'With the Rivermen here?' protested Tip.
Phais glanced at Rynna and nodded grimly. 'This fortress is in good hands.'
'Well, I don't like it one bit,' said Tip.
'Nevertheless…'
Now Rynna turned to Tip. 'We'll be fine, my love. Besides, you said it yourself, that ever in war friends and lovers are parted, as we are about to be. Yet the sooner started, the sooner you'll return to me.' She took a deep breath, as if to ready herself for a blow, and then said, 'Now be on your way.'
Tip looked at her, his eyes wide and mingled with anguish and concern. But at last he nodded.
And so, once again the four companions along with Rynna led their horses and mules and ponies under the wall and onto the pontoon bridge, this time gaining the far bank.
And Ryn hugged Beau and kissed him on the cheek and whispered for him to watch after her Tipperton, and he whispered back that he would.
And then she turned to Tip, and they embraced and kissed one another.
And while they held each other this one last time, Loric and Phais and Beau all mounted and rode to the edge of the woods, where they stopped and waited.
'I love you, Rynna Fenrush.'
'And I love you, my buccaran.'
Tipperton sighed and released his dammia, and she reluctantly let him go. He mounted his pony and then leaned down and kissed her once more. 'Take care, my love. Take care.'
She stepped away, tears in her eyes, and with a choked farewell he spurred after the others and into the woods beyond. When she could see him no more, she turned and, weeping, trudged across the wooden bridge and into Caer Lindor, while on the banks Rivermen unladed their craft and carried their goods within.
Chapter 29
North they rode away from Caer Lindor, Tip morose, Loric and Phais delighting in the green of Darda Erynian, Beau timorously looking this way and that, for not only was this Darda Erynian-Greenhall Forest-this was also Blackwood, where Hidden Ones are said to dwell, and everyone knew that Hidden Ones were… were… well, they just were. And if you went into their 'closed places,' then you most likely would never be seen alive again, or so Aunt Rose had always said when speaking of those places in the Weiunwood.
'Birds and wild things,' she would say, 'deer, hare, foxes, voles, and other such, things that fly, run, crawl, slither-even snakes-for them to live in those places or just to wander through, well, that's all right. But for folk to intrude-' Here Aunt Rose would always shudder, and Beau's eyes would fly wide, trying to imagine the horrible fate of any who would be so foolish.
And now here he was, riding right through the heart of their domain. And he twitched and started at every movement, every sound, some imagined, some not, and looked all 'round, trying to see, trying to see, well, he just didn't know quite what, but trying to see regardless.
But as it had been when they had crossed through that southernmost corner of Blackwood, going from the ferry landing to the fortress of Caer Lindor, Beau saw nought except perhaps flickers of movement at the corners of his eyes, yet when he looked straight-on, it seemed nothing was there but shadows coiling 'round the feet of the trees.
'It gives me the shivers, it does.'
Tip roused a bit. 'What? What did you say?'
'I said, Tip, it gives me the shivers.' Beau gestured all 'round.
'These woods?'
'Yar.'
Tip sighed and nodded, but said nothing more, as they rode onward through the sun-dappled green galleries of the forest, with its birds flitting from limb to limb and voles rustling through leaves, and hares bounding away as the horses and mules and ponies approached.
All that day they rode northerly, their track paralleling the waters of the Rissanin, Tip's gaze turning ever and again toward the river flowing in the opposite direction, southerly and away. Toward my Rynna.
Now and again Loric or Phais would turn sharply-left at times, rightward at others-to ride 'round a section of woods… sometimes a stand of trees-oaks, birch, maple, pine, and the like-other times they would bypass an open sward, a pool or stream, a rocky outcrop, or other such, as if deliberately avoiding these places.
Tip paid no heed, but Beau knew, indeed, Beau knew… or so he thought.
'We will make for Bircehyll,' Phais said during one of their frequent pauses.
'Bircehyll?' asked Beau.
'Aye. 'Tis where Coron Ruar will be, or so I think.'
'Another Coron?'
'Aye. Of the Dylvana.'
'What some call the wood Elves,' added Loric, 'for they are more reclusive than we Lian, seldom venturing forth from their Dardas.'
'Lady Arin ventured forth,' said Tip, momentarily emerging from his gloom.
Beau frowned, trying to remember.
'The Dragonstone,' said Tip.
'Oh, yes,' said Beau, enlightened. 'She was a Dylvana, eh?'
'Indeed,' said Phais, glancing into the nosebag of her horse. 'Ah, the grain is gone.'
Sighing, Tip stepped to his pony. Its feed was gone as well, and so he unsnapped the bag and slipped it in among the gear as Loric and Phais and Beau did likewise.
They rode another league or so and then set camp for the night. And during his watch by the light of the fire Tip softly played his lute, remembering… remembering.
And as he played, wild animals, it seemed, came to listen, or so it appeared, for among the trees eyes could be seen glowing, casting back the flame.
'I had the strangest dream, Tip.'
'Oh?'
'I dreamt I was awakened in the night by someone speaking in a strange tongue, and saw Phais conversing with a small shadow, while nearby stood a fox.'
'Mmm. That is strange. Was there any more?'
'No.' Beau chrked his tongue, and his pony picked up the pace a bit, for he and Tip had lagged too far behind the riders ahead. 'I must have dreamt I went back to sleep,' called Beau over his shoulder.
Tip shrugged, then chrked his tongue as well.
Ahead, both Phais and Loric looked at one another and smiled.
In camp that night they heard foxes barking somewhere off in the woods, the high-pitched yips seeming to come from all quarters.
Progress was slow through the forest, for unlike Darda Galion with its mossy underfooting and wide-set trees, here the undergrowth was thick and in places the trees seemed to crowd 'round, as if trying to bar the way. Yet now and again they would come to an open glade, or field, or glen-and if they did not detour around it, they would kick the horses and ponies into a swift trot and ride across, the mules protesting at this unseemly gait, yet unable to do aught but follow after, drawn on the tethers tied to the rear cantles of Phais's and Loric's saddles.
But in one of these open places-a large field covered entirely with mounds, each some eight or ten feet high and twice as wide at the base, each hillock covered with a strawlike yellowish grass, or what seemed to be grass- Phais cautioned the Waerlinga to follow directly behind, and with the animals moving at a walk, she and Loric carefully threaded among the knolls, the buccen coming after.
Of a sudden, 'Oh my,' hissed Beau, calling back to Tipperton. 'One of them moved, Tip. I swear one of them moved.'
'One of the mounds?'
