And as Beau floundered forward, Dalavar emerged from the hole, and in his arms he carried an unconscious buc-can-Tipperton Thistledown.
Chapter 23
"His face is flush, as if-" On his knees in the snow beside Tipperton's still form, Beau bent over and placed his cheek against the unconscious buccan's forehead. As Beau did so, he looked across at Dalavar. "He's fevered, all right." Beau straightened up. "What do you imagine- Oh lor'. Look. His sleeve. It's torn. I think he's been wounded. Help me get him out of his jacket. Just that arm. I don't want him to freeze out here."
Swiftly, Dalavar and Beau pulled Tip's arm from the jacket sleeve, Tip moaning but not wakening. Greylight, Seeker, and Beam gathered 'round, the great Silver Wolves providing a windbreak, while on the rim above, Trace, Longshank, and Shimmer stood ward.
"He's treated it," said Beau, carefully unwrapping the cloth bandaged about the limb, "and with gwynthyme. See the pulp? Oh Adon, but his arm, it's all inflamed and swollen. What could he have-? Oh my, deep gouges, festered."
" 'Tis a Vulg bite," said Dalavar.
"Vulg bite?" Beau drew in a deep breath. "Vulg venom." He glanced up at the Draega on the rim above. "I'll need my kit. It's in the saddlebags."
Dalavar raised his face and spoke something akin to a growl. Trace and Longshank came bounding down the ramp of snow, whiteness churning in their wake.
As Beau dragged his saddlebags from the backs of the 'Wolves he said. "From the looks of Tip's wounds, he was bitten some days back." Beau rummaged through the pouches and hauled out his kit and a bundle of sprigs. "Even so, it's Vulg venom, and Dara Phais took long to recover from her poisoned wound, and so may Tip. I must dose him with more golden mint… tea, preferably, and for that we'll need a fire and a place to work out of the snow." Beau glanced up at Dalavar.
The Wolfmage gestured toward the small cave. "Yon is the only place free of snow. I will bear Tipperton back within." Dalavar stooped and took up Tip's limp form. As he stood, he looked at Greylight and spoke another growling word, and the great Silver Wolf turned and bounded away, Seeker following.
Catching up his saddlebags, Beau headed for the entrance to the cave, the wee buccan breasting through the snow. Following him and bearing Tipperton, Dalavar said, "Vulg bites are not only poison, they are foul as well. This wound may be clear of venom, but festered with the taint of the Vulg's mouth. A wound such as this needs cleansing in addition to gwynthyme."
"We'll want hot water," said Beau, finally reaching the entrance. "Oh my," he said as he stepped inside, his face wrinkling in disgust, "but this place smells like an outhouse."
"Tipperton was trapped here long," said Dalavar, stooping and following Beau in, "days at least. Regardless of the odor, 'tis out of the snow."
Gently, the Wolfmage lay the buccan down, and then moved to the entrance of the small cave and stepped outside and began knocking down snow hanging overhead and clearing it away. "As soon as Greylight and Seeker return we'll build the fire here," he called in to Beau.
Beau nodded but did not reply as he unrolled clean cloth and laid out gwynthyme and bandages and a cup. And he set his waterskin at hand as well. Then he turned and looked about; and he gathered up Tip's belongings-saddlebags, lute, bow, quiver of arrows-and arranged them nearby. Too, he espied Tip's cup sitting in a small crevice, the container nearly full, a drop forming on the stone above.
Well, at least you had water, bucco, though precious little from the looks of it.
The droplet felclass="underline" tink
Sighing, Beau turned just as Beam entered the small cave and lay down next to Tipperton.
"Doesn't the odor bother you, girl?" asked Beau.
Beam did not reply.
Beau shook his head and looked out at Dalavar, the Wolfmage still clearing snow from the entrance. "I say, Dalavar," called Beau, "just how did Greylight find this place? How did he find Tip? The smell of the Warrow? The rank smell of this cave? What?"
Dalavar shook his head, then said, "None of those, Beau. Instead, Greylight said he heard him singing."
"Singing?"
Dalavar nodded.
Beau cocked his head. "And he told you this?"
Dalavar nodded again.
"And Greylight said it was 'singing' he heard?"
Yet again, Dalavar nodded.
Beau frowned. "How would Greylight even know what singing was?"
Dalavar stooped and looked inside, looked at Beau in surprise. "Why, all Wolves sing, my friend… and laugh as well. Have you not heard them at night? Have you not seen them grin?"
"Oh my, but I never thought of it that w-"
Beam's ears flicked forward and her head came up from between her paws. A shadow darkened the entrance to the cave, and Greylight, a long pine bough in his mouth, stood before the opening, Seeker standing just behind, that Draega with a leafless limb of some sort long twisted by the wind. At a signal from Dalavar they dropped the branches and bounded away.
Dalavar shook the snow from the bough and the limb and stooped inside and began breaking off stems. "This will get us started," said the Wolfmage. "Greylight, Seeker, Longshank, and Trace have gone for more."
"Here," said Beau, turning toward his saddlebags, "I'll get out my flint and steel and tinder, and then we'll have us a-"
But at that moment a ruddy flicker lighted the hollow. Beau turned back to see Dalavar feeding barren twigs into a small flame. How the Wolfmage had started the blaze, Beau could not say. Even so, he took up Tip's tin cup and added a bit of water to it and said, "Here, set this to boil." Dalavar arranged three rocks about the tiny fire and set the cup atop, the flames licking the tin bottom.
After soaking the wounds and cleaning away the yellowish skims of forming scabs and draining the pus as best he could, Beau said, "Oh Adon, Tip may lose his arm." Tears welled up in Beau's eyes and he turned to the Wolfmage. "Oh, Dalavar, I-I've never cut off a limb before, though I've seen it done on the battlefield. It was awful, the knives, the saws… the screaming. And now I may have to do the same, though I don't even have… I don't even have…" Beau's words choked to a halt, and he could not bring himself to say what it was he didn't have.
Beau turned to see Beam licking Tip's wounds. "Here, now, Beam," protested Beau, starting to rise, but Dalavar reached out a hand and stopped the buccan.
"Let her treat him, Beau. You've done all the cleansing you can. Now let her do her best. When she is finished, lay on your poultice and bandage him. On the morrow, we shall see."
Sometime nigh mid of night, Tipperton opened his eyes and in the flicker of firelight looked up to see Beau smiling down.
"Oh, hullo, Beau," he rasped, his voice but a whisper. "I was having the most horrible drea-" Tipperton glanced about, his eyes flying wide in panic at the sight of the great 'Wolf lying at his side, and he scrabbled feebly at the rubble, trying but failing to get away, moaning.
"Tip, Tip, it's not a Vulg," said Beau, embracing Tipperton to keep him from flailing. "Not a Vulg. It's a Draega, a Silver Wolf instead. Her name is Beam. She's a friend."
Yet thrashing, Tip looked wildly at Beau. "Shh, shh, Tip," soothed Beau. "She's not a Vulg, not a Vulg, but a friend instead; a Silver Wolf. Remember the song Phais sang in Bridgeton; Draega are deadly foe of the Vulgs."
Allayed by Beau, his panic subsiding, Tip timorously looked at the 'Wolf, and Beam cocked her head side to side and looked back.
Beau reached down and turned Tip's face toward him.
"Dalavar says not to look them directly in the eye; they don't take kindly to such boldness."
Now Tip glanced at the stone overhead and rasped, "Oh my, I'm still in the cave. It wasn't a dream after all."