On the way up they passed two white-clothed men coming downward, bearing a litter on which a small corpse lay.
Tip drew in his breath. 'Is it-?' No, it was instead a child: nought but skin and bones and black boils.
On up went Bekki and Tip, Brud following, the captain yet bearing a sack. Of the other two soldiers, there was no sign.
They reached the third floor and stepped through an iron-barred gate standing open. Down a central hallway they went, open-gated cells left and right, cells filled with the beds of the sick and dying, stricken people moaning in pain, fevered, covered with pus-running boils and writhing in agony, some not stirring at all. White-clothed people moved among the victims, soothing brows with cloths of cold water, feeding them sips of a liquid, closing the eyes of the dead and drawing sheets over their bodies.
They came at last to the cell where Phais and Loric sat vigil. And at hand in one of the cots was a small form. It was Beau. Gaunt, wasted, boils oozing, darkness in his armpits and groin, Beau lay unmoving. Tip gasped, a trembling hand flying to his mouth upon seeing Beau's emaciated frame.
Weeping, Tip stepped to the bedside. 'Oh, Beau, Beau, why did you have to catch this awful scourge. Why did you have to go and di-'
A shallow breath rattled through Beau's cracked lips and into his lungs.
'He's not dead!' cried Tipperton. 'Bekki, Phais, Loric, he's not dead!' Tip fell on his knees beside the bed and grasped one of Beau's limp hands. 'Oh, Beau, you're not dead.'
Phais knelt beside the buccan and circled an arm about him. 'Not yet, Tipperton, but soon. Soon.'
'Not if we can help it,' snarled Bekki. 'We've brought gwynthyme.' Bekki turned and snatched the sack from Captain Brud.
Phais's eyes widened and she looked back at Bekki. 'Gwynthyme? Ye twain were successful?'
He dropped the bag beside her. 'Aye. That we were.'
Phais's eyes widened. 'So much?'
'There's two more bags like it,' said Bekki, turning to Brud.
'Downstairs at the entry,' said the captain.
'Oh my,' said Phais.
'A tisane of gwynthyme and silverroot,' said Bekki. 'That is what Beau said.'
Loric's fingers flew as he untied the sack. 'Aye, he did, but what proportions the ingredients?'
Anguished, Bekki shook his head.
Loric snatched out a cloth-wrapped bundle of sprigs and turned to Tip. 'Tipperton, dost thou remember the proportions?'
'Proportions?'
'How much gwynthyme to silverroot.'
Tip frowned, trying to remember. 'I think he said in equal measure. Yes, half and half, that's what I recall.'
'Swift, chier,' urged Phais as Loric darted away, 'there is not much time.'
Another shallow breath rattled in and out of Beau.
And then another.
And another…
Within a candlemark Loric returned, a steaming cup in hand. 'Whether or no this is in equal measure only Adon can say.'
'Pray to Elwydd it is so,' said Bekki.
Loric spooned small amounts of the brew into Beau's lips, while Tip held the buccan's hand and Phais held Tip to her. Bekki paced back and forth, and Captain Brud squatted in the cell door.
As Bekki came past the captain for perhaps the hundredth time, Brud said, 'Lord Bekki, I just recall: a Dvarg emissary in King Agron's halls awaits your return.'
Bekki stopped his pacing. 'An emissary?'
'Aye. From Mineholt North, he said. Rode to our gates in August. Insisted on waiting for you. Wouldn't take no for an answer. King Agron himself came and talked to him, and then allowed the emissary in, though he did send the Dvarg escort away. I think they are quartered in a farmhouse nigh.'
'Do you know why they have come?'
Brud shook his head.
'There,' said Loric, setting aside the empty cup and spoon, 'it is done. Now all we can do is wait.'
In the early candlemarks of the morning, Beau's breathing eased. Phais laid a hand on the buccan's brow, then said, 'His fever has diminished.'
Tip burst out in tears.
Loric took up the bag of gwynthyme. 'I will instruct the healers in the way of its preparation.'
Brud stood. 'Lord Bekki, I will escort you to the palace.' Brud turned to Tipperton. 'You, too, wee one. You need the rest.'
Tip rubbed a sleeve across his eyes and shook his head. 'No thank you, captain; I'll sleep on the floor right here.'
Phais reached out to the buccan. 'Nay, Tipperton, for the risk is high that thou wilt come down with the scourge should thee stay.'
As Tip started to stubbornly shake his head, Brud said, 'The muster, my friend, we must soon answer. And better a healthy scout than a sick one.'
Tip's shoulders slumped. 'The muster. I had forgotten.' He turned to Beau and squeezed the unconscious buccan's hand. 'I'll be back on the morrow, bucco, you can count on that. You get better, you hear me?'
Beau did not respond in any manner whatsoever.
As they entered the palace, a footman leapt to his feet. 'My Lord Bekki, you are back.'
Bekki cocked an eyebrow at the footman.
'My lord, I have been instructed to have you wait in the anteroom while I fetch Emissary Dalk.'
'Dalk is here?'
'Aye.'
Bekki looked at Tip, and at the buccan's frown, Bekki said, 'From Mineholt North. He has a yellow beard.'
'Oh yes. Now I remember. One of the council of captains.'
As Tip and Bekki stepped into an anteroom, the servant hurried away.
Within a candlemark, yet buttoning a shirt, Dalk hurried into the chamber and knelt.
Bekki's face blanched to see such a move.
Dalk glanced at Tipperton.
'He is Chak-Sol,' said Bekki, his voice but a whisper, his fists clenched as if for a blow.
'I bear ill tidings, DelfLord Bekki, your sire, DelfLord Borl, is dead.'
'Oh no,' said Tipperton, dismayed.
Bekki's knuckles went white on his clenched fists. 'How?'
'A Squam arrow in the Skarpal Mountains.'
Bekki slammed the butt of a fist to a table, the wood splitting with the force of the blow, Tipperton jumping in startlement.
'We wreaked great vengeance,' said Dalk.
Slowly, Bekki released his clenched hands and cast his hood over his head in the Chakka gesture of mourning. A silence fell upon the room for long moments. Finally Bekki asked, 'The mineholt?'
'It is in Lord Berk's capable hands. Even so, DelfLord, your holtwarder grandsire calls you back, for war burns upon the land and the mineholt needs your rule.'
Yet covered with dark pus-running boils and black buboes in armpits and groin, Beau did not waken the following day. Even so, his fever continued to abate and his breathing to ease, and he took water and kept it down.
The day after as Tip sat vigil beside the bed, just as Phais stopped by to see to the buccan, Beau opened his eyes and smiled wanly at Tip.
'Oh, Beau, Beau, I thought we had lost you. Captain Brud said you were dead.'
