Tipperton's gaze darted about the bower, as if seeking a means of escape, and Beau peered at the earthen floor as if he would be better off some ten feet under the dirt.
But then Rynna burst out laughing, Linnet, too, and they embraced their buccarans, and both Beau and Tipperton breathed a sigh of relief.
On the ninth of December they set out from the campsite to journey to Wood's-heart some two hundred miles and ten days away. In the Springwater holding they took up Melli and Lark, and amid cries of well-wishers they rode on. Nix and the ferry were waiting for them to cross the mighty Argon, and now did they see that Dwarves plied the ferry at Olorin Isle, Dwarves from Kraggen-cor, the Chakkaholt no longer besieged. One set of the grim warriors plied between the east bank and the isle, another set plied the west.
"We trade off with the Baeron and the Elves," replied one of the crew to Beau's question, "moon by moon by moon."
"Well, that's good," replied Beau, grinning, "else we'd have a deal of trouble getting to Wood's-heart." He gestured at Linnet and Tipperton and Rynna, his grin growing all the wider. "We're off to be married, you know."
The Dwarf nodded and looked at the Waerans and wee laughing Lark and smiled and tugged on his forked beard and said, "May Elwydd keep you all."
But then the ferry reached the west bank of the Argon, and the Warrows debarked and rode onward.
Over the Rothro they fared and the next day the Quad-rill, and they rode through the towering eld trees, silent now, the Silverlarks absent, what with all but the bloodways sundered. Still Linnet and Melli and even wee Lark gaped upward at the towering giants, their leaves yet gathering twilight to suffuse down through the air to the snow-covered floor below. And Nix and Rynna and Tip and Beau gaped as well, for although they had been in Darda Galion before, still it was a wonder.
On the nineteenth of December they arrived in Wood's-heart, where they heard the terrible news.
"Dead? Galarun's dead?" Tipperton's eyes filled with tears.
"Aye," said Aravan, his own gaze brimming. "Slain by a man with yellow eyes, the silver sword lost."
"This man-?" said Beau.
"What hap-?" asked Rynna.
"Where-?" asked Linnet.
Aravan held forth a hand, palm out. He wiped the tears from his cheeks and said, "As ye know, a day we spent resting in Darda Erynian…"
A day they spent resting, but no more, for their mission was urgent, and they rode away the following morn, did Galarun and his company. West they fared, crossing the mighty River Argon to come into the wide wold 'tween river and mountain, where they turned south for Darda Galion, the Grimwalls on their right, the Argon to their left.
Three days they rode down the wold, coming unto the Dalgor Marches, where they were joined by a company of Lian warriors patrolling the fens. Here it was that Aravan first met Riatha and Talar, riding among that company.
The next dawn, into the fens they rode, horses splashing through reeds and water, mire sucking at hooves, the way slow and shallow, arduous but fordable, unlike the swift deep waters of the Dalgor River upstream flowing down from the high Grimwalls to the west. Deep into the watery lowland they fared, at times dismounting and wading, giving the horses respite.
It was near the noontide, that November day, when Aravan warned Galarun that the blue stone on the thong grew chill, and so the warning went out to all that peril was nigh. On they rode and a pale sun shone overhead, and one of the outriders called unto the main body. At a nod from Galarun, Aravan rode out to see what was amiss. He came unto the rider, Eryndar, and the Elf pointed eastward. From the direction of the Argon, rolling through the fen like a grey wall rushing came fog, flowing over them in a thick wave, obscuring all in its wake, for Aravan and Eryndar could but barely see one another less than an arm's span away. And from behind there sounded the clash and clangor and shout of combat.
"To me! To me!" came Galarun's call, muffled and distant in the fog there in the Dalgor Fens, confusing to mind and ear.
Though Aravan could not see more than two strides ahead, he spurred his horse to come to his comrades' aid, riding to the sounds of steel on steel, though they too were muted and remote and seemed to echo where no echoes should have been. He charged into a deep slough, the horse foundering, Aravan nearly losing his seat. And up from out of the water rose an enormous dark shape, and a webbed hand struck at him, claws raking past his face as the horse screamed and reared, the Elf ducking aside from the deadly blow. "Krystallopyr," whispered Aravan, truenaming the spear, thrusting the weapon into the half-seen thing looming above him; and a hideous yawl split the air as the blade burned and sizzled in cold flesh. With a huge splash the creature was gone, back into the mire.
Still, somewhere in the murk a battle raged-clang and clangor and shouts. Again Aravan rode toward the sound, trusting to his horse in the treacherous footing. Shapes rose up from the reeds and attacked-Rupt, they were, Rucha and Loka alike-but the crystal spear pierced them and burned them, and they fell dead or fled screaming.
Of a sudden the battle ended, the foe fading back into the cloaking fog, vanishing in the grey murk. And it seemed as if the strange echoing disappeared as well, the muffling gone. And the blue stone at Aravan's neck grew warm.
"Galarun!" called Aravan. "Galarun…!" Other voices, too, took up the cry.
Slowly they came together, did the scattered survivors, riding to one another's calls, and Galarun was not among them.
The wan sun gradually burned away the fog, and the company searched for their captain. They found him at last, pierced by crossbow quarrel and cruel barbed spear, lying in the water among the reeds, he and his horse slain-the silver sword gone.
Three days they searched for that token of power, there in the Dalgor Fen. Yet in the end they found nought but an abandoned Ruchen campsite, a campsite used less than a full day. "… Perhaps they went back to Neddra," suggested Eryndar, as cold rain fell down and down.
At last, hearts filled with rage and grief, they took up slain Galarun and the five others who had fallen, and they rode for Darda Galion across the wide wold. Two days passed and part of another ere they forded the River Rothro on the edge of the Eldwood forest, snow lying on the ground. Travelling among the massive boles of the great trees, the following day they forded the Quadrill and later the River Cellener to come at last unto Wood's-heart, the Elvenholt central to the great forest of Darda Galion.
Aravan bore Galarun's blanket-wrapped body into the coron-hall, where were gathered Lian waiting, mourning. Through a corridor of Elvenkind strode Aravan, toward the Elvenking, and nought but silence greeted him. Eiron stepped down from the throne at this homecoming of his son, moving forward and holding out his arms to receive the body. Tears stood in Aravan's eyes as he gave over the lifeless Elf. Eiron tenderly cradled Galanin unto himself and turned and slowly walked the last few steps unto the dais, where he laid his slain child down.
Aravan's voice was choked with emotion. "I failed him, my coron, for I was not at Galarun's side when he most needed me. I have failed thee and Adon as well, for thy son is dead and the silver sword lost."
Coron Eiron looked up from the blanket-wrapped corpse, his eyes brimming, his voice a whisper. "Take no blame unto thyself, Aravan, for the death of Galanin was foretokl-"
"Foretold!" exclaimed Aravan.
"-by the Mages of Black Mountain."
"If thou didst know this, then why didst thou send thy son?"
"I did not know."
"Then how-?"
"Galarun's Death Rede," explained Eiron. "The Mages told Galanin that he who first bore the weapon would die within the year."
Aravan remembered the grim look on Galarun's face when he had emerged from the Wizardholt of Black Mountain.