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."
"?"
" wrenched from others, stolen from victims through torture, through fear and pain and agony and death."
"Oh my," said Beau, a sudden shiver running along his spine.
Dalavar's features grew grim. "Like all Black Mages, Modru cares not what happens to others; only his own gratification is paramount. Hence, rather than use his own, he wrenches from victims and uses it to his castings… in this case, he has used to raise a storm in the cold reaches of the Boreal Sea, or in the Barrens, and has guided it to fall on those he would crush."
The wind whistled 'round the Kunghus and moaned in the chimney, stirring the flames in the hearth.
Beau looked into his cup and said, "Well, in spite of Modru, I would think in their snug winter gear Tip and the army are safe. I mean, we are no worse for the wear having come through the very same storm."
Dalavar sighed. "Beau, we cannot judge by that which blows without, for it may be considerably more brutal where they are."
As Beau frowned up at the Mage, Dalavar gestured toward the window, where illuminated by lanternlight white snow hurtled past. "Ere the storm reached us it had lost much of its strength, for two great barriers stand across the way-the Gronfangs and the Grimwall-where much of the blow has been lost, dashed against mountain stone."
"Oh my," said Beau. "Oh my."
And the wind without rattled the walls of the inn.
The next morning dawned to stillness, the blizzard completely gone, having blown itself out sometime in the night; not even a faint breeze remained. All that day Beau and Dalavar rested, though "rested" might be the wrong term, for, except for acquiring some crue and jerky to replace that which he had consumed. Beau paced agitatedly, anxious to be on the way. As to Dalavar, he downed meal after meal, as if stoking up for some great effort, or as if recovering from one. Again it seemed as if he would never get filled, though at last he did stop.
The day wore on, and finally night fell, and from the nearby hills there came a prolonged howl, and of a sudden the night was alive with yips and yammers and whines and more howls. Below in the town, doors slammed, doors opened, some shutting, others being flung wide, and lanterns were held on high, casting their light across snow. Finally, silence fell, and doors in the thorp slammed to again, latches clicking, bolts throwing home, bars banging down into brackets; the stockaded town entire closed up tight.
The next morning when Beau awakened, Dalavar was gone. Dressing quickly, Beau took up his bindle and saddlebags and his replenished waterskin and hurried downstairs. When he tried to pay the innkeeper, someone had more than settled the bill with a fresh-killed stag. "Brought down by dogs, I think," said the 'keep, "for there's nary an arrow mark on it, but a throat torn out by teeth."
As the innkeeper stepped into the kitchen and snatched up a biscuit and some rashers of bacon for the wee Litenfolk, Beau slung on his jacket and cloak and fitted his bindle-strap over all. He looked about, seeking Dalavar, but did not see the Mage, yet was not surprised by such, what with Dala-var's "magical" comings and goings. Carrying his saddlebags and munching the food, Beau stepped from the inn and strode out the north gate and down toward the river and the ford, where he found the pack waiting, all seven of the 'Wolves.
Across the Argon they fared, and toward the mountain pass through the Grimwalls ahead, their travel slowed by blizzard fall. Through Jailor Pass, Shimmer with Beau came last, running in the path through the snow broken by the others. Night had fallen ere they came down from the mountains and into Jallorby, and there they stopped and rested another day, for it had been a difficult passage. Yet in spite of the deep snow, still the pack had run some seventy-five miles in all.
Leaving Jallorby, west they fared, toward the Gronfangs afar, and here in this corner of Jord the snow lay deep on the land. Even so, even though stopping more often and resting longer each time, the pack covered seventy miles altogether, and when they stopped for the night, the Gronfangs were visible in the distance ahead.