A drizzling rain fell through the night, to become blowing mist on the following morn, the vaporous air swirling chill, the moisture nought but damp cold sinking unto the bones. Beau clutched his cloak tightly 'round as he rode, and from the far rear he could hear Bwen cursing as another wagon became mired.
Beau looked up at Melor and said, "Hmph. The very best time of all the seasons, eh?"
Melor did not reply.
All that day and three more they went, the wains miring often on the narrow trace, yet it was the only lane through the crowded weald to the open land atop the long arc of the Great Escarpment ahead. At last on the evening of the fourth day they came to the fringe of the woods, the forest ending, the terrain before them open. Some twenty miles straight ahead the, wold ended abruptly at the rim of the Great Escarpment, where stone plummeted down the sheer face, the land at the base to run another five or so miles unto the banks of the River Argon. Yet they would not travel to the brink and down, but would turn southeasterly instead and follow a route parallel to the steep precipice. For as the sheer bluff angled out from Bellon Falls some fifty leagues north and west, the mighty bluff curved southeasterly and away, two hundred and fifty miles or so in a long bend, the last hundred miles of which the cliff and the land atop slowly fell down a long, long slope to eventually descend to the level of the banks of the Argon flowing in the land below. And it was down this gradual decline the column would fare, heading toward Pellar.
And so the next day they turned leftward, faring down the gradual cant of the land, the river some twenty-five miles to their right but nigh a hundred miles straight ahead.
"Look," said Tipperton, haling his pony to a halt and leaping to the ground.
Lyra, too, dismounted to examine the track the buccan had found.
"Horses," said Tip, examining the spoor. "Heading south."
"Ponies, too," said Lyra.
"Oh?" Tipperton moved to where she knelt.
As Tipperton squatted to look at the trace of smaller hooves, Lyra stood and peered westerly. "There are more," she said. Tipperton got to his feet and looked to where she pointed, his gaze falling upon a wide southerly track beaten through the yellowing grass.
"Another column moving south," said Tipperton, "five or so miles rightward of ours and two or three days ahead. Many horses; many ponies."
Vail looked up from the map. "Come, let us speak to the council."
"With such a mix of steeds I would suggest it is Lian and Dwarves," said Urel. "When I fought in the Grimwalls in Silverleaf s company and alongside DelfLord Volki-as recent as three months past-his Dwarves rode ponies. Wouldn't abide horses except to pull wagons or a plow. It's them and their ponies, I would guess."
"From the Black Hole then, is that what you think?" asked Bwen.
"Aye, though they name it Kraggen-cor."
"Black Hole, Kraggen-cor, or Drimmen-deeve: by any name I think it is Drimma, marching to answer the High King's call," said Vail.
"Along with Lian from Darda Galion," said Riatha.
Tipperton frowned and looked at his map. "How did they cross the Argon? If it was by the ferry at Olorin Isle, given their number, they would have had to make many trips across and back. Too, then they would have had to cross the Rissanin thereafter, and there is no ferry there, though they could have come through Caer Lindor." Tip turned to Urel. "Did any of the border watch report such?"
Urel shook his head. "Nay. But you've got to recall, most of them were making their way to the rendezvous when this force would have come across the Argon to this side."
Eyes turned to Riatha. "I would say they mayhap added many ferries and first made the crossing at Olorin Isle, after which they moved the barges to the Rissanin where they were used to cross again."
Bwen glanced at the map and asked, "Why not cross but once… farther down the Argon?" Her finger stabbed to the map just below the Rissanin.
Melor smiled. "Even though Bellon Falls lies twenty leagues downstream, the closer to that mighty cataract, the more perilous is the Argon, for the Rissanin, the Rothro, the Quadrill, and the Cellener all add their flow to that of the Great River. Nay, I ween Dara Riatha is right, for 'tis better to make two crossings than to chance being swept over the brim of Bellon and into the Cauldron below."
"Regardless as to how one would cross," said Ruar, "we need to know who fares ahead." He turned to Vail. "Send scouts, but tell them to be wary until we know just who it is to the fore."
Vail nodded, but at Tip's hopeful look, she shook her head. "Nay, Tipperton, this is a deed which calls for fleet horses, not ponies."
Moments later, Cein and Arylin rode swiftly away from the camp, each Dylvana drawing two remounts behind. Tipperton watched them go, then he turned to Vail. "I do hope it's Lian and Dwarves they find and not some column of foe." Vail nodded but did not reply.
Not quite a full day later, as camp was being set, Cein and Arylin came riding back. And soon the word was spread: the column ahead was indeed Lian from Darda Galion and Chakka from Kraggen-cor. And though Delf-Lord Volki was impatient to move onward, he and Coron Eiron and their combined forces would wait at their present camp by the River Argon for the Baeron and Dylvana to arrive.
"Good," said Beau by the fire that night. "More not-men."
Two more days they fared down the long slope to come to the river at last, where Coron Eiron's seven hundred Lian were encamped with Volki's twelve hundred Dwarves. And as Tipperton and the Warrows rode in among the waiting forces-"Ho, Little Ryn!" called a voice.
Rynna was off her pony and running ere Tipperton saw who was calling. And as his dammia hurled herself into the Lian's arms to be swung 'round and 'round, "Silverleaf!" Tipperton cried.
But Vanidar did not hear him, so engaged was he with Rynna.
And as Tip dismounted, he saw Aravan standing nearby, the Alor's face yet cast with gloom.
"So you pledged to this rapscallion, eh?"
Rynna looked across the fire at Tipperton and grinned. "Oh, Silverleaf, he's no rapscallion, and I do love him so."
"So I remember from the days at Caer Lindor," said Silverleaf, "those hand-in-hand strolls on the wall." He glanced at Riatha and turned to Tipperton. "And as for being a rascal, nay, he is not, but the Hero of Dendor, or so I have heard."
"Don't forget Mineholt North," said Beau 'round a mouthful of crue.
Tipperton looked up from the silver strings of his lute and said, "You can't believe everything you hear. I was just one small cog in the millworks."
"But a cog without which the mill would not run," said Riatha, "or so do the legends say."
Tip's eyes widened. "Legends…?"
Riatha nodded and gestured about the encampment. "Lady Bwen speaks of thee highly, as do others. And tales of thy feats at Dendor sing of heroic deeds."
Tip shook his head and said, "If you would cant legends of Warrows, then sing of Beau who found the cure for the plague. Sing of Rynna who saved me and Beau and led a Gargon to its death among the Groaning Stones. Sing of the Springwater Warrows who, though assailed by a Horde, delayed the advance until those who had survived the initial onslaught could reach the safety of Blackwood. Sing of those Warrows who died at the fall of Caer Lindor, the result of the Rivermen's treachery. Sing of Farly and Nix and Linnet and Alver and Dinly, heroes no less than any here."
As Tipperton fell silent, Riatha reached over her shoulder and drew the jade-handled sword from the green scabbard harnessed across her back and held it on high, its dark blade glinting as of starlight captured within. "Hal to the resolute Waerlinga, wherever they may be."