A grim look came over Talarin's face. "As did we all." Then he looked at the buccen. "Will ye accept our aid?"

Relief crossed both Tip and Beau's faces, and Tip said, "Oh, yes." He turned to Loric and Phais and grinned.

"Four horses," said Loric. "One for Phais, one for me, and two to hale the Waerlinga after, along with our supplies."

Beau glanced at Tip and sighed. "Until we can get some good ponies, I suppose we'll just have to get used to being hauled by Elves across the 'scape on the back of great beasts. Tethered tagalongs, that's what we are."

Phais laughed and Loric smiled. Talarin, grinning, said, "Even so, my friends, 'tis better to-" Of a sudden he paused, holding up a hand for silence, his head cocked as if listening.

Tip frowned, wondering just what taa-raa

– there sounded the distant belling of a bugle echoing from the stone canyon walls of Arden Vale and down through the evergreen trees.

Again the bugle sounded.

" 'Tis from the north entry and urgent," said Loric.

Talarin nodded, stepping across the chamber and taking up a sword and buckling it on. He looked at the Warrows. "If ye have weaponry, best fetch it now."

Tip's eyes widened and he turned to Loric and Phais, but they were gone, the door to the chamber swinging shut behind. "Come on, Beau," he said, springing for the door, "my bow and your sling are back in the room."

Beau groaned but followed on Tipperton's heels.

Out they darted and across the snow to the building housing the guest quarters, as somewhere in the distance a bugle sounded stridently.

Swiftly Tipperton strung his bow and strapped the quiver of arrows to his thigh. Beau rummaged through his pack. "Barn rats, Tip, I can't find my-! Oh. Here it is. Now bullets, bullets, where in the world-? Ah." Taking up the pouch, Beau swung 'round just in time to see Tip vanish through the door. "Hoy! Wait for me!"

Still the bugle sounded.

Beau caught up with Tipperton, that buccan with an arrow nocked and looking about for suitable cover. At hand, Elves, some girted with swords, others bearing spears or bows or long-knives or other such, took places all 'round, their stations seeming at random yet anything but.

Talarin strode by. "Sir Tipperton, take stance by that tree yon. Sir Beau, there by the boulder where thy sling will do best."

"Ha," muttered Beau as he ran to the rock, "perhaps if we are attacked by a tree…"

Again the bugle sounded, and now they could hear the pounding of a horse. Moments later a rider on a black horse flashed into view, emerging from the pines.

Tip looked hard at the rider-golden hair flying, harnessed sword across his back, a long-knife girted to his thigh, a bugle in his hand. Now Tip stepped away from his cover and called to Beau, "It's Vanidor."

"Vanidor? But what's he doing up here?"

Tip shrugged and moved toward Talarin, who had stepped into the open before the gathering hall.

The hard-driven horse thundered across the clearing, snow flying from hooves. Haled up short, the steed skidded to a halt next to Talarin, the rider dismounting at one and the same time.

"Vanidor," called Beau, grinning and stepping toward the Elf, who glanced with weary eyes briefly at the Waer-ling, his brow creasing in puzzlement. But then Talarin embraced the Elf, saying, "Alor Gildor."

"Athir," replied the Elf, returning the embrace, then stepping back. "Vi didron iyr velles. "

Talarin glanced down at the Waerlinga, and then said in the common tongue, "111 news, Gildor?"

Now Gildor, haggard, his face drawn, distress lurking deep within his eyes, replied, "Aye, Father, ill news indeed, for Modru sends Draedani through Kregyn to join his marching Hordes."

Talarin blanched, and nearby Elves moaned in fear.

Ashen-faced, Talarin turned and made his way back toward the chart room. Gildor gave his horse over to a Lian and then followed after. Unmarked, Tipperton and Beau tagged along in their wake, while other Lian-male and female alike-gathered in small groups and spoke with one another in hushed voices.

It was only after Gildor had doffed his trumpet and sword and grey-green Elven cloak that he and Talarin noted the presence of the buccen, so distracted were they.

"Alor Gildor," said Talarin, "may I present Sir Tipperton Thistledown and Sir Beau Darby. Sir Tipperton, Sir Beau, this is my arran-my son-Gildor."

Gildor canted his head, and the Warrows bowed in return.

"We thought you were Vanidor," said Beau, "for you look just like him."

"He is my dwa-my twin," replied Gildor, "and oft we are taken as one for the other." Then his eyes widened. "Yet if ye saw him, ye must have been nigh the marge of Dhruousdarda."

"We were," said Tip. "Vanidor and his band saved us from being slaughtered therein."

Talarin cleared his throat and then gestured to the map yet lying on the table. "These Draedani, Gildor, where didst thou-"

Gildor stabbed a finger down to the chart. "Here, Athir, at the southern end of Kregyn."

Tip clambered up on a chair, Beau likewise, and they looked at where Gildor's finger rested. The map showed a gap through the mountains where the chain of the Rigga joined the Grimwalls, the pass running between the wedge of Gron to the north and the Drearwood in Rhone to the south.

"We were on patrol," continued Gildor, "keeping account of the Hordes marching through. Yet a Swarm came and a great unease settled upon us as we drew back to hide among the crags. The fear grew as more Spaunen came marching, but then there was a great gap. And of a sudden, terror struck. Even so we managed to hold our ground and observe as three of the mandraki came forth. And then it was we knew what caused the dread, for Draedani walked among the Rupt.

"After they were well away, then more Spaunen came marching, for they cannot withstand their own allies.

"I left Flandrena in command and rode to give warning."

Talarin shook his head. "Three. Three Draedani. Ai, dark is this day." Then he took a deep breath and said, "We must make immediate plans for this calamity, for should they discover the hidden northern entry or the one under the falls, we will need to evacuate Arden Vale."

"Aye, Athir," agreed Gildor. "Flandrena has orders to keep track of the Draedani, though from a safe distance, to make certain that if they turn toward the Vale, we will have fair warning. Duorn rides south along the bluff to the stands of the other patrols, for they must needs be forewarned as well."

"Say," said Beau, "just what are these, uh, Draedani, and why are they such, such-"

"Such terrors," said Tip, completing Beau's thought, for it was his own as well.

"Mayhap ye know them by another name-Gargoni or Gargons in the common tongue," said Talarin.

Both buccen shook their heads.

Talarin sighed. "They are creatures of Neddra, and some believe they are a breed of demon."

"Demons," said Tip, "now those I've heard of, though not by any of the names said here."

"You called them a breed; are you saying that this is but one kind of demon?" asked Beau.

Talarin held out a negating hand. "Nay, I am not, though some believe they are but one among many. I simply do not know. Yet whatever they are, they are terrible."

Beau turned up a hand. "Wull, just what is it they do?"

Gildor drew in a breath and said, "They are fearcasters, striking terror in the hearts of all. Few can remain steadfast in their mere presence, and none can withstand their gaze."

"Oh, my," breathed Beau, his eyes wide.

"Can't they be killed?" asked Tip. "I mean, you have a sword and a long-knife. Why not simply hack them down?"

Gildor shook his head. "Didst thou not hear me. wee one: none can withstand their gaze." Then Gildor's eye looked upon his sword lying on the table, and his hand touched the long-knife at his side. "Oh, aye, could I bring either Bale or Bane to bear upon one, mayhap these blades would deal a deadly blow. Yet it will never be, for I cannot now and hope I never need face such terror as these creatures cast."