Agron's face drained of blood, and he gestured over his own left eyebrow, his finger jagging down, then up. 'V-shaped?'
'How did you know?'
Anguish flooded Agron's face. 'He took it in practice. I gave it to him.' The king's voice fell to a whisper. 'An accident.'
'You know this man?'
'He was my son, Dular my son, my one and only heir.'
Agron shoved back from the table and fled the room…
… leaving Tip alone shedding tears.
A time later a page came, and he led Tip to a bedchamber within the castle, where, in spite of the pulse of the Gargon running through his veins, the buccan fell asleep while undressing and slept the whole night through, his right boot lying on the floor, the left one yet on his foot.
After a hot bath, a page brought Tip clean clothes to wear, clothes outgrown by a child of the castle staff. Too, the page tied a black band about the buccan's left wrist. As Tip looked on in puzzlement, the youth somberly pointed to the band he himself wore, saying, 'It is a mourning band, sir, worn on the left wrist, closest to the heart. The king, his son Prince Dular… word has come he was killed by the Foul Folk.' The page sighed and stepped back and looked at the buccan. Apparently finding Tipperton passable, he then led the Warrow down to a great hall to break fast with the king and members of the court.
Tip came into a large chamber filled with people taking breakfast, and black wristbands of mourning were worn by each person there. At the high table sat Agron, his face haggard, as if he had not slept at all. And the air of the chamber was doleful. As the buccan stood looking, Mage Alvaron waved Tip to a vacant seat at hand.
'Here, lad, sit next to me and tell us of your ventures dire, for surely you had many a trial in coming here, and we need a bit of distraction.'
Tip climbed onto the bench beside Alvaron and knelt on his knees to be at a height to eat comfortably.
Across the table sat a flaxen-haired lady of indeterminate age, though had Tip to guess he would have put her just beyond her young-maiden years. And although she spoke to Alvaron, her somewhat tilted blue eyes were upon Tip-perton. 'Hush, Alvaron; let him be, at least until he gets some provender within.' She smiled at the buccan, her face lighting up.
Alvaron grinned and said, 'Sir Tipperton Thistledown may I present Mage Imongar.'
'Oh my, another Mage,' said Tip, unaware that he'd spoken aloud.
'Indeed,' said Imongar, 'and there are four more besides.'
Tip flushed, but then added, 'Six Mages in Dendor?'
'Aye.' Imongar pointed. 'Veran and Ridich are over there, breaking fast. Delander and Letha are on the walls keeping ward over the Dread. Night and day we set watch in turn, for all are needed to contain the Gargon's fear.'
'Well then I am most glad to meet you, lady, and glad as well that there are six of you altogether, for the Dread is terrible.'
As Alvaron waved a servingman over and gestured at the Warrow's empty cup, Imongar looked closely at the buccan, as if gauging. 'You speak from experience.' Her words were not a question but a statement instead.
'Aye.' While the man poured Tip a mug of tea and Imongar passed him the basket of toast along with some peach preserves, Tip said, 'I nearly stepped into its tent out there in the Swarm south of the south gate.'
'Into its tent?' Alvaron turned his piercing black eyes the buccan's way.
'Well, not exactly into its tent, but upon the bare ground surrounding.'
'Even so, 'tis closer than I could have come,' said Im-ongar, looking at the buccan in speculation.
Tip slathered preserves on a slice of toast. 'Oh, I'll tell you I bolted, I did. Blindly, too. If I hadn't slammed into a wagon wheel, well, I'd be running still-knocked me flat on my back, it did.'
Alvaron raised his cup. 'Here's to wagon wheels which jump in the way, else we would not now be breaking fast with a true herald of glad tidings.'
'True herald?'
'You, my boy. You. Though you brought sad news of the death of a prince, you brought good news as well, for salvation comes riding on your shoulder, or so we hope.'
Imongar frowned. ' 'Twill not be easy, Alvaron, and it will take all six of us working together as well as a company of men to lay the Gargon by the heels.'
Tip looked up in surprise, for although he had known it was up to the Dendorians to deal with the Dread, still he had not known just how they would succeed. Oh, he knew that a Wizard was critical to accomplishing this objective, but now he discovered there were six Wizards involved and not just the one he first met.
'I say,' said Tip, 'if six Mages and a group of Dendorian warriors can combine to slay the Gargon, then why hasn't he already been? -Been killed, that is.'
Alvaron sighed, but Imongar said, 'We tried, but we could not win through-the Dread was too well protected by the Swarm.'
Imongar looked at Alvaron, and he said, 'But with the Dwarves attacking elsewhere and drawing their forces away, well then… perhaps this time we will succeed.'
Tip frowned at the two Mages. 'You sound in doubt, yet I would have thought magic powerful enough to deal with any threat.'
Imongar shook her head. 'What you call 'magic,' Sir Tip-perton, has its limitations. Astral can be warped to do many things, some most powerful indeed, but at a cost none can bear for long.'
Alvaron nodded and plucked at a lock of hair. 'This was black when the Spaunen first came, and now it is shot through with grey.'
Tip raised an eyebrow, and at his puzzled cast of face, Imongar said, 'To manipulate, one must spend one's own at the cost of youth, and the greater the cast, the greater the cost.'
'Adon,' said Tip, his eyes widening. 'You mean magic ages you? Each spell makes you grow older?'
Imongar nodded. 'Aye, our astral dwindles with each cast, and the more powerful the spell, the greater the drain.'
'Still,' said Alvaron, 'we can recover that by resting a special way, though now that Rwn is gone, we cannot return to Vadaria, and the cost to recover in Mithgarian years is staggering.'
'Goodness, and here all along I thought magic was, um, free.'
As Tip was served from a platter of eggs, rashers of bacon on the side, Alvaron shook his head. 'Oh no, my lad, in spite of what some innkeepers claim, a lunch is never free, nor breakfasts for that matter. We all must pay as we go, more or less, and that includes Mages as well.'
Tip frowned in thought and looked at his meal and then across the room at King Agron at the high table. The king, he had paid a high price: his only son and heir was dead. And what had Tipperton paid? A vision of Rynna filled Tipperton's mind, and his eyes brimmed, and in that moment a sense of shared sorrow swept over the buccan.
Without speaking and with tears sliding down, Tip clambered from the bench and stepped across the chamber to where the king sat, the buccan to kneel beside Agron. With a puzzled look the king turned toward the Warrow, and Tip said, 'My lord, the mission to deliver the coin is finished, yet I am a scout well trained. I ask that you take me in your service until this war is done.'
'You would pledge to me?'
'Aye, my lord, as a scout.'
King Agron's face fell grim, and his hand strayed to the black band at his left wrist. 'For what I have in mind, Sir Tipperton, scouts will be in high peril.'
'Nevertheless, my lord.'
'Then rise, Sir Tipperton, scout of Aven, until this war is done.'
After breakfast, his sense of purpose renewed, Tip strode with Imongar toward the south gate. 'So, then, it was you, Tipperton, who bore the king the woeful news as well as the good you did bring.'
Tip sighed. 'Yes, though I didn't know at the time that it was the king's son Dular who had died at my mill. Why it was he bearing the coin, I do not know.'
'He was in service to High King Blaine,' said Imongar, 'and would have been the obvious choice for Blaine to send to Dendor… not only to fetch aid but to remove Dular from harm's way.'
'Remove him from harm's way?'
