Beau frowned, trying to remember.
"The Dragonstone," said Tip.
"Oh, yes," said Beau, enlightened. "She was a Dylvana, eh?"
"Indeed," said Phais, glancing into the nosebag of her horse. "Ah, the grain is gone."
Sighing, Tip stepped to his pony. Its feed was gone as well, and so he unsnapped the bag and slipped it in among the gear as Loric and Phais and Beau did likewise.
They rode another league or so and then set camp for the night. And during his watch by the light of the fire Tip softly played his lute, remembering… remembering.
And as he played, wild animals, it seemed, came to listen, or so it appeared, for among the trees eyes could be seen glowing, casting back the flame.
"I had the strangest dream, Tip."
"Oh?"
"I dreamt I was awakened in the night by someone speaking in a strange tongue, and saw Phais conversing with a small shadow, while nearby stood a fox."
"Mmm. That is strange. Was there any more?"
"No." Beau chrked his tongue, and his pony picked up the pace a bit, for he and Tip had lagged too far behind the riders ahead. "I must have dreamt I went back to sleep," called Beau over his shoulder.
Tip shrugged, then chrked his tongue as well.
Ahead, both Phais and Loric looked at one another and smiled.
In camp that night they heard foxes barking somewhere off in the woods, the high-pitched yips seeming to come from all quarters.
Progress was slow through the forest, for unlike Darda Galion with its mossy underfooting and wide-set trees, here the undergrowth was thick and in places the trees seemed to crowd 'round, as if trying to bar the way. Yet now and again they would come to an open glade, or field, or glen-and if they did not detour around it, they would kick the horses and ponies into a swift trot and ride across, the mules protesting at this unseemly gait, yet unable to do aught but follow after, drawn on the tethers tied to the rear cantles of Phais's and Loric's saddles.
But in one of these open places-a large field covered entirely with mounds, each some eight or ten feet high and twice as wide at the base, each hillock covered with a strawlike yellowish grass, or what seemed to be grass- Phais cautioned the Waerlinga to follow directly behind, and with the animals moving at a walk, she and Loric carefully threaded among the knolls, the buccen coming after.
Of a sudden, "Oh my," hissed Beau, calling back to Tipperton. "One of them moved, Tip. I swear one of them moved."
"One of the mounds?"
"Yes yes, one of the mounds. That one over there."
Tip looked where Beau pointed. As far as Tip was concerned, the mound looked insignificantly different from all the others, with nothing in particular to single it out.
"It turned a bit and, I vow, it seemed to, urn, squat somewhat."
Tip started to speak, but Beau snapped, "And don't tell me I'm imagining things."
Tipperton closed his mouth and carefully followed in Beau's tracks, while Beau in turn carefully followed Phais and her pack mule, the buccan nervously twitching this way and that in his saddle, as if trying to look all directions at once.
That night again they heard foxes nearby, and when Tipperton played, eyes shined at him from the dark.
The following day, even though a grey overcast covered the sky, Tip awakened in a better humor, as if resigned that it would be awhile before he saw his Rynna again.
And during breakfast he said to Beau: "Just so she's safe, that's all I want, and I can't think of a safer place than Caer Lindor."
As they resumed their journey northward, down through the trees the rain began falling, leaves catching water in mid plummet but then shedding it down adrip. And although the earth drank it thirstily, still rivulets and streamlets ran underfoot and -hoof. And as the day grew, so did the rain as it fell down and down. Streams rose, their woodland courses running to the brim, some overflowing the banks, and birds sat grumpy and wet among the branches above and now and again shook away water or preened in vain.
Through it all the comrades continued northward, cloaks wrapped 'round tightly, warding off the wetness, though hair and faces were drenched.
Yet though it rained, still among the trees along their flanks did silent shadows run.
That night the rain continued to fall, and the four had no campfire to ward away the wetness, for no dry wood could be found. Even so, Loric erected a pair of lean-tos and they escaped the worst of it.
By the following morning the rain had stopped, but the forest remained adrip, and as they pushed through the heavily laden branches, rider and horse and mule and pony became thoroughly soaked.
Turbulent streams raced across the way, shallow for the most part, and here the animals had little trouble crossing. Yet they came to a wide forest tributary of the Rissanin and had to fare upstream several miles to find a shallow enough ford.
That night again they set a fireless camp, for the wood was drenched, and when Tip played his lute, if there were watchers and listeners, he saw no gleam of eyes.
In midafternoon of the eighth day after setting out from Caer Lindor, the four came in among what seemed a boundless stand of silver birch, the close-set white trunks marching off before them, with no end in sight.
" 'Tis a forest within a forest," said Phais, "and here Dylvana dwell."
"Oh," said Tip. "Is this Bircehyll? The place where we'll see Coron… Coron…?"
"Ruar," said Loric. "Coron Ruar. And we'll see him if he is at court. But to answer your other question, Bircehyll itself lies a distance ahead, another two leagues or so."
With serrated green leaves rustling overhead and burbling rivulets flowing below, they rode into the silver birch weald, the trees all around glowing brightly in the afternoon sun, the bark of the clusters lucent in the radiance.
"Lor'," said Beau, "I thought the twilight of Darda Galion was magical, but this light all about is magical, too."
Tip nodded. "It seems safe, doesn't it?"
Beau's mouth dropped open. "Hoy now, but you're right. Not at all like"-Beau looked back over his shoulder-"like Blackwood behind."
"I think it's the light," said Tip. "After all, we're still in Black wood."
"Oh no we're not. Phais said it herself: a forest in a forest, that's what it is, and I'll thank you to not tell me otherwise."
Tip laughed and turned to fetch his lute, and soon a lively tune sprang from the argent strings as they rode among silver birch.
The day waned as they rode onward, and before them the land began to rise. "Bircehyll," said Loric, pointing at the gentle slope, and up the incline they fared. And as the sun sank below the horizon and twilight crept upon the land, they came in among white-stone, thatch-roofed cottages, dwellings much the same as those in Arden Vale as well as those in Wood's-heart, and these were lighted with lanterns, glowing yellow as evening fell. Dylvana paused in whatever tasks they were doing, Darai and Alori watching as on upward rode the four, and the comrades could see that here, too, just as in Darda Galion, just as in Arden Vale, Elves were preparing to set out on some campaign, for they polished armor and sharpened blades and checked riding tack and gear.
"Why is it," Beau asked, "that every time we come to an Elvenholt, they seem to be on the verge of riding to battle? Do we bring this down on their heads? If so, then I suggest next time we pass them entirely by."
Loric smiled and said, "The war is wide, my friend. The war is very wide."
On upward they pressed, and now Tip could see that the crest of the hill was bare of dwellings, and the clusters of silver birch trees thereon were sparse and widely spaced.
Loric did not ride across the crown of the mound but circled 'round instead.
At last on the north side of the hill they came to the Coron Hall, this too a thatch-roofed building, long and low and wide.