Into the fire

Chapter 17

The rain fell down through the morning vapor, and Tip and Bekki led their ponies easterly into the woods, well off the trace leading to the ford. Finding a suitable site, they began setting up camp. As he constructed a lean-to, Bekki said, "A week or so, and then if the river doesn't fall, we will hie for the Kaagor Ferry… that or build a raft." Bekki lashed another pine bough in place. "One way or another, we will get across."

Tip paused a moment in his care of the ponies. "I don't know much about making rafts, Bekki, but if that's what it takes, I'm willing. But I say, couldn't we swim it? I'm fairly good in the water. And the ponies, well-"

"Swim?" blurted Bekki, blanching. "Nay, Tipperton. Swimming is not common among Chakka."

"You can't, uh, er, that is…"

Bekki shook his head.

Tip turned back to the pony at hand. "Oh well, then, if it comes to building a raft, I'm willing."

Bekki grunted and frowned. "With five ponies, it will take a large one… either that or several trips."

"Not really, Bekki," said Tipperton. "Just one."

"One?"

"Certainly. The raft will serve to keep you and me and our goods dry as we paddle across. But the ponies, now, well that's an altogether different thing: as I started to say, they can swim, so all we need do is tether them behind as we float from this side to that."

"Um," said Bekki, nodding. "Still, I would rather ride a pony across the ford than ride a raft over. Too many things can go wrong otherwise: a pony could panic; some might resist swimming and tug the opposite way; one of us could fall in… Nay, if it comes to rafting, let us build one and haul the ponies across."

Tip shrugged and turned up his hands. "As you wish, Bekki. As you wish. But say, if it takes several trips, that will be a lot of paddling."

"Nay, Tipperton, instead we will tie ropes to trees on each side and swing across on the current. Paddle across once; haul and swing thereafter."

"It's a wide river," said Tip. "Have we enough rope?"

"We will find a narrower place, should it come to rafting," replied Bekki.

Tip frowned. "Even so…"

The drizzle ended by midday, yet a grey pall hung over all; whether it was from a rain-gloomed sky or from grey dust aloft, neither Tip nor Bekki could say. Under this dismal cast, Bekki and Tip rode upstream along the banks of the Argon looking for a narrow enough site to cross on a rope-swung raft. Yet the river was wide, and nowhere did they find a place where all the rope they had with them would reach even once from bank to bank, much less there and back.

"I'm afraid it's paddling we must do," said Tip, sighing.

"On the morrow we will ride the opposite direction, downstream then," said Bekki. "Mayhap there we will find a narrow enough place to span. If not, let us hope the waters wane, for I would rather ride the ford than ride a raft."

But when they returned to the camp and then walked to the ford, they discovered the river had risen even more, and the crossing was wider than ever.

"It has not crested as yet," growled Bekki.

"Maybe it never will," replied Tip, looking at the glum sky above.

Although it did not rain the following day, still the waters rose even farther, encroaching up the bank and toward the campsite. And in their ride downstream they found no narrow place.

"If this keeps up," said Tip, "we'll never get to the gwynthyme."

"Tomorrow it is a raft we begin crafting," said Bekki.

"Have you ever made one?" asked Tip.

Bekki shook his head and said, "Nay, I have not. Even so, how hard can it be?"

Using nought but Bekki's small handaxe, it took all day to fell three trees nigh the riverbank and trim away the branches.

"At this rate, Bekki, we'll be a week or so just building a float."

Glumly, Bekki nodded.

Tip sighed. "Mayhap instead of waiting a week we ought to set out for the Kaagor Ferry on the morrow. Oh my, that will add nigh another month of travel just to get to the gwynthyme. It's a good thing we included time for unexpected delay, for delay this certainly is. Even so, with another wait, we could miss the golden days of the mint altogether." He got to his feet and took up his bow and quiver and said, "I think I'll go check on the ford again."

Bekki caught up his war hammer and shield. "I will go with you."

As they approached the flooded crossing, Tip frowned. "I say, Bekki, has the water receded? I seem to recall it was past that boulder, but now it doesn't quite reach it."

Bekki stepped down to the water's edge and peered at the distant far side. Then, casting about, he took up a rock the size of his fist and set it down at the brink of the water. "There. In the morning we shall know."

"Unless someone moved the rock in the night, the river is receding," said Tip, smiling.

In the wan morning light the river flowed past, the water a good two yards down the shallow bank from the stone.

Bekki nodded. "Aye. The Argon has waxed and now wanes."

"How soon do you gauge we can cross?" asked Tipperton.

Bekki shrugged. "Let us lay another stone down and see where it stands tomorrow, and then we can judge."

As Bekki carried another rock to the river's edge, Tip looked up the shoreline toward where the logs lay. "Are we going to continue on the raft?"

Bekki's hand strayed to the small axe at his belt. "Let us wait and see."

Tip grinned but remained silent.

On the eighth morning after arriving at the unnamed ford, Tip and Bekki crossed over, the slow-moving water belly high on the ponies. Yet no steed was swept from its feet, much to Bekki's relief.

As they rode away from the northern bank, Tip looked back across the river. "Making a raft, how hard can it be? Mighty hard, if you want my opinion."

"Especially with nought but a handaxe," growled Bekki.

Up and out from the river valley they rode, up through the river border forest and toward the Grimwalls glimpsed now and then through the woodland, the mighty range towering in the distance, their peaks snowcapped.

And still the days were glum and chill, the sun weak, as if autumn had come, even though it was but early August.

"Do you think there's dust yet in the sky, Bekki, shielding us from Adon's warmth?"

"The air is always sharp nigh the Grimwall, Tipperton, though it seems more so these days."

Onward they rode, and toward evening it began to rain down in the foothills where they were, though high in the mountains snow fell instead.

A sevenday after crossing the ford they came to a large lake embraced in the arms of the mountains. Its waters were cloudy blue and wide; its distant shore fetched up against a steep rise in the land some thirty miles afar.

"Nordlake," grunted Bekki, his breath blowing white in the chill air.

"Home of the Vattenvidunder, eh?" said Tip, peering at the broad expanse.

Bekki merely snorted.

"All right," said Tip, "where is this set of cliffs holding the gwynthyme?"

Bekki pointed. Past the far side of the lake and up the slope of land, a stone massif on a mountain flank rose sheer. Vertical it was, and tall, and topped by a broad ledge, or so Bekki had said. Beyond the ledge the mountain rose again "Two or three days yon, if indeed it is gwyn-thyme growing in the crevices."

"Lor', Bekki, we're not going to have to climb up that, are we?"

Bekki laughed. "Nay, Tipperton. The face of that great bluff is more than a mile high, a mile or so up to the shelf above, where we will set camp among the wide stretch of aspens. A trail leads upward the ponies can manage, and that is how we will get there. Nay, we will not climb up that sheer face, but dangle downward instead, hanging on ropes and rock-nails."

A mile? A mile high? Even from this distance Tip could tell that the face they would be on was straight up and down. His stomach squinched and his heart thudded deep in his chest, and he wondered if he could force himself to dangle on nought but a spindly rope down that vertical stone.

Onward they rode, and that night they camped beside the waters of Nordlake.

Under a glum sky the next morning, when filling the waterskins Bekki said, "Huah, the lake was clearer some years back when last I saw it, but cloudy now."

"Perhaps the dust fell here, too," said Tip.

"Aye, that must be it."

On they rode and on, following the shoreline of the great lake, the mountains ahead seeming to draw no closer. Once again they spent a night along the shore.

The next day they rode in among the foothills north of the lake, the vertical massif in the distance ahead seeming to grow taller, its stone grey and brown, the grey matching the grey of the sky above.

As they topped a hill, Tip halted his pony and peered long and finally called to Bekki, "I say, isn't that something pale yellow way high? Or is it tan stone instead?"

Bekki stopped his steed and shaded his eyes and finally said, "Yellow, I ween."

"Flowers, do you think? Gwynthyme blossoms?"

Bekki shrugged.

"Oh, I do hope so," said Tip, "for if it is, then there's a great crop up there."

Bekki grunted and replied, "Pray to Elwydd it is gwynthyme and not yellow oxeye daisies."

That evening they camped at the foot of the trail leading toward the top of the mile-high cliff. The length of the perpendicular bluff itself ran to the east for perhaps ten miles and towered into the sky; sheer it was, with long vertical ripples running down the drop of the stone face, now glowing bloodred in the setting sun.

Tip peered at the vast expanse and shuddered, but whether from fear of what was to come or from the chill air, he could not say.

It was raining the next morning as they twisted and turned up the narrow trail, Bekki riding in the lead, two pack ponies trailing, then Tipperton came after on his steed with two pack ponies following him as well. At times they dismounted and took to foot to give the ponies a breather, and at other times they stopped altogether, giving all a rest. But soon they would continue onward, climbing the steep, winding trail; and the higher they gained, the sheerer the drop to the right, and the closer to the left fared Tip, his heart racing at the thought of the fall but a pace or so away.

Yet at last nigh the noontide, the rain stopped just as they came to the top of the bluff and into an aspen woodland, the green leaves trembling and dripping water in the drift of cold air sliding down from the white mountain slopes far above, where more snow had fallen instead of rain.

"Let us ride onward," said Bekki, "five miles or so, to the midpoint atop the massif, to my campsite of old. Then we will look for the golden flowers."

"All right," said Tip, his breath coming easy now that he was surrounded by trees on all sides.

Tip forced himself to the lip of the stone and peered downward, only to quickly draw back. "There's nothing there but a long fall."

Bekki, standing on the very brim, leaned over and looked down as well. "It has an overhang, Tipperton. You have to look inward. And, ah, there are flowers. Leftward."

Tip stepped toward the edge and flopped down on his belly and pulled himself forward to peer beyond the lip. You can do this, bucco. Just remember, a thirty-foot fall will kill you just as dead as a fall of a mile or so, and you've been well beyond thirty feet before. The only difference being, at this height you'll get to scream much longer on the way down.

His heart hammering, Tip looked leftward. There in the near distance he could see pale yellow blossoms nodding in the chill air. Farther beyond he could see another patch, and several even farther. Tip looked to the right, and yellow flowers nodded there, too. "Oh my, Bekki, what a wondrous trove you have found."

"Growing in the cracks like I said," muttered Bekki. Then he looked at Tip, his eyes widening in surprise to see the buccan lying at the lip on his stomach as if he were afraid of heights. Shaking his head, Bekki grunted, then said, "Come, Tipperton, let us climb down and see if these are gwynthyme blossoms or are oxeye daisies instead."

"They're not oxeye daisies," said Tipperton above the long drop, his voice tight with tension. "Daisies have yellow centers, but their petals are white, and these petals are yellow."

"Well, some other all-yellow flower then," said Bekki. "Marigolds or some such."

Tip slid back from the lip and stood. "Marigolds grow in swamps, or so I've heard, and not in stone cracks along mountain faces."

"Regardless!" snapped Bekki, striding off to the left.

"Look, Bekki," said Tip, running after, "you just happened to pick the only two flowers I know anything about. Oh, and roses. It's not as if I'm an expert. Oh, clover, too. -And bluebells, and yellow-eyed violets and…"

Bekki stopped along the brim and looked down and inward. "Here they are," he growled, then turned to Tip. "Have you the sketch?"

Tip patted his jacket pocket.

"Good," said Bekki, surveying the stone. "I'll fetch one, and then we'll see."

"I'll get the ropes and rock-nails and such," said Tip, turning to go back to the camp.

"They won't be needed," said Bekki, and he clambered over the brim to begin free-climbing down.

"But the stone is wet," called Tip.

"Not here under the overhang," drifted up Bekki's reply.

Tip flopped down and slid to the edge and held his breath more than once, closing his eyes at times, as Bekki edged downward to the blossoms.

"It's gwynthyme, all right," exclaimed Tip, grinning, comparing the sketch Beau had drawn to the sprig in Bekki's hand.

Bekki grinned fiercely, too, and growled, "Serrated trifoliate aromatic leaves and all," then burst out laughing.

Giggling, Tip folded the vellum and slipped it back into his pocket. As they made their way toward camp, Tip said, "Tomorrow we will begin marking all the places where the gwynthyme grows, and when comes the full moon of September-um, twenty-six days from now-then we begin the harvest."

Now that he had a task to do, Tipperton was much less timorous at the lip of the massif. Rain or shine, he and Bekki spent the next eleven days roaming along the verge of the precipice and stacking small piles of stones at each place along the rim where they could see the pale yellow blossoms of gwynthyme growing in cracks and crevices below.

But on the twelfth day, when they came again to the lip, Tip looked over the rim to see blossoms and petals falling away in the wind, spiralling downward in a pale golden shower, as the gwynthyme shed its flowers.

"Oh my, but this will make it harder to spot the mint below."

Bekki nodded but then said, "Harder for us but nevertheless a good sign, for the gwynthyme is coming to fruition."

"I wonder why it picks now to do so?" asked Tip. "I mean, cast off its flowers."

Bekki frowned, then his visage brightened. "You said it yourself, Tipperton, months past."

Tip looked at Bekki in puzzlement. "I did?"

"Aye. This mission, the gwynthyme, all is governed by Elwydd's light, and this day, this night, is the dark of the moon altogether."

"Ah, so it is, Bekki. So it is."

Later that day, it began to rain along the massif and to snow in the mountains above. Tipperton sighed and said, "I say, Bekki, does it seem to you it's been raining more lately?"

Bekki looked up into the drizzle. "Aye, it does."

Tip shook his head, then said, "What do you suppose causes it? Could it have something to do with the dust high in the sky, blowing about on the wind? I mean, even on the best of days, still the sky is a bit grey and the sun seems pale and there is a chill in the air. And add to that the frequent rain. So what do you think, eh?"

Bekki shrugged. "Who knows how Garlon makes the rain?"

Tip frowned. "Garlon?"

Bekki looked at Tip in surprise. "He is master of water. How else do you think it rains?"

Tip turned up his hands. "I dunno. The wind. Water. Perhaps the wind blows across the water and lifts some up to come down elsewhere as rain."

Bekki snorted. "Then how would you explain the Karoo?"

"The Karoo?"

"Aye. The great desert beyond the Avagon Sea. It has wind. It has the ocean at hand. Yet it seldom rains in that place of dunes, full of sand as it were. And even when it does rain there, the water is pure and not salt from the sea. -Windblown water? Nay, Tipperton. I'll take Garlon instead."

Tip shook his head but remained silent, and he and Bekki continued along the rim.

That night under the gloom above, Bekki awakened Tipperton, a finger to the buccan's lips.

"What is it?" whispered Tip.

"Someone comes along the rim," gritted Bekki, a shield on his arm, his war hammer in hand.

Tipperton listened, and to the east he could hear the thud of jogging feet. "More than one someone," hissed the Warrow, reaching for his bow and quiver.

"The ponies," growled Bekki. "We must keep them quiet."

And he and Tipperton slipped among the trees to the rope pen where the steeds dozed.

Long moments later in the distance the thud of shod feet passed by to finally fade away westerly.

"Who was it?" breathed Tipperton. "A squad of Squam?"

"Who else?" growled Bekki.

"Oh my, but this does complicate things. I mean, if there's a maggot-folk holt nearby, we may have trouble harvesting the mint."

In that moment came a prolonged low calling, as of a mournful horn winded afar.

Tip's eyes flew wide. "Goodness, what was that? A Spaunen signal, do you think?"

Bekki shook his head. "It's not like any Squam horn I've ever heard, nor any owl for that matter. But horn or no, owl or no, I deem we need move our camp farther back among the trees, farther back from the rim."

"Now? Tonight?"

"Aye."

The next day, in the rain-dampened soil along the rim they found boot tracks heading westerly.

"Hobnails," said Tipperton. "Rupt, all right, twenty or so, I gauge. It's good we had no fire in the rain, else they would have spotted us. From now on any fire we set will have to be in the day and smokeless."

"If it were not for the gathering of the mint," growled Bekki, "we would track them down and kill them all."

Tip looked southward, where in the distance Nordlake lay like a dull iron sheet in the wan morning sun. "The gwynthyme takes precedence o'er all, Bekki, including getting it back to Beau. And speaking of gwynthyme"-Tip looked over his shoulder-"I think our searching for more patches of mint is over, at least in the daytime. I mean, they may see us walking out on the rim. They may, in fact, be watching us even now."

Bekki sighed. "Aye. Let us get back among the trees."

As they slipped into the woodland again, Bekki said, "I will pull down our old lean-to and move it to our new camp."

In the next several days, it rained off and on and, even though they heard no more Squam pass by, neither Tip nor Bekki ventured forth in the light of the day from the woodland where they camped. During these same days the moon grew toward fullness, advancing from a fingernail-thin crescent to a half-moon and then onward.

And when it grew on toward fullness, in the nights Tip and Bekki slipped through the woodland and to the rim and searched through the argent light spilling down the precipice for more gwynthyme below.

And still no Rupt passed by.

"Perhaps it was a one-time occurrence," said Tipperton. "Mayhap there is no maggot-folk holt at hand."

Bekki shrugged. "Mayhap you are right, Tipperton, but then again mayhap not."

Tip sighed. "I know. I know. It's better we don't gamble."

[br]At last the September moon came full, and the mint turned golden overnight, and down the massif on spindly ropes dangled a Dwarf and a Warrow, Tip having forced himself over the lip and down. Each wore a sack on a strap 'round his shoulder, and in the moonlight each cut the aromatic mint, leaving one sprig behind for every one they took. Bekki with great climbing skill harvested twice over what Tip could take, the Dwarf on his rope walking sideways across the face of the massif to gather in more sprigs.

During the morning light of the day ere taking turns at sleeping, they sat in camp and bundled the sprigs together, rolled and bound in strips of cloth, eleven to the bunch.

And as he rolled another packet, Tip said, "I say, Bekki, I believe I once told you that Phais taught Beau and me to climb, but you put us to shame. I mean, you are a splendid climber. Where did you ever learn?"

"Nine, ten, eleven," said Bekki, counting out sprigs of golden mint onto a swathe of cloth. Then he looked up from the array. "Nearly all Chakka have climbing skills, for the inside of the mountain needs more climbing than the outside ever did. As for me, my sire spent time teaching me, and his skills put mine to shame."

"Oh," said Tip, "then what a wonder it must be to see him climb if he's better than you."

Bekki nodded and then rolled the gwynthyme into the cloth binding. "Aye, he is among the very best, though there are better still."

"Oh my," said Tipperton, reaching for another handful of sprigs.

In the moonshadows of the fourth night of harvesting- "Ssst!"-hissed Tipperton, gaining Bekki's attention. "Someone comes."

Together they dangled on their spidery ropes, unmoving against the moonlit stone. Above on the lip of the precipice, a tramping could be heard, nearing. And on this night there was harsh talking, voices in Sluk, the Foul Folk tongue.

Clinging to the massif, Tip looked down a mile of sheer stone, his heart hammering wildly-Oh lor', if they find our anchors, they'll cut us free and we'll-and he thought he might scream out in terror, but bit his lip and managed to hold his fear in.

Above tramped the feet, and a voice called out Tipperton clutched his rope. They've found us!

– but the maggot-folk ignored the call and marched on.

Directly above, a voice muttered.

One has stopped! Why?

Then a stream of urine arched outward and down, falling toward the shadows below.

And there sounded a far-off hooting, like a forlorn horn cry. From the south it came, and distant.

"Waugh!" blurted the voice above, and the urine cut off in midstream, and Tipperton heard fleeing footsteps thudding away, running after the others.

As the steps faded, Tip loosed pent breath he was unaware he'd been holding and looked toward Bekki, to find the Dwarf once again in the moonlight harvesting golden mint.

Eight more nights they harvested, the moon waning with each nighttide, the silver orb growing thinner and rising later each eve as it approached the dark of the moon.

Ere they set out on the ninth night, Tip said, "It's the eve of the equinox, Bekki, and back in Dendor, Beau and Phais and Loric are stepping out the turning of the seasons. Would that I could, but I don't know the steps, for I always followed Loric."

Bekki looked at Tip. "If you accept me as a poor substitute, Tipperton, I will pace you through them." Tip's mouth fell open. "You know the steps?" "Did I not join you on the summer solstice?" "Yes, but how do you-? Oh, right! You are a Dwarf." And so, in the aspen woodland, with Bekki infallibly leading and Tip singing softly, they paced through the Elven rite. And when they were done, Tip looked at Bekki, and said, "Thank you, my friend. That was splendid. Now let's go harvest gwynthyme."

Bekki nodded, and as they gathered their climbing gear and harvesting tools, he said, "Mayhap the Elves have it right by celebrating each turn of the seasons. The greatest of the Chakka celebrations occurs on one of these nights-Year's Long Night."

"I remember," said Tip. "It was Year's Long Night, the same night we saw the Squam marching north along the Ironwater, that you were speaking some rite atop a hill." "I was praying to Elwydd as we Chakka do at that turn of the seasons." "Elwydd?"

"Aye, Chak-Sol; we believe she made the Chakka and set them on Mithgar. Each year in acknowledgement of Her deed, we pray that we may touch the stars." "Touch the stars? What do you mean by that?" "The stars are Elwydd's, and we with our crafting attempt to make something nigh as perfect as are they." "Oh, I see. And you pray for guidance in this task?" Bekki stood and cast wide his arms and chanted as if cantor and chorale:

Elwydd -Daughter of Adon,

We thank Thee -For Thy gentle hand.

That gave to us -The Breath of Life.

May this be -The golden year

The Chakka -Touch the stars.

Two more nights altogether they harvested, alert for the tramp of maggot-folk. But no more came these two nights, nor in the past ten nights altogether.

In the early light of the new day in a thin drizzle they bundled the last of the harvest, and with that they were done, for although there was one more night ere the dark of the moon, they had found no more sites of the mint. They decided to set out on the morrow, for the climbing had been hard and they needed a full day and a full night of rest before starting back. As to the gwynthyme itself, altogether over the fourteen nights of collecting, they had managed to reap three full sacks of the golden mint. "Enough to treat Dendor three times over if Beau's guess is right," said Tip. "It's a rather good harvest we've done."

Bekki nodded, glum in the icy rain, and gestured at the sky. "Now our task is to get it back to the city."

"Let us hope the ford is low," said Tip.

"With Garlon's rain, who knows?" replied Bekki.

The next morning ere they set out, Tip and Bekki rode to the nearest set of markers and dismounted and looked down the precipice one last time. A billowing mist lay below the lip, as if it were a fog trying to gain the rim. But it was not this mist they sought, but the patch of gwynthyme instead. "Right on schedule," Tip said, pointing down at the mint below. "It's as brown as an old leather shoe, just as Beau said it would be."

"Rescue to ruin," said Bekki, then looked at one of the sacks on a pack pony. "Rescue and ruin in one."

Mounting up and turning west, Tip and Bekki made their way toward the narrow, tortuous path leading to the tooi-hills below. Along this way they twisted and turned, riding down into the mist. And in the greyness Tip was glad that he couldn't see the sheer fall beyond the drop-off on the left, though he knew it was there.

Down they rode and down, to finally come unto the rolling hills. Without a glance behind, southward they turned, aiming for the ford.

The fog gripped the world for three days, and on the third of these days as they rode along the shores of Nord-lake, a mournful hooting, loud in the quiet, sounded out upon the water.

"Oh my," exclaimed Tip, startled, peering through the fog, seeing nought but grey mist. "That's what we heard in the night on the cliff. It's not a horn, not a horn at all."

Bekki scowled and tried to peer through the fog, having no more luck than Tip. "Mayhap it is a bird," he said, his voice not at all confident. "A loon or cob or some such."

"Oh no, Bekki, oh no. It's the Vattenvidunder, I ween."

Tip raised his hands and cupped them to his mouth and shouted out onto the lake. "Thank you, O water monster. You mayhap saved our lives with your cry."

There came no response but a huge splash, as if something large had dived down.

The next morning Tip awakened to a heavy frost. Bekki on watch said, "It crept here in the night."

"But it's still September, Bekki. Too early for a frost."

"The weather these days is strange, Tipperton: rain, a wan sun, cold nights."

"And now an early frost," said Tip. "I wonder the cause of it all."

"Mayhap it is as you said, Tipperton. Mayhap it is the dust on the wind above, shielding us from Adon's warmth."

Breaking camp, on they rode, the ford long miles ahead.

Through frosted mornings and chill days, they rode altogether another week ere coming to the shallows over the Argon. The water was low and they crossed with ease.

East they turned, now riding in Aven, and still the weather was fickle, rain or a dusting of snow falling now and again. Even so, on the days the air seemed clear, sunrises and sunsets were spectacular.

But late in the day of the seventeenth of October they espied the walls of Dendor, and smoke from within rose up in the twilight, as if part of the city burned. And on they pushed, night drawing over them as they rode for the battlements yon.

"Open the gate," bellowed Bekki to the ward above.

A lantern swung over the parapet, and a soldier looked down. Bekki threw back his hood to reveal his features. "Nay, Dvarg, the city is closed."

"But we've returned from Nordlake," shouted Tipperton, casting back his own hood. "We have a pass from King Agron himself."

The soldier turned and spoke to someone, and then Captain Brud came to the wall. "Is that you, Sir Tipperton, Lord Bekki?"

"It is," growled Bekki.

"Aye," called Tipperton, gesturing at the pack ponies behind, "and we've brought gwynthyme."

"A moment," called Brud, and disappeared from view.

After a while, the side postern opened, and Brud stepped out, a soldier at his side holding a lantern to light the way. "I have your escort."

Tipperton frowned. "Escort?"

"Aye, Sir Tipperton. You and Lord Bekki will need escort and protection. The city is under curfew. The citizens have rioted twice."

As Tip and Bekki dismounted to walk their ponies through the gate, Tip said, "Rioted? Why?"

"The plague. It runs wild. Fully a quarter of the citizens have died."

"Then take us to the prison," growled Bekki, "to Sir Beau Darby. We have what he needs."

Brud's face fell, and Tip's heart flopped over.

"But he's dead, Lord Bekki," blurted the soldier at Brud's side. "Beau Darby is dead of the plague."