Tip's heart lurched and he felt as if he could not breathe.
"What of Vanidar and the others?" asked Aravan, who had remained behind in command.
"Last I saw, Silverleaf and the Waldana were racing downstream along the bank and feathering them with arrows, though many a black shaft flew back at them. Those of the warband without bows and slings rode alongside covering the flanks just in case there were more aland, or to be on hand if those on the river turned ashore."
"And the dead?"
The Baeran gestured to where several of the travois had been unfastened and lay off to the side, the bodies thereon covered with blankets. "We brought back those we could, though if Silverleaf and the others take wounds, there's likely to be more."
Again Tip's heart flopped and, trembling, he stepped toward the dead.
Only one of those slain was the size of a Warrow, and with his breath coming harsh and gasping, Tipperton slowly raised the corner of the blanket to see, and he fell to his knees weeping, weeping in relief, for it was not Rynna, but Winkton Bruk instead.
She's safe, oh Adon, she's safe.
And then guilt flooded Tipperton's very soul.
Oh, my. Oh, my. How can I rejoice when Wink lies here dead; how can I be glad that it's Wink instead of her?
With tears running down his cheeks, Tip reached out with his fingers and smoothed back Winkton's dark hair.
I'm so sorry, so very sorry, Wink.
And he covered Winkton's face with the blanket once more and then stood. And he looked about, not only feeling guilty but also feeling utterly useless, for he knew nought but the most rudimentary of healing skills, and they needed more here. And his eyes sought the sight of Rynna Yet she is not here, not here, but out there somewhere still, black-shafted arrows seeking her heart. Oh, my Rynna, be safe.
Tip trudged to a ramp and up to stand vigil once more.
The sun had climbed to the zenith when another horn sounded from the forest, and Elves and men on horses and Warrows on ponies came plodding forth, some drawing travois behind, and on some of these drawn litters, blanket-covered bodies rode.
His heart thudding in fear, Tip sought sign of his loved one as each pony, as each horse, plodded forth from among the trees. Yet she did not appear and did not appear, and tears sprang to his eyes, to be shaken away, for he would see.
And then Silverleaf on his black came forth from the woodland, and none came after. And Tip cried out in despair, but in that same moment a morose Rynna rode forth from beside Silverleaf; her pony had been concealed by the larger mount.
"Rynna!" shrieked Tipperton. "Rynna, up here!"
And she looked up to see Tip waving madly.
With a wild whoop Rynna spurred her pony, her little steed to gallop across the bridge, Tipperton to dash down from above.
Tip reached the bailey at the same time Rynna did, and she haled her mount to a skidding halt, seeming to stop and dismount at one and the same time.
And Tip caught her up and swung her about, and kissed her soundly, she kissing him just as fervently in return.
"Oh, my buccaran," she gasped, tears running down her cheeks, "I thought you would be gone."
"And I thought you wounded or worse," said Tip, his own eyes welling with joy. Then he gasped. "Buccaran. You called me your buccaran. Oh, my dammia, how did you know I loved you?"
She looked at him, her amber-gold eyes wide. "I've known it from the first moment I saw you. Did you not know it in return?"
While the Baeron bore their four slain kindred south into the Greatwood to lay them beneath leafy bowers, the Elves and Warrows built a great pyre at the edge of Darda Erynian for the remaining five dead: three Warrows and two Elves- a Lian and a Dylvana.
As they did so, Beau turned to Tip and said, "Lor', Tip, Warrows. Warrows killed in this war." And he burst into tears, Tipperton weeping as well. And Rynna took them both in her embrace, and the three stood together and cried.
And as the flames soared and the dead burned and the Warrows wept, Silverleaf and Aravan lifted their sweet voices and sang all the souls into the sky, while deep in the Greatwood, the Baeron stood in grim silence.
Evening fell, and in the twilight Rynna and Tip stood on the battlements and peered out at the forest and down at the river below, and as the darkness deepened they watched as stars came creeping into the moonless night.
"Isn't it strange," said Rynna, peering down at the glimmers in the water below.
"What?"
"The river."
"How so?"
"The water continually flows and flows and yet it is always there; it is always the same, yet every moment it is new."
"As is our love, dear heart, as is our love."
Bone-weary-Tipperton from lack of sleep and worry, Rynna from lack of sleep and battle-after a late supper, together they walked toward her quarters.
"We leave on the dawn," said Tip.
"I know," replied Ryn.
They came to her door.
"Stay awhile," she said.
A time later and at the request of Silverleaf, Beau went looking for Tip to have the buccan come and choose a pony. Beau walked to Rynna's door.
He softly knocked.
No answer.
He knocked again.
No answer still.
Perhaps they 're not in, bucco. Then again perhaps they are. Of course, they may be up on the battlements watching the stars and canoodling, for surely if they were in, either Ryn or Tip would answer.
Softly Beau opened the door. Tip and Ryn, fully clothed, were lying on her bed sound asleep spoonwise, Tip with his arm about her.
Softly Beau closed the door. I'll just pick out his pony myself.
Sometime in the middle of the night, Tip awakened to find Rynna lying beside him and studying his face by the light of the stars seeping in through the high window.
She was unclothed.
Tipperton sat up, and without speaking she knelt on the bed beside him and gently unlaced his shirt.
And though neither had any experience, they made sweet and tender love and fell asleep once more in one another's arms.
Stay.
I cannot. I have a promise to fulfill to a dead Kingsman.
Come with me.
I cannot, for I have my own pledge to carry out, an oath taken when Springwater was destroyed.
Wait for me.
Wait for me.
I will, my buccaran.
I will, O dammia mine.
And they made sweet, gentle love again.
Dawn came.
Horses and ponies were saddled and mules laden with gear and fare-grain for the animals, and rations for Li an and Waerlinga.
And Rynna gave over the gift of three red-fletched arrows to Tipperton, arrows with a woven collar of scarlet bark at the head.
As Tip accepted them he asked, "What are these?"
"Signal arrows," replied Rynna. "Light them and loose them into the sky. They make a bright crimson flare and leave a burning streak in the air behind. You never know when you may need one."
"Oh, Ryn, I have nothing to give you in exchange."
"You've given me yourself and that is enough. Just promise me you'll return."
"I will come when the coin is delivered," said Tipperton, placing the arrows in his quiver.
Rynna nodded and tried to smile brightly.
Tipperton took up his lute and tied it to the rear cantle and then stepped back from the pony and looked it over. All seemed ready. Then he turned to Rynna and embraced her. "Stay safe, my dammia," he whispered, his voice husky.
"Take care, my buccaran," she whispered back.
Tip glanced at Loric, and at a nod, they began walking the steeds across the bailey and toward the gate, Phais leading, Loric next, then Beau, with Tip and Rynna coming last.
Through the jinking passage under the wall they went, the animal hooves aclatter upon the stone way, Tipperton dreading what was to come.
"She was right, you know," said Tip above the clack and chatter and echo of shod hooves.
"Who was right?" asked Rynna.