"Stealthy Waerlinga," said Loric, smiling at Phais, then turning back to the buccen. "We garnered nought from any of our snares."

"Even so," said Phais, "there are these." And she held up a bundle of wild leeks.

Loric looked at the fare. "With careful rationing, two days, I would say, then we must hunt again."

"Huah!" snorted Beau, pausing to look leftward as his companions strode on. "So that's the Great Escarpment, eh?"

In the far distance, low on the rim of the world and lit aslant by the rising sun, stood a long upjut of land, running from horizon to horizon west to east.

"Aye," replied Loric, striding past the buccan, " 'tis the Great Escarpment, her steeps well warded by Lian Guardians, for above stands Darda Galion."

Beau shook his head. "Well, it doesn't look so great to me," he said, trotting after the others.

"How far away is it?" asked Tipperton, trailing behind Phais.

"Some fourteen leagues," replied Loric.

"Fourteen leagues!" blurted Beau, catching up to Tipperton again. "Forty-two miles?"

"Aye."

"Hmm," mused Tipperton. "Then it must be rather tall."

"Aye. Two hundred fathoms in places, though east of the Argon it dwindles to the level of the land on which the Greatwood stands."

Beau shaded his eyes and peered again. "Two hundred fathoms, four hundred yards, twelve hundred feet: that's quite high. Hmm, perhaps it is rather great after all." He glanced at Loric. "When will we reach it?"

Loric pointed straight ahead northeasterly. "Vanil Falls and the Cauldron lie mayhap thirty leagues afar. Can we maintain a goodly pace, and given that we yet need a day or two along the way to hunt for food, mayhap we'll be there in a fiveday or seven."

Tipperton sighed and strode on.

The following day, Year's Long Day, they went another five miles before the sun set, and they continued walking under the stars and a gibbous waxing moon. Yet at the mid of night and by the argent light of the westering moon, Loric and Phais and Tip and Beau trod out the Elven rite of Summerday in the tall green grass of Valon.

Step… pause… shift… pause… glide… pause… step. Phais chanting, Loric singing, step… pause… step…

The moon had fallen considerably when they took up the trek again, and they walked until dawn and a bit after ere stopping for the day.

During the hunt the next day they brought down no game, Beau missing the only quarry seen, a ring-necked pheasant that had taken to wing at his very feet.

Yet Phais managed to find double handfuls of small root vegetables she named nepe but which both buccen knew as rutabaga, though these were wild and immature.

"Lor'," said Beau, taking another bite and making a sour face, "but I didn't think I'd be eating young raw turnips out here in the open plain. Regardless, this one meal a day isn't to my liking, for my stomach is touching my backbone, and so raw or not, wild or not, these'll do."

Tip, chewing, looked at his friend through watering eyes. "A bit tart, though, wouldn't you say?"

Loric laughed, then sobered. "We will have to hunt again, if not on the morrow, then certainly the day after."

Tip swallowed and looked at the Great Escarpment, yet some distance off to their left. "Are you certain that we're drawing closer to our goal, Loric? I mean, we seem to be getting no nearer."

Loric peered northeastward. "Another twenty or twenty-five leagues, my friend, will find us ascending the Long Stair next to Vanil Falls."

Beau took another bite of the pungent fleshy root, then said 'round the mouthful, "Well I for one will be glad to be shed of these plains, what with riders and runners about."

After resting throughout the long day, they took up the trek again in the eve and walked through the night. The following morn they made camp in a small grove.

"Lor', but I'm famished," said Beau, "and thinking of eating grass."

"We need to hunt and forage once more," said Loric. "Else we'll not have the strength for the climb when we do reach the Cauldron."

"But first we should rest," said Phais. "Then hunt."

They bedded down, all but the one on watch, and slept through the heart of the day, but in midafternoon they set out in separate directions to forage: Beau with his sling, Tip with his bow, and Phais and Loric running the line of snares they had set while the Waerlinga had slumbered.

Tip found another set of burrows and settled down to watch, his back against a nearby mound, an arrow set to string. Yet worn as he was, he dozed in the afternoon light.

The sun had reached the horizon when a sound startled him awake, and he looked up to see "Yaahhh!" shouted the spear-bearing Chabbain, leaping at the Warrow, spear stabbing forward even as the shrieking buccan desperately rolled aside, his arrow lost to his grasp.

Shnk! the blade of the weapon knifed into the soil, only to be jerked free and plunged again at Tip.

But Tipperton had gained his feet, and he darted aside, the spear catching nought but Elven cloak, the cloth sliding across the blade and away.

"Maut!" sissed the Chabbain, whirling after the fleeing Warrow.

Tipperton ran toward the thicket, and Thkk! the spear flew past him to bury itself in the sod.

And all in one motion Tip stabbed to a halt and spun while snatching an arrow from his quiver and set it to string and drew and loosed, impaling the rushing Chabbain square through the heart, the dark man to tumble dead at the buccan's feet.

And Tipperton heard another shout and looked up to see a second Chabbain running at him with raised spear in hand, while a Hyrinian on horseback thundered after.

Calmly, Tip nocked a second arrow to string and loosed, and even as it flew, he set the third shaft to his bow.

"Ungh!" grunted the Chabbain, and looked in surprise at the feathered shaft that sprang full-blown from his chest even as he pitched to the ground.

Now the horseman hauled back on the reins, the animal squealing in pain as the rider sawed the steed about.

Sssss… Tipperton's third arrow whispered through the air to slam into the Hyrinian's side, the stricken man yawl-ing in pain, yet spurring away.

With sword in hand, Loric burst forth from the woods behind the buccan, Phais on his heels, her weapon drawn as well, as Tipperton snatched another arrow from his quiver and whirled about, ready to slay whoever was coming at his back; yet when he saw it was Loric and Phais, he spun back toward the bolting rider and aimed and loosed, but this shaft flew beyond the fleeting Hyrinian, now distant and drawing away.

Loric ran past the Waerling and after the galloping steed, running as if to catch the racing horse now flying across the plain, clots of dirt and sod flinging up from its hooves. Yet the horse was too swift and Loric quickly fell behind, the Elf stopping after sprinting a hundred paces or so.

Tipperton was shaking when Phais came to his side, and suddenly the strength went out of the buccan's legs and he fell to his knees gasping.

"I couldn't-he almost-they nearly-"

"Shhh, shhh," shushed Phais, kneeling beside Tip and drawing him to her.

Beau came running from the thicket, his sling in hand, and his face twisted into anguish when he saw Phais down on the ground holding Tip. "Oh, my. Oh, my," he groaned. Then: "I'll get my medical satchel," he called, and spun back toward their campsite.

But Phais called out, "No need, Sir Beau, for none here are wounded." Then she whispered, "Except perhaps in heart."

Beau turned and rushed to the Dara's side.

On the way back, Loric stopped at the distant slain Chabbain and rolled the corpse over. Then he walked past the huddle of Tip and Phais and Beau to the dead Chabbain nearby, and with a thuck! he pulled Tip's arrow free, wiping the shaft and blade clean of blood on the tall waving grass.