Wan and bleary, Tip picked at his breakfast, while Beau softly chided him about needing food and rest. Yet even though Beau was concerned for his friend, still his own appetite held strong. 'Y' never know when we'll be without food again, bucco,' he said. ' 'Sides, we'll be on rations starting tomorrow and today's the last of the good cooking for a while.'
Tip nodded listlessly and continued to pick at his food.
Unable to eat, he had just set aside his knife when a distant bugle sounded, to be answered by one atop the bastion walls.
'They're here,' said Beau, but Tip was already running for the door.
Out from the caer and across the bailey he ran, Beau coming after, a rasher of bacon in hand along with a chunk of bread. Up the ramp darted Tip, up to the banquette above, where he leaped upon the weapons shelf and looked out through a crenel.
Tip peered westerly, the rising sun at his back, yet he saw no movement along the River Rissanin nor within the entwined foliage of the woodland below. And he waited, his heart hammering.
Beau clambered up beside him, and in that moment a slow-moving cavalcade emerged from the forest. They watched as more and more horses came out from among the trees, and for each one ridden there came another horse being led while dragging a travois behind.
'I'd better go, Tip,' said Beau, 'they've got wounded.'
Tip nodded, not speaking, and Beau clambered down. Just as the buccan reached the ramp to the bailey below, Tip turned. 'Beau, send someone to fetch me if, if-'
'I know,' said Beau, nodding, and then he was down and gone.
Tipperton faced west again. Still the horses came out from among the trees.
Ponies. No ponies. Where are the ponies? Where are the Warrows? Where is my Rynna?
Finally, as the first of the cavalcade came onto the pontoon bridge, no more horses with riders or wounded emerged from the forest behind.
His heart thudding in the pit of his stomach, Tip waited until the last of the horses clopped onto the bridge, and then he sprang to the banquette and darted down the ramp and into the bailey below.
'… were there, all right,' Tipperton overheard as he came in among the wounded. 'We engaged them two mornings back and drove them hindward to their boats and rafts,' continued the speaker, a Baeran, a bloody bandage on his arm and another wrapped 'round his head. 'But they fought fiercely, as you can see'-healers squatted beside the wounded, gauging the damage, applying unguents and herbal poultices and bandages, Beau enwrapping a fresh binding on a wounded Lian-'and some in our warband were slain.'
Tip's heart lurched and he felt as if he could not breathe.
'What of Vanidar and the others?' asked Aravan, who had remained behind in command.
'Last I saw, Silverleaf and the Waldana were racing downstream along the bank and feathering them with arrows, though many a black shaft flew back at them. Those of the warband without bows and slings rode alongside covering the flanks just in case there were more aland, or to be on hand if those on the river turned ashore.'
'And the dead?'
The Baeran gestured to where several of the travois had been unfastened and lay off to the side, the bodies thereon covered with blankets. 'We brought back those we could, though if Silverleaf and the others take wounds, there's likely to be more.'
Again Tip's heart flopped and, trembling, he stepped toward the dead.
Only one of those slain was the size of a Warrow, and with his breath coming harsh and gasping, Tipperton slowly raised the corner of the blanket to see, and he fell to his knees weeping, weeping in relief, for it was not Rynna, but Winkton Bruk instead.
She's safe, oh Adon, she's safe.
And then guilt flooded Tipperton's very soul.
Oh, my. Oh, my. How can I rejoice when Wink lies here dead; how can I be glad that it's Wink instead of her?
With tears running down his cheeks, Tip reached out with his fingers and smoothed back Winkton's dark hair.
I'm so sorry, so very sorry, Wink.
And he covered Winkton's face with the blanket once more and then stood. And he looked about, not only feeling guilty but also feeling utterly useless, for he knew nought but the most rudimentary of healing skills, and they needed more here. And his eyes sought the sight of Rynna Yet she is not here, not here, but out there somewhere still, black-shafted arrows seeking her heart. Oh, my Rynna, be safe.
Tip trudged to a ramp and up to stand vigil once more.
The sun had climbed to the zenith when another horn sounded from the forest, and Elves and men on horses and Warrows on ponies came plodding forth, some drawing travois behind, and on some of these drawn litters, blanket-covered bodies rode.
His heart thudding in fear, Tip sought sign of his loved one as each pony, as each horse, plodded forth from among the trees. Yet she did not appear and did not appear, and tears sprang to his eyes, to be shaken away, for he would see.
And then Silverleaf on his black came forth from the woodland, and none came after. And Tip cried out in despair, but in that same moment a morose Rynna rode forth from beside Silverleaf; her pony had been concealed by the larger mount.
'Rynna!' shrieked Tipperton. 'Rynna, up here!'
And she looked up to see Tip waving madly.
With a wild whoop Rynna spurred her pony, her little steed to gallop across the bridge, Tipperton to dash down from above.
Tip reached the bailey at the same time Rynna did, and she haled her mount to a skidding halt, seeming to stop and dismount at one and the same time.
And Tip caught her up and swung her about, and kissed her soundly, she kissing him just as fervently in return.
'Oh, my buccaran,' she gasped, tears running down her cheeks, 'I thought you would be gone.'
'And I thought you wounded or worse,' said Tip, his own eyes welling with joy. Then he gasped. 'Buccaran. You called me your buccaran. Oh, my dammia, how did you know I loved you?'
She looked at him, her amber-gold eyes wide. 'I've known it from the first moment I saw you. Did you not know it in return?'
While the Baeron bore their four slain kindred south into the Greatwood to lay them beneath leafy bowers, the Elves and Warrows built a great pyre at the edge of Darda Erynian for the remaining five dead: three Warrows and two Elves- a Lian and a Dylvana.
As they did so, Beau turned to Tip and said, 'Lor', Tip, Warrows. Warrows killed in this war.' And he burst into tears, Tipperton weeping as well. And Rynna took them both in her embrace, and the three stood together and cried.
And as the flames soared and the dead burned and the Warrows wept, Silverleaf and Aravan lifted their sweet voices and sang all the souls into the sky, while deep in the Greatwood, the Baeron stood in grim silence.
Evening fell, and in the twilight Rynna and Tip stood on the battlements and peered out at the forest and down at the river below, and as the darkness deepened they watched as stars came creeping into the moonless night.
'Isn't it strange,' said Rynna, peering down at the glimmers in the water below.
'What?'
'The river.'
'How so?'
'The water continually flows and flows and yet it is always there; it is always the same, yet every moment it
