Into the fire

Chapter 22

Seven Silver Wolves, seven Draega, came trotting across the eastern stone bridge above the dry moat and into the embrasure below the eastern parapet. And then out from under the wall and into the open stepped a man, an Elf, nay, a Mage. How he had come to the gate itself, Beau could not say. Yet it was plain to see that the Mage was there at the bridge below, and huge Silver Wolves, large as ponies, milled about him.

"My friends and I ask permission to enter your city," called up the Mage.

"And who are you and what is your business, Lord Mage?" asked the captain of the east ward.

"I am Dalavar of Darda Vrka, though some know me by the name Wolfmage, and I have come to see the Waer-ling who put down Modru's plague."

"Oh lor'," blurted Beau, "he's come to see me." The buccan turned to the captain. "He's come to see me. Farrin said someone would come to me from the east, and perhaps Mage Dalavar is the one. Oh, do let him in, captain. Do let him in."

As Beau ran down the ramp and toward the inner portal, the captain of the eastern gate hesitated and glanced down at the Mage with his waiting 'Wolves, but finally nodded to the men at the portcullis winch, and called a command down to the soldiers in the passage below.

Beau jittered from one foot to another as the iron inner grille squealed upward, and then men unbarred the inner side-postern and opened it. One after another, through the gate came the huge Silver Wolves, trotting out on their long legs, their eyes shifting this way and that, their silver muzzles in the air as if to sense friend or foe. Warders gave back before them in awe, for they were beasts of legend, yet Beau stood his ground, transfixed in wonder, and two came straight at the buccan and loomed over him, red tongues lolling over white fangs.

"Oh my," breathed Beau, reaching tentatively out to touch one of the great beasts.

"I would not look them straight in the eye if I were you, Waerling. They do not take kindly to such boldness." Beau looked up to see the Mage, to see Dalavar, standing at hand.

Man height he was, six foot or so, and as with all Mage-kind his eyes held the hint of a tilt and his ears were pointed, though less so than those of Elves… or Waerlings for that matter. His hair was long and silvery-white, and it hung down beyond his shoulders, its sheen much the same as Silver Wolf fur, though somehow darker. In spite of his whitish hair, he looked to be no more than thirty. He was dressed in soft grey leathers, black belt with silver buckle clasped at his waist. His feet were shod in black boots, supple and soft on the land. His eyes were as piercing as those of a falcon, their color perhaps a pale grey. At his throat was a glimmer of silver, mayhap an amulet upon leather thong. He bore no visible weapons and did not bear a staff.

"I say," said Beau, the beast at hand tolerating his touch, "they really are the size of ponies."

Dalavar laughed. "Indeed."

"What's his name?" asked Beau, running his hand along the silvery-white flank of the creature, a thick layer of soft white fur beneath.

"Her name, if you must have one…"-Dalavar frowned, then said-"… is Shimmer of Moonlight on the Water as the Gentle Breeze Brings Scents from Near and Far… or that's as close as I can say it in Common."

"Oh my, what a mouthful," said Beau, unable to keep his hands from the magnificent creature.

"Not in Draega," replied Dalavar. "You may call her Shimmer."

"Shimmer," said Beau, trying to hug the pony-sized Draega, his cheek lying alongside her chest as he inhaled her clean scent. Shimmer looked up at the Wolfmage as if seeking advice, but endured the wee one's embrace.

"And your name…?" asked Dalavar.

Beau stepped back from Shimmer. "My name? Oh, I'm Beau Darby. I think I'm the one you've come to see."

"… and so you see, with what I had learned from Del-gar's book and from Elby Roh in Willowdell and from my own studies, well then, it just seemed natural to try a tisane of silverroot and gwynthyme."

Dalavar nodded as Beau took a swig of ale, the Mage himself not touching the small glass of brandy before him.

The buccan and the Mage sat in the common room of the Leaping Stag, a tavern near the prison. Silver Wolves lolled outside, and few people had the courage to step past them and into the alehouse itself. Hence, but for the 'keep and a patron or two, Beau and Dalavar had the place nearly unto themselves.

Beau looked up at the Wolfmage. "Surely I am not the first to have thought of doing so."

"Perhaps not. Beau, yet you are the first to have thought of mixing the two and to have had the ingredients on hand when plague raged on the land."

"Oh, but I didn't have all the ingredients, just the silverroot. It was Tip and Bekki who got the gwynthyme."

"Tip? Bekki?"

"Bekki is a Dwarf… now DelfLord of Mineholt North. His da, you see, was killed in the Skarpal Mountains fighting Foul Folk. But Bekki was here at the Battle of Dendor, and he knew where a patch of gwynthyme grew. And Tip, well, he is Tipperton Thistledown, another Warrow like me; he now is a scout with King Agron's army in Gron."

Dalavar slowly shook his head. "So Agron has foolishly marched into Gron in the wintertime."

Beau's heart lurched. "Is that bad?"

"It is Modru's season, Beau."

"Oh my, that's what the others said. But no one-not Phais, Loric, Imongar, or any of the others-could talk Agron out of his winter campaign. Some said that it was Prince Dular's death that drove Agron to such an act."

"When did he set forth?"

Beau frowned. "Well, the muster was to take place in Alvstad in mid-November… the fifteenth, I think. That's when he was to start the march toward Gron."

"And do you know how he was to enter that grim land?"

"Tip said they were going through a narrow pass in the Gronfangs somewhere west of Jallorby."

Dalavar took in a deep breath and let it out. "I know of it. A grim slot, that."

Beau turned up a hand. "Well, grim or not, that's where I'm headed."

"You?"

"Yes, Mage Dalavar. I plan on going into Gron."

Dalavar frowned. "Why?"

"Well, I'm going after Agron's army. As I said, Tip is a scout for the king, and Tip and I have been through a lot together. We started out this war together and, by the grace of Elwydd, we plan on finishing it together."

For long moments the Wolfmage looked at Beau. Finally he said, "Friendship, loyalty, they are precious things."

Beau took another swig from his mug. "Mage Dalavar, Farrin said you might aid me in reaching my friend, at least I think he was referring to you. He said he met someone as he rode from the Skog, someone who would come from the east to see me. And since you are the only one who has come from the east lately, and to see me, well…"

"Yes, I did meet Farrin nigh the Skog. And he said I might aid you, eh?"

Beau nodded.

The Wolfmage gazed into his brandy as if to find something within. At last he took up the glass and held it toward the window and peered through the amber liquid at the light and said, "Well then, we can't let Farrin down, eh?"

Beau's eyes flew wide. "You mean you'll help me?"

Dalavar drank the brandy all in one gulp, and said, "Indeed. Mayhap I can overtake Agron ere he marches too far into Modru's realm, ere he makes the mistake of his life. When can you be ready to leave?"

"Right now," said Beau. "I mean, I've already gathered the goods I intend to take. But look, there is no way my pony can reach Tip and Agron and the others before they are well into Gron."

The Wolfmage smiled and got to his feet. "You will need no pony, my friend. And dawn will be soon enough. Pack your goods in saddlebags."

Beau scrambled down from the bench. "Unh, if you don't mind, I'll keep my red healer's book and a few other things in a bindle across my back."

Though Dalavar had no money whatsoever, the innkeeper would take no coin from Beau, saying that the buc-can had already paid for all: "It was you what cured my laddie of Modru's malice, and bless you, sir."

As they stepped to the porch and the street beyond, Beau looked about. "I say, Dalavar, one of your 'Wolves has gone missing. There are but six Draega here." Beau looked up and down the street. "I don't see him anywhere."

Dalavar smiled. "First let me say, these are not my 'Wolves, wee one, but my friends instead. And as to one of them missing, fear not; he may be nearer than you think."

As dawn came, Beau said good-bye to Halga, the only healer other than himself left at the prison caring for the three remaining victims of the plague. Beau also said goodbye to the trio of patients and to the prison staff, for he had come to know all of them well during his recovery.

Looping the strap of his bindle over his head and across his chest, and bearing two pairs of saddlebags, he passed through the prison door and trudged through the snow to the iron gate, where the guard swung the grille wide.

Outside stood Dalavar and six Silver Wolves and behind them a large crowd of Dendorians who cheered when Beau stepped forth. The Draega seemed somewhat uncomfortable with the press of people, even though all in the throng gave the 'Wolves wide berth.

Stepping forward came Jaegar, Steward of Aven now that Agron was gone. And for all peoples everywhere, Jaegar bade the young buccan farewell and praised him for what he had done. Embarrassed, Beau shuffled his feet, and when the crowd called for him to speak, Beau said, "Look, I just happened to be in the right place at the right time, or perhaps the wrong place at the wrong time. Regardless, my friend Tipperton once said that no one person is responsible for victory. The same can be said about win ning the fight against the plague in Dendor: it took many hands to deal with this scourge. So praise all those who worked tirelessly, for their battle to defeat Modru's pestilence was no less courageous, no less deadly, than that fought on the walls and in the field against Modru's Horde. Seek out the healers, the caregivers, and all else who risked their lives in the battle against the scourge, and tell them how you feel. But as for me, my friends, I thank you for your thoughts and for your well wishes, but I must go; there is work yet to be done."

As Beau stepped back and toward Dalavar and the Silver Wolves, the crowd erupted in a prolonged cheer, and many called out blessings on the wee buccan, and those who would seek to touch him were held at bay by the sight of the Draega he walked among.

"Here," said the Wolfmage, taking Beau's saddlebags from him and draping a pair across one Silver Wolf and the second pair across another, "we will bear these burdens."

Beau looked about. "But how will we go, Dalavar? Are you going to cast a spell? Are we to fly?"

Dalavar laughed. "Nay, wee one. Instead, you will ride."

"Ride?"

"Aye." The Wolfmage gestured at a nearby Draega. "I have asked Shimmer, and she has said she will bear you."

"Oh, Shimmer." Again Beau embraced the Silver Wolf, and again she tolerated it.

Beau looked up at Dalavar. "Will I need a saddle?"

Dalavar laughed. "Nay. She will not let you fall."

Dalavar boosted Beau onto the great 'Wolfs back, saying, "Twine your fingers in her fur. She will not mind."

Hitching his bindle 'round to his back and then lacing his fingers into the soft fur, Beau looked about, and said, "But how will you come, Dalavar? Will you ride? And I say, where is that seventh 'Wolf? He seems to be missing again."

"Fear not, Beau. He will be at the western gate."

Dalavar spoke a strange word unto the Draega and then stepped away and into the crowd, and though Beau was watching, of a sudden he lost sight of the Mage; it was as if Dalavar had simply vanished.

Following the largest of the Silver Wolves, Shimmer moved smoothly into a trot, the other Draega forming a cordon 'round. Hastily, the crowd parted, giving back before the buccan and his extraordinary escort, though they cheered him on his way. And when the Silver Wolves passed beyond the throng, they broke into a lope, a steady, easy gait.

Westerly they fared through the streets of the city, now and then veering down a side street only to turn west again, and people afoot and those mounted or in horse-drawn vehicles moved aside to let them by, though they shouted out benedictions and acclaim as the Draega ran past.

To the western gate they came, the passage standing open below the parapet, and under wall and out across the stone bridge they loped, where another Silver Wolf awaited, this one somehow darker than the rest. And this 'Wolf matched his gait to that of the leader, and out onto the snow-covered plains the pack ran, while behind, soldiers atop the wall cheered them on.

Of Dalavar there was no sign.

Across the wide reaches of Aven they loped, miles vanishing behind their long strides, Shimmer and the other Silver Wolves running easily. And Beau watched the land flow by, seeing it with new eyes, for wonder of wonders he was riding a Draega.

Miles fled and miles more, and yet the Silver Wolves didn't seem to tire. Even so, as if by some silent signal, they stopped now and again, most of the time nigh thickets, where they allowed Beau to dismount and stretch his legs and relieve himself. The 'Wolves, too, went about the thicket, marking the trees, but whether they were claiming the territory or simply leaving the message that they had been here, Beau did not know. Yet soon they would signal the Warrow that it was time to be on their way again, Shimmer standing steadily as Beau vaulted astride.

As the sun reached the noontide, the 'Wolves veered from their course and stopped at a small stand of trees. And there the Draega bearing the saddlebags came to Beau and with a shiver, dropped the pouches at his feet.

"Ho, what is it?" And then Beau's eyes widened in revelation. "Oh, I see. You've stopped for me to have a wee spot of lunch, eh?"

Three Silver Wolves took station about the stand and stood ward, while the remaining four plopped down in the snow and waited.

Beau fished a biscuit of crue from one of the saddlebags, and he sat in the snow with his back to a tree and slowly ate the waybread. "Oh, I say, where are my manners?" Beau fished out another biscuit and extended it to Shimmer, but she turned her head away from the offering. "I don't blame you, Shimmer. Rather tasteless, this. But here, I've some jerky." Shimmer turned this down as well.

Beau finished his biscuit and drank some water and then relieved himself. Two of the Draega came and stood beside the saddlebags, and Beau settled the pouches across their backs. Shimmer once again came to the buccan and stood without moving as he sprang to her back. When he twined his fingers through her fur, she and the others set out westerly, the large one and the dark one yet taking the lead.

And across the rolling plains they tirelessly ran.

Nigh sunset, again the pack stopped, and once more Beau took a meal. But soon they were on their way again, and across the snow and through the dusk fared the Silver Wolves, Beau yet mounted on Shimmer. And under her long loping stride, Beau on her back with his stomach full, laid his head down and in moments fell sound asleep, though his fingers remained entwined.

The moon rose, gibbous but waning, and across glittering snow and through argent light sped the silver-white 'Wolves, nearly invisible in the winter night, a buccan asleep in their midst.

Beau wakened as Dalavar took him from Shimmer and bore him among trees to the side of a fallen log. "Sleep, Beau, we will watch." Muzzy and but half awake, Beau undid his bindle and spread his blanket and lay down, sleep overtaking him again. He wasn't aware when two Draega came and lay next to him, their soft fur to keep him warm.

"I say, how far have we come?"

Dalavar squinted to the east at the morning light. "Thirty-three leagues, more or less."

"Oh my, a hundred miles? Goodness. A hundred miles in a day."

" Tis no more than a pack of ordinary Wolves could do."

"You mean Wolves other than Draega can run a hundred miles a day?"

Dalavar nodded. "Aye, Beau." Then he gestured about. "But this pack can run twice that at need."

"Well then, why don't-?" Suddenly Beau's face fell. "Oh, it's because of me, isn't it? I mean, having to deal with me slows you down. You ought to leave me, you know. In a town where I can get a pony."

Dalavar shook his head. "Nay, Beau. Although we could run two hundred miles in a day, still we could not keep it up day after day. Even Draega need to rest and eat. Too, in Farrin's name I promised to help you, and so I will."

Beau took a drink from his waterskin, then looked at it puzzled. "I say, it was nigh empty last night."

"I replenished it," said the Mage.

"Oh." Beau looked about but did not see a stream or pool.

Watching the buccan, Dalavar smiled and then added, "It will be full every morn, whether or no there is a nearby stream."

Beau's eyes widened and he looked at his waterskin. "I say, is this going to be one of those magic bags? I mean like those of the hearthtales? Oh, that would be splendid."

Dalavar laughed and shook his head. "Oh no, Beau, it is but an ordinary waterskin."

They sat in silence for a while, Beau finishing the last of his breakfast jerky. A gleam at Dalavar's throat caught the buccan's eye, where dangled a small silvery nugget on a thong.

"That's what got us into this mess, Tip and me."

Dalavar raised an eyebrow.

"Only in our case it was a coin on a thong and not a small chunk of silver. As it turned out, the coin was a summons, a call for aid, and that's why Agron is marching into Gron."

"Someone summoned Agron to Gron?"

"No. Actually it was a call from High King Blaine to summon Agron and his army to Blaine's side, but since ' no one knows where Blaine is, Agron decided to invade Gron instead."

Dalavar shook his head.

After a while, Beau said, "The coin was a Gjeenian penny, practically worthless in and of itself. Yet now an army marches into Gron because of it."

Dalavar sighed and fingered the silver nugget. "Many tokens of power are that way: rather plain in and of themselves, but mighty in what they bring."

Beau watched Dalavar absently worry the silver piece. "And what might that be about your neck?"

Dalavar took his hand away from the nugget. "It is sil-veron, Beau, starsilver, an amulet of sorts, and I but hold it temporarily."

"Temporarily?"

"Yes. It is meant for two who are yet to come: One to hide; One to guide. Ask me no more, for I am pledged."

"But-?"

Dalavar abruptly stood. From their places nearby, Draega stood as well. "Let us be on our way."

Beau rolled his bindle and packed the saddlebags, and when he looked up, Dalavar was nowhere to be seen.

Sighing, Beau climbed atop the fallen log and draped the pouches over the two Silver Wolves who came for them. Shimmer stood beside the log, and Beau stepped astraddle, and as the pack trotted from the woods they were joined once more by the dark Silver Wolf who awaited them at the marge.

The second day out of Dendor, the sky overhead began to turn grey, and on the third day, dark clouds gathered above. As far as Beau was concerned, though, each of these days was much the same, Dalavar disappearing a bit after dayrise and reappearing on the nighttide, the Draega ever bearing westerly, miles vanishing under their long strides. And still they paused to let Beau stretch his legs and relieve himself and eal a midday meal. Too, they paused at streams not yet frozen for him to take on water, the Draega lapping water as well.

During his nighttime conversations with Dalavar, Beau learned all the 'Wolves' names, or at least a short, common-tongue equivalent he could use: The largest of the Draega was Greylight, who seemed to lead the pack. Then there were Shimmer and Beam, the two females, much alike in carriage and manner, though Beam seemed always to defer to Shimmer. Seeker and Trace and Longshank were three of the males, but when Beau asked about the dark 'Wolf, Dalavar laughed and said, "I think you can call him… Shifter… yes, Shifter will do."

Just after dawn on the fourth day of running, a harsh wind rose, hurtling snow riding on its wings, filling the day with blinding whiteness. Although the Silver Wolves seemed to relish running into the teeth of the storm, Beau pulled his hood 'round tightly and buried his face in Shimmer's fur and away from the wind-driven snow. That evening in the shelter of the thicket, as the wind and white howled overhead, Dalavar said, "This blizzard comes from afar, Beau, from the Gronfangs in the least."

"Oh my, do you think it's Modru's doings?"

For long moments Dalavar looked into the hurtling snow, as if seeking… seeking… what? Beau did not know. Again he asked, "Do you think it's Modru's doings?"

The Mage turned to the buccan. "That, wee one, I cannot yet say, though it does have a taint of."

The wind and snow continued racing by on the fifth day out from Dendor, and once again Beau kept tight to Shimmer's fur. And just after nightfall, through the swirling whiteness gone black in the dark, they espied the lanterns of Alvstad, where the muster had taken place. In all, the pack had travelled some five hundred and forty miles in but five days, yet they seemed none the worse for the wear.

As the 'Wolves stood in the storm on the downslope of the hill surveying what could be seen of the town below, Dalavar came striding over the crest behind. "We will stop here for a day, Beau," he called above the wind.

"Stop? But shouldn't we be moving on? I mean, it's plain to see the army is gone, else there'd be tents and such surrounding the town."

"You may think them invincible, my friend, but even Draega need to hunt, to eat, to rest. They will run tonight and bring down a stag or two. They will rest after filling their bellies. You and I will stay in the town below tonight and tomorrow and tomorrow night as well. But the morning after you will meet the pack at the ford, yon, and then press on."

"How can they hunt in this blizzard, Dalavar?"

"The storm will end ere morrow's dawn, wee one. They will hunt then."

As Dalavar took up the saddlebags from Longshank and Trace, Beau stepped through the wind to Shimmer. "I'm sorry, sweet Shimmer, but I didn't think. Do go. Hunt. Eat. Rest if you can in this blizzard. I will see you at the ford."

Shimmer's great tongue lapped Beau's cheek, then she looked to Dalavar.

The Wolfmage turned to Greylight and spoke-neither a word nor a growl, but something in between-and then started off downslope through the storm. Beau gave Shimmer a final pat and then hastened after the Mage, the wee Warrow following in Dalavar's 'track through the deep snow. Partway downhill, Beau turned 'round to look back upslope, but the Silver Wolves were gone. Sighing, the buc-can faced into the wind again and followed Dalavar down to the town.

Following the gate warden's instructions, they stepped out of the blow and into the Kunghus, as the hostel had been renamed following Agron's stay at the time of the muster even though the sign out front yet bore the image of the head of a red boar. After arranging for beds and a hot bath, Dalavar and Beau took places at a table in the sparsely populated common room and called for a good hot meal.

Dalavar ate as if he had gone without food for days on end, the Wolfmage signalling several times for the serving girl to bring more fare. And though he ate as if starved, to Beau's eye Dalavar seemed no thinner than usual, nor fatter after consuming what seemed to the buccan to be more than anyone could possibly eat.

Long after Beau had been sated, the Wolfmage finally pushed back from the table and joined the buccan in front of the fire, where together they called for hot mugs of spiced mulled wine.

" Tis not often I enjoy such luxuries," said Dalavar, as he took his mug from the maid.

Beau sighed. "Me neither. I think the last time I had mulled wine was back in Bridgeton."

The serving girl looked at Beau. "That's what the other Litenfolk said."

Beau looked up at her. "The other Litenfolk?"

"Sir Tipperton, he was, and a scout," she replied. "He stayed here with King Agron."

"How did he look? Was he all right?"

"Oh yes, sir."

Across the room another patron signalled the maid, and as she took up her tray she said, "He rode off with the king and the army, um, a month back it was."

As the girl stepped away, Beau looked at Dalavar. "At least we're on his trail."

They sat without speaking for a while, the moan of the blizzard groaning down the chimney, the wind hammering on the clapboards of the inn. Finally, Dalavar said, "This storm, Beau, it indeed carries traces of Modru's."