"It looks like a burnt farmstead," said Beau.
Tip glanced at the sun, gauging it to be four hands from setting. "Our provisions are low," he said. "Let's go see can we find anything to take with us."
Down into the swale they went and past a destroyed corral, rounding the burnt hulk of a byre. Of a sudden Tip stopped, for there, bloated, maggots writhing just under the skin, lay the corpse of a woman, though the only way of knowing it was a female was by the clothing she wore. She was clutching the corpse of a child, bloated and infested too, skin swollen and ready to burst.
And the stench was unbearable.
Tipperton turned and vomited, and Beau sank to his knees in dismay, his eyes wide, his hands pressed to his mouth.
"Oh, Adon, what is it we see?" whispered Beau.
"Death," said Loric.
"War," amended Phais.
And soon they moved onward, striding into the grass again.
Rain fell down and down, and lightning stalked across the plains. And during the three days of the violent storm, little progress was made.
Streams became raging torrents, and often they would have to walk far ere they found a place to cross, and these dangerous to the Waerlinga as small as they were. Yet with Loric and Phais's help, across the roiling waters they went.
And when the skies finally cleared, they were far afield of their chosen path. Yet once again across the plains they went, now and then espying riding Hyrinians or running Chabbains or both and hiding whenever they did. And still they had to take wide detours to cross 'round waters yet wild.
And they ran out of food.
"We need to take a day to hunt, to forage, while we yet have the strength," said Loric. "Else we'll be too weak to reach our goal."
"On the morrow, then," said Phais, "we hunt."
The buccen strode back into the camp together.
"I feathered a fat marmot," said Tip, raising his bow in his left hand and the arrow-pierced burrower in his right.
"And I brought down a rabbit," said Beau, canting his head toward the long-legged, long-eared hare slung over his shoulder.
"Stealthy Waerlinga," said Loric, smiling at Phais, then turning back to the buccen. "We garnered nought from any of our snares."
"Even so," said Phais, "there are these." And she held up a bundle of wild leeks.
Loric looked at the fare. "With careful rationing, two days, I would say, then we must hunt again."
"Huah!" snorted Beau, pausing to look leftward as his companions strode on. "So that's the Great Escarpment, eh?"
In the far distance, low on the rim of the world and lit aslant by the rising sun, stood a long upjut of land, running from horizon to horizon west to east.
"Aye," replied Loric, striding past the buccan, " 'tis the Great Escarpment, her steeps well warded by Lian Guardians, for above stands Darda Galion."
Beau shook his head. "Well, it doesn't look so great to me," he said, trotting after the others.
"How far away is it?" asked Tipperton, trailing behind Phais.
"Some fourteen leagues," replied Loric.
"Fourteen leagues!" blurted Beau, catching up to Tipperton again. "Forty-two miles?"
"Aye."
"Hmm," mused Tipperton. "Then it must be rather tall."
"Aye. Two hundred fathoms in places, though east of the Argon it dwindles to the level of the land on which the Greatwood stands."
Beau shaded his eyes and peered again. "Two hundred fathoms, four hundred yards, twelve hundred feet: that's quite high. Hmm, perhaps it is rather great after all." He glanced at Loric. "When will we reach it?"
Loric pointed straight ahead northeasterly. "Vanil Falls and the Cauldron lie mayhap thirty leagues afar. Can we maintain a goodly pace, and given that we yet need a day or two along the way to hunt for food, mayhap we'll be there in a fiveday or seven."
Tipperton sighed and strode on.
The following day, Year's Long Day, they went another five miles before the sun set, and they continued walking under the stars and a gibbous waxing moon. Yet at the mid of night and by the argent light of the westering moon, Loric and Phais and Tip and Beau trod out the Elven rite of Summerday in the tall green grass of Valon.
Step… pause… shift… pause… glide… pause… step. Phais chanting, Loric singing, step… pause… step…
The moon had fallen considerably when they took up the trek again, and they walked until dawn and a bit after ere stopping for the day.
During the hunt the next day they brought down no game, Beau missing the only quarry seen, a ring-necked pheasant that had taken to wing at his very feet.
Yet Phais managed to find double handfuls of small root vegetables she named nepe but which both buccen knew as rutabaga, though these were wild and immature.
"Lor'," said Beau, taking another bite and making a sour face, "but I didn't think I'd be eating young raw turnips out here in the open plain. Regardless, this one meal a day isn't to my liking, for my stomach is touching my backbone, and so raw or not, wild or not, these'll do."
Tip, chewing, looked at his friend through watering eyes. "A bit tart, though, wouldn't you say?"
Loric laughed, then sobered. "We will have to hunt again, if not on the morrow, then certainly the day after."
Tip swallowed and looked at the Great Escarpment, yet some distance off to their left. "Are you certain that we're drawing closer to our goal, Loric? I mean, we seem to be getting no nearer."
Loric peered northeastward. "Another twenty or twenty-five leagues, my friend, will find us ascending the Long Stair next to Vanil Falls."
Beau took another bite of the pungent fleshy root, then said 'round the mouthful, "Well I for one will be glad to be shed of these plains, what with riders and runners about."
After resting throughout the long day, they took up the trek again in the eve and walked through the night. The following morn they made camp in a small grove.
"Lor', but I'm famished," said Beau, "and thinking of eating grass."
"We need to hunt and forage once more," said Loric. "Else we'll not have the strength for the climb when we do reach the Cauldron."
"But first we should rest," said Phais. "Then hunt."
They bedded down, all but the one on watch, and slept through the heart of the day, but in midafternoon they set out in separate directions to forage: Beau with his sling, Tip with his bow, and Phais and Loric running the line of snares they had set while the Waerlinga had slumbered.
Tip found another set of burrows and settled down to watch, his back against a nearby mound, an arrow set to string. Yet worn as he was, he dozed in the afternoon light.
The sun had reached the horizon when a sound startled him awake, and he looked up to see "Yaahhh!" shouted the spear-bearing Chabbain, leaping at the Warrow, spear stabbing forward even as the shrieking buccan desperately rolled aside, his arrow lost to his grasp.
Shnk! the blade of the weapon knifed into the soil, only to be jerked free and plunged again at Tip.
But Tipperton had gained his feet, and he darted aside, the spear catching nought but Elven cloak, the cloth sliding across the blade and away.
"Maut!" sissed the Chabbain, whirling after the fleeing Warrow.
Tipperton ran toward the thicket, and Thkk! the spear flew past him to bury itself in the sod.
And all in one motion Tip stabbed to a halt and spun while snatching an arrow from his quiver and set it to string and drew and loosed, impaling the rushing Chabbain square through the heart, the dark man to tumble dead at the buccan's feet.
And Tipperton heard another shout and looked up to see a second Chabbain running at him with raised spear in hand, while a Hyrinian on horseback thundered after.
Calmly, Tip nocked a second arrow to string and loosed, and even as it flew, he set the third shaft to his bow.