'Perhaps it's against Modru,' said Beau.
'Perhaps it's against Gyphon instead,' replied Tip.
'Maybe it's against the rape of this world, no matter the cause,' said Beau, 'be it gods or acolytes or aught else.'
Tip looked at Beau. 'Even mankind?'
Beau nodded. 'Even mankind. Everything's connected, you know.'
They stood well back from the brim of the Great Escarpment and looked out over the plains of Valon a thousand feet below, their sight flying far, and here and there they could see faint trails of smoke rising into the sky.
'Lor',' said Beau. 'Was it just two days past that we were rescued from the Hyrinians?'
Tipperton nodded in affirmation but did not otherwise reply.
'And it looks as if the war yet burns,' added Beau.
'I think it'll burn for a long while, Beau,' said Tip, turning to the left, where mighty Bellon Falls thundered down. And where the water left the Cauldron, the Argon River continued onward, curving away to the south in a vast arc, marking the eastern border of Valon. Beyond the river stood a mighty forest; oh, not one like the Larkenwald with its great tall eldwood trees, but a woodland of oak and pine, or maple and birch, and other common trees. Yet this forest was vast. It was the Greatwood, and therein dwelled the Baeron, tall men and strong, and tales told that some of these Baeron took on the shapes of Bears and Wolves.
But Tip wasn't thinking of these legends of old as he stared out across the world. Instead through his mind ran this morning's conversation about Elves and gods and acolytes and last of all of men.
Seek the aid of those not men to quench the fires of war, she said. Certainly the Elves are 'not men, ' and they did save us. Ah, but her rede cannot pertain to us, to Beau and me. We are just a pair of unimportant Warrows caught up in a dreadful war.
'A silver penny for your thoughts,' said Beau.
'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.
