"Huh? Oh. Hmm. Nothing, Beau, nothing at all. Certainly nothing worth a silver."
Galarun clasped Loric's hand. "Say hello to my athir."
Loric nodded. "That I will," he replied.
Now Galarun turned to Phais and embraced her.
"Is there aught else thou wouldst have us convey?" asked Phais.
Galarun stepped back and frowned. "Nought more than that which ye have told us." He looked down at the Waer-linga, then knelt and gravely shook each buccan's hand. "Though I ween he would be proud to hear of our timely meeting."
"Oh, yes," said Tip. "We'll certainly tell your da how you saved our bacon."
Beau grinned and said, "And we'll tell him, too, how we savored your bacon the very next morn."
Galarun threw back his head and laughed, then sobered. "Fare ye well, my friends, and may the smiling face of Fortune be ever turned thy way, and may thy mission to Aven go swiftly. Ye'll find the boats at the Leaning Stone, and Hadron will see ye across."
Waving good-bye to the Elves of the march-ward at Vanil Falls, the four along with Hadron set off upstream, following the banks of the Nith.
Within a mile or so they came to a great stone, leaning like a monolithic block against the southern bank of the Nith. In the hollow under the rock, three Elven wherries were tethered, and they used one of these to cross to the opposite shore, Hadron and Loric and Phais all plying oars.
Now Hadron prepared to row back over alone, yet before he took to the swift-running water, they towed the Elven boat upstream a ways, so that the current itself would aid rather than hinder Hadron's return journey.
Then Hadron handed Beau a small block, scented of wildflowers and enwrapped in waxed parchment, and it was a gift for the Waerlinga. " 'Tis soap, wee ones, yet take care to bathe in places of safety. I would not have ye swept away."
Tip laughed, and Beau hugged the Lian, and then with a "fare ye well" Hadron stepped into the wherry and plied oar to water and was borne away on the swift River Nith.
***
Through the Eldwood they strode, through the Land of the Silverlarks, the massive trees of Darda Galion towering all 'round. Soft and mossy loam carpeted the forest floor, with tiny flowers blossoming in the silvery twilight glimmering among the giant boles.
"It's like a fairyland," whispered Beau, "but right peculiar, too, what with the trees shedding dimness down. Look at how the light doesn't seem to change even though the sun rides up the sky. I think a body could lose track of the days, and months could pass without notice, for it doesn't seem that time steps into this place at all."
Tip nodded in agreement, yet otherwise did not reply, and on they strode, faring northwesterly, the swift River Nith purling off to their left, sometimes rushing near, other times dashing afar. And as they walked, now and again a roebuck or red hind would startle away, their hooves nigh soundless upon the soft land. Yet no other game did they see, though both Phais and Loric assured the buccen that the land was rich with life-in the streams and down on the forest floor and high in limbs above, though how one might take game from those towering heights, Phais did not say.
They paused in the twilight at the noontide to take a meal and a rest.
"How far did you say it is to Wood's-heart?" asked Beau.
"As the lark wings, thirty leagues and some," replied Loric. "Yet by foot, mayhap thirty-five."
"Huah"-Beau scratched his head-"a hundred fifteen miles."
"Five or six days at a comfortable pace we can hold throughout," said Tip, reflecting back on their journey across Valon.
"Aye," agreed Phais, "though had Galarun the horses to spare, 'twould have been swifter at need."
"Why didn't we bring some of those Hyrinian-?" began Beau, but then interrupted himself. "Oh, barn rats, but I'm aiiinnyhead; the path was entirely too steep for horses."
"And too narrow in places," added Phais.
Tip stroked a chord on his lute and looked up. "Perhaps not even Durgan's fabled iron steed could have made it up that slender steep."
"Wull, if we hadn't been hauled pickaback, we wouldn't have made it either," said Beau.
Phais smiled. "Had ye not ran nigh forty miles through the night, ye would have needed no aid."
"Had we not run," said Tip, strumming several more chords, "we wouldn't be here today." Then with a sigh, he packed his lute away. "Let's be off, for time does fly, though here in the Larkenwald, who can tell?"
Five days and a mid-morn later, on the second day of July, they passed through a ring of warders, and within a mile or so they came in among thatch-roofed dwellings. They had reached Wood's-heart, the Elven strongholt within Darda Galion. And everywhere they looked, Lian prepared for war.
Chapter 27
"And that was when Galarun and the march-ward saved us!" exclaimed Beau, but then he clapped a hand across his mouth and mumbled through his fingers: "Oops. Sorry, Loric, I didn't mean to interrupt."
Coron Eiron's grey eyes widened, and then he smiled in pleasure. "My arran was one of those who rescued you?"
"Your son? Galarun is your son?" blurted Beau, then slapped his hand back across his mouth.
Eiron grinned at the Waerling. "Aye, Galarun is my son."
By the light of the eventide lanterns, Tipperton looked at the Coron, and now the buccan saw the resemblance: Eiron's hair like Galarun's was brown, though not as deeply so, and his tilted grey eyes resembled that of his son's, yet were of a lighter shade. And Eiron was tall, five foot nine or ten, perhaps an inch or so less than Galarun.
"Then that must mean he's a prince," said Beau, unable to keep his mouth shut.
Eiron shook his head. "That I am Coron does not make it so, Sir Beau. Among Elvenkind we oft take up duties we will shed seasons hence. I am but recently Coron, and will lay the burden down some seasons from now-just when, I cannot say-and someone else will accept the duty."
Beau opened his mouth to ask another question, but closed it again when Tip, sitting beside him, kicked him under the table and whispered, "Later."
Now Eiron turned to Phais and Loric and slowly shook his head. "Ye bring woeful tidings: of Draedani and Drakes and Hordes run amok; of the fall of Challerain Keep and the unknown whereabouts of High King Blaine. We knew of the Swarms to the north and east, and of the men to the south-the Lakh of Hyree and the Rovers of Kistan as well as the Askars of Chabba-but the others, the Drakes and Draedani, 'tis ill news, indeed. Even so, we simply cannot let Modru reach out his iron fist and seize Mithgar, else Gyphon will rule all, to our woe everlasting."
"North and east?" blurted Tip. "You said north and east. There's Hordes east of here?"
Eiron nodded. "Aye, wee one. To the north, as you know, a Horde sets siege not only upon Crestan Pass but upon Drimmen-deeve as well." The Coron gestured toward the outside, where the night was illuminated by the lanterns of Lian making ready to march. "Even now we prepare to ride to the aid of the Drimma. In two days we shall set forth to break the Ruptish hold upon the Dawn Gate."
"But what about to the east?" pressed Tip. "I mean, Aven lies to the east and north. Do Hordes bar that way as well?"
"The way to Aven? That I cannot say," replied Eiron, pushing the pewter token on its thong back across the table. "There are reports that Foul Folk stride across the marches of Riamon on the east of Darda Erynian."
Tip shook his head yet remained silent as he reached out to take up the small metal disk.
Eiron's glance swept over them all. "That ye may find the way to Dendor rife with Spaunen, that I do not doubt, yet the land is broad and if ye take care, they can at best only hinder thy mission."
"Do they enter Darda Erynian?" asked Phais.
Eiron frowned. "I think not, for therein dwell the Hidden Ones, and even a Swarm gives them wide berth… though with Draedani and Dragons to aid them, who can say? -Yet no word has come of any such."
"Well then," replied Phais, smiling at Tip and Beau, "we can at least make our way north through that woodland."
"But
say," asked Beau, "isn't Darda Erynian-Blackwood, that is-um, closed? To outsiders, that is? Like parts of the Weiunwood? I mean, with us being outsiders and all, won't they-?"
Phais shook her head. "Nay, Beau, for though the Hidden Ones for the most remain apart from Elvenkind, still on occasion in the past we have come to their aid… and, I hasten to add, they've come to our aid as well."
"Dylvana more so than Lian," amended Loric, "yet Elves nonetheless."
Eiron raised an eyebrow. "Aravan, though, seems to have a special bond with the Hidden Ones."
Beau frowned. "Aravan, hmm…"
"The one with the Elvenship," said Tip.
"But no more," added Phais.
Beau brightened. "Oh, yes, now I remember the name."
"Regardless," said Tip, "they will let us make our way north through Darda Erynian, the Great Greenhall?"
At a nod from Phais, Tip smiled. "Well, at least it's a start."
"A start!" exclaimed Beau. "What do you call all this we've been doing so far? I mean, I thought we started when set out from Twoforks."
Tip now grinned at Beau. "Actually, it all started when a Kingsman gave me a coin."
Beau shook his head. "No, it really started with a debate between Adon and Gy-"
Tip raised his hands in surrender. "I know, I know, Beau, everything is connected. Next you'll be telling me that it started with a sneeze in the Boskydells."
Beau's chin shot out and he said, "And just who's to say it didn't?" And then he broke into a fit of giggles with Tip joining in, while Coron Eiron looked on in wilderment at these tittering Waerlinga, while outside goods were packed and blades were sharpened and armor was polished fine.
They stood at the brim of a wide pool in a small glade in the heart of the Larkenwald. Mist curled up from the clear surface in the dawntime air, and dusky twilight glowed from the Eld Trees all 'round.
"So this is a point of crossing," said Tip, his words a comment rather than a question.
"Aye," replied Phais, "an in-between, linking Mithgar and Adonar. The Eld Trees and the glade and pool make it so. See the mist: 'tis neither air nor water but an in-between, and always at dawn and dusk it rises. See the glade: in its smallness 'tis neither forest nor field but an in-between. And now see the dawn: neither night nor day but an in-between, as is dusk, and the in-between is somehow made easier by the light of the Eld Trees, here and in Adonar."
"There's Eld Trees on the other side in Adonar?" asked Beau.
"Aye, as is needed for a crossing point, there must be a fair match on each side, and between here and there it is nearly exact. Some say Vanidar Silverleaf made it so."
"The one who started this whole forest," said Tip.
Phais nodded, confirming his words. "It is told that three of the crossings are deliberately designed to be so: the one here, the one in Atala, and the stone ring in Lianion. As to the latter, mayhap Elwydd Herself made it so. It is said all other crossings are natural, such as the Oaken Ring in the Weiunwood."
Beau sighed. "If we had only known the rite, we could have crossed at the stone ring and come back across here and avoided all our delays and woes."
Phais nodded. "Aye, and if that were true and if we but knew of an in-between near Dendor… Ah, but we don't, and so we must needs take the perilous way."
The following day, armed and armored Lian-Alor and Dara alike-mounted fiery steeds and rode out from Wood's-heart, Coron Eiron at their head, all riding north for Drimmen-deeve to break the siege of the Horde. And though both Loric and Phais yearned to go with their kindred, still there was a pewter token to deliver in a land far away.
In spite of Tipperton's protests, Phais would not set out in the dark of the moon, but insisted upon waiting for it to come full, for the past eight weeks of riding and running and hiding and combat and living on the land had taken its toll on the Waerlinga, and by waiting they would regain some of the stamina they had spent.
And a week and two days after the Lian had ridden forth, dispatches began coming from the siege at Drimmendeeve, where the Elven forays into the Foul Folk lines became increasingly bloody.
And Death Redes came all unbidden to loved ones left behind, final messages somehow passed from love to love though no messengers arrived. And grief settled like a pall upon the forest entire, as if the trees themselves somehow knew of many deaths afar.
"Lord, oh lord," said Beau in hushed tones to Tipperton, "endless lives lost, lives they had just begun no matter their age."
Tip did not reply, but instead strummed his lute, while tears ran down his cheeks to fall glittering like diamonds upon the silver strings.
In the dawn of the twenty-second of July, as Silverlarks returned to sing sweetly overhead, Loric, Phais, Tip, and Beau all set out from Wood's-heart, the four once again mounted upon four horses, Loric and Phais riding in the lead, Tip and Beau upon packhorses drawn behind.
Due north they rode through the towering trees, aiming for a shallow ford across the Quadrill, some eight or nine leagues away. And enwrapped in the soft gloaming shadows down among the trees Beau fell adoze in his makeshift packsaddle, while Tipperton strummed his lute.
And thus they made their way through Darda Galion, a land of many rivers-the Rothro, the Quadrill, the Cel-lener, and the Nith, and all of their tributaries, their sparkling waters flowing down from the northern wold or from the nearby Grimwall Mountains to course easterly through the forest and issue at last into the broad rush of the mighty Argon. In all, the four companions would have to cross two of the great forest's primary rivers- the Rothro and the Quadrill-though they would splash through many of the lesser streams.
And as before, they rode at times, at other times walked, and occasionally paused to relieve themselves or to give the horses a drink in a stream or to feed the steeds a bit of grain. And little was said on the journey, for the Eld Trees were hush, and to gravely disturb the quiet seemed at odds with the nature of these woods. And so Beau drowsed and Tip strummed softly, mastering notes and chords.
It was late in the day when they came at last unto the Quadrill, where they splashed into the crystal flow, pausing in the pellucid stream just below the eastern end of a mid-river isle to let the horses drink, while Silverlarks caroled their evensongs and flew, to vanish in midflight as well as midsong, the forest somehow bereft with their absence.
"We will camp just beyond the far bank," said Loric, Phais nodding in agreement.
Horses watered, they surged on across and up, and into the twilight beyond.
The next day they turned to the northeast, aiming for Olorin Isle, and in early morn they splashed through the Rothro, the river running down from the wold lying beyond the north marge of the Larkenwald.
"Ten leagues," answered Loric to Beau's question, "but we will not ride that far. Instead we'll spend the night with the march-ward and cross the Argon midday on the morrow."
And in the evening they came unto an Elven camp, where warders on these bounds of the Eldwood were eager for any news of the progress of the war. And even as Loric and Phais told what they knew, one of the listeners cried out in anguish dire and fell stunned unto her knees.
A Death Rede had come.
In a sudden burst of wings and song, Silverlarks heralded the dayrise, appearing from nowhere, from everywhere, from the between, as they crossed on the morn into Mithgar.
After break of fast, while Tip and Beau rolled blankets and gathered gear, Loric and Phais saddled the horses, then lashed the goods to cantles and pack frames.
Bidding farewell unto the warders, they made ready to depart, but ere they did so Beau stepped unto the rede-stricken Dara, she yet pale and grieving, and he hugged her and whispered something into her ear, then turned and let Loric lift him to his mount.
Tipperton did not ask him what he had said, and Beau didn't volunteer.
***
"Lor'," breathed Beau, "but what a river."
Out before them stretched the mighty Argon, its broad waters sparkling unde
r the midday sun. Beyond midriver lay Olorin Isle, and at its northern end they could see smoke rising from a few sparse dwellings of the River-men. Down before the comrades a ferry dock jutted out into the river, and from the pier an overgrown path bore southward alongside the stream. They all dismounted and led the horses down to the jetty.
"Why, it must be more than a mile across," said Beau, yet marveling at the width of the river, as Loric haled on the pull-rope to ring the summoning bell.
After a while they could see the ferry, with four men rowing, leave an island pier; a mule stood in their midst. As the oared barge crossed the wide stretch, the river current carried the float southerly; it would land somewhat downstream below the dock.
"So these are the Rivermen, eh?" said Tip, staring over water at the rowing men, their backs to the near shore, though now and again they turned their faces 'round to gauge their progress. "The ones whose kith pirated from an island upstream?"
Phais nodded. "From their fortress on Great Isle-Vrana was its name, I've heard."
"Hmm," mused Beau, "from here they don't look like looters."
"Those who are seduced by the Evil One oft look fair," said Phais. "Yet recall, these on Olorin Isle claimed innocence, and nought could be shown otherwise."
"Besides," said Tip, "that was long past… some twenty-five hundred years."
"Maybe they're like the Chabbains," said Beau, "and hold their grudges long."
Still the ferry drifted southward.
"Should we ride along the path to meet it?" asked Tip.
Loric shook his head. "The mule will haul it here. Else on the journey back we could miss the island altogether."
Beau frowned. "Why are we going to the isle when it's the other side we want?"
" 'Tis the way of the Rivermen: one ferry to carry us to the isle, another from there to the far shore."
"A twofold toll?" asked Beau, grimacing.
"Grudge them not their double fare," said Phais, "for they are few and scrape for every silver penny, and without the twofold toll there would be no shuttle at all."
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