A grim look came over Dalavar's features. "Modru has much to answer for."
"If I could get my hands on him, I'd kill him dead," growled Beau.
Dalavar looked at both Warrows. "Leave vengeance for these deaths to me, my wee friends. Modru and I have crossed paths before, to his regret… though in that case as in yours, Tipperton, Fortune smiled down on me."
Tip sighed and murmured, "Fortune may have turned Her smile toward me in the end, but She was glaring ere then."
"Be glad that Her hidden face remained turned away, else death under snow would have been sweet by compare."
Beau shuddered. "Oh, enough of this talk of Fortune's three faces and of dooms dire. Instead, let us have a look at that wound."
Frowning slightly as Trace licked the gashes, Tip whispered, "Won't it hurt him if some of the Vulg poison yet lies in the bite?"
Dalavar shook his head. "Nay. Draega are not harmed by Vulg venom. Too, if some trace of the poison remained, then you would now be dead."
With exhausted eyes, Tip glanced at Beau, and Beau said, "Besides, Tip, the swelling has gone down a bit, I think due to the ministrations of Beam-she cleaned the wound yester. So let Trace do what he will and on the morrow we shall see again."
Tip fell asleep watching.
"How many of the 'Wolves are there?" asked Tip, taking a bite of rabbit left over from the day before.
"Seven," said Beau, "though I haven't seen Shifter in a while. He's like the others, only a bit darker of fur."
Longshank lay at the feet of the wounded buccan, watching with interest as Tip nibbled the cold meat.
They sat in silence for a while. Finally Tip finished off the bit of leg and looked at Beau. "Do you think a rabbit bone will hurt this 'Wolf?"
Beau shrugged. "Longshank? I don't see why it should. I mean. Wolves, regular Wolves, that is, they eat coneys raw, bones and all. And surely a Silver Wolf can outdo one of them."
Tip held out the bone toward Longshank, and very gently the great beast took it from him, and then with a snap and a crunch it was gone.
"Well, that was short work, Longshank," said Tip.
"Water?" asked Beau, filling a cup.
Tip nodded, and Beau handed the cup to him and then filled another for himself.
As Tipperton took a small sip, he looked across the cup at the exit from the cave. "I say, Beau, when will we be leaving?"
Beau frowned, then said, "As soon as you can walk out from here and pee on your own."
"Oh," said Tip, disappointed. Then-"Now that you mention it, Beau…"
On the sixth day after being freed by the Draega, Tip managed to totter from the cave without any aid. When he returned on shaking legs he smiled and declared, "Time to go."
Dalavar took one look at the buccan standing and sweating and trembling, then the Wolfmage turned to Beau. "We have a travois."
Beau shrugged. "On the morrow?"
Dalavar nodded. "On the morrow."
With a grunt, Tipperton sat down, unable to stand any longer.
The following dawn, Dalavar scrambled up to the rim above and, using Tipperton's rope, hauled up all the gear. Beau's bindle blanket was then used to complete the bed of the travois. Then Dalavar hauled up the buccen: Tipperton first, then Beau.
Longshank came to be harnessed to the travois, and Tip and his bow and lute were roped in. As Dalavar stepped out somewhere ahead, Beau settled all saddlebags across Draega backs-Beam, Trace, and Seeker each carrying pouches. And when that was done, Beau leapt astraddle Shimmer.
Greylight looked at Beau, and then turned and trotted away, the other Draega following… and 'round a bend they caught up to Shifter, the dark 'Wolf waiting there.
And across the snow-covered slopes they went: Shifter and Greylight in the lead, followed by Seeker then Long-shank haling the travois, with Shimmer and Beam after, and Trace bringing up the rear.
"Where's Dalavar?" called Tip back to Beau coming after.
Beau shrugged. "He comes and goes-rather abruptly at times-but will show up tonight. At least he always has."
It took nearly three days altogether for the pack just to reach the eastern end of the pass, some eleven or twelve leagues of travel, for in many places the going was slow, the travois a hindrance over the precipitous ways. And both Beau and Tipperton were glad to see the long, rolling stretches of Jord lying before them when they came down from the steeps. Even so, even though they had reached the relative flats, still the going was slow, for Longshank would not jounce the wee buccan he was drawing behind.
And so another two days, nearly three altogether, they fared ere the lights of Jallorby came into view, for they had pressed on into the night. And just after mid of night came, six great Silver Wolves trotted to the marge of that town, where they found Dalavar waiting.
He led them all to the White Horse Inn; and there he unladed the travois and set Tip on the edge of the porch as Beau retrieved the saddlebags.
"Well, let's go in," said Beau, "and have some hot mulled wine."
Dalavar shook his head. "Nay, my wee comrades, go on alone; my friends and I, we have many missions to attend to and we must be on our way. Yet I deem ere this war is ended, we shall meet again."
"You're leaving?" asked Beau, his face chapfallen.
"Aye."
Beau stepped to Shimmer and hugged her. "Farewell, sweet Shimmer, and take care."
She lapped him with her tongue.
One by one the great 'Wolves came to each of the buc-cen and suffered their touch, all but Greylight, that is, the pack leader standing aloof.
And Tipperton hugged each of them, and Longshank, last in line, gave a single tentative lick to the buccan's cheek. "Take care, my friend," whispered Tipperton. "Perhaps one day we'll share another rabbit."
Beau stepped up to the porch and helped Tip to stand and then said, "Farewell, Dalavar, and we thank you for all you have done. And I say, but where has Shifter gotten to? I would tell him good-bye."
Dalavar smiled and then said, "Ah, but you already have." And a gloom gathered about Dalavar, enveloping him, his shape changing, growing large, silvery-grey, with black claws and glistening fangs, the shifting form dropping to all fours, and where Dalavar had been now grinned a Draega, though one somehow darker than the others. And a silveron nugget dangled on a thong around Shifter's neck.
"Oh my!" exclaimed Beau, as Tip gasped in wonder.
Yipping and yammering, the great Silver Wolves milled about, and of a sudden and almost as one they turned and sped from the town.
And in the wee candlemarks of Year's Start Day, the first day of January, the first day of the two thousand one hundred ninety seventh year of the Second Era of Mithgar, the very first day of the third year of a great and terrible war, Tip stood with Beau's support on the porch of the White Horse Inn, the buccen watching as seven Silver Wolves loped away to the west under a sky of cold, crystalline stars.
When they were gone from sight, Beau looked at Tip and said, "Well, bucco, let's go get that mulled wine."
Chapter 24
"Seek the aid of those not men,'" intoned Beau, staring into the flames and quoting Dara Rael of Arden, "and we did, for surely Dalavar and the Silver Wolves were not men-"
"Oh, Beau, you are assuming her rede was meant for us," replied Tip, "and there were too many persons of renown in that chamber for it to have been aimed at two insignificant Warrows. Besides, the rede goes on to say, 'to quench the fires of war,' and we certainly didn't do that."
The buccen sat before the hearth at the White Horse Inn and sipped on flagons of ale. They had been in Jallorby for a month altogether, with Tip growing stronger every day. The swelling in his arm had finally subsided, much to Beau's relief, for he had dreaded the thought of having to sever the limb to save Tipperton's life. Even so, even though Tip seemed well on the way to full recovery, still Beau gauged it would take weeks more ere they would be ready to travel.