Tip and Beau were led through the pines, and they could see a glowing spectrum of candlelit paper lanterns hanging from branches ahead. They came to a snow-covered meadow, red and blue and yellow and green lambency in trees ringing 'round. All Elves were present, those who could be spared, for some yet stood march-ward on the bounds of the vale, and others watched over Dhruousdarda to the west and Kregyn Pass to the north. Yet this night Loric and Arandar were present as were both Gildor and Vanidor-the two so like one another that only someone who had known them a long while might be able to tell which was which.
Dark-haired Elissan stood at one of the twin's side, while redheaded Jaith stood at the other's.
As Phais escorted Tip and Beau into the gathering, Loric came and offered his arm to the Dara, and together they accompanied the Waerlinga to a central point, where stood Talarin and Rael between two standards planted firmly- they bore the sigil of Arden Vale: green tree on grey field, the Lone Eld Tree standing in twilight.
Talarin glanced up at the gibbous moon nearing fullness. "Well and good, ye are here, and we would have ye join our observance of this special day, for spring strides onto the land and winter fades."
"What would you have us do?" asked Tipperton.
Rael smiled. "Pace with us our ritual."
"Bu-but," stammered Beau, "we don't know your rite."
Now Talarin stepped forward and held out a hand to each. "Just do as I do," he said, smiling.
Taking a hand of each Waerling, Talarin nodded to Rael. And she held up her hands and all in the clearing fell silent as all moved to a starting place, silks and satins rustling, leathers brushing in the quiet, Darai and Alori opposite one another, Darai facing north, Alori facing south. When movement ceased, Rael began to sing, or perhaps to chant, for it was something of each, and in this she was joined bit by bit by all Darai there.
Now Talarin took up the chant, or perhaps it was a song, and he too was joined by the Alori, each linking in seemingly at random, yet it was anything but.
And in the argent light of the silvery moon shining down on white snow, Darai and Alori began stepping out the turning of the seasons.
Singing, chanting, and pacing slowly pacing, they began a ritual reaching back through the ages. And enveloped by moonlight and melody and harmony and descant and counterpoint and feet soft in the silvery white, the Elves trod solemnly, gravely… yet their hearts were full of joy.
Step… pause… shift… pause… turn… pause… step.
Slowly, slowly, move and pause. Voices rising. Voices falling. Liquid notes from the dawn of time. Harmony. Euphony. Step… pause… step. Rael turning. Talarin turning. Darai passing. Alori pausing. Counterpoint. Descant. Step… pause… step…
And down among the shifting Lian and treading at Tala-rin's side, Tip and Beau were lost in the ritual… step… pause… step.
When the rite at last came to an end-voices dwindling, song diminishing, movement slowing, till all was silent and still-Darai and Alori once again stood in their beginning places: females facing north, males facing south. The motif of the pattern they had paced had not been random but had had a specific design, had had a specific purpose, and the same was true of the song, yet as to the overall design, as to the hidden intent, neither Tip nor Beau could say.
Yet they were exhilarated.
Now Talarin called for all to retire to the great hall, for food and drink and dance and song and story awaited them all. And amid song and laughter, to the hall they went.
Tip and Beau were given places of honor at the table just to the right of Talarin and Rael's dais, and once again the food was paraded 'round the hall, to the applause of all.
This night there was succulent wild boar, and duck and pheasant, and brook trout, and breads with honey and jellies and jams, and vegetables galore, and an assortment of nuts along with sweetmeats of crystallized fruit.
Mead flowed and wine and water and this night a ginger beer.
And Tip and Beau stuffed themselves as if they would never eat again.
And when the meal was done and the tables cleared-all but the drinking cups and pitchers of water and wine and ale-once again there were songs and singing, once again there were timbrels and strings and wind, and once again there were sagas spoken and chanted-and this night 'twas a ginger-haired, strapping Dara named Aleen, wearing leathers and bearing weapons, who whispered translations unto the buccen.
It was in the middle of "The Saga of Tugor and the Serpent's Eye" that the door swung wide and a bespattered Elf strode into the hall. Compact he was with dark hair and dark eyes, and a sword rode across his back.
The hall fell silent as his hard stride fell upon the wooden floor.
"Alor," said Talarin, standing at the Elf's approach, " 'tis not often one of the Dylvana graces this hall."
"I hight Eloran of Darda Erynian, yet I am come from Adonar these past four days."
"Adonar? Then thou hast ridden the in-between."
"Aye, the difficult crossing at the circle of stone."
Talarin raised an eyebrow. "Yet thou hast come here instead of riding unto thy Darda."
"I am sent on a mission, Alor Talarin, to bring thee tidings: Adon has sundered the way from Neddra to Mithgar."
A collective gasp rippled throughout the chamber, and Beau looked at Tip wide-eyed. "What does this mean?"
Robust Aleen sitting next to them clenched a fist and growled, "It means Adon has taken up the challenge and Gyphon's invasion will cease."
Chapter 17
Amid the astonished murmur among the Elves, wide-eyed, Tip asked, "How can he do that?"
Aleen looked at him. "Do what, wee one?"
"Sunder the way between."
"He is Adon," pronounced Aleen, as if that were enough.
Beau nodded and turned to Tip. "She's right, you know."
Tip frowned and shook his head. "But, I mean, what- how-what power-?"
Tip's unformed question fell unanswered as Talarin called for silence. Once again the Lord of the Hidden Vale turned to Eloran, but it was Rael who asked, "Is there more, Alor Eloran?"
"Aye," replied the Dylvana. "I am also come recently from High King Blaine: Modru of Gron has started a wide war."
Again a murmur swept through the assembled Elves, this one low and angry, for Eloran's words were from the High King himself and at last directly confirmed what had only been presumed true till now. Yet the undertone quickly subsided as Eloran continued: "A Horde of Foul Folk has cast down High King Blaine's garrison at Challerain Keep-"
"Oh, my," exclaimed Beau as shock rippled across the gathering.
"-and King Blaine and his small company now fight in retreat, hoping for others to join in the combat. Ere the garrison fell, the High King lit the balefires himself, and they call for an alliance of Men, Elves, Dwarves, and Mages to oppose this great threat."
Once more whispered comments purled throughout the hall, but Beau turned to Tip and querulously said, "Hoy, now, he's left us completely out. I mean, what about Warrowkind? Does the King not know we exist?"
"Ha!" barked Aleen. "He also left unnamed many others, my friend: the Hidden Ones, Utruni, Children of the Sea, Phaels, and more. Yet fear not, for although ye and they are not named, still all are Free Folk and will count in the end."
Talarin held up a hand to quell the unrest, and slowly the murmur died. "Eloran, I would see thee in my chambers. But first thou dost need rest, refreshment, and meal." Talarin motioned to Vanidor, then turned again to Eloran. "In eight candlemarks. neh?"
As Vanidor stepped to the Dylvana's side, Eloran canted his head forward in agreement, and then followed Vanidor from the hall.