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 alclass="underline" "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.