"Harass them, you mean," said Bwen, her words a statement and not a question.
Bekki growled. "I like not this striking from ambush. It has the ring of dishonor."
"How is it different from what we did here?" asked Tip. "I mean, behind their backs we slipped out through the postern in the middle of the night, shrouded in blankets like stone, while their attention was drawn toward those before them in the vale. And then as dawn crept toward us and their regard was full upon the riders and challenges and feints, well then, we struck from the rear. And if that's not an ambush, or the like, well then, I don't know what is."
Bwen burst out in laughter. "Ah, Bekki, he's got you there."
Daelsmen and Baeron joined Bwen in her laughter, while Dylvana and Lian smiled. Even DelfLord Borl cocked an eye at his son and grinned.
"But we were grimly outnumbered," protested Bekki.
"As we are still," said Ruar. Now he looked 'round the table and asked, "How many are fit to ride, and have we enough horses?"
"I tally some thirty-eight and four hundred Daelsmen," said Loden. "As for horses, five hundred twelve."
Gara glanced at Bwen, then said, "Ten and three hundred Baeron, with horses to spare."
And Bwen added, "There will be another five and sixty of us driving wains."
Ruar nodded, then added, "Twenty-five and six hundred Dylvana, and we, too, have the mounts."
"I will pledge two hundred Chakka," rumbled DelfLord Borl, "on ponies, of course. The rest of the Chakka must stay and care for the Mineholt… the wounded as well."
Ruar looked to the right, where sat Tipperton and Beau and Loric. "Ye three and thy wounded companion have done well in our campaign, but ye yet have a sworn mission to fulfill. Even so, ye may choose to ride with us, and we would be glad of it. Still, we know not where the Swarm will lead us, toward Dendor in Aven or away. What say ye?"
Both Beau and Loric turned to Tipperton, and Beau said, "Well go on, bucco. Which way will it be?"
Tip took a deep breath and blew it out and peered down toward the floor. Finally he looked at Bekki and then to Ruar and said, "These past days I've come to realize that no amount of killing of Foul Folk will ease the ache in my heart. I slew all I could in Rimmen Gape, twenty or more, I believe. Another dozen or thereabouts fell to my arrows here-"
"Including two Trolls and a back-stabbing Ukh," said Bekki.
Borl's eyes widened. "You are the one who loosed the red-streaking arrows?"
Tip nodded.
"Elwydd," breathed Borl. "That alone saved the lives of many, mine among them, for I was before one of the Trolls the moment your arrow came and he burst into flames."
Tip threw up a negating hand. "DelfLord Borl, I didn't do it alone. The Dwarves who drenched the Ogrus with the liquid of fire deserve most of the credi-"
"Heed!" called out Borl. "I, Borl, son of Berk and DelfLord of Mineholt North, do here and now name you Chak-Sol. Let all within hearing carry the word forth unto those who should know. So I have said, so shall it be."
"Chak-Sol?" asked Tipperton. "What is-?"
"Dwarf-Friend," said Loric. "Thou hast been named Dwarf-Friend, as was I long past in the Red Hills Drimmenholt."
"But what does it mean?"
Borl smiled. "All secrets, councils, and counsels of my Chakkaholt and of my kindred are yours for the asking."
"Oh, my," said Beau, looking at Tipperton wide-eyed. "Does this mean you'll grow taller and broader in the shoulders and carry an axe?"
Tipperton burst out laughing, his giggles to be joined by guffaws of the entire council.
Finally, Tip held up a hand. "I thank you, my DelfLord, even though I do not think I deserve such an honor. I'll try not to let you down."
Bekki leaned over to Tipperton and growled, "Not likely, Sir Tipperton, not likely."
And Borl's sire, Berk, took up his axe in a gnarled hand and flashed it on high and cried out, "All hal Sir Tipperton, Troll-slayer and Chak-Sol!"
And thrice came the collective shout: Hal! Hal! Hal!
Tipperton's face flushed red. "Really, I don't-"
"Nonsense," snapped Berk. "You do."
Tip held up his hands and said, "I yield," which brought a satisfied murmur of approval from all 'round.
Finally, Ruar cleared his throat and called for quiet. Then he turned to Tipperton. "We await thy decision, Sir Tipperton, named Troll-slayer and Chak-Sol: wilt thou and thy companions ride with us to harass the Swarm, or will ye three bear instead toward Aven?"
Tipperton looked about the circle, then said, "Coron Ruar, though these past weeks I did set it aside, we are sworn to go to Aven. Too, there is one other who is sworn to our mission as well, and that is Dara Phais, sorely wounded. I cannot-we cannot-leave her behind, no matter which course we would choose. Yet my mind is clear now: we will wait for her to heal, and then ride on together: to King Agron in Aven we go; to Dendor if he is there; or to wherever he may be if not."
Bekki's brow furrowed at these words, but Ruar nodded and said, "Ye will be greatly missed, my friends, yet a sworn duty calls ye to go one way whereas we go another. We can do nought but wish ye success. Yet stay, for we have much to decide here today, and thine advice would be most welcome."
Ruar now turned to the remainder of the war council. "I count us thirty-eight and six hundred and a thousand strong, those of us who can ride. We are yet outnumbered 'tween four to one and five. Even so, the Swarm is on the run, and that gives us advantage…"
The council lasted the rest of the day, but in midmorn Beau left, whispering that he had Phais and other wounded to tend. Tip and Loric remained in the council, though neither had much to say.
In midafternoon Beau returned and whispered to Loric and Tip, "No change."
Beau had no more than taken his seat when Bekki turned to Borl and said, "Sire, I must accompany Sir Tipperton into Aven."
At the raised brows of his father, Bekki went on: "Apprenticed as I was to DelfLord Valk in Kachar, I have traveled throughout Rimmen and Aven and know well both of those realms."
Borl held up a hand. "What of our debt to the Dylvana and Baeron and Daelsmen? And who will command here as I ride with them?"
"Sire, that we owe our allies, I cannot dispute. Yet we owe Sir Tipperton as much if not more, for not only did he save your life, but he saved mine as well. And had he not slain the Trolls, the battle would likely have gone the other way. It was his plan we followed which broke the siege.
And this last: he is Chak-Sol of Mineholt North and needs aid. I am among our best warriors, hence I ask leave to go. As to who will command in Mineholt North, my grandsire, your sire, is yet hale."
Berk turned to Borl and said, "He is right, my son, a great debt is owed. As for me, I was DelfLord before, and though it is a burden, and though I would rather ride to battle, if you so choose I will take on the task of holtwarder until you return."
Borl clapped his hand on the shoulder of his father and said, "None better, sire." Then he turned to Bekki. "Aye. You are right, my son, and I give you my leave if he'll have you." He looked at Tipperton. "Will you accept another into your service, Chak-Sol?"
Beau leaned over and whispered to Tip, "Seek the aid of those not men." When Tip turned to his friend with wide eyes, Beau grinned and added, "It's all connected, you know… even to insignificant Warrows such as we."
Tip shook his head and turned to Borl. "Gladly, my DelfLord. Gladly will I have Bekki at my side."
Bekki grinned fiercely as Borl declared, "So he has said, so shall it be."
Over that day and the next, in spite of all the healers could do, more of the severely wounded died, and more funerals were held.
But on the third morn, the Dylvana, Daelsmen, Baeron, and Dwarves rode out on the track of the Swarm, all upon horses but the Dwarves, and they upon sturdy ponies.
Following after went Bwen and her wagons, and though the pursuit of the Swarm would far outstrip her wains, still she and her drivers would be on their trail at need
.
Behind in the Chakkaholt remained the wounded, under the protection of the Dwarves until they were fit to ride. As to when that might be, 'twould be sooner for some than others was all Beau and the Dwarven healers would commit to.
And just ere they left, Vail and Melor came to see Tip and Beau, to wish them good fortune and farewell, for Vail was riding with the scouts and Melor as a healer in the vanguard.
Too, came Prince Loden and Prince Brandt, and Chieftain Gara and Wagonleader Bwen, and DelfLord Borl, and lastly Coron Ruar. And they all bid Tip and Beau and Bekki and Loric good-bye, and asked that their regards be conveyed to Dara Phais as well.
And then they were gone, warriors riding and wains rolling down the road toward the city of Dael. And when they had passed from sight, Tipperton, Beau, Bekki, and Loric, along with others, stepped back through the side postern and into the Dwarvenholt, shutting the gate behind.
The following day, as Beau stepped out the door of the chamber he and Tip shared and strode down the hall to make his rounds, behind him Tip called out, "I say, Beau, wait for me. I'll take my lute and go with you to see Lady Phais."
Beau paused until Tip caught up and then strode onward, saying, "Uh, I dunno, Tip. These Chakia, they are mighty close."
"You mean thick with one another?"
"Oh, they're that, all right. But I mean shut to outsiders. -Like the Bosky in troubled times, though instead of a Thornring they are hedged about with iron bars. Only in this case, the Chakia, they don't let males in."
"Well, I think I'll try regardless. The most they can do is turn me away. Besides, you've other patients to treat- male patients, that is-and I might be able to cheer them."
And so when Beau made his rounds Tipperton went alongside, and he played his lute in each of the infirmaries where Beau took him, and all the wounded were glad of it.
As they finally walked toward one of the portcullised halls, Tip said, "I think I'll do this from now on, Beau. It seemed to give them heart."
"My Aunt Rose always said that good spirits make the healing go faster."
Tip sighed. "Perhaps I ought not to play and sing for them, then."
Beau looked at him in puzzlement. "Why ever not?"
"Because, Beau, the faster they heal the sooner they go into battle again, and this time they might be killed."
"Oh."
They rounded a turn and before them stood a portcullis. Beau pulled on a cord at the grille. Somewhere a bell rang.
As they waited, Beau said, "Well, I think you ought to play for them regardless. I mean, perhaps someone who heals faster will prove to be the someone who saves the world from Modru and his ilk. It's all con-"
"-nected," finished Tip. "Yes, Beau, I know."
On the far side of the portcullis, a figure concealed in layers of gossamer veils moved down the hall toward them, silken fabric floating behind.
She stopped at the grillework.
"We have come to treat my patient," said Beau.
"You may pass, Sir Beau, but your friend-"
"I've come to help with the healing, too," said Tip, and he held up his lute. "In my own way, of course. This kind of healing is needed as well."
Now Beau said, "Tip's right, you know. It will help."
Silk shifted leftward as the Chakian canted her head to the side. "Tip? Sir Tipperton? Troll-slayer? Chak-Sol?"
Tipperton swept a wide bow, as wide as a three-foot four-inch Warrow could make. "At your service, my Lady."
Without further word the Chakian stepped back down the hall to a niche-held lever which she threw and a wall-mounted crank which she turned, and silently the portcullis rose in its track.
Beau ducked under when it was high enough, Tipperton following.
Quietly the grille was lowered again and the lever lock thrown once more.
They followed the Chakian through corridors to a large chamber filled with cots, where wounded Dara and female Baeron lay. Here and there veiled Chakia moved among them, administering to their needs. Now Beau came to where Phais lay abed, drifting in and out of consciousness, virulent poison running in her veins. Thin and pale and barely awake, she wanly smiled at him, and her eyes slightly widened at the sight of Tip, though his own heart fell to see the look of her.
"While Beau has come to poke and prod," said Tip, outwardly grinning in spite of his inward dismay, "I've come to play and sing."
"Poke and prod?" huffed Beau, rummaging through his bag. "Poke and prod, indeed."
"Never mind him, Lady Phais," said Tipperton, taking up his lute. "What song would you have?"
Phais paused, her eyes closed, and Tip thought she had fainted, but then she whispered, her voice weak, "Dost thou know 'The Dancing Sprite'? I deem it would lift the hearts of all."
Tipperton grinned. "As you will, my Lady." He looked about and spied a chair and jumped upon its seat. And then his fingers ran across the strings and he began to play, silver notes filling the infirmary with lively sounds, Tipperton raising his voice in song to all:
There was a Sprite, a lovely Sprite,
Who danced within her ring.
And when she danced her lovely dance
She didn 't wear a thing…
… And danced around in sport.
There came a lad, a handsome lad,
Her very own kind, you see.
He peeked through leaves and watched her dance,
And fall in love did he…
… Or something of the sort…
When Tipperton came to the end of the song, laughter echoed throughout the chamber, ranging from weak to hearty. In a bed across from Phais, a Baeran woman with her leg in a cast guffawed and called out, "Served him right, it did," and this brought on more laughter.
Even the Chakia tittered behind their many veils.
As Beau spent his last dose of gwynthyme and prepared a cup of tea, Tip played and sang another song and then another. And he sang several more as a Chakian slowly spooned drifting Phais her drink. And another still as Beau laid on the gywnthyme poultice.
And after each of his songs he was greeted by applause and calls for more.
Finally, though, Beau said, "Come on, bucco, I've more patients to deal with elsewhere, and they can use your songs, too."
And so Tipperton called out, "I must now leave"-his announcement to be met by a chorus of disappointed
Ohs-"yet I shall return on the morrow," and many called out, Please do.
Tip sprang down from the chair and went to Phais. "Get well, my Lady, oh please."
Phais, her eyes closed, whispered, "I fully intend to do so, my wee friend."
As they strode away, a Chakian at their side, Beau said, "I dunno, Tip. That was the last of the gwynthyme, and if it doesn't work… Oh, I should have run the cauter into the wound, even though the scars would have done ill things to her breathing ever after. I should have. I should have."
"This gwynthyme, Beau, don't the Dwarves have any?"
Striding beside Tip, the Chakian said, "Nay, we do not. Gwynthyme is a rare thing, and we have none."
"Elwydd," said Tip, a one-word prayer.
Late in the night, Tip was awakened by Beau coming into the chamber they shared. Beau was weeping.
Sitting upright, Tip asked, "What is it, Beau?"
"Lady Phais," said Beau.
"Oh, no," moaned Tip.
"No, no, Tip, it's not that she's dead or anything. It's quite the opposite: finally, finally, her color is good and her breathing truly not labored. Oh, Tip, she's sleeping peacefully. The gwynthyme has burnt out the poison at last."
The buccen embraced one another, tears running down their faces.
"Come on, Beau, let's go tell Loric."
The next day Tipperton again accompanied Beau on his rounds, each buccan in his own way administering to the wounded. When they came to the Chakia infirmary, they found Phais sitting up in her bed, a veiled Chakia at her side and feeding the Dara her first good meal in days, meting out small spoonfuls. Even though
Phais was eating, she was yet weak, exhausted. Still, as Beau had said, her color was much better.
The Dara spied the Warrows nearing and smiled, and Beau said, "Oh, my, Phais, but you are looking quite splendid."
Phais reached out and took Beau's hand, her grip weak. " 'Twas thy ministrations, Beau."
Beau looked down, shaking his head. "The credit is due to Lady Aris."
"Aris? In Arden Vale?"
Beau nodded. "Yes. She is the one who gave me the gwynthyme. Without it I don't think you'd have survived. The arrow was poisoned, the wound deep."
"It was Vulg poison," said the Chakia, her voice soft.
"Vulg poison?" asked Tip. "How do you know this?"
"Nought else is so baneful, and this was delivered deep."
"Oh," said Tip, looking at Phais, the Dara nodding in agreement.
Now Tip took up his lute. "What will you have, my Lady?"
Phais sighed. "I would see my beloved."
"Loric?" asked Tip, then slapped himself in the head and growled, "Of course it's Loric, you ninny." He turned to the Chakia. "Surely you can allow Alor Loric in to see his beloved."
Her veils shifted as she looked at the buccan. "Nay."
"But it would do her a world of good," protested Tip.
"He is male," said the Chakia.
Tip's mouth fell open and he gestured at Beau, then tapped his own chest. "You let these two males in."
"He is a healer; you are Chak-Sol."
Tip's eyes widened. "But wait, Loric is Chak-Sol, too."
The Chakia stopped her spooning of the thin stew and looked at Tipperton. "Which holt?"
"Urn, the Red Hills."
Now the Chakia resumed her spooning. "I will speak with Lord Berk."
The following day, Alor Loric visited his love, and he held her gently, tears streaming down his face.
Days passed, and mid-October came and went, and even as the hillside trees turned to gold and scarlet and orange, the healing of wounds progressed and the number of funerals declined, until there were no more who would die from this battle, the survivors on the mend. Even so, the wound of Dara Phais healed slowly, as sorely damaged and poisoned as she was.
And still Tipperton made the rounds with Beau and played his silver-stringed lute.
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