whisper-'where Rynna died.' The buccan wiped his fingers across his cheeks and then with strength in his voice said, 'From there we'll make our way north to Bircehyll and the Dylvana. Someone there should know where the Springwater Warrows live.'
A stricken look came over Beau's face. 'Oh my.'
Tipperton frowned in puzzlement. 'What is it?'
'Oh, Tip, from Caer Lindor Phais and Loric guided us to Bircehyll, but this time we'll be on our own.'
'And…?'
'And, well, who will guide us past the forbidden places?'
'Forbidden places?' asked Irana.
Beau nodded. 'Places forbidden to outsiders, Lady Irana. Places where one shouldn't go.'
Again all four warrior maidens glanced toward the west where lay the woods, and Linde said, 'From what I hear, the entire forest is forbidden.'
Dediana nodded. 'Even in Jord the name Blackwood alone is enough to quell the spirit.'
'Well,' said Tip, 'the Dylvana don't think so… nor do the Baeron. And now there are Warrows within, and I would think they do not quail at the name.'
Ilea cocked an eye at Tipperton. 'If they are yet alive in that dark place, then perhaps they do not quail.'
Beau gasped, 'Oh, don't say that, Ilea. Don't even think it, if you please.'
Tip sighed. 'Beau, you know it isn't all that bad. I mean, we spent a goodly while in there and nought ill came of it.'
Beau reluctantly nodded.
Dediana again glanced west across the wold in the light of the thin crescent moon chasing after the long-set sun. 'What did you see in there?'
Tip shrugged and turned up a hand. 'Trees. Elves-'
'Shadows that follow along,' interjected Beau. 'Hills that move. Things in the woods where foxes bark. Things that groan in the ground.' Beau shuddered, a shiver echoed by the warrior maidens. 'That's what I've seen and heard in those haunted woods. Hidden things and Hidden Ones: that's what's in there.'
'Oh, Beau,' said Tip, 'I don't believe the woods are haunted… and besides, even if they are, why be afraid of shadows, of phantoms, of specters?'
Beau pointed a finger at Tip. 'You should talk, bucco. I mean'-Beau reached into the pack at his side and pulled out his red-bound book and thrust it toward Tipperton- 'why be afraid of magic?'
Tip gasped and leaned away from the book, but said, 'But magic is real, Beau.'
'And so I believe are ghosts,' shot back Beau, jamming the book into his pack once again.
Southerly across the open wold they fared, did the Jor-dian brigade, aiming for Eryn Ford across the River Ris-sanin. And nigh sunset of the twenty-third of April they came to a bend in that river, where the waterway had swung northerly to turn northeastward again. Here they made camp among the trees of the river-border forest. Both Tip and Beau were comforted by the rush of the river and the shush of a breeze through the trees. Yet their ease was short-lived, for in the night a rumor circulated among the fires that the scouts had not yet returned.
The next morning, when the brigade broke camp, the rumor persisted; it seems no scouts had reported in all night. And as they readied to ride forth, the command came down from the hrosmarshal to be in a state of high alert, for the rumor was no rumor, but truth instead.
Again Ilea and Dediana warned Tip and Beau that should it come to combat, they would slow enough for the Waldans to jump out and would fetch them after the battle was done. And so Tip and Beau lashed their goods to their backs and kept their weapons in hand.
And away to the south they rode.
Down they went and down, angling away from the bend in the river and faring across the wold, aiming now directly for Eryn Ford, the crossing but some eight leagues south-southwest of their riverside encampment. And still no scouts reported back, though new ones had been dispatched.
The sun marched up and across the sky and down again as the column fared southerly, and relay riders came alongside and spoke orders in Valur, the Battle-tongue of the Vanadurin.
And now to the west they could see Darda Erynian once more, the forest nearing as the brigade neared the ford.
As dusk approached, the column of Harlingar passed through a set of low hills, and a mile or so before them they could again see the river-border forest, and beyond the trees water lay gleaming like cold grey iron in the dying rays of the sun.
Tip found his breath coming harshly, and he said, 'Even though Hrosmarshal Hannor thinks the Foul Folk gone, if there's an ambush waiting, 'tis likely at the ford. At least that's where one awaited us at Hath Ford on the far side of the Grimwalls.'
'Mayhap I should let you off here,' said Ilea.
'No,' said Tip. 'If there's fighting to be done, then my arrows and Beau's bullets will be needed.'
Ilea glanced at her twin, and Irana said, 'I've come to trust the worth of these Waldfolc warriors. They can leap out if a battle begins. Till then let them ride.'
Ilea nodded and called back to Dediana, who nodded her agreement as well.
On they trundled, Tip's unease growing, and he looked back to see Beau, that buccan's features grim as well.
A relay rider came galloping by, calling out in Valur. As Ilea swung rightward, Tip looked up at Irana, and she said, 'Hrosmarshal Hannor agrees with you, Tip. And we are warned that an ambuscade may lie in wait at the ford.'
Dediana pulled forward and swung wide to the left, and Tip looked to see that all the chariots had paired up two by two… and then four by four as two others swung wide alongside, wheelblades turning wickedly.
A line to hit the foe hard, if foe there is.
Weapons ready, spears and sabers in hand, Tipperton's arrow nocked, Beau's sling laden with a bullet, toward the river forest they went.
And still anxiety gnawed in Tipperton's gut, growing greater with each turn of wain wheel south.
A furlong ahead rode the vanguard, the riders now in battle array, the chariots coming after, warrior maidens with lances at the ready and bucklers on their left arms.
Tipperton's heart hammered hard in his chest, his breathing coming in gasps, and the closer they came to the crossing, the more dread coursed in his veins.
Lor', what's the matter with me? True, I've been out of battle awhile, yet… -Oh, Adon, can it be-?
'Lady Irana, sound your horn, call for retreat, there's a Gar-'
– The blast of fear slammed into them, horses rearing and bolting, warriors shrieking in horror, chariots thundering beyond control, the drivers whelmed with dread.
Shrilling in terror, Tipperton pitched from the wain, the sudden jerk of bolting horses causing him to tumble and fall to the ground amid hammering hooves and thundering wheels as horses and chariots ran amok.
And then the terror lessened, and yawling wordless howls, Rucks and Hloks and Ghuls on Helsteeds rose up from surrounding hills to charge downslope, scimitars and tulwars and cudgels and whips and barbed spears set to slay, to kill.
And stalking out from the trees came the massive Gar-gon and toward the fore of unhorsed Harlingar, their steeds panicked and run away, the men afoot frozen in paralyzing dread, caught in the creature's terrible glare, the monster's horrid claws set to rend, to tear.
Chapter 25
Scrambling to his feet, Tipperton ducked and dodged among the squealing, stampeding horses, and leapt away from the paths of careening chariots with their wicked, spinning blades. Above the thunder of wheels and pounding of hooves and screams of horses and the cries of Jordi-ans, and above the howls of the onrushing Spaunen-'Tip! Tip!'-Tipperton heard someone cry out his name. He turned to see Beau darting among the bolting steeds, the buccan attempting to reach Tip's side.
