They stood at the brim of a wide pool in a small glade in the heart of the Larkenwald. Mist curled up from the clear surface in the dawntime air, and dusky twilight glowed from the Eld Trees all 'round.
"So this is a point of crossing," said Tip, his words a comment rather than a question.
"Aye," replied Phais, "an in-between, linking Mithgar and Adonar. The Eld Trees and the glade and pool make it so. See the mist: 'tis neither air nor water but an in-between, and always at dawn and dusk it rises. See the glade: in its smallness 'tis neither forest nor field but an in-between. And now see the dawn: neither night nor day but an in-between, as is dusk, and the in-between is somehow made easier by the light of the Eld Trees, here and in Adonar."
"There's Eld Trees on the other side in Adonar?" asked Beau.
"Aye, as is needed for a crossing point, there must be a fair match on each side, and between here and there it is nearly exact. Some say Vanidar Silverleaf made it so."
"The one who started this whole forest," said Tip.
Phais nodded, confirming his words. "It is told that three of the crossings are deliberately designed to be so: the one here, the one in Atala, and the stone ring in Lianion. As to the latter, mayhap Elwydd Herself made it so. It is said all other crossings are natural, such as the Oaken Ring in the Weiunwood."
Beau sighed. "If we had only known the rite, we could have crossed at the stone ring and come back across here and avoided all our delays and woes."
Phais nodded. "Aye, and if that were true and if we but knew of an in-between near Dendor… Ah, but we don't, and so we must needs take the perilous way."
The following day, armed and armored Lian-Alor and Dara alike-mounted fiery steeds and rode out from Wood's-heart, Coron Eiron at their head, all riding north for Drimmen-deeve to break the siege of the Horde. And though both Loric and Phais yearned to go with their kindred, still there was a pewter token to deliver in a land far away.
In spite of Tipperton's protests, Phais would not set out in the dark of the moon, but insisted upon waiting for it to come full, for the past eight weeks of riding and running and hiding and combat and living on the land had taken its toll on the Waerlinga, and by waiting they would regain some of the stamina they had spent.
And a week and two days after the Lian had ridden forth, dispatches began coming from the siege at Drimmendeeve, where the Elven forays into the Foul Folk lines became increasingly bloody.
And Death Redes came all unbidden to loved ones left behind, final messages somehow passed from love to love though no messengers arrived. And grief settled like a pall upon the forest entire, as if the trees themselves somehow knew of many deaths afar.
"Lord, oh lord," said Beau in hushed tones to Tipperton, "endless lives lost, lives they had just begun no matter their age."
Tip did not reply, but instead strummed his lute, while tears ran down his cheeks to fall glittering like diamonds upon the silver strings.
In the dawn of the twenty-second of July, as Silverlarks returned to sing sweetly overhead, Loric, Phais, Tip, and Beau all set out from Wood's-heart, the four once again mounted upon four horses, Loric and Phais riding in the lead, Tip and Beau upon packhorses drawn behind.
Due north they rode through the towering trees, aiming for a shallow ford across the Quadrill, some eight or nine leagues away. And enwrapped in the soft gloaming shadows down among the trees Beau fell adoze in his makeshift packsaddle, while Tipperton strummed his lute.
And thus they made their way through Darda Galion, a land of many rivers-the Rothro, the Quadrill, the Cel-lener, and the Nith, and all of their tributaries, their sparkling waters flowing down from the northern wold or from the nearby Grimwall Mountains to course easterly through the forest and issue at last into the broad rush of the mighty Argon. In all, the four companions would have to cross two of the great forest's primary rivers- the Rothro and the Quadrill-though they would splash through many of the lesser streams.
And as before, they rode at times, at other times walked, and occasionally paused to relieve themselves or to give the horses a drink in a stream or to feed the steeds a bit of grain. And little was said on the journey, for the Eld Trees were hush, and to gravely disturb the quiet seemed at odds with the nature of these woods. And so Beau drowsed and Tip strummed softly, mastering notes and chords.
It was late in the day when they came at last unto the Quadrill, where they splashed into the crystal flow, pausing in the pellucid stream just below the eastern end of a mid-river isle to let the horses drink, while Silverlarks caroled their evensongs and flew, to vanish in midflight as well as midsong, the forest somehow bereft with their absence.
"We will camp just beyond the far bank," said Loric, Phais nodding in agreement.
Horses watered, they surged on across and up, and into the twilight beyond.
The next day they turned to the northeast, aiming for Olorin Isle, and in early morn they splashed through the Rothro, the river running down from the wold lying beyond the north marge of the Larkenwald.
"Ten leagues," answered Loric to Beau's question, "but we will not ride that far. Instead we'll spend the night with the march-ward and cross the Argon midday on the morrow."
And in the evening they came unto an Elven camp, where warders on these bounds of the Eldwood were eager for any news of the progress of the war. And even as Loric and Phais told what they knew, one of the listeners cried out in anguish dire and fell stunned unto her knees.
A Death Rede had come.
In a sudden burst of wings and song, Silverlarks heralded the dayrise, appearing from nowhere, from everywhere, from the between, as they crossed on the morn into Mithgar.
After break of fast, while Tip and Beau rolled blankets and gathered gear, Loric and Phais saddled the horses, then lashed the goods to cantles and pack frames.
Bidding farewell unto the warders, they made ready to depart, but ere they did so Beau stepped unto the rede-stricken Dara, she yet pale and grieving, and he hugged her and whispered something into her ear, then turned and let Loric lift him to his mount.
Tipperton did not ask him what he had said, and Beau didn't volunteer.
"Lor'," breathed Beau, "but what a river."
Out before them stretched the mighty Argon, its broad waters sparkling under the midday sun. Beyond midriver lay Olorin Isle, and at its northern end they could see smoke rising from a few sparse dwellings of the River-men. Down before the comrades a ferry dock jutted out into the river, and from the pier an overgrown path bore southward alongside the stream. They all dismounted and led the horses down to the jetty.
"Why, it must be more than a mile across," said Beau, yet marveling at the width of the river, as Loric haled on the pull-rope to ring the summoning bell.
After a while they could see the ferry, with four men rowing, leave an island pier; a mule stood in their midst. As the oared barge crossed the wide stretch, the river current carried the float southerly; it would land somewhat downstream below the dock.
"So these are the Rivermen, eh?" said Tip, staring over water at the rowing men, their backs to the near shore, though now and again they turned their faces 'round to gauge their progress. "The ones whose kith pirated from an island upstream?"
Phais nodded. "From their fortress on Great Isle-Vrana was its name, I've heard."
"Hmm," mused Beau, "from here they don't look like looters."
"Those who are seduced by the Evil One oft look fair," said Phais. "Yet recall, these on Olorin Isle claimed innocence, and nought could be shown otherwise."