with such until more of my clientele are Wee Ones like you.'
She shoved a flagon down into one of the saddlebags on Beau's riding pony, then did the same to Tip's. As she did so, from the commons they could hear Prell's shout calling for order, and then the drone of his voice- unintelligible in the distance-followed by a cheer.
'Have a safe journey, my friends,' said Tessa, leaning down and hugging each, 'and I'll say my good-bye now, for I've got to see the men off.'
From the commons there sounded another cheer.
Gaman, too, stepped from the stables, leaving Tip and Beau to lash their goods to the pack pony's rack. At last they were finished, and Tip looked at Beau. 'Ready?'
Beau looked back at Tipperton. 'Ready.'
Together they mounted, and Tip took the pack pony's tether in hand, and they moved out from the stables into the wan morning light. Turning easterly, they rode down a byway till they came to a north-turning curve, where they parted from the path and made their way into the trees marking the edge of town, the ponies' hooves soft in the new-fallen snow. In among the stillness of winter-barren trees they rode, neither saying a word.
And from far behind there came the faint sound of proud cheering as the brave men of Twoforks set out.
Chapter 7
All that day the Warrows rode easterly, quickly breaking out from the shallow forest bordering along the margins of the River Wilder and into the long open wold beyond. Into the rolling land of this wide reach they fared, gently angling toward the Crossland Road, a tradeway which would carry them through the Wilderness Hills and into Drearwood beyond. But at the heading they followed, they would not intercept that route for a full two days or so.
Through a bleak winter 'scape they rode, two ponies side by side, a pack pony trailing after. Now and again the buccen would stop to relieve themselves, or to give the ponies grain, or to break through the ice sheathing streams and let the steeds drink and to take on water of their own. At times the two walked to stretch their own legs and to gain relief from the saddle. But in the main they rode, though at a plodding pace. And as they rode or walked or rested, at times they talked, at other times they were content to go without speaking in the airy silence.
'Tell me something, Beau,' said Tip, as they resumed riding after walking awhile. 'You mentioned to Gaman that you had a special use for some herb called moonwrad. Just what is this moonwrad?'
Beau laughed. 'You planning on becoming a healer, Tip?'
'Who, me? Not likely. A miller's life is good enough I say.'
Beau grinned. 'Like your sire and his sire, eh?'
'Yes, though I wish my da hadn't set up in Twoforks.'
'You miss our kind?'
Tipperton nodded. 'Aye, though I can't say I've ever been around many, other than you.'
'Well, Tip, when we're through with all this Agron business, and as soon as I'm ready, I'll take you back to the Bosky with me. There's always need for millers there.'
'Go with you to the Boskydells?'
Beau nodded vigorously. 'I mean, you told me that your da had a mill on the River Bog, there where it flows under the Post Road bridge, south and west of Bogland Bottoms and that's where you were born, and that makes you practically a Boskydeller already. I mean, the River Bog feeds into the Spindle, and the Post Road bridge is no more than twenty miles outside the Spindlethorn Barrier-less than a full day's walk-though to actually enter the Seven Dells you'd have to go up to The Bridge and through… or go in down at Tine Ford.'
'But if I moved to the Boskydells, that would mean selling the eld dammen.'
Beau nodded. 'Aye. Yet I'm sure you can get another one there, one that'll grumble and groan just as loudly.'
'Well, now, sell the mill and move to the Seven Dells? Not that it hasn't crossed my mind a time or two- moving away, that is. But my da, well, he built that mill, and I rather hate parting with it.'
'How did he come to settle in Twoforks, Tip? I mean, in the year and a half I've known you, you never said why he moved.'
Tipperton shrugged. 'You never asked, Beau. It was after my dam died, and my da, well, he couldn't abide living there without her, what with the memories and all. And the folks of Twoforks, well, they had no miller at the time, and so he came here-I mean to Twoforks-in answer to their pleadings.'
'Well, be that as it may, I still think you should move to the Bosky. I mean, that's where most of our kind live, and besides, it's prettier than 'round Twoforks. It's even prettier than the countryside 'round your da's old mill on the River Bog.'
'I wouldn't know about that, Beau. You see, I was just a wee tad when we lived along the Bog. I don't really remember much of that land… -Adon, Beau, I can just barely remember my dam.'
Beau let out a long sigh and glumly said, 'I don't even have that, Tip-memories of my dam, I mean. She and my own da died when I was but a babe. Aunt Rose, she was the one who raised me, there near Raffin in the Bosky.'
Tip nodded, for Beau had told him of Aunt Rose.
They rode in silence for a moment, then Tip said, 'I say, what about my question? What is this moonwrad?'
Beau perked up. 'It's because of moonwrad that I came to Twoforks.'
'Oh?'
'Yes. You see, it seems that it doesn't grow very many places-the headwaters of the River Wilder being one of them.'
Tip cocked an eyebrow. 'Can't you take some of the seeds and plant them elsewhere?'
Beau shook his head. 'The plant doesn't thrive elsewhere. Something about the Wilder soil, or perhaps the water, I believe.'
Tip shrugged. 'Well, I don't even know what a moonwrad herb is.'
'It's not an herb, Tip, but a root instead.'
'Oh… And just what do you plan to do with this root?'
Beau turned in his saddle and fished into a saddlebag, finally pulling out a thin book bound in faded red leather. 'This journal, Tip, it contains nearly all I know about healing-a book about herbs and simples and medicks and potions and philters and physicks and healing, all to cure the ill.'
Beau handed the book to Tipperton, who idly thumbed through the pages. Slowly a look of bafflement spread across his face. 'Why, I can't read this.'
Beau laughed. 'There's a simple Wizard's trick to it, Tip.'
'Wizard?'
'Oh, yes. This is the book, you see, given to me by Delgar.'
'Delgar?'
'Uh-huh, Delgar the Wizard.'
'Wizard!' Tipperton shrank back, trying at one and the same time to get away from the slender volume and yet not drop it. 'You never told me about a Wizard.'
'Take care, Tip, it's quite precious. And it'll not bite you.'
At arm's length, Tipperton held the book at one corner by two fingers. 'Yes, but a Wizard's book, magic and all.'
Beau reached out. 'Oh, it's not magic, Tip.'
'Nevertheless…' Tipperton gingerly handed the journal back to Beau.
Eagerly, Beau flipped through the pages, finally stopping when he found what he was after. 'Here it is: silver- root: to be dried and ground into a fine powder and then infused into a tea and given to those afflicted with the plague. To be taken internally to reduce the buboes and applied externally to any pustules as well. Recommended dosage: unknown. Cures one in six or seven.'
