"Can't we live off the land?" asked Beau. "I mean, Tip here is a splendid archer, and I can sling a fair rock."
"If we would get to Aven soon, 'tis better that we carry our food, for need we hunt or fish or forage, 'twill slow our journey markedly."
But even as they prepared, a swift-running horse bearing a Lian messenger came galloping into the stead. And within a candlemark, Alor Talarin called the Waerlinga and Phais and Loric to the Elven war room.
Alor Talarin's face held a stony look as they entered, and Gildor, Vanidor, and Rael were at hand, their faces hard as well. Too, there stood flaxen-haired Inarion, one of Talarin's chief planners. Mud-spattered, the messenger was at the table as well, his dark hair plastered down by sweat. A map showing part of the Grimwall Mountains lay open on the table.
As the Waerlinga took their places, Talarin gestured to the messenger and said, "Duorn brings ill news."
Talarin turned to the Elf. Duorn cleared his throat and stabbed a finger down to the map at a place in the mountains no more than ten leagues from Arden Vale. Tip's heart fell when he saw where Duorn's finger landed, and his worst fears were confirmed when Duorn gritted, "Crestan Pass has fallen into the hands of Modru. One of his Hordes now occupies those heights and stands across the way."
"Hold on, now," protested Beau. "We're supposed to go through that pass." He turned to Tip, to find that buccan grinding his teeth in frustration.
"I know, wee one. I know." Talarin closed his hand into a fist, gripping so hard his knuckles shone white.
"But we've waited all this time," said Tip, "and now the way is shut? We've got to get through there somehow, else our plans are all for nought."
Rael's soft voice sounded. "It cannot be, Sir Tipperton, Sir Beau. As opposed to Dhruousdarda, ye cannot hope to pass through a Horde athwart the way, for unlike gnarled trees and scattered Foul Folk, in Crestan thousands stand alert and across the only path. We must needs make other plans."
Tipperton groaned yet otherwise remained silent, but Beau slammed his fist to the table and gritted, "Damn the Rupt! Damn the Rupt! Damn, damn, damn."
Phais turned the map about so that the Warrows could clearly see it, and she said, "We shall have to go a different way."
"The next pass south crosses the slopes of Coron Mountain," said Vanidor, "just north of Aevor." His finger touched the map along the mountain chain some fifty leagues south of Crestan Pass.
"Over Drimmen-deeve," said Gildor, nodding. "I have been that way."
Tipperton, mastering his frustration, said, "Drimmen-deeve? Isn't that the Dwarvenholt under the Quadran?"
"Aye," said Loric.
"But wait," said Beau. "A Horde marched south from Drearwood two weeks back. What if they've captured this pass over the mountains, too?"
Tipperton looked up at Gildor as the Elf stroked his chin. Then he touched the map, a finger tracing a route through the chain. "Then mayhap, Sir Beau, Sir Tip, the Drimma will allow ye passage through their deeves, from west to east, debouching here on the Falanith slopes."
"You mean for us to go under the mountain?" asked Beau, looking at the map. "Why, it must be thirty, forty miles that way under all that stone. Just thinking about it gives me the blue willies."
Gildor nodded. "Aye. 'Tis all of that and mayhap more, for once on a trade mission I traveled that way-under the stone, as thou dost say. And I would hope never to have to travel that way again, for as thou hast said, it gives one pause."
"Blue willies," muttered Beau, staring at the chart. "Blue willies indeed."
Tip shook his head. "Beau is right about the Horde that marched south. What if they're across our way, not necessarily in the pass over the Quadran, but elsewhere?"
"We can avoid them, Sir Tipperton, if they are in the open," said Loric, "for Elven eyes are keen. Tis only in the straits where they are like to trap us."
"The passes," said Tip bitterly.
"Aye, the passes," agreed Loric.
"All right then, what other ways are there? I mean, other than Crestan and the pass at the Quadran and the way under."
"Gunarring Gap," said Vanidor, pointing even farther south. "Through Gunar Slot to Gunarring Gap."
Tip groaned. "But that's even farther, another three, four hundred miles."
"And what if the slot is under Modru's control?" asked Beau. "What then?"
"Ralo Pass," answered Talarin.
"How about we go north instead?" asked Tip. "Isn't there a pass through the Grimwalls to the north?"
"The only one we can easily reach is Kregyn," replied Phais. "And the Rupt march through that from Gron. Too, I would not care to ride into Modru's very realm, 'cept were it to take war unto him. Nay, on a mission such as this, Kregyn is not the way to go."
"We could circle 'round Drearwood and go up through Rian," said Beau. "No, wait… Rian itself is under attack by the Foul Folk. I mean, Challerain Keep has fallen and all. Barn rats! That won't work."
"Drat!" agreed Tipperton. "It seems no matter where we turn, Modru bars the way."
"Not necessarily," said Inarion, speaking at last, "for even though one of his Swarms has gone south, we are not certain he bars all the ways through. Surely one or more will be open."
Tipperton looked up at Talarin. "What say you, Lord Talarin?"
Talarin stood a long while looking at the chart, but at last he said, "Alor Inarion is right." Talarin's finger touched down to the map and traced a course. "South through Rell seems the least of the evil choices ye face. Can ye not pass 'cross Coron Mountain-a mountain some name Stormhelm-then try the way under, through the holt of Drimmen-deeve. If it, too, is blocked"-his finger moved southward-"then there is Gunar Slot and the Gunarring Gap beyond. If the Slot is closed"-again his finger moved, sliding westerly this time-"then Ralo Pass may be open. If that way is barred, then mayhap ye can go farther downchain to where Trellinath meets Gothon"- now Talarin's hand moved to the border between the two, more than a thousand miles west of the pass into Gunar- "for I seem to recall there is a way through the mountains nigh here, leading into Tugal. Beyond that I cannot say, for if the choices come to such, only ye four will be able to weigh what needs at that time to be done."
With every one of Talarin's words, Tip's spirits fell, for each of the subsequent choices given seemed to be pushing them farther and farther away from Dendor in Aven, where King Agron ruled. Sighing, Tip touched his breast where the token rested and wondered if his vow to a dying Kings-man would ever be fulfilled.
Two days later, sunrise found Tip and Beau and Phais and Loric in the stables, saddling two horses and lading two others with provisions and a smattering of gear. Soon all was ready, and Phais and Loric each took the reins of two steeds and began leading them from the mews, Tip and Beau following. But even as they did so, they met Aris and Rael and Jaith coming down the passage within, and each bore a small bundle, yet what each held lay concealed within enwrapping cloth.
The three Darai stepped aside to let Phais and Loric and the four steeds pass. Then they beckoned the Waerlinga unto them.
The buccen stepped forward to say their farewells.
"I will miss our days together, Sir Tipperton," said Jaith,
"for 'twas a joy to play and sing for thee, as well as to tell thee legendary tales."
Tip smiled. "I just wish I could have learned the lute, my Lady, to play along as you sang."
Jaith laughed. "Fear not, my friend, for thou wilt one day learn. And speaking of lutes, I have for thee a parting gift." Smiling, Jaith unwrapped her bundle and presented Tipperton with a lute small enough to fit his hands.