Tip nodded abstractly as he stood at the window and looked outward across the snow running downslope through scattered pines to fetch up against the brink of the Tumble River, called Virfla by the Elves.
"And look, Tip, we have two beds," continued Beau, "though as big as they are, one would serve, with you at one end and me at the other."
"Umn," grunted Tip, not turning to see, his mind elsewhere.
While Tipperton brooded at the window, Beau went about the cottage, opening drawers, looking in cupboards, peering up at shelves, looking under counters, and commenting on whatever he found: cooking utensils, blankets and linens, washcloths and towels and lye soap and a tub for laundry as well as tallow soap for baths, a fireplace with cooking irons and a cauldron, a well-stocked pantry, an indoor pump and buckets and a washstand with a porcelain basin and pitcher, chairs, tables, a writing desk equipped with parchment and quills and inkpots and other such. Beau glanced out the back door, to see a stock of firewood nearby and a privy house across a short expanse of snow.
"Well," said Beau, coming at last to stand beside Tip, "it seems we have everything we need for living while we wait for the thaw."
Tip sighed. "I wonder if we're doing the right thing by waiting, Beau. Look, we don't know what may happen between now and then, and should these Gargon things invade this vale… well, you heard Talarin-we'd be on the run to who knows where. Perhaps it would be better if we simply set out southerly now."
"But Tip, even if we did leave today or tomorrow, who knows what we'd encounter? I mean, there's like to be Vulgs and Gargons and other Spawn all along the way, no matter which path we choose. At least here among the Elves we're safe for now. And by waiting for the thaw we'll be exposed much less time to whatever dangers lie before us… and as Phais and Talarin said, we'll still get to Agron sooner by the direct route than the longer roundabout way."
Again Tipperton sighed. "I know you're right, Beau, just as are they. Even so…" Tip's words trailed off into silence.
"Even so, you'd rather be doing something instead of hanging about doing nothing, eh?" said Beau. "Well, me too. And what I plan on doing is talking to Elven healers and seeing just what I can learn."
Tip looked up at his friend. "I suppose I could hone my skills with a bow. And you know, bucco, you could use some practice with that sling of yours."
Beau groaned and nodded reluctantly. "I guess you're right, Tip. I mean, back in Drearwood I was right dreadful at casting stones. And even though I'd rather heal than kill, if it comes down to it… well, I suppose I could hit 'em in the head with a rock."
Loric had gone back on march-ward, but Phais gladly arranged for the Waerlinga to sharpen their skills, providing Tip with an Elven-made bow-to replace his split one- along with additional arrows, and Beau with an Elven-made sling and more bullets.
"Oh, my, this is a beauty," said Tip, caressing the polished yew and bone laminate. "But I cannot accept such a gift. It needs to remain with its maker."
Phais laughed. "Nay, wee one, I'll not take it back. 'Tis the first time in seasons uncounted I have come across someone who can use it, for it is entirely too small for me now, this thing of my infancy. And its maker, my sire, will be delighted that it once again finds a use."
"Your da made this?"
"Aye, back on Adonar, when I was but a child."
Tip shook his head. "Wull, when this is all over-this war-I'll give it back to you so that your own children can use it, that is, should you have any."
Phais smiled. "Loric and I have talked of returning to Adonar to have a child when conditions among Elvenkind permit."
Beau looked up from his new sling. "When conditions permit?"
Phais looked at Beau for a long while, saying nothing. But at last she said, "Aye, Sir Beau. When conditions permit," and then she said no more, and Beau did not pry.
Over the next several weeks and under the Dara's gentle eye, they practiced long and hard at casting missiles with their newfound weapons-Tipperton's arrows flying true, thunking into the bull's-eye more often than not at ranges near and far, and Beau's facility at flinging bullets improving rapidly too, as hand and arm and aim became one with the sling. The Dara as well trained them in the skills of climbing, with rock-nail and jam and snap-ring and silken rope-skills in rappelling or moving 'cross stone faces, skills anchoring one another and paying out or taking up line, and skills at free-climbing too, relying on nought but legs and arms and fingers and toes. Upon the sheer stone of Arden's walls they climbed, upon the sides of lofty crags, down through crevices and up through cracks, backs braced hard against one side, feet against the opposite. Up to the very top of the western wall she took them, there where the stone was flat and more than a quarter mile wide. And the first time there they went to the far edge:
"Take care, wee ones, and stay low, using rock and lone trees for cover, for I would not have us silhouetted stark against the sky."
"Oh, my," breathed Beau, lying on his stomach and peering beyond the brim, looking to where a snarl of dark forest tangled out to the horizon westerly and to north and south as well. "That's Drearwood, eh?"
"Indeed it is," replied Phais.
"It's a wonder we ever made it through," said Tip, the edge of his gloved hand cupped against his forehead, shading his eyes. "Where is Kregyn Pass, the one the Gargons came through?"
"North," said Phais, pointing. "There where the hills rise up, though the pass itself cannot be seen from here."
Tip peered northward.
" 'Tis named Gruwen by men," added Phais.
"Oh," exclaimed Tip. "I've heard of it by that name, though just where…"
"There's an ancient song," said Phais, "of Geela guardians, singers of death."
"Ah, yes," replied Tip. "I say, is the tale true?"
Phais shrugged.
"I can't seem to find the Crossland Road," said Beau, peering southward.
" 'Tis beyond the horizon, Sir Beau," said Phais, "fifteen leagues, or thereabout."
Now Tip's gaze swept north and south along the capstone of the bluff. "I thought that there were warders up here on the wall, yet I see none."
Phais laughed. "They watch in secret, Sir Tip; it would not do to be seen. Yet they are here, I assure thee."
"Wull," said Beau, gesturing at Drearwood, "even though I know that Foul Folk are in there, I don't see how anything could be spotted down in that monstrous knot."
"The eye becomes accustomed to it," murmured Phais, "and movement within plucks at thy gaze."
Tip looked long and hard, then finally said, "I just hope no movement comes this way, at least until we're gone from Arden Vale." A stricken look flashed over Tipperton's features, and he turned to the Dara. "Oh, my, I didn't mean that how it sounded, Lady Phais. I did not mean to sound…" Tip struggled for the proper word.
"Selfish?" volunteered Beau.
Guilt momentarily flickered across Tip's face.
"Cowardly?" added Beau.
Anger replaced guilt. "No, Beau, not cowardly. It's just that I don't want anything to stop or delay us from delivering the coin."
The Dara smiled in understanding and gestured toward Arden Vale. "Thou didst not wish to sound unconcerned over the fate of those herein."
Tip nodded. "I am concerned. Lady. But I don't think there's one bloody thing I can do about it. Yet to take the Kingsman's token to Agron, well, that's something I can accomplish, given that nothing bars the way." He glanced easterly at the snow-laden Grimwalls rising up in the distance. "I wish the bedamned thaw would hurry and get here."
"Hoy!" called Beau. "Movement."