and come unto Pellar there will be word of the High King's whereabouts. But even if there is not, sooner or later Modru will make a stab at Caer Pendwyr. And when he does, Jord will be there.'
Within two days Ryla rode forth from the afflicted city of Dendor, for Agron would not have her risk the dark ill stalking those within. And she bore with her a missive: King Agron's words of thanks to King Ranor and his wishes for a successful campaign. And as the emissary rode away, trailing a packhorse after, two Warrows stood atop the north gate of Dendor and watched, their jewel-like eyes glittering at the sight of this warrior maiden of Jord.
The twentieth of June was Year's Long Day, and Beau insisted that he and Tip and Phais and Loric and Bekki hold their own private party for anyone who'd celebrated a birthday within the past year, which of course included everyone. But Tip had insisted they leave out Modru and all of his blackhearted ilk.
'Oh my,' said Beau, 'I never thought of that. I never thought of Modru as ever having a birthday, of being born, being a child, growing up. I wonder if his parents are proud of him.'
Bekki just growled and spat.
'In fact, Beau,' said Tip, 'let's rule out anyone allied with Gyphon: the Hyrinians, Chabbains, Kistanians, and whoever else sides with that monster, especially the Foul Folk.'
'Foul Folk? Foul Folk? Celebrate for them? Of course not, Tip. Besides, I don't think they're born, but hatched instead… and from rotten eggs.'
Phais grinned and glanced at Loric, the Alor smiling as well.
Bekki, though, snorted and shook his head.
And so, with these disqualifications, they celebrated the birthdays of everyone who was left, which of course included Phais and Loric and Bekki and naturally their very own selves.
Later that evening, they stepped through the Elven ritual of the turn of the seasons, and this time Bekki joined the stately dance, while Tipperton joined in the singing.
Yet when the rite came to an end they were not as exhilarated as in times past, for a scourge pressed down on the city all 'round.
In the heat of early July, wagons began moving west across the land of Aven, laded with goods for the muster in Alvstad, passing quarantined Dendor by. And people stood atop the walls and called down messages to be given to their kindred afar, and the wain riders promised they would try to see their words delivered. Yet in shadowy corners of taverns within the city itself, dark mutterings whispered from mouth to ear, driven so by grim forebodings and sullen unease.
And as July commenced, farmers began bringing cheese and eggs and meat and produce to market. Yet they were stopped just without the city walls, for the gates yet remained closed, and only the king's buyers were allowed outside to purchase the city's needs and to send the crofters home again. When the farmers were gone, soldiers drove wagons out to bear the goods into the city for distribution within.
Too, in July messengers came riding from afar, carrying news of the war, but of High King Blaine's whereabouts there was as of yet no word.
In the early days of this month as well, Tip and Bekki prepared for their journey to Nordlake. Six ponies in all they decided to take: two for riding and four for carrying supplies-food for the most part and grain for the ponies. They would take as well two sets of climbing gear, for Bekki said that the golden mint grew in the cracks on cliffs of sheer stone. Tipperton paled when he heard of this, yet he had climbed sheer faces before, when Phais had trained Beau and him to scale the bluffs of Arden Vale. They added to their cargo the tools to harvest the mint, and twine and cloth for ripping into swathes to bundle it in- eleven sprigs to a bundle as per Delgar's written instructions in Beau's leather-bound book-and ten large sacks to pack the bundles within and lade them on the ponies, should there be that much golden mint to harvest, though Bekki doubted it would be so.
'Oh lor',' breathed Beau. 'If you fill but one of these sacks, I think I could treat the entire city to a cup of gwyn-thyme and silverroot tea, should absolutely everyone fall ill.'
'The entire city?' asked Tip, his eyes wide.
'Aye, Tip. A little goes a long way.'
They prepared to set out on the twelfth of the month, the day of the July moon, for as Tip had said, 'It seems only fitting, since our entire mission for the golden mint seems governed by the phases of Elwydd's light.'
Bright dawn of the twelfth came to a cloudless sky and, after a hearty breakfast, Tip and Bekki carried to the stables the goods for their journey, making repeated trips to do so. By midmorn the riding ponies were saddled and the pack animals laded and at last all was ready. Beau and Phais and Loric came from comforting the ill to say farewell.
'Now you take care, bucco,' said Beau, 'for as Bekki here says, there's Foul Folk yet afoot in Aven, to say nothing of those in the Grimwall.'
'Wull, Beau, it's not me and Bekki I'm worried about but you instead… here as you are in a plague-ridden city.'
'Oh, we'll be just fine, Tip,' said Beau, turning to Phais, 'won't we, now?'
Yet in that very moment the Dara's face blenched, and with a moan she fell to her knees, Loric collapsing beside her, the Alor covering his face in his hands and crying out in distress.
Phais reached out blindly, shock and agony and grief whelming her features, tears flooding her eyes, and with a cry of despair she fell back in a swoon.
'What is it? What is it?' cried Beau, springing forward, but Bekki was first to the Dara's side, indecision and anguish on his face. The Dwarf looked to Beau for aid and called out to the Warrow, yet what he said could not be heard above Loric's howl of torment.
And Tip on his knees in front of the Alor reached up and gently pulled Loric's hands away from his face… to reveal an aspect of bleak desolation as great choking sobs tore from Loric's very soul. And the Elf reached out and clasped the buccan to him and wept as if he were nought but a child.
And Dara Phais, though consciousness had fled her, wept tears of anguish as well.
Shaken, Loric and Phais gripped one another's hands, their lips yet drawn thin by distress.
'It was like… a death rede, oh, but different, so different,' said Phais.
'A deathcry,' said Loric, his features twisting once again into anguish with but the memory of it. 'A deathcry of hundreds and hundreds.'
'Pardon, Lord Loric,' said Bekki. 'Hundreds and hundreds of…?'
'Lian, Lord Bekki. Lian,' said Loric, choking on his own words. 'A wailing deathcry of hundreds upon hundreds of Lian, blowing like an icy wind through our very souls.'
'What does it mean?' asked Beau. 'What does such a dreadful thing mean?'
Phais looked at Loric, her eyes flooding once again with tears, and she said, 'That a great disaster has occurred somewhere and countless of our kindred have perished.'
Tip and Bekki decided to stay in Dendor that day to comfort their bereaved companions, though Phais and Loric asked not. Yet it was plain to see that their solace was needed, for both Lian would shed tears at erratic times, and a touch or a word or an embrace acted to ease the pain. Even Bekki gave comfort, though when he embraced Dara Phais, his own expression was one of distress, either that or entirely unreadable.
And none knew what had happed, yet when Beau speculated that it was Modru's doing, Phais shook her head and said, 'Nay, my friend, something of this enormity can only be the work of Gyphon Himself.'
In the midafternoon of that clear July day a thunderous boom rolled over the land below and across the sky above, echoing from building and wall, rattling dish and window and roof alike, jarring the city entire. Then it was gone, the air still once again. And all looked at one another in startlement and fear, yet none knew whence it came or its cause.
The following morning, pressed by their mission, Tip and Bekki again saddled two ponies and laded four others with goods. And saying farewell for a second time, they set out at last for Nordlake afar.
They rode out through the west gate, King Agron's pass letting them through, Captain Brud personally escorting them to the bridge, the wound on his face all but healed, leaving a long scar behind. And as they rode away, Tip turned and waved at Beau and Phais and Loric standing on the wall above, the Elves yet wan, yet pale.
'Take care, Tip,' called Beau. 'You, too, Bekki.'
'You as well,' shouted Tipperton back, 'and we'll bring you some golden mint.'
And then he turned and faced west, he and Bekki riding away, trailing four ponies after. West they rode and
