"Real gemstones?" asked Beau, tearing off a hunk of bread.
"So it appears," said Farrin, nodding and sipping his tea, then adding, "Glittering eyes, much like those of your folk."
"How do they dress?" Beau managed to say around a mouthful.
"They don't. Clothes would turn to tatters where they dwell, where they work, down along the grinding seams of the living stone itself."
"Oh my, no clothes; weren't you embarrassed?"
Farrin exploded in laughter.
They ate in silence for a while, and finally Farrin said, "When do you plan on starting out for Gron?"
"Tomorrow should see me declared fit to travel," replied Beau. "Though I am not quite up to my old self, still I can climb several times to the top of the stairs before becoming too winded to continue."
Farrin smiled. "The stairs are your measure?"
"Not mine. Halga's." Beau nodded toward where Halga sat a table away.
"It is a rough gauge of fitness," said Halga. "Yester-week he couldn't make it from bottom to top without stopping at least twice. Still, he would have left had I not stopped him."
As Farrin looked askance at Beau, the buccan said, "She was right, even though it cost me a sevenday delay. In the long run I think I'll reach Agron's army sooner by leaving later than later had I left sooner."
Farrin laughed aloud, then said, "I know how you feel, Beau, wanting to rejoin your comrade. I, too, go to join my companions; I may have failed with the Utruni, but when I find my colleagues the circle of seven will be whole again."
"Oh my," said Beau, his face falling, "didn't anyone tell you?"
Farrin canted his head, puzzled, faintly smiling, a spoonful of beans lifted partway to his mouth. "Tell me what?"
Beau reached out to touch Farrin's free hand. "One of your circle-Alvaron by name-the Gargon slew him in its death throes."
The wind went out of Farrin's lungs and he dropped his spoon with a clatter. "Alvaron?"
Beau nodded.
"Dead?"
Again Beau nodded.
Farrin pushed his trencher away and stood. "I need to be alone."
Beau watched as the Mage stepped through the doorway and was gone. Sighing, the buccan, too, pushed his own trencher away. Turning to Halga, he said, "I think I'm going for a walk, Halga. Out to the city walls, if I might."
She looked at him long and finally nodded, saying, "Dress warmly, Beau."
Beau trudged to his room and took up his quilted jacket and gloves and cloak, and moments later stepped out through the front gate. A light snow drifted down through stillness to settle on the town, and Beau pulled his collar 'round and looked up through the drifting flakes at the grey sky overhead. As he took a deep breath of chill air, he suddenly realized that this was the first time in over two months he had been free of the prison behind. Yet even though he should have felt joy at his deliverance he did not, for his wee buccan heart was heavily weighed with an old grief again made new.
The next day, as Beau returned from an early-morning walk, a grim Farrin came riding toward the prison, a pack animal in tow behind. Beau stopped at the gate and waited, and Farrin rode to him and drew up. Without dismounting, the Mage looked down at the Warrow. "I'm going now to seek the remainder of my circle. In Pellar, I am told, they might be found, and find them I will. I hope you find your own friend, wherever he may be. Yet, heed, Beau Darby, and heed me well, for I came to tell you this: where you intend to go is a place of a most ill nature, for Gron is Modru's realm, and the land follows his lead. To go alone toward that dire place is certainly risk enough, but to enter alone is madness. You must seek aid to find your friend, and another comes who may help."
Beau's eyes widened. "Another?"
Farrin nodded. "Aye. I met him as I rode from the Skog. When I told him I was bound for Dendor, he said therein was a Waerling who had found a cure for the plague. How he knew this I did not ask, yet hear me: he said he would come to Dendor just to look at you. I would ask him for his aid, were I in your place. None better can you find to help you find your friend."
"Who is he?"
Farrin's somber cast was broken slightly by a faint smile. "You will know him when he comes."
Impatiently, Beau shook his head. "Look, Mage Farrin, Halga declared me fit to travel, and travel I will. Within the week. If he's not here before I go, he will just have to find me along the way."
Farrin cocked an eyebrow and slightly shook his head. "Ah, me, but this is rash and ill-advised, yet I know you are driven, just as am I. Still I would ask of you this: wait out the week, the full sevenday, ere you set forth on your own, for he may come within that allotted time. But if not, leave word that you travel alone for Gron, and also leave word as to the route you intend to take so that he may follow if he is of a mind to do so."
With that, Farrin reined his horse about, then again glanced down at Beau and said, "Look to the east, for he will come thence, and soon I would say, for he is curious to see just who it was broke Modru's plague."
Without another word Farrin rode away, the packhorse drawn on a tether after.
Nettled, puzzled, Beau watched as the Mage fared down the cobbled street, snow lying white on the stone. At last the buccan called out, "Good fortune. May you find what you seek."
Without looking back or slowing, Farrin momentarily raised a hand in reply and kept riding southerly, heading for the distant south gate and the way to Pellar beyond.
His breath blowing white on the cold air, Beau watched until Farrin turned beyond a corner building, then the buc-can trudged into the prison.
Over that day and the one after, Beau began assembling the things he would need on his journey, especially taking care to select a good variety of medicks. Too, he went to the king's stables to see to his pony, and found the little steed in good stead, having been well cared for by the stableboy.
Remembering Bekki's words, Beau went to the armory and chose several pouches of lead sling bullets, then on second thought, exchanged them for bullets of steel.
"That's a fair choice," said the armorer, a beefy man. "Steel is less heavy, and you never know when you'll need to run or climb or such, and the lighter the load, the easier the task. But these here"-he turned and took up a handful of elongated bullets, shiny earthen-brown in color-"are lighter still, and almost as deadly. Clay, they are, fired in our own kilns; the glaze makes them extra hard. Would you care to try some?"
Beau took a double handful and stepped out back. When he returned he had a smile on his face. "Splendid," he said. "Fired clay it is."
And so, for two days, Beau made his preparations, but Farrin's words ever echoed in his mind: "Gron is Modru's realm… to enter alone is madness… you must seek aid… another comes who may help."
Each dawn and noon and evening, Beau strode the walls of Dendor-"Look to the east, for he will come thence"- but no one did Beau see.
Although he was ready to travel by the second day, Beau delayed for a third, and he paced the ramparts along the eastern merge. Come what may, I'm leaving tomorrow, and that's certain. But again Farrin's words came to mind: "Wait out the week, the full sevenday…"
The sun was verging on the western rim of the world, when out on the eastern plain a glimmer of movement caught Beau's eye. A shimmer of white on white it seemed…
Lor' but what is it?
… silvery-white shapes running toward Dendor across the glittering snow.
"Hoy," Beau called to the guard and pointed. "Look. To the east."
Onward they came, drawing ever closer.
What is it I am seeing?
Beside Beau a clanging sounded as the guard hammered an iron bar 'round and 'round within a hanging iron triangle.