the Dellin Downs in the south, or whenever any sentries posted in any towers spotted approaching foe nearby.
“They used this hill because it’s the tallest one around and fires from its crest raised all the land hereabout. Twice it fell during the Ban War. The first time, just two Wilderland Men managed to defeat more than forty of the foe and set the fire alight, though one of the Men was killed. That was the time, I think, when the tower itself was destroyed.
“The second time it fell, the Black Foxes managed to free it. You’ve heard of the Black Foxes, haven’t you?”
Faeril said, “No,” and Gwylly plunged on:
“That was more Wilderlanders. A squad of Men. Other Men named them the Black Foxes because of their wiliness at defeating Modru’s minions and because of the mottled grey and black leathers they wore to conceal themselves in the mountains where they fought. Dad says that eventually they took the name to themselves and had a device enscribed upon their shields: a black fox.
“In any event, the outnumbered Foxes overthrew the Rūcks and such that had captured Beacontor for the second time.”
Faeril finished with the ponies and stepped to the now boiling pot of water and set it aside to steep some tea. “Gwylly, do you know any Warrow tales, tales about those of your Kind?”
Gwylly shook his head,
No
, and a sadness filled Faeril’s heart, for her buccaran knew nothing of his own Folk.
The lean-to was finished as the Sun sank below the horizon. In the twilight the buccan and damman took a meal of jerky and hard bread, while sipping hot tea and speaking of the journey ahead. Faeril took her map from the saddlebagand by firelight called attention to its features, as they examined what lay before them. And in looking at the map, Faeril began teaching Gwylly the alphabet of the Common tongue, pointing out the letters on the parchment and using a stick and scratching additional letters in the dust. She would have preferred to start by teaching him Twyll, for then he could use the journals to read from, but Gwylly spoke not the language of the Warrows, and so Twyll would have to wait.
It was late when the Moon rose to shed its glancing light upon them, and it was time for bed. And for the very first time for either, they undressed before one of the opposite sex. Gwylly’s breath was taken away by the exquisite splendor of her body. Faeril’s heart was pounding, and she found that she could neither look at him nor look away. As of one mind, they stepped toward one another, argent moonlight streaming all about them. He took her in his arms and she pressed herself against him, and they kissed long and tenderly. And then they lay down together. Neither knew exactly what to do, yet between them they managed to discover the pleasure of giving themselves to each other, while the stars in the vault above wheeled silently through the night.
* * *
They followed the Crossland Road through the slot between Northtor and Beacontor, and passed beyond the Signal Mountains and out upon the open wold lying to the east. Off to the south in the distance they could see the forest lining the vale of the Wilder River. Northward and cast the mountain chain faded away in the distance. Westerly, the Crossland Road was the only feature breaking the landscape, wending across the rolling plains. And into this unsheltered land they went.
Three days they rode thus, the weather favoring them with clear skies and warm summer days and cool summer nights. And they spoke of their dreams and of one another and of the days to come. And in the nights they spoke in a language altogether different from that which they used in the day, though the meaning was the same.
Too, Faeril continued to teach Gwylly his letters. And the buccan was an apt learner, setting his mind to the task.
It was late on the fifth day of travel that they came intothe Wilderness Hills, the road meandering among them and down the gently falling land.
The
“They used this hill because it’s the tallest one around and fires from its crest raised all the land hereabout. Twice it fell during the Ban War. The first time, just two Wilderland Men managed to defeat more than forty of the foe and set the fire alight, though one of the Men was killed. That was the time, I think, when the tower itself was destroyed.
“The second time it fell, the Black Foxes managed to free it. You’ve heard of the Black Foxes, haven’t you?”
Faeril said, “No,” and Gwylly plunged on:
“That was more Wilderlanders. A squad of Men. Other Men named them the Black Foxes because of their wiliness at defeating Modru’s minions and because of the mottled grey and black leathers they wore to conceal themselves in the mountains where they fought. Dad says that eventually they took the name to themselves and had a device enscribed upon their shields: a black fox.
“In any event, the outnumbered Foxes overthrew the Rūcks and such that had captured Beacontor for the second time.”
Faeril finished with the ponies and stepped to the now boiling pot of water and set it aside to steep some tea. “Gwylly, do you know any Warrow tales, tales about those of your Kind?”
Gwylly shook his head,
No
, and a sadness filled Faeril’s heart, for her buccaran knew nothing of his own Folk.
The lean-to was finished as the Sun sank below the horizon. In the twilight the buccan and damman took a meal of jerky and hard bread, while sipping hot tea and speaking of the journey ahead. Faeril took her map from the saddlebagand by firelight called attention to its features, as they examined what lay before them. And in looking at the map, Faeril began teaching Gwylly the alphabet of the Common tongue, pointing out the letters on the parchment and using a stick and scratching additional letters in the dust. She would have preferred to start by teaching him Twyll, for then he could use the journals to read from, but Gwylly spoke not the language of the Warrows, and so Twyll would have to wait.
It was late when the Moon rose to shed its glancing light upon them, and it was time for bed. And for the very first time for either, they undressed before one of the opposite sex. Gwylly’s breath was taken away by the exquisite splendor of her body. Faeril’s heart was pounding, and she found that she could neither look at him nor look away. As of one mind, they stepped toward one another, argent moonlight streaming all about them. He took her in his arms and she pressed herself against him, and they kissed long and tenderly. And then they lay down together. Neither knew exactly what to do, yet between them they managed to discover the pleasure of giving themselves to each other, while the stars in the vault above wheeled silently through the night.
* * *
They followed the Crossland Road through the slot between Northtor and Beacontor, and passed beyond the Signal Mountains and out upon the open wold lying to the east. Off to the south in the distance they could see the forest lining the vale of the Wilder River. Northward and cast the mountain chain faded away in the distance. Westerly, the Crossland Road was the only feature breaking the landscape, wending across the rolling plains. And into this unsheltered land they went.
Three days they rode thus, the weather favoring them with clear skies and warm summer days and cool summer nights. And they spoke of their dreams and of one another and of the days to come. And in the nights they spoke in a language altogether different from that which they used in the day, though the meaning was the same.
Too, Faeril continued to teach Gwylly his letters. And the buccan was an apt learner, setting his mind to the task.
It was late on the fifth day of travel that they came intothe Wilderness Hills, the road meandering among them and down the gently falling land.
The
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