Into the fire

Chapter 19

In the last seven days of October and the first nine of November, Agron's cavalcade pressed on toward the muster at Alvstad. And during these sixteen days of travel, snow fell five of them altogether, unusual in Aven this time of year. Some claimed 'twas Modru's doing, while others claimed 'twas not. Regardless, in spite of the early snowfall and the cold, Agron's company finally arrived at their goal on November the ninth.

Alvstad itself was a stockaded city nigh the banks of the River Argon, yet with the muster at this place it was more tents and wagons ringed all 'round than buildings of wood within. Down through this gathering fared the cavalcade, down through snow churned to mud. And when the blue and gold of the king passed by, followed by the king himself, men stood along the route and cheered their monarch, slayer of the Gargon and conqueror of Modru's Swarm. Coming after the king and astraddle a horse towed behind a mounted soldier rode a legend alive: one of the Litenfolk.

Through cheering men and into the town proper fared Agron King, Tipperton and others following in his wake. At last they stopped before an inn, the king to dismount and signal a handful of others to follow, Tip among these latter. The remaining soldiers gathered up the horses and rode on toward the town stables, where they would quarter until time to leave.

As Tipperton stepped into the inn, he was glad this part of the journey was over, for he did not enjoy being on a tall horse tethered behind one of Agron's kingsmen, nor did he enjoy sleeping on the hard ground. Yet it seemed as if he had done nothing but such for absolutely ever so long, and for this night and the next several, he would sit adoze before a hearth and wallow in a soft, soft bed.

As a wide-eyed serving maid brought him a sweet-smelling cup of hot mulled wine, Tip shed his cloak and jacket and plopped down in comfort dear. A week from now they would be leaving for the wastes of Gron-but that was a week from now… practically forever.

In Alvstad as Agron had promised, there were several stables where ponies were available, and the very next day Tip spent long candlemarks looking over the stock before finally selecting two for his own use: a small brown pony from the hills nigh the Rimmens, and a black from the Steppes of Jord.

"If I were you, I'd ride the black," advised the stablehand.

"I fully intended to, but why did you say?" asked Tipperton.

"Why, lad, it's from Jord," replied the hand, as if that were explanation enough.

Tip shook his head and grinned, then outfitted the black with a small enough saddle and shortened the stirrups to length. The hand threw in a blanket and bridle for the good king's coin he received. Saddlebags and a currycomb were added to the goods, along with a stock blanket and lade-rack for the brown, as well as nosebags and other such. Tip arranged for the keep of the ponies until it was time to inarch, but when the stablemaster found that the buccan was a kingsscout, he would accept no pay for such. "Doin' my part for the war," said the man. "Doin' my part for the war."

Over the next five days more wagons and men and soldiers on horses drifted in, but on the sixth, the bugles blew and Agron's army set forth-wagons rolling, men marching, horses prancing-the army thirty thousand strong, all led by a wee buccan riding far-point along with another scout, that one a grizzled man.

Across the Argon River they passed, crossing at the wide ford, breaking through a thin layer of ice all the way to the opposite bank. Behind Tip and his companion, as each ridden horse and each drawn wagon came to the ford, they paused to wait for the marching men, each rider taking on a walking soldier, each wagon taking several men. And thus they crossed the Argon, horses bearing double, wagons hauling more, as through the shallows they fared.

In all it took until late midmorn for the entire army to cross, for many were the men and wagons and horses, and the whole stretched for miles altogether.

Up through snow toward Jailor Pass they fared, the route through the Grimwall Mountains standing against the distant sky some thirty miles and three days away, for an army is a slow beast when faring across open land. And although Jailor Pass was a principal trade route between western Jord and Aven, still there was no maintained road between… but for a rough track the merchants' wagons and horses had made.

Ten miles a day and only ten would the army try to achieve, for as King Agron had said, " 'Tis a long march and better to arrive with ready soldiers than with an army worn by haste."

And miles out front rode Tipperton and Auly, the two far-point scouts.

Two days, three days, they fared up the land, Tip and Auly now deep in the grip of the pass, the army just then reaching the southern gape. And again snow fell, a chill descending down.

"Oh my, but I hope this weather doesn't bode ill," said Tip, drawing his cloak tight around.

"Here in the col it could be a bane," said Auly, a veteran of battles past, "but down in the flats, it's more likely a blessing."

"How so?"

Auly scratched his greying beard and gestured about. "Unlike the flats below, up here the snow is like to get deep, hindering horse and wain and marching men all. But down in the flats, if it doesn't snow a deal, the cold will actually aid us. It'll freeze the ground, you see, and the harder the ground, the less likely a wagon will mire."

"Ah, yes," said Tipperton, nodding in understanding.

They fared onward through the slot, scanning the slopes and the col ahead for any sign of foe. But the way seemed clear, and the two rode mostly without speaking. Yet at last, Auly said, "What I'm truly worried about is that Modru is master of the cold, or so I hear, and I don't want him casting his power against us."

"I am not certain he will, Auly. When I was in Dendor, six Mages were there as well. They said some castings take an enormous amount of, um,. I would think that raising a blizzard is one of these… though Modru might have done so after the city of Dael was destroyed by Sleeth."

"The Dragon?"

"Yes. He whelmed the city with fire and might until no shelter was left, and then the blizzard came. Whether or no Modru sent it, I cannot say, though others tell it was so."

"And you saw this?"

"Only the aftermath. We waited out the storm in a shelter of sorts many miles and several days away and only came to Dael after the dark deed was done."

"Well I just hope Black Modru doesn't send a storm down on us, though when you think about it, what better target than an enemy army marching on the land?"

Tipperton shivered and did not reply, and the snow came down and down.

On the ninth day after leaving Alvstad the army marched out of the col and down into the Jordian town of Jallorby at the northern reach of the pass. Two more days they rested in this far corner of Jord, there on the flank of the Grimwall Mountains. But on the third day they set out once again, their short respite over.

Moving westerly, they aimed for a distant mountain range and the slide-blocked pass within, Tip and Auly riding far-point, some ten or so miles in advance of the army. And always to their left the Grimwall loomed, reaching for the Gronfangs ahead.

On the fifth day out, as Tip and Auly topped a rise in the land, straight before them and low on the horizon the snow-laden caps of mountains came into view, the range marching off northerly. Tip drew in a breath, the air seeming extra cold.

"There they are, the Gronfangs," said Auly. "As evil a stretch as can be."

"Evil?"

"Aye, filled with Rutcha and Drokha and Guula and such."

Tip looked at the far reach. "Perhaps less so, now that Modru's Hordes are spread across the lands."

Auly grunted but otherwise did not reply, and urged his horse forward and down the slope ahead, Tip following.

"Look, leftward by the big rock," said Auly.

Lying on his belly atop the hill, Tip peered through the midday light at the ridge nigh the mouth of the pass. Movement stirred among the snow-laden stone on high. "I see."

It was the twelfth day after leaving Jallorby, and the two far-point scouts had come nigh the entrance of the pass through the Gronfangs, no more than a quarter mile ahead. The army itself was a day or so behind.

"Spawn, do you think?" asked Tip.

"Who else?" replied Auly.

"So the pass is not unguarded." Tip's words were a statement and not a question.

Auly shook his head.

"Well then," said Tip, "we need ride back to King Agron."

"Not yet, Tipperton. First let us see what else we can."

And so they waited and watched as the sun edged down the sky.

"A company, we think," said Auly.

"In the gape of the pass?"

"Aye, my lord."

King Agron looked to Tipperton, and the buccan nodded. "Thirty or forty, we saw, Lord Agron. If there are others, they are well back in the slot. Even so, given five we did not see for each one we counted, then a company in all stand ward. Yet that is but a guess; there could be many more within."

Agron sighed. "Then a brigade, or segment, or even a full Horde could bar the way."

"My lord, if it is a segment or Horde," said Captain Brud, standing at hand, "the pass is strait, and it will be difficult winning through."

"Aye, captain, yet we cannot expect to reach Modru without a skirmish or two." Agron paused, then said, "Call my council of captains. We have a battle to plan."

Dressed in white and stealing through the moonlight, across the snow came Agron's vanguard afoot, nigh invisible in the alabaster night. Behind a mile or so, the cavalry awaited the signal, and more soldiers afoot stood ready.

Far to the left and ahead of those advancing moved Tip-perton and Auly, guiding a small force of raiders. Their assignment was to negate the lookouts atop the southern ridge.

Across the snow the raiders glided, quiet in their approach, and they came at last to the stone flank of the mountain. Then north they turned and up a slope they advanced, Tipperton in the lead, his bow at the ready, the Warrow silent upon the land.

At last they reached the crest of the ridge, and in the moonlight Tipperton could see, down among the boulders, dark forms lying upon the ground. Holding a hand out to stop those following, Tip took a deep breath to calm himself and slowly let it out, then surveyed the scene below.

A squad of maggot-folk. Asleep. But wait!

He espied one of the Rupt on ward, peering southerly.

Silently, Tip signalled the men behind to advance, but quietly. Auly came up alongside the buccan. When it seemed the raiders were in place, Tip's whispered command was relayed down the line, and carefully he raised his bow, arrow nocked to the string.

Inhale full; exhale half; draw and aim and loose.

The Ruck was completely unaware.

Even though reluctant to slay an unsuspecting foe, Tip-perton's mind flashed back to a similar time at Rimmen Gape, recalling Dara Lyra's words: Think of all who have been slain by his ilk. thun! The arrow whispered through the moonlight to take the Ruck in the neck, and gargling inarticulately he fell sideways to the snow. Yet in that same moment a second Ruck stepped from behind a boulder. And ere Tip could load and loose another arrow, "Waugh!" cried the Ruck and raised a horn to his lips.

Even as the signal blew, Auly's shaft took the sentry under the arm, slamming the Ruck aside to fall unmoving to the snow; but the alarm had sounded, and more Rupt sprang to their feet as arrows sleeted down from above.

With cries of dismay and fear, maggot-folk dodged behind boulders, and again a Ruptish horn blatted, to be answered in kind by a blare from the narrow pass below.

And yet out on the plain another bugle blew, and with a cry of For king and Dular, men rose up from the snow and came rushing into the gape, their weapons slashing. And a mile or so away, clarions sounded amid the hammer of hooves.

Still Tipperton and Auly and the men above nocked shafts and let fly, and the Spaunen squad below was devastated, shrieking Rucks running, only to be brought down as they fled.

"Quick, now, let us see if we can help the king," cried Auly, and the raiders scrambled down the slope and to the ground formerly held by the sentries.

They came to the drop into the gap, and below, men and Rupt fought savagely. Tipperton could not loose an arrow down into the battle for fear of hitting his own, yet Spawn at the back pressed forward, and there did Tip and the men above wing their shafts.

And still the bugles out on the plains blew, and the thunder of hooves hammered across the hard-frozen land, and farther back came men running, a wordless howl on their lips.

And just as the riders arrived, down in the gape the king and his men parted left- and rightward, to let the horses thunder through, the cavalry to smash into and over the Rupt here in the mouth of the gap.

Screaming in fear, the Foul Folk turned to flee toward the strait, yet many were felled as they ran, though some did scramble up the slopes to escape the warriors on horses, only to be pursued by men on foot.

And then the main army arrived, men running and shouting, to find the battle nigh ended, for it was but a small company warding the way.

"I'm sorry, my lord, but I did not see the Rupt behind the boulder, and so the signal was sounded."

King Agron pushed out a negating hand. "Hush, Sir Tip-perton, the fault lies not with you. Besides, you said it yourself some months back as we set forth to slay the Gargon: the moment the battle begins is the moment all goes wrong."

"Aye, my lord, but in this case-"

"Nonsense. Our casualties were light, and the Spawn yet caught in the dregs of sleep even though a horn did cry."

"Would that all our victories come at such a cheap price," said Captain Brud. "But I fear we will not escape so lightly in the days to come."

King Agron frowned at Brud. "You and I know that, captain, but for now say nought and let the men celebrate."

"Aye, my lord."

Eyeing the snow-laden steeps above, Tip and Auly rode along the slot of the pass between confining walls, the defile twisting this way and that, jinking in the near distance ahead, angling in the distance behind. No more than a quarter mile aft came the vanguard, yet often Tip and Auly lost sight of any followers as the two point-scouts twined beyond turns in the zigzags of the channel. Farther back and lagging, came the bulk of the army along with the wagons and much of the cavalry, for Agron and the vanguard would ride ahead and clear the foe before them, striving to win completely through and ward the far end until the slower wagons and men afoot could arrive. And so, through the pass rode scouts in the lead, the vanguard and others following. And at the fore of this twisting strait fared Tip-perton and Auly on point.

At times the walls were sheer, rising four or five hundred feet or more; at other times but a bit less vertical, sloping upward at steep angles to either side. Yet always the walls were close, no more than a hundred feet apart, narrowing down to twenty-five feet or a bit less for long stretches at a time.

"Lor', Auly, I feel like we're in a vise."

"We are, my lad, we are," said Auly. "And should we meet an army within, it will be quite dreadful."

Snow lay in the slot, in places three or four feet deep, though in other places the rock was bare. In the white-laden stretches, Auly would lead the way, his horse broaching a path for Tip on his pony to follow.

And always there were maggot-folk tracks in the snow. "Fleeing, I ween," said Tipperton, kneeling and examining the trace, "running somewhere ahead of us." Tipperton stood and mounted the black again.

Occasionally they came to rubble and scree ramped against the walls and running out across the slot. Here they would pick their way carefully and then ride onward, the vanguard in their wake, all outstripping the remainder of the cavalry and the wagons and the men afoot. Yet often a horn signal came drifting along the passage from behind, noting to those who understood its code that the supply train was temporarily stopped, waiting for a path to be cleared of drifts or loose rock so that the wagons could roll on.

The sun rode beyond gathering clouds in a glum winter sky, its rays but rarely reaching the floor of the twisting slot here and there, and a chill drift of air flowed up the passage. As they rode toward a turn in the channel, Tip said, "Huah, but I thought Agron said that warm air from the Gwasp in Gron kept this passage clear, but you know what? It seems to me-"

Tip's speech broke off. Ahead the walls pinched inward, and across the way stood a high barricade made of logs, Foul Folk on the far side.

The second skirmish was hard-fought, stone raining down from above. Black-shafted arrows hissed through the air, slamming into the pavises borne by the men.

Unable to o'ertop the barricade, finally Agron sent a group of archers-Tip among them-back down the pass to scale the walls and come forward again to fly shafts at the missileers and rock throwers on the rampart ahead and send them scurrying. And the archers rained arrows down into the Foul Folk defenders below, receiving deadly dark shafts in return.

And as the fighting raged, the wagons and marching men came 'round the turn, the foot soldiers to join in, though only a company or so at a time could be brought to bear on the Ruptish fortification.

The strife lasted nigh half the glum daylight in all, even though the Rupt were outnumbered at least a hundred to one. Yet in the end Agron's army prevailed, though the casualties sustained were considerable.

"As I said," muttered Auly to Tip, the two of them watching men tear down the barricade, "we're in a vise… a place where a handful can oppose many, as a handful of Spawn did here."

That night and still at the place of the barricade, as the army tarried to rest awhile and to take a meal, Captain Brud came forward to join Tip and Auly at the fire they shared. As they sat and chatted, riding on the wind and echoing up the slot from the darkness ahead there came from afar a shuddering howl to be answered by howls even farther.

"Oh my," said Tip, pausing in his trimming of long arrow shafts to fit the length of his draw, "is that what I believe it is?"

"If it's Vulgs you are thinking of," said Brud around a mouthful of bread, "well then you are right. It's Modru's curs. Fordervelig Vargs!"

By the firelight Auly sighted down one of his arrow shafts, saying, "Have you ever seen any?"

Tip swallowed, remembering the beasts in Drearwood. He nodded. "Black and Wolflike, they are, but as large as a pony, or near. Beau and I escaped from one once, though many sought our track. I'm told they have a poison bite."

As Auly looked at Tip and nodded, Brud said, "Vulg's black bite slays at night."

A shiver trembled down Tipperton's spine at Captain Brad's ominous words. "I've heard that," said the buccan. "And a bad poison it is; a Chakia healer once claimed it was a Vulg-poisoned arrow that nearly slew Phais. We almost lost her."

Auly shook his head and looked westward into the dark of the pass. "Laddie, let us hope we don't run into any Vulgs out on point as we are."

Just as Tip nodded in agreement, another howl juddered the swirling air.

Under a dark churning sky, Tip and Auly came riding in haste back to the vanguard. "There's a large slide ahead blocking the way," said Auly. "Mayhap the one you spoke of to the captains, King Agron, back when you first planned this campaign. It's quite a pile and will take a heap of clearing to get the wagons through. But the trouble is, Spawn are using it as a rampart. We're going to have to fight them again."

"Ah me," said Agron, "but I was hoping the way was abandoned. It seems as if Modru has set a watch on this pass, even though I had hoped he would think we would march to the Boreal and take to Fjordlander Dragonships and invade along his north shore. We must hurry now that he knows we are here."

"My lord," said Captain Jorgen of the council, "how would he know we are in this pass? The Iron Tower is days north."

Agron sighed. "Did you not hear the Vargs last night? They are Modru's scouts, and I have no doubt they've carried the word to him. Even now a Horde may be on the march to block the far end. We must hurl the Rupt down from the rampart of rubble and clear it away, and quickly, for I would not have a Horde come upon us while we are yet confined herein, where our cavalry is more of a hindrance than an asset. Out in the open we have the advantage, but herein the leverage is theirs."

Once again the battle was fierce, the footing up the ice-clad, snow-laden scree treacherous, the Rupt holding the narrow way to the last. Yet finally the king and his men prevailed, for Agron sent men climbing up and across the ravine walls on each side and through a hail of deadly black arrows to come at the Spawn from the rear, the foe to break and run, Agron's forces winning the way. Even so, the wounding of men was disproportionate: the Spawn had slain at least three for each casualty of their own.

Now did the vanguard wait for the bulk of the army and the wagons to arrive, for the slide was formidable, and it would take many men long, long candlemarks to clear the way.

In early morn as a dark day came churning on the land, the king called Tip and Auly unto him. Above the rising wind Agron said, "With all thirty thousand of us laboring together, we should clear the bulk of the blockage in a day or so, at least well enough to get the wagons through. Ere then I would have ye both ride along the remainder of the pass, to see if any Spawn yet lurk. As soon as we can, the vanguard and I will follow after ye. Meanwhile, take care, for there may be a full Horde lying in wait, and I would not have ye fall into a Spawnish trap."

Tip gestured at the slide. "Lord King, you bid us to ride ahead, yet we cannot ride over that."

Agron nodded. "Nay, ye cannot. Yet I ween my men can get your two steeds across. It will take many hands, but get them across we will."

And so, in the swirling wind, angling up and across the slide and angling down again, horse and pony scrambled and skidded and lunged and stiff-leggedly balked, as slowly they scrabbled up and over the slide and down again, men all 'round the steeds to shore with strong arms and hands and to coax and wheedle and haul with ropes, and to support and prop and brace, to lift and tow, other men atop the rubble anchoring ropes on both the ascent and descent, an occasional man slipping and falling and rising again to aid those yet afoot. But at last the steeds came down the far side of the pile and to the floor of the pass beyond, Tip and Auly fretting and fuming every struggling step of the way.

"Lor'," said Auly, inspecting his bay, finding her none the worse for the ordeal though her eyes were yet wide and rolling, "but it's a wonder a leg wasn't broken-on horse, pony, or man."

"I think my black had an easier time of it," replied Tip, the little pony standing calmly as the buccan checked the cinch strap and made certain his bedroll and saddlebags and lute were lashed firmly to the rear cantle, and his bow and extra quiver lashed firmly to the one in front. And he settled a sack holding three days half-rations of grain across the steed's withers. Though Tip's pony and Auly's horse would be on half-rations for the next few days, they would let the black and bay eat their fill when they came to the army again.

"Ready?" asked Auly, glancing at the dark roiling sky above.

"Ready," replied Tip, turning and waving at Agron atop the heap and receiving a salute in return.

As they mounted up and started down the grim slot ahead, Auly said, "I don't like the looks of what might be riding on the whirling wings of this wind. Methinks for the past two days there's been a storm brewing, mayhap one conjured by Modru, Master of the Cold."

"If so," said Tip, pulling his flapping cloak about his shoulders, "then perhaps he's wasting his power."

"Oh?"

"Aye, for should he hurl blizzard at us, then down here in this narrow slot we should be well out of the worst of it."

The blizzard came screaming in late afternoon, trapping Tip and Auly in a howling white Hel, the pass acting as a giant funnel to channel the shrieking wind and hurtling ice and snow up the slot to the deep-laden steeps above. The world was now a darkling white, and Tip could but barely see Auly's dim form straight ahead, though he was but a handful of paces away.

Seeking shelter, they rode along the north slope of the slot, for there the wind seemed a bit less strong. Even so, it pummelled and battered at them and at their steeds, seeking to hammer them into oblivion, or to freeze them where they stood. And so Tip and Auly sought refuge from the wind, needing to find it quickly ere darkness fell, ere the blast could wrench away life. They were some twelve miles west of the army and nigh the outlet of the pass, and in those twelve miles they had seen no sign of the enemy, but for a scramble of tracks running away. Yet neither friend nor foe were on their minds, but finding safe haven instead.

Of a sudden Auly in the lead veered leftward, angling across the pass, Tip following, and in among high boulders they rode. How Auly had seen them through the hurling white, had seen them through the oncoming night, Tip could not say, yet he was relieved that they had found a shelter of sorts. Still the wind shrieked among the stones, less fierce than out in the open. Auly dismounted and called something back to Tip, but the howling air shredded Auly's words and flung them away on the wind. Yet Tip guessed at what Auly had perhaps called and dismounted as well -just as a huge black form hurtled through the shrieking white and over Tip's head and crashed into the pony, slamming the steed sideways and to the ground.

"Waugh!" shrilled Tip, only to hear Auly's scream and a horrid yowl. Tip's floundering pony squealed in terror, a terror chopped off in mid scream as the black creature atop tore out the little steed's throat. Tip jerked an arrow from his quiver as, slavering blood, the dark creature whirled toward the buccan and leaped. The Warrow only had time to shove the arrow out before himself as the beast smashed into Tipperton and knocked him backwards, Tip's upflung arm to be caught in the creature's jaws, as together they crashed to the ground, the monster slamming down atop the buccan, knocking the wind from his lungs. Stunned, unable to breathe, Tip feebly pushed at the beast, but it crushed down on him, its fangs locked on Tip's limb.

Oh lor', what a way to Ghuuhhh!

Tip managed to inhale.

In the shrieking white, the creature atop him did not move, its crushing weight pinning the buccan.

Ripping his forearm free of the fang-filled jaws, blood flowing unchecked through the shredded cloth of his jacket sleeve, desperately Tip kicked and shoved at the beast, finally struggling out from under the dark creature.

Floundering to his feet, Tip looked down to see-Vulg! It's a Vulg!-the buccan's arrow driven deeply into the beast's chest. But Tip did not pause to wonder at this turn of fortune. Instead Auly!

Now Tip snatched his bow from the scabbard on his dead pony and set an arrow to string and whirled toward where Auly had been, though there was little he could see. With the wind screaming and whiteness hurtling all 'round, Tip pressed through the blizzard to find Oh, Auly.

Where the scout's throat had been there was nought but a gaping ruin, spewn red blood staining crimson the snow. Auly's dead eyes stared wide with fright, locked on the hurtling ice and snow of the blizzard shrieking above. Lying next to him was a dead Vulg, a dagger embedded to the hilt in its baleful left eye. Of Auly's horse there was no sign.

Tip fell to his knees in the snow beside the grizzled man and gently closed his eyes.

Auly, Auly, with force of arms you slew your murderer, whereas mine was slain by chance.

Overlaid on the yowling wind came a howl of a different sort.

Tip leapt to his feet-Vulgs! More Vulgs!-his bow at the ready. Oh lor', the blood, the scent of the blood, it will bring them running. But wait, the wind, they might not- Never mind, bucco, you've got to get out of here, out of the pass altogether.

Darting back to his dead pony, Tip unlashed his bedroll and saddlebags and lute from the rear cantle and shouldered all. He turned toward Auly's body. Oh, Auly, I cannot leave you here for the Vulgs to Another howl cut through the wind, this one louder.

Faced with little or no choice, Tipperton turned in the yowling blizzard and the falling dark and began scrambling through pummelling wind and shrieking white and up the canted slope, the snow cascading down the slant behind.

Higher he climbed and higher, air and ice screaming all 'round, the wind stealing his heat even as he sought safe haven. He came to the face of a bluff, a bluff he hadn't the strength to climb even were there no blizzard plucking his life away. Leftward he turned, away from the hammering blast and back toward the army miles hence, though it was not the army he sought but shelter instead-boulders, a cave, a fold in the stone-anything out of the wind.

Pushed by the yawling blast at his back, across the slope and alongside the bluff he struggled, the deep snow grasping at his trembling shanks, the buccan growing weaker with every stride, a fever seeming to rage through his veins. Ahead through the racing whiteness, he saw what appeared to be a darkness on the stone of the bluff. A shadow, but wait, night is at hand, so how-?

Slammed from behind by the blizzard, Tip was smashed to his knees, but when he tried to stand again, he had not the strength. Crawling, floundering, creeping through snow, Tipperton made for the dark place ahead… to come to a low opening in the stone, a hollow out of the wind.

Scrabbling, struggling, back among the rubble he crept, as far from the blizzard as he could get, ten or twelve feet at most. Panting, he dropped his saddlebags and lute-his bedroll had been lost or abandoned somewhere along the way-and he hitched about and faced the opening, sweat runnelling down his forehead and cheeks in spite of the cold.

And he was burning up.

Blearily, Tip felt along his ripped sleeve to find his arm bleeding beneath. Oh lor', I've been bitten by a Vulg.

Captain Brud's ominous words echoed in Tip's mind: "Vulg's black bite slays at night… slays at night… at night… night."

As darkness clasped the land, searing with fever Tip leaned back against the fissured, crack-raddled rock, Vulg poison raging in his veins, while outside on the shrieking wind there yawled a juddering howl.