'Of needs ye must work,' said Jaith, 'for e'en in this 'tis share and share alike.'
Tip nodded. 'Gladly,' he replied, then glanced at his lute in the corner. 'Will there be music?'
Seena nodded. 'That and dance.'
'Then sign us up,' said Beau, smiling broadly. 'When do we work and when do we play, and what would you have us do?'
'Ye may take labor on the first night with me,' said dark-haired Elissan. 'On nights two and three we shall play.' She smiled at Beau and winked at Tipperton, and still Tip blushed, for he yet recalled the night she had stepped into the bathing room and he standing there in the tub, blinded with soap and all unclothed.
Over the next week and some, as the days fled and the new moon slowly grew, the grim air of war was alleviated somewhat by knowledge of the coming celebration. Too, a warm wind blew up from the south, and much of the snow thawed in the deep-notched glen, though it clung stubbornly to the heights of the Grimwall. Even so, all took the melt within the vale as a sign of the spring to come. Finally, the three days of banquet came, and on the first of these days, Tip and Beau were assigned the kitchen task of running and fetching, while others tended the fires, and yet others prepared fish and game and vegetables, while still others cooked. A full third of the Elves were in some manner preparing the celebration for the others to enjoy. On the morrow and the next, another third and a third after would do the same, and those who worked this eve would celebrate in turn.
At last the sun set, with the waxing half-moon in the sky. And Elvenkind gathered in the great hall. And with great pomp and formality, the dishes of food were paraded about the hall for all to see, trenchers laden with venison and trout and goose and leg of lamb, with creamed parsnips and peas, brown beans, and breads and sweet breads and honey and jellies and jams… and more. And now with the cooking done, Tip and Beau along with several others were assigned the task of keeping the wine and mead and pure mountain water flowing from pitcher to chalice, and it seemed as if every Elf, Dara and Alor alike, called on the buccen to serve, for Waerlinga in their small-ness and tipped ears and tilted eyes and bright smiles are much like the children of Elvenkind, and it had been long since any Elfchild had been seen. And so, thither and yon scurried the Warrows, bearing silver ewers of bloodred wine and filling the cups of soft-gazing Lian, some with tears in their eyes.
But finally the meal was over, and now commenced singing and dancing and the playing of harp and flute and lute and drum… and the epic telling of tales, though these sagas were spoken in Sylva. If it had not been for Elis- san's whispered translations, neither Tip nor Beau would have understood a word of aught said, even though their hearts pounded in response to the wide-rolling words.
On this night Jaith sang a song so heartrending that all in the hall wept, even the Warrows, though they knew not a single word sung.
At last the celebration ended, and Tip and Beau helped with the cleaning, and dawn stood in the eastern sky when they fell into bed at last.
On the second night of celebration, Tip and Beau dressed in their raiment, silken vestments o'er all. Yet as they made ready, there came a tap on the cottage door, and Phais stood outside. 'I am to escort ye to the clearing, for this is the eve of the day when light and dark exactly balance one another, and there the celebration begins.'
Tip and Beau were led through the pines, and they could see a glowing spectrum of candlelit paper lanterns hanging from branches ahead. They came to a snow-covered meadow, red and blue and yellow and green lambency in trees ringing 'round. All Elves were present, those who could be spared, for some yet stood march-ward on the bounds of the vale, and others watched over Dhruousdarda to the west and Kregyn Pass to the north. Yet this night Loric and Arandar were present as were both Gildor and Vanidor-the two so like one another that only someone who had known them a long while might be able to tell which was which.
Dark-haired Elissan stood at one of the twin's side, while redheaded Jaith stood at the other's.
As Phais escorted Tip and Beau into the gathering, Loric came and offered his arm to the Dara, and together they accompanied the Waerlinga to a central point, where stood Talarin and Rael between two standards planted firmly- they bore the sigil of Arden Vale: green tree on grey field, the Lone Eld Tree standing in twilight.
Talarin glanced up at the gibbous moon nearing fullness. 'Well and good, ye are here, and we would have ye join our observance of this special day, for spring strides onto the land and winter fades.'
'What would you have us do?' asked Tipperton.
Rael smiled. 'Pace with us our ritual.'
'Bu-but,' stammered Beau, 'we don't know your rite.'
Now Talarin stepped forward and held out a hand to each. 'Just do as I do,' he said, smiling.
Taking a hand of each Waerling, Talarin nodded to Rael. And she held up her hands and all in the clearing fell silent as all moved to a starting place, silks and satins rustling, leathers brushing in the quiet, Darai and Alori opposite one another, Darai facing north, Alori facing south. When movement ceased, Rael began to sing, or perhaps to chant, for it was something of each, and in this she was joined bit by bit by all Darai there.
Now Talarin took up the chant, or perhaps it was a song, and he too was joined by the Alori, each linking in seemingly at random, yet it was anything but.
And in the argent light of the silvery moon shining down on white snow, Darai and Alori began stepping out the turning of the seasons.
Singing, chanting, and pacing slowly pacing, they began a ritual reaching back through the ages. And enveloped by moonlight and melody and harmony and descant and counterpoint and feet soft in the silvery white, the Elves trod solemnly, gravely… yet their hearts were full of joy.
Step… pause… shift… pause… turn… pause… step.
Slowly, slowly, move and pause. Voices rising. Voices falling. Liquid notes from the dawn of time. Harmony. Euphony. Step… pause… step. Rael turning. Talarin turning. Darai passing. Alori pausing. Counterpoint. Descant. Step… pause… step…
And down among the shifting Lian and treading at Tala-rin's side, Tip and Beau were lost in the ritual… step… pause… step.
When the rite at last came to an end-voices dwindling, song diminishing, movement slowing, till all was silent and still-Darai and Alori once again stood in their beginning places: females facing north, males facing south. The motif of the pattern they had paced had not been random but had had a specific design, had had a specific purpose, and the same was true of the song, yet as to the overall design, as to the hidden intent, neither Tip nor Beau could say.
Yet they were exhilarated.
Now Talarin called for all to retire to the great hall, for food and drink and dance and song and story awaited them all. And amid song and laughter, to the hall they went.
Tip and Beau were given places of honor at the table just to the right of Talarin and Rael's dais, and once again the food was paraded 'round the hall, to the applause of all.
This night there was succulent wild boar, and duck and pheasant, and brook trout, and breads with honey and jellies and jams, and vegetables galore, and an assortment of nuts along with sweetmeats of crystallized fruit.
Mead flowed and wine and water and this night a ginger beer.
And Tip and Beau stuffed themselves as if they would never eat again.
And when the meal was done and the tables cleared-all but the drinking cups and pitchers of water and wine and ale-once again there were songs and singing, once again there were timbrels and strings and wind, and once again there were sagas spoken and chanted-and this night 'twas a ginger-haired, strapping Dara named Aleen, wearing leathers and bearing weapons, who whispered translations unto the buccen.
It was in the middle of 'The Saga of Tugor and the Serpent's Eye' that the door swung wide and a bespattered Elf strode into the hall. Compact he was with dark hair and dark eyes, and a sword rode across his back.
The hall fell silent as his hard stride fell upon the wooden floor.
'Alor,' said Talarin, standing at the Elf's approach, ' 'tis not often one of the Dylvana graces this hall.'
'I hight Eloran of Darda Erynian, yet I am come from Adonar these past four days.'
'Adonar? Then thou hast ridden the in-between.'
'Aye, the difficult crossing at the circle of stone.'
Talarin raised an eyebrow. 'Yet thou hast come here instead of riding unto thy Darda.'
'I am sent on a mission, Alor Talarin, to bring thee tidings: Adon has sundered the way from Neddra to
