Ruar turned to Gara. "Thy horses are better suited to drag the timbers unto the narrows."
Gara nodded. "I will gather a company and we will follow Lady Vail back unto the stand." He turned to Bwen. "By the time you reach the gorge, the bridge should be in place."
Bwen scratched her head and glanced at the sun overhead, then patted the side of the mired wain at hand. "Make it sturdy, Chieftain. Make it sturdy."
Within six candlemarks, and following Vail, two hundred Baeron rode out, the company bearing axes and saws and awls and augers and ropes as well as other tools.
By that evening the train had moved only another six miles in spite of the heat of the sun.
And the next day they moved another seven miles altogether.
The following day they moved seven miles again, hindered primarily by stony, rugged terrain rather than by soggy land. And when evening came, they had reached the gorge.
A bridge awaited them there.
"Coo," breathed Beau, standing with Tipperton, surveying the span.
Great logs, nigh forty feet long and bound together with ropes and crossbeams, bridged the gap. All was pinned with long, heavy pegs driven through augered holes. Atop the logs and pinned as well was rough-hewn planking thwartwise. Shallow ramps led up and onto the bridge on the near side and down and off opposite. Some fourteen feet wide was the bridge, with no side rails whatsoever.
And a torrent of water yet raced through the ravine below.
"Lor'," called Beau above the rush, "how did you do it so fast?"
Tip smiled. "With two hundred of these great huge Baeron plying axes and saws and other such, how could we not?"
"How did you get it across?"
"Easy, Beau: up at the headwaters it was shallow enough for some of the Baeron to go over on their tall horses, and they simply rode back down on the far side. Then with ropes and those same huge horses, they spanned the ravine one log at a time. After that it was easy. -Well, easy for the Baeron. If it'd been Warrows, we'd still be up there in the valley cutting wood."
The next morning turn in turn the wagons rolled onto the span and across, hooves clopping and wheels rumbling on the rough-hewn planks, the great timbers groaning and creaking under the weight of horse and wain and cargo and driver. One by one they passed across as two Warrows watched, Tip and Beau on the far side, having crossed over with the vanguard. The remainder of the cavalcade and the train escort came between wain crossings, while the rear guard and trailing scouts waited to come last of all.
The great placid horses of the Baeron seemed not at all disturbed by the narrow span above the long drop, but when Tipperton on his pony had crossed, he had ridden as close to the center of the bridge as he could, and while on the span had refused to look down.
And now as he and Beau stood side by side and watched, Beau gestured down into the depths below, where water yet ran, though less wild. "Well, here's another ravine we've managed to foil. Let's hope there's no more in the miles between here and our goal."
"I hope so, too, Beau. There's ten leagues left to go, thirty miles to Mineholt North. Vail and Loric and I should be within sight of the Dwarvenholt before this day is done, or by early next morn at the latest."
"Hmm," mused Beau. "At the rate the train has been moving, it'll be winter before we come."
"Winter?" blurted Tipperton.
Beau smiled. "Well, maybe not winter, but three or four days at least."
In that moment Loric and Vail came riding unto the Waerlings, the Lian and Dylvana trailing a packhorse and two remounts. "We must hie, Tipperton," said Loric.
Tip mounted his pony and took the tether of the pack-horse. He turned to Beau and drew in a deep breath and blew it out. "So long, Beau, I'll see you in three or four days, eh?"
"You take care, bucco."
With a salute, Tip wheeled his steed, and together with Loric and Vail rode away north. In moments, it seemed, the trio passed the rolling wagons and then elements of the cavalcade and finally the vanguard farther on to disappear beyond the shoulder of a small tor.
Beau sighed and turned to mount his pony, only to find Phais waiting and watching as well.
"Hist," whispered Loric. "I hear movement below."
A quarter moon stood overhead, and by its light and that of the stars Tip looked down the eastern slope.
They had ridden some twenty-two miles through rugged land, and when night had fallen they made a fireless camp atop a hillock some eight miles short of the mineholt.
And now a faint ching of armor and clop of hooves could be heard in the long, twisting draw below.
"Muzzle the steeds," hissed Vail. And they scurried to the animals and whispered soothing murmurs, Tip's pony accepting strokes and soft sounds as if they were its due.
But of a sudden the packhorse jerked up its head and nickered.
The movement below juddered to a halt.
"Weapons," sissed Loric, drawing his sword, while both Tipperton and Vail took bow in hand and nocked arrows.
"Be ready to flee," whispered Vail.
Back toward the overlook they crept.
And Tip's heart leapt into his throat and he softly groaned, for below a full mounted column, armed and ready, twined beyond seeing through the draw and stood quietly, as if listening.
Chapter 33
"In the fore is a banner," whispered Loric.
"What sigil does it bear?" breathed Tipperton.
"A circle-"
Tip's stomach clenched. A ring of fire?
"-a silver circle-"
Not fire!
"-on a field of blue."
Vail stepped forward in the moonlight. "Hdl, men of Riamon!" she called. "We are of Darda Erynian, the Great Greenhall!"
A single arrow was loosed and hissed upslope wide of the mark-Vail stood fast-and someone nigh the head of the column barked a harsh command: "Staande houden!"
Weapons were lowered yet remained in hand.
"Show yourselves all!" demanded the voice.
"We are but three," called Vail.
Now Loric and Tipperton stepped forward.
"You have a child with you?"
"I am no child," cried Tipperton, raising his bow in one hand overhead-and below like weapons were whipped up and aimed-"but a Warrow instead."
"Ik zeggen staande houden!" roared the voice, and all weapons below were lowered again, Tipperton hastily lowering his own.
"Did you say one of the Volkskleini Smallfolk?"
"I don't know whether I am one of those, but I am a Warrow."
There was a whispered word or two, and then: "I did not know that Waldans lived in the Blackwood."
Now Loric spoke. "They do not. Sir Tipperton is from the Wilderland beyond the Grimwall, and I am of late from the Hidden Stand, while Dara Vail is a Dylvana from Darda Erynian-that which thou dost name Blackwood."
"And your name?"
"He is Lord Loric, Lian Guardian," said Tipperton, then added, "And just who by the millstone are you?"
"He's a Waldan, all right," said someone below, "like those in Springwater."
Tip's heart clenched to hear that name, for Springwater had been Rynna's village.
"I am Lord Loden of Dael," replied the man.
"Well, my Lord Loden," said Dara Vail, " 'tis meet thou and thine army have chanced upon us this eve, or we upon ye, for mayhap we have common cause 'gainst a dark foe."
"If you oppose Modru and his ilk, then our cause is indeed shared. We welcome you three into our ranks, for though we are but a brigade, we go to harass a Horde, and all are gladly received who would take up arms against the foe."
"Rather than a trio, wouldst thou prefer fifteen hundred instead?"
"Fifteen hundred? Lady, do you jest?"
"Nay, Lord Loden, I do not."
There was a hurried conference below, and several figures dismounted and started up the incline, while the rest of the column moved on through the draw and away.