hand to silversmithing-two hundred summers or so-and thence to planting grain and harvesting it for a like while, and thence to shearing sheep.
'I lived in the mountains for seasons, sifting for gold, though not mining as do the Drimma.'
'Drimma?'
'Dwarves.'
'Oh.'
Beau piped up, 'All these things you name, Loric, seem close to the earth or seem to be common crafts.'
'When faced with the span of Elvenkind, wee one, they are the only things of lasting merit-things of the earth and of arts and crafts and of home and hearth, and preserving all or leaving it better than when found. Crafting, husbanding, mastering skills, celebrating life and love-what better way to live?'
Tipperton glanced at the long-knife girted at Loric's waist. 'How does that creed reconcile with standing march-ward and the killing of Rucks and the like?'
Loric sighed. After a moment he said, 'Long past, Elvenkind nearly destroyed itself. In those days madness gripped us and we sought power, dominance, command over all, sought dominion even over one another. We cared not what we did to our world, plundering it just as we plundered our own kind. And as we stood on the brink, one came along who said, 'No more! If there is ever to be peace among Elvenkind, let it begin with me.' And he set aside his vile ways and walked our world spreading his message and asking others to 'take his pledge-Let it begin with me. Elvenkind was slow to learn, yet finally we grasped the truth of his words and turned away from the madness that once gripped us and began to revere life and love and to cherish the simple ways.
'Yet even though we revere life, there are those who would destroy all-among them the Rupt. And we came to realize that in order to preserve life, we must protect it from those who would raze the world and turn it into an ash heap, protect it from those who seek dominion and maim and kill for their own gratification-those who slaughter in glee, ravage in delight, butcher for no reason other than the ultimate act of dominance and gain pleasure from doing so.
'And so when thou dost ask how standing march-ward reconciles with Elven doctrine… it is part and parcel of the whole. We are the Lian Guardians, each and every member of my folk, male and female alike, and when evil threatens, as in these times, we stand counter… though from what ye have reported and from what we ourselves have seen, Lian alone will not be able to stay the present menace.'
Darkness seemed to fall upon the camp and little was said the rest of the evening, but as Tipperton and Beau took to their sleeping bags, Beau whispered, 'Lor', Tip, think on this: if Elves' lives are timeless, what must it mean when one of them gets killed? I mean, with all of forever before them, why, no matter their age, their lives are just beginning. And to lose that endless life just as it has begun, well… what a terrible thing it must be.'
A stricken look fell upon Tipperton's features, and he glanced at Loric, some distance away and sitting with his back to a tree. 'Adon, Beau,' Tip whispered back, 'and still they take up the mantle of Lian Guardianship and put themselves in harm's way even though to lose their lives is to lose forever.'
Loric, his eyes closed, turned his face away from the fire.
The sun had passed beyond the western rim of the gorge, and the glen had fallen into shadow, when Loric rode in among the thatched dwellings of the Elves of Arden Vale, the horse-mounted Waerlinga trailing after. The few Lian outside the candlelit dwellings looked up from wherever they happened to be, their eyes widening in wondering delight at the sight of the Wee Folk, for, excepting their gem-like eyes, Waerlinga resembled Elven children, though a bit sturdier of build. And for their part, Beau and Tipperton stared 'round in wondrous delight, for here was where Elven Folk dwelled in graceful though simple elegance.
Among cottages nestled amid the pines, down a path they wended, to come at last to a broad central shelter, a long, low building, its roof thatched as well. Loric dismounted and tied the horses to a hitching rail as Tip and Beau jumped down. All three stepped up onto the porch and past a door warden and entered the hall. Vivid colors and warmth and the smell of food and the liquid syllables of the Sylva tongue assaulted the buccen's senses as they entered the great hall, lambent with yellow lamps glowing in cressets and fires burning in hearths. Banquet tables with benches and chairs were ranged 'round the tapestried walls, but the center floor thronged with fair Elves smiling and filling the hall with bright converse and gay laughter. And through this cheerful crowd strode Loric, with Tip and Beau following, the trio travel-stained and Loric's face grim. Lian turned to see the warder and two Waerlinga striding past, and voices fell to hushed silence and the assembly quickly parted as Loric escorted the buccen toward the far end, where sat the Elven leader of Arden Vale with his consort at his side.
Finally they reached the dais and Loric bowed, saying, 'Alor Talarin e Dara Rael. '
'Alor Loric,' replied Talarin, gazing at the Waerlinga and rising to his feet. He was tall and slender, with golden hair and eyes green, dressed in soft grey.
But it was Lady Rael who captured Tip's wondering vision. Fair she was, and graceful, and dressed in green, and her golden locks were wound with green ribbons. And she smiled down at the Waerlinga, a sparkle in her deep blue gaze, and Tip's sapphire eyes sparkled in return, as did the amber eyes of Beau.
Now Loric held a hand out toward the Warrows and said in a voice all could hear, 'Alor Talarin e Dara Rael, vi estare Sir Tipperton Thistledown e Sir Beau Darby, Waerlinga en a Wilderland. Lona eiofaenier ivo Dhruousdarda-'
A collective intake of breath swept the chamber, some % gasping Dhruousdarda? while others whispered Lona?
Lord Talarin's eyes widened and he looked at the Waerlinga and said, 'This is so? Ye came alone through the Drearwood?'
Mutely, both Tip and Beau nodded.
Talarin's mouth turned up in a grudging smile and he slowly shook his head. 'Ye are either brave or desperate or fools or all three.'
Tip grinned back. 'Well, sir, I don't know about brave, but fools no doubt we were and indeed desperate at times.'
Talarin laughed and spread his arms wide to the throng. 'Ealle hdl va Waerlinga, Fors avor!'
'Hal!' the throng roared, and they turned smiling faces toward the buccen.
Beau tugged on Loric's sleeve. 'What did he say?'
Loric smiled. 'All hail these Waerlinga, Fortune favored.'
'Oh. Well, then.' The center of attention, Beau shuffled his feet in embarrassment.
Now Lady Rael leaned forward. 'And what news do ye bring, Sir Tipperton, Sir Beau? Encouraging, I hope.'
Tip shook his head. 'Nay, Lady, 'tis not. From all the signs that we have seen-loose bands of Foul Folk moving 'cross the Wilderland, Kingsmen slain, a balefire on Bea-contor, and a great Horde on the march-wide war has come unto Mithgar to the woe of all. Yet by whom and against whom I cannot say, though Beau has a flag which may tell.'
Beau slipped the banner out from under his jerkin and held it up for all to see-a circle of fire on black.
Talarin reached out and took the flag and stared down at it as he held it draped over both hands, the circle of fire showing. A fell look came over his face. 'Modru,' he growled, 'against High King Blaine.'
But Rael shook her head. 'Nay, chieran, I think not. Oh, indeed, as we suspected, Modru casts his forces 'gainst Blaine, yet behind it all I ween we see Gyphon's hand.'
'Gyphon?' blurted Beau. 'Do you really mean Gyphon?'
Rael canted her head.
'B-but Gyphon is a god. What would he have to gain?'
Rael sighed. 'The whole of creation, wee one. Crushing dominion o'er all.'
'Oh, my,' breathed Beau, turning a stricken face to Tip. 'Oh, my.'
Chapter 13
'How will a war on Mithgar give Gyphon dominion over all of creation?' asked Tipperton. 'And this Modru-just who or what is he?'
Talarin sat back down. ' 'Tis a long tale, Sir Tipperton, Sir Beau, and one best told after ye have had a chance
