Tip grinned ruefully. "Ah, bucco, you're right about that."
A knot of wood popped in the fireplace, and Tip said, "Rede or no rede, tell me more of Farrin. Did he find the Utruni? Will they help?"
Beau let out a long, low sigh and said, "Yes, he found them, and, no, they'll not help… at least not the elder Utruni. They consider this war an affair of the surface dwellers-that's us-and not the business of those who dwell within the living stone."
"What about the Dwarves?" asked Tip. "They live in the stone; they fight in this war."
"Exactly what I asked," said Beau, "and exactly what Farrin himself asked the Stone Giants. But still they declined… even though the Dwarves are caught up in this war, the Utruni elders refused to join an alliance, although some of the youngers seemed undecided."
"Oh," said Tip, dejected. "I was hoping they would help, for Mage Letha once said that with their over stone mayhap a single Utrun alone could fell an entire mountain."
"Adon," said Beau. "What powerful allies they would be."
Tip nodded and sighed. After a while he took a swig of his ale and rolled it around in his mouth and then swallowed. At length, he said, "Tell me more of Farrin."
Beau shrugged. "Well, there's not that much more to tell. He was looking forward to finding his friends and completing the circle of seven again. When I told him that Alvaron had been killed, it struck him like a thunderbolt- it seems no one at the castle had said a word. He left the very next day to find the remaining five. But before he did he came to me and told me to wait for Dalavar. -Er, that is, he didn't single out Dalavar by name, but said that someone would come from the east who might help me. Sure enough, it was Dalavar and the Draega… a pack of not-men, you see."
Tip threw up a hand in surrender. "All right, Beau. I give up. From now on we'll try to make certain that at least a few not-men are among those we join or aid or ask for aid."
Beau grinned. "Even if the not-men are Foul Folk? Rucks and such and Vulgs?"
"No, no," said Tip, smiling back at his friend, "those not-men I'd rather thwart."
Beau looked long at the fire, then turned to Tipperton. "I say. Tip, just where will we go when you are back up to full strength? I mean, look, for a year or more we had a mission: we carried a coin, trying to deliver it. And so we did. And when that was done, well, there was the plague to deal with, and so you went after gwynthyme while I tended the ill. Then you took on the mission of scouting for King Agron and I came as soon as I could. But now, Tip, with the coin delivered, the plague put down, and King Agron's army no more, well, I feel like a buccan without a purpose, like I'm on the fringes instead of where I should be. I mean, here we are in Jallorby sipping ale, while across the face of Mithgar a terrible war rages. It just doesn't seem right that we're not helping out."
"You're right. Beau: we shouldn't be sitting on the margins, what with a war to be fought, an evil to be stopped. And we can't just sit in Jallorby and wait till all's done."
Beau took a pull on his mug. Then wiping the foam from his mouth he said, "Right, then. So I ask again, what shall we do, where shall we go, when you are up to full strength?"
Tip sighed and flexed his fingers, yet somewhat stiff from long disuse. "When do you think that'll be, Beau?"
Beau frowned. "By the spring thaw, I would gauge. Certainly by the time Jailor Pass is clear, if we go south, that is. But that begs the question I asked: where next? To Caer Pendwyr in Pellar? That's where Phais and Loric headed. Like them, should we try to find the High King, wherever he may be? Or how about we go to Darda Galion? I mean, if Drimmen-deeve is still under siege, well we could help out there. Then there's always the Wilderland where we started, though that's a long trip. On the other hand, I suppose we could go to Jordkeep and help out the Jordians… I mean, we are already in Jord. So what say, bucco? Where next? -I mean as soon as you are fit."
Tip shrugged, then said, "How about we go to Darda Erynian?"
Beau sucked in air between his teeth. "Blackwood? But why?"
Tip paused and took a sip from his mug. Then he glanced at Beau and said. "Look, Beau, but for the Wilderland and Jord, the other places you named-Caer Pendwyr, Pellar, Darda Galion, Drimmen-deeve-lie south of here, as does Darda Erynian, the Great Greenhall."
Beau turned up a hand. "Yes, but-"
"No 'yes-buts' at all, my friend," said Tip, "that broad forest is along the way, and somewhere in Darda Erynian live the Springwater Warrows-Rynna's people. I've never been among many Warrows, you know, except for that brief time at Caer Lindor, and right now for some reason I feel the need to be with our kind, if only for a week or so."
"Warrows in Blackwood, yes, Tip, but also in Blackwood live the Hidden Ones-"
"As do the Dylvana," interjected Tip. "The Baeron too."
Beau sighed. "Well, except for the Baeron-and I'm not certain just what they are, being so big and all, and rumors saying that some Baeron can take on the shapes of Bears and Wolves-the others you've named are certainly not-men all, even the Hidden Ones. -But, say, just how will this help in the war? I mean, what is there to do in Darda Erynian?"
"Well, last we knew there was a Horde somewhere along the eastern marge of the Great Greenhall. Perhaps we can use our skills to do something about them. -Oh, Beau, we won't know until we get to Darda Erynian whether there is a task we can fulfill in that woodland or whether we should press on. Surely someone there-Dylvana, Baeron, Warrow, or someone else altogether-can help us decide where we could do the most good. But task or not, advice or not, I would like to see others of our kind ere pressing on. Besides, I made a promise, you know, that when the coin was delivered, I would come back to Darda Erynian."
"A pledge to Rynna?"
Tip swallowed and nodded, then said, "For some reason I feel a strong need to keep that promise now."
Beau sighed. "Wull, bucco, promise or not, you know how I feel about the Blackwood-haunted and all as it is- but I'd like to see some Warrows, too. And even if we stay but a short while, still…"
And so it was decided: as soon as they could fare through Jailor Pass, south they would go, to Darda Erynian, to the Great Greenhall, to Blackwood, could they but find the means to do so, for no ponies were to be had in all of Jallorby.
The following day Tipperton took up his lute once more and, in spite of the stiff fingers of his left hand, still he managed the simpler of his tunes. When the people of Jallorby heard that one of the wee folk was playing and singing at the White Horse, they came to listen and to lift a mug or two.
And when they found out Beau was a healer, his skills were in heavy demand; after all, there seemed to be something special about one of the wee folk prescribing various teas and herbs and poultices and other medicks to citizens with ails.
And so with the extra patronage the innkeeper struck a bargain with the wee buccen: should Tip continue to play and sing, and should Beau continue to set up shop in the White Horse Inn, then free room and board would be theirs for the taking as well as any coin the citizens bestowed their way.
Hence, every night the inn was filled with those who came for a drink and a song and a dance, while every day people came with coughs and aches and pains and other complaints, folk who would take a dram or two of brandy on their way in or out. And as the townsfolk came and went, so too did the rumors, but it was clear to Tip and Beau that whatever was happening in the conduct of the war, none here knew the truth of it, for too often did the rumors contradict one another, and too often did they say what the Warrows knew to be false.
Days grew longer and nights shorter until Springday arrived with its balance of light and dark, but icy winter yet gripped the land, for a thick blanket of white yet lay across the plains, and the pass into Aven remained blocked by snow. It was as if Modru's cold hand clutched the world… that or the hand of Gyphon. Some said the lack of spring had to do with the fall of stone dust from out of the sky above, while others claimed it was clearly a magical curse. Still others said that they had seen winters in their childhood which were certainly as cold and had lasted as long. But just as it was with the rumors concerning the war, none in Jallorby knew fact from fiction, none knew the cause.