupt."
Beau's eyes flew wide. "Surely you don't mean-"
"Over here," called Phais from the lip of a small ravine, her horse shying back.
And there in the shadows they found the dead-hacked, smashed, pierced with black arrows-men, women, children, babies, thirty-seven in all, bloated in death, some with great chunks of flesh torn away, as if eaten by animals. A faint miasma of rot drifted on the rain-washed air.
Beau turned away trembling, but Tip stood looking down, his face twisted in rage. "They're not even armed," he gritted.
"It matters not to the Rupt," said Phais.
"It looks as if they were herded here and then slain."
Loric nodded. "Aye, as lambs to slaughter."
"How long?" asked Tip.
Phais stepped before Beau and knelt. "How long, wee one?"
Beau swallowed, then turned and faced the carnage and after a while said, "From their condition, two weeks or thereabouts, or so I would gauge."
Phais canted her head in concurrence. "I agree."
"Does that mean there's a Horde somewhere in Gunar?" asked Tip.
Loric turned up his hands. "Mayhap. Mayhap not. This could have been committed by a small band of ravers rather than a full Horde. Yet whoever did so may no longer be in Gunar at all."
Beau shuddered. "All this slaughter by a small band of ravers?"
"Look and see," said Phais. "A third are old men and women. A third are but children or babes. The remainder are all who could have put up a fight-how effectively, I cannot say-yet they number no more than ten or twelve in all."
Beau nodded numbly.
Loric glanced at the waning sun. "We must make camp."
"Not here," said Beau. "Please."
"Nay, we will press on some way from this place of death."
"What about the dead?" asked Tip. "Shouldn't we bury them or place them on a pyre?"
Phais shook her head. "War yields little time for such, Sir Tipperton. We have no dry wood to give them proper burning, and burial would take many days."
Tip nodded sharply once, then turned away, saying, "Let's go."
"But I didn't want to look."
Tip nodded. "I know, Beau. Neither did I. But even though it's terrible, I think she's just trying to get us to look at war straight on-to look at sights such as that one back there without flinching-so we don't fall apart at the wrong moment."
"Nevertheless, it was hideous, Tip. The babies… the babies…"
Tears spilled down Beau's cheeks as the horses pressed oil through the gloaming, but Tip's own eyes were filled with rage.
Over the next days, down through Gunar they passed, following along the Gap Road, camping far from it at night, for mayhap Foul Folk went that way as well, though they saw none.
Gunar itself was a land embraced on the east and south by two long, arcing spurs of the Grimwall, reaching out like enfolding arms ringing the land 'round to hug it tight against the main range all along the northwesterly bound. This encircling reach was named the Gunarring, and in the southeasterly quadrant where these two spurs met stood the Gunarring Gap, a passage through the mountains and into the land of Valon. It was through this wide defile that the four hoped to escape through the Grimwall barrier and turn northeasterly to head toward the city of Dendor in Aven afar.
And so along the Gap Road they fared, a full two hundred miles down through the land of Gunar on a southerly course, passing across plains and among occasional stands of trees as the deepening spring days grew longer.
On the eighth night after leaving the ruins of Stede, as they made camp Loric said, "Somewhere not far ahead lies the hamlet of Annory, at the joining of the Gap Road and the one named Ralo. If the town yet stands, there we will resupply and gain another steed. Yet I would not have us ride into the village without first making certain it is safe. Hence, we will reconnoiter ere faring within."
"Reconnoiter?" asked Beau.
Tip looked up from the small smokeless fire he had built. "He means scout it out, Beau. And, Loric, I should be the one to do so."
Loric frowned, but Tip plunged on. "None can move as silently as Warrows. We're small, and that makes it easy for us to hide in the most scant of cover. Besides, just being a tagalong is beginning to wear thin."
Loric shook his head. "Tagalong thou art not, Sir Tipperton. Even so-"
"Even so," interjected Phais, "Sir Tipperton is correct. Ever have the wee folk made some of the best scouts."
Tip's eyes flew wide. "We have?" he blurted. Then, recovering, "Indeed, we have," he said more confidently.
Phais laughed aloud, then shook her head. "I was so told by Aravan, who occasionally took Waerlinga on his voyages to act as scouts."
Beau frowned in puzzlement. "A scout at sea?"
Again Phais laughed. "Nay, wee one, but aland instead, for Aravan's voyages were to places of adventure. And in these sites of peril he said the Waerlinga made the best of scouts-silent, small, clever, and, when properly trained, quite fierce in a fight."
"There you have it, Alor Loric," said Tip. "And Lady Phais agrees. Besides, if I don't do something, I'm going to go entirely 'round the bend."
Now Loric laughed and held up two hands in submission. "Well, wee one, we must not have thee go mad." Beau cleared his throat. "Wull, if you're-" "No, Beau," interrupted Tip. "One has a better chance of going undetected than two. Besides, we can't risk losing you and your medical skills should aught go wrong." Beau glanced at Phais. "He is right, Sir Beau." Beau frowned and shook his head, yet remained quiet.
The next day they rode another twenty miles ere making their way off the road and into the surrounding forest, jumping up a herd of deer which ran scattering among the trees. "Lor'," said Beau, "but if we'd only been ready, perhaps we could have supped on venison tonight."
'"Mayhap in Annory we'll find an inn where venison is served," replied Tip.
"I can only hope," said Beau as onward they pressed.
There was yet a goodly amount of daylight left as they passed among the trees, but Annory lay at the far edge of the woods, and so they continued forward. Yet ere the sun had fallen another three hands, they came to the final reach of the timber.
As they dismounted, Loric said, "We are nigh the splicing of the two roads; the village lies to the west less than a third of a league. Here we will wait until sunset, Sir Tipperton, for within four candlemarks after, the moon will rise nigh full and shed her silver light the better for thine eyes to see by."
And so they waited: Tipperton sighting down his arrow shafts, inspecting for trueness and finding them straight; Beau fretting and sorting through his medical bag, then as'king to examine Loric's wound, now some twelve days on the mend; Phais sitting quietly and sharpening her steel; and Loric standing watch.
At last the sun set.
Tipperton gave over the coin on its thong to Beau, saying,
"Should aught happen to me, see that this makes it to Agron."
Beau tried to refuse the token, but Tipperton prevailed.
And in the twilight Tip took up his Elven-made bow and began making his way among the trees and to the west… and was soon lost to the sight of the others.
The moon rose, nearly full and bright.
"Lor'," gritted Beau, stopping his pacing, "how long has it been? Twelve candlemarks? Fourteen? Sixteen? Something is wrong. Tip should be back by now."
"He has been gone nigh ten candlemarks, Sir Beau," said Loric. "See Elwydd's light?"
Beau looked aslant at the moon and sighed, for the argent orb had traveled less than a hand up the sky. "All right. So it's been ten candlemarks. Surely he should have returned."
Phais glanced at Beau through the moonshadows and said, "Another two candlemarks and we shall go and see. Ere then thou shouldst rest, else the trench made by thy pacing will be too deep for escape."
"My tren-? Oh."
Beau plopped down on a log, but within moments was back on his feet pacing again.
His back to the remnants of a shattered stone wall, Tipper-ton crouched within an arching, tumble-down mass of climbing-rose vines, the thorny tangle yet clinging to the base of the ruin an arm's length to his left, the buccan motionless and scarcely daring to breathe as guttural voices neared, harsh laughter ringing. What they said he could not tell, for it was in a tongue he knew not. Yet he had heard words such as this before: in Drearwood, among the maggot-folk.
The village of Annory itself had been burnt, just as had been Stede. Yet Tip had caught sight of a campfire amid the ruins, and he had crept close to see if it warmed friend or foe.
Foe. Definitely foe. And now you 're in a fine pickle, bucco.
With his heart hammering, Tip gripped his bow, arrow nocked to string, and still the voices came onward.
"I can't stand it any longer," said Beau. "We've got to do something."
"Another candlemark, my friend," said Phais. "Then we'll see."
Footsteps crunched through debris on the opposite side of the broken wall, moving nigh, now passing, and now scuffing away. His heart yet racing, Tip breathed a sigh of relief, then moved past thorns to a gap in the stonework and cautiously peered 'round.
Count 'em, bucco: one, two, three…
Phais stood and unsheathed her sword. Loric, too, uncovered his blade.
Beau looked up.
" 'Tis time," she said.
The buccan sprang to his feet, his sling already laden with a bullet. And together they moved silently away, the horses left tethered behind.
Tip sensed he was not alone before he heard or saw aught, and he slid back behind the arching jumble of vines, thorns snagging at his Elven cloak but unable to find any purchase. He scanned past tumbled rock and char and at last saw a stir within the moonshadows as a dark figure- nay, as several dark figures-four or five altogether, each the size of a Hlok-slipped among the burned timbers and ash and rubble and toward the campfire. Tip shrank even farther into the bramble and cast his cloak hood over his head and pulled the garment tightly 'round himself. All right, bucco, let's hope that everything you 've heard about Elven cloaks deceiving the eye is true.
Even as Tip sought concealment, as if at silent signal the figures spread apart, but still they came onward. And Tip's heart leapt into his throat, for one of them moved directly toward his imperiled hiding place, moonlight dully glinting off wicked edges of a double-bitted broad-headed axe.
"Hsst!" breathed Loric, pausing among the trees. "Rupt-is'h voices to the fore-"
Of a sudden the stillness was broken by howls torn from bellowing throats.
"Tip!" cried Beau, springing forward, running heedlessly ahead. "They've discovered Tip!"
Chapter 23
"Chakka shok! Chdkka cor!" thundered the dark figure as it sprang forward from the concealing moonshadows and on past the wall where Tipperton hid. Startled, Tip nearly loosed the arrow he had aimed square at the being's heart, but even by then it was too late "Chdkka shok! Chdkka cor!" bellowed the other four figures rushing at the shocked maggot-folk gathered 'round the fire.
– and Tip pushed through the thorns to the wide gap in the tumbled-down stone in time to see Bloody axes driven by broad-shouldered, bearded folk nearly the size of men riving through shrieking Rucks trying to flee and Hloks scrambling up with tulwars in hand to fight desperately.
– Dwarves! They 're Dwarves! Although Tip had never before seen a Dwarf, there was no doubt whatsoever in his mind.
But they 're outnumbered nineteen to five! Even as the thought crossed his awareness, a Hlok sprang at the back of one of the savagely cleaving Dwarves. Without conscious thought Tip loosed his first arrow, the shaft sissing past the riving Dwarf to slam into the left eye of the Hlok, the Spawn pitching backward and falling dead ere he could deliver the blow.
"Blut vor blut!" shrilled Tipperton in ancient Twyll as he nocked another arrow and loosed, this time felling a backstabbing Ruck.
But the Dwarves were ferocious in their devastation, axes shearing through muscle and gut and sinew and bone alike, tissue and blood and viscera flying wide, limbs and necks and even torsos hacked entirely through with but a single blow. Fully more than half the foe had been felled by these cleaving blades.
Squealing in fear, the surviving Spawn turned to flee, running in panic toward the woods just as a tiny figure bearing a sling burst forth from the trees.
"For Tipperton!" he shrieked, and whipped his arm about, a leaden bullet flying through the moonlight to strike the foremost foe in the head, and the Spawn crashed to the ground, tumbling down as if he'd been hit by a sledge.
And as the slingster reloaded, two sword-bearing Elves lunged out from the shadowy forest, dire steel glinting with the promise of death.
Even as the Elves leapt forward, Aiee! screamed the Rupt and turned aside, but then-Chakka shok! Chdkka cor!-the Dwarves were among them again, severing, riving, slaughtering.
In blood and gore the battle ended, and nineteen scattered Spawn lay dead: three by arrow, two by sling, two by Elven blade, and twelve by Dwarven axe.
"Nevertheless," said Phais, " 'twas a foolish thing to do."
"But I thought they'd got Tip," replied Beau, applying salve to the cut on a black-haired Dwarf's upper arm.
"Even so," countered Phais, "to cast thine own life heedlessly to the winds without knowing the number and makeup of the foe is to court disaster. Had Tipperton merely been captive, then thine action could have led to his demise rather than to his rescue."
"She's right, bucco, and you know it," said Tip. "Were I dead or captive or completely free-as was the case-you could have been killed running out of the woods like that and challenging the whole lot of them." ' The Dwarf cleared his throat, then grated, "Had they slain you, healer, still your honor would have been intact. Like you, I find skulking about in the shadows untasty. Even so, there are times when it is necessary."
Beau ripped a strip of linen from the bandage roll. "Oh, Raggi, I don't mind skulking about. I mean, who better than a Warrow at skulking, eh? But in this case, if I had a thought at all, it was that Tip needed help." Beau turned to Tipperton. "Look, I know the point you're making, and you and Phais and everyone else who's likely to talk to me about this, well, you all are right… yet let me ask you: can you honestly say you'd have done any differently?"
Tip's sapphirine eyes flew wide, and he looked at his friend. Finally he said, "I don't know, Beau, since it didn't happen that way. Perhaps the only difference would have been that I would have come charging out with bow and arrow rather than with bullet and sling."
"Well, then, shut your gob," said Beau, turning again toward the Dwarf, who rocked back and roared in laughter, then glanced over to a companion and said, "De tak au cho va Waeran at cha te og hauk va lok mak au va Grg, ut ven tak dek ba luk der gur."
Now the other Dwarf roared in laughter.
"What did you say?" asked Beau, wrapping muslin about the arm.
"I simply told Bolki what your c
omrades had said to you, and then I told him your reply."
Only two of the Dwarves had taken cuts in battle- Raggi and Bolki-and finding that Beau was a healer, the captain of the Dwarves, Ralk, had ordered them to follow Beau back to where the horses were tethered. And so Tip and Phais and Beau set out with the wounded, while Loric went with Ralk and Vekk and Born to fetch their ponies.
Upon reaching the encampment, at Beau's direction Phais had built a small sheltered fire and placed a kettle above, and Beau had fetched his medical bag and set about patching up the Dwarves. With tepid water from the kettle, he had thoroughly cleansed their wounds, then stitched the cuts closed: a leg wound on Bolki-who didn't speak Common, but only Chakur, the Dwarven tongue-and a slash high on the arm of Raggi. Then he had applied a salve to each and bandaged them in linen, Bolki first, Raggi now.
Even as he wound the cloth 'round Raggi's arm, Loric stepped from among the enshadowed trees and into the camp, Dwarves leading ponies coming after.
Beau looked up at the Elf and said, "I know, I know, it was stupid, but we've already covered that ground."
As Loric frowned and canted his head in puzzlement, Raggi burst out in laughter again, turning to Bolki and rattling off a string of Chakur, Bolki to laugh as well.
Through the silvery moonlight streaming down among the trees, Tip looked closely at the five Dwarves. But for their heights-ranging from four foot seven to five foot two-and their clothing and hair color, they all seemed much the same to Tip. Come on, now, bucco, that's like Big Folk saying all Warrows look alike just because we're small.
Even so, to Tipperton's eye all the Dwarves were broad-shouldered, half again as wide as Loric, and they all bore double-bitted war axes, the oaken hafts with soft brass strips embedded along their lengths to catch at any foe's blade so it could be twisted aside, and at the axe head the helve was tipped with a cruel iron beak made for stabbing through armor. Each of the Dwarves wore a dark cloak, earthen-colored-brown, deep russet, dark grey-yet under their cloaks they all wore black-iron chainmail shirts, matching the black-iron of their plain helms. They were dressed in leather breeks and boots, and under their armor they wore quilted shirts made of a silken cloth.
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