"It was like… a death rede, oh, but different, so different," said Phais.

"A deathcry," said Loric, his features twisting once again into anguish with but the memory of it. "A deathcry of hundreds and hundreds."

"Pardon, Lord Loric," said Bekki. "Hundreds and hundreds of…?"

"Lian, Lord Bekki. Lian," said Loric, choking on his own words. "A wailing deathcry of hundreds upon hundreds of Lian, blowing like an icy wind through our very souls."

"What does it mean?" asked Beau. "What does such a dreadful thing mean?"

Phais looked at Loric, her eyes flooding once again with tears, and she said, "That a great disaster has occurred somewhere and countless of our kindred have perished."

Tip and Bekki decided to stay in Dendor that day to comfort their bereaved companions, though Phais and Loric asked not. Yet it was plain to see that their solace was needed, for both Lian would shed tears at erratic times, and a touch or a word or an embrace acted to ease the pain. Even Bekki gave comfort, though when he embraced Dara Phais, his own expression was one of distress, either that or entirely unreadable.

And none knew what had happed, yet when Beau speculated that it was Modru's doing, Phais shook her head and said, "Nay, my friend, something of this enormity can only be the work of Gyphon Himself."

In the midafternoon of that clear July day a thunderous boom rolled over the land below and across the sky above, echoing from building and wall, rattling dish and window and roof alike, jarring the city entire. Then it was gone, the air still once again. And all looked at one another in startlement and fear, yet none knew whence it came or its cause.

The following morning, pressed by their mission, Tip and Bekki again saddled two ponies and laded four others with goods. And saying farewell for a second time, they set out at last for Nordlake afar.

They rode out through the west gate, King Agron's pass letting them through, Captain Brud personally escorting them to the bridge, the wound on his face all but healed, leaving a long scar behind. And as they rode away, Tip turned and waved at Beau and Phais and Loric standing on the wall above, the Elves yet wan, yet pale.

"Take care, Tip," called Beau. "You, too, Bekki."

"You as well," shouted Tipperton back, "and we'll bring you some golden mint."

And then he turned and faced west, he and Bekki riding away, trailing four ponies after. West they rode and west, across the summer land, leaving behind three close friends in a quarantined city rife with a dark affliction.

Just past the noontide there came a rolling boom, knelling as would a diminished echo of the sound of the day before.

Tip looked at Bekki. "Did you hear that?"

"Aye, I did."

"Oh, Bekki, you don't suppose another disaster has occurred, do you?"

Bekki frowned and shook his head. "That I cannot say, Tipperton, for I am not an Elf."

And in the silent deeps of the night, as Tipperton stood midwatch, there came to his ears another faint boom, this one diminished even further. He fretted and wondered if he should waken Bekki, but in the end decided not, for neither could do aught regardless.

At first I thought they were falling victim to the plague," said Tipperton, urging his pony around a tangle of brush, two pack ponies following. "Even though both Loric and Phais had said Elves don't fall ill to the dark scourge."

Bekki nodded but otherwise did not reply.

"It must be awful, this 'gift' of theirs-more like a curse if you ask me-to know when someone dies."

"This was not a 'Death Rede' sent from one Elf to another," said Bekki, "but a thing much worse: not a single 'someone' calling out in death, but hundreds and hundreds crying out instead."

Tipperton shivered, as if struck by a sudden chill. "Still, I would think it somehow connected to their gift… How horrible it must have been: like a ghastly wind blowing cold through the souls of all Elvenkind."

Bekki grunted, then said, "I cannot but think the thunderous sounds we heard-the first one and then the one after-are in some manner connected to the deaths of so many."

"Oh, Bekki, did I tell you I heard another just like it only fainter in the depths of the night?"

Bekki looked at Tip.

"Three or four candlemarks past mid of night, I would say," added Tip.

"Hmm, three rolling thunders in all." Brow furrowed, Bekki fell into thought, then said, "Mayhap as loud as was the first, mayhap the sound came to the walls of the world and was echoed back… Yes, that must be it, Tipperton, for it would account for each echo being less than the one before."

Tip shrugged, saying, "Or if the Elves are right and the world is truly a ball, a sphere, perhaps the noise circles all the way 'round and passes by again."

Bekki snorted in disbelief as on they rode, angling slightly north of west.

"Oh, Bekki, whether an echo from the walls of the world or the sound passing 'round the world, if we are right, it means there's not another disaster, or two or three, but the sound of the first knelling over and again."

They rode another mile, and then Bekki said, "Aye, Tipperton, yet think: if the sound reaches all the way to the walls of the world to echo again and again, then what a terrible blast it must have been."

As Tip stood the midwatch, just ere mid of night, another faint thunder grumbled. Another echo from the walls of the world? That or the sound ringing 'round.

Onward they rode, and in late morn of the third day from Dendor, Tip thought he heard a very dim echo of the boom again, yet he couldn't be sure.

"I say, Bekki, did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"The sound, so weak as to be all but silent."

Bekki shook his head.

They rode a bit farther, then Tip said, "A final echo from the walls of the world, do you think?"

"That, or distant thunder," replied Bekki, then he looked at the clear July day and shook his head and the two of them rode onward.

On the fourth day out from Dendor, Tip looked up at the sky and said, "Ho, Bekki. Does it seem to you that the day isn't as bright as it ought to be?"

Bekki nodded. "Aye, though I see no mist, no fog, no clouds."

But as they fared west, the light diminished, as if the sun itself somehow weakened.

That evening, a layer of clouds began to form high above.

"There is our answer," said Bekki.

"Answer?"

"Aye. It is preparing to rain."

"And…?"

"And the light grew dimmer and dimmer today as the rain started gathering above," declared Bekki.

"Perhaps," said Tip, uncertain.

They rode awhile in silence, then Bekki said, "There is a thicket ahead where we can camp."

But Tip was staring beyond the thicket at the cloud-filled sky made bloodred by the setting sun, and a shiver went down his spine.

It began to rain in the night, and when Tip was awakened for the midwatch, Bekki said, "There is something strange about this rain, Tipperton."

"Oh?"

"Aye. The drops are cloudy."

"Cloudy?"

In the lanternlight Bekki held out a tin cup filled with rainwater.

Tip looked. "Lor', Bekki, it's cloudy all right, positively dusty looking. What do you think it means?"

Bekki shook his head. "That, my friend, I do not know."

It rained throughout the night, and continued the next morning, and by the noontide the drops falling on the ponies and cloaks left long smears behind.

"Adon, Bekki, but it's raining mud."

"More like rain through rock dust," replied Bekki.

"Rain through rock dust?"

"Aye. In the quarries, when it rains, it leaves long grey smears like these."

"But how would rock dust get up in the sky? I mean, are there quarries nearby?"

Bekki shook his head. "None I know of. -Even if there were, by this time all the rock dust would have been washed from the air, yet this is still coming down."