Beau weakly lifted a finger and beckoned, and when Tip leaned down to hear, Beau whispered, 'The report of my death was quite premature.'
Tipperton laughed, and Beau faintly smiled, but Phais shook her head. 'By less than a candlemark, I ween.'
Beau's hand dropped back to the cover, and he closed his eyes. Tip waited, but it soon became apparent that Beau's exhausted body demanded sleep.
'Come, Tipperton, we do not want to overtire him,' said Phais.
As they walked out from the makeshift infirmary, Tip asked, 'What of the other patients?'
'All but a handful are responding to the infusion.'
'Getting better, you mean?'
'Aye. It seems that Beau has struck upon a thing sought after for untold ages: a sweeping cure for the plague.'
The news flashed throughout the city, yet the quarantine was held in place, for before lifting it the king would be certain that all was as it seemed. Nevertheless, the citizens celebrated, for Litenfolk and Elves and Dvargs could not be wrong, now could they? And in the palace, Agron breathed a sigh of relief, for a fear-driven revolt was averted, though but barely. He sent criers throughout the city, proclaiming the quarantine would be set aside as soon as all was deemed well. The criers also proclaimed the king's amnesty for any crimes short of murder committed during the panic of the past month. And the citizens themselves, casting about for any excuse, laid the guilt for such acts on the doorstone of Modru.
Within the week it was clear that the combination of gwynthyme and silverroot was effective, and instead of six out of seven falling to the scourge, only one in a hundred died… and these perhaps from complications rather than from the plague itself. And so the king declared the city open. The gates were cast wide, but only a few people seized the opportunity to flee Dendor, for wonder of wonders, something had been found which would entirely slay the plague.
Yet none had the heart to tell the citizenry that silverroot, plentiful in Dendor, only grew in certain places, and gwynthyme, golden gwynthyme, was extremely rare in spite of the surplus the healers now enjoyed.
During this same sevenday, the king readied for his journey west to the muster at Alvstad. And Tipperton, too, prepared for the day of leaving. Even so, he spent many a candlemark at Beau's bedside, chatting with his ill friend and playing his lute and singing to all of the stricken.
As for Beau, within a day of his regaining consciousness he began taking broth for sustenance; and the next day he ate soup and bread sopped with the liquid; and finally he ate a bit of solid food on the day after. 'This grub will put some meat back on those bones of yours,' said Tip as he carried a full tray into the cell on that third day.
Slowly the pustulant boils began to recede and the black buboes to wane. Nevertheless, Beau looked a mess, or so he did say the day he caught his reflection in the small mirror from his medical bag, a glass he used to check for breath and breathing.
'Captain Brad, he said I was dead, eh?'
'Not Brud, Beau, but an aide instead, though it was just a repeated rumor,' replied Tip. 'He has since apologized.'
Beau took one last look in the mirror. 'Well I can't say I blame the one who started the rumor for thinking so; I'm quite ghastly, you know.'
'Beau, if you think you look bad now, you should have seen yourself three days past. I mean, you looked-' Of a sudden Tip's eyes flooded. 'Oh, Beau, I thought you were dead.'
Beau's own eyes filled with tears. 'So did I, Tip. So did I.' And he reached out and squeezed Tip's hand.
Tip smiled and then looked at the buccan. 'But you didn't die, Beau, and that's all that counts… that and finding a cure for the plague.'
Beau's eyes widened. 'Oh my, I did, didn't I? Even so, I wish it had been twenty-five or thirty or more years ago and by someone other than me.'
Tip raised an eyebrow. 'How so?'
'Well, if any had known of it back then, perhaps my parents would still be alive.'
'Oh. I see.'
The buccen fell to silence, each wrapped in memories and thoughts, but after a while Tip said, 'Bekki's leaving in a day or so; he's DelfLord of Mineholt North, you know.'
'Yes, and I am terribly sorry that his da was killed. I told him so yesternight.'
Tip looked out the barred slit of a window. 'I'll be leaving too. Riding in the king's cavalcade. The muster in Alvs-tad is but three or so weeks hence. Agron says we'll be using remounts, for time is short but the journey long.'
'Oh, right.' Beau sighed, then said, 'I'll follow when I'm better.'
'Oh, Beau, I'd rather you'd not. It will be perilous in Gron, and-'
Beau thrust out a negating palm. 'All the more reason I need to be there, Tip. I mean, who's going to take care of you when and if you require healing.'
Tip smiled wanly. 'I don't plan on needing any stitching or other such, bucco. Besides, your healing is wanted here.'
'Not so. The plague is as good as gone, what with the gwynthyme you and Bekki brought back, and the locals can deal with whatever else needs doing. No, bucco, as soon as I can, I'm coming after you. I'm certain that it will take the two of us Litenfolk to throw Modru down.'
Tip grinned and shrugged, and Beau smiled in return. Yet of a sudden Beau's face took on a serious cast. 'See here, Tip, we don't really know what the future will bring… but the fact that we are separating must mean something. Look, everything that happens has some bearing on events as yet untold. It's all connected, you know.'
Tip laughed aloud and then said, 'Let us just hope that by me leaving now and you coming later, well, that it is for the best.'
Again a silence fell between them. Tip took up his lute and strummed a few soft chords. But then Beau said, 'Oh, did I tell you that Phais and Loric believe that a firemoun-tain on Atala blew up, and mayhap the entire island has sunk?'
Tip set aside his lute. 'Because of the blast we heard ringing 'round the world?'
'That and the dust which fell here. Did any fall on you and Bekki?'
Tip nodded. 'Yes. From the west it came, flowing over the sky and then falling down. Bekki said it was rock dust, perhaps from a firemountain, and the only firemountain he knew of west of here was Karak on Atala.'
Beau drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out. 'Karak, yes. Phais said that many Elves and others lived nigh the slopes, and when it exploded, well, it killed them all, all in one terrible blast, and that was the awful doom she and Loric felt that dreadful day. She said others lived on that isle-Humans, Dwarves, Hidden Ones, even some War- rows-but it was the deaths of so many Elves all at once that blew through them like an ill wind.'
'Oh my,' said Tip. 'Oh my.'
Three days later in early morn, Tip came to Beau's bedside. Bekki came as well, along with Phais and Loric. Even King Agron came to see Beau, for this was the day of parting: Bekki was going with his Dwarven escort back to Mineholt North. And now that the plague was well in hand, Phais and Loric would ride southerly with Bekki and the Dwarves until they came to the Landover Road, the Dwarves to turn west and the Lian to continue south, for the Elves were sworn to deliver Agron's message to High King Blaine along with a small pewter coin. As for Agron and Tip, they were heading to Alvstad. And for the moment, wan and weak, Beau would go nowhere, confined to his bed as he was.
But on this morning, King Agron stood at the side of the frail buccan's bed. 'Sir Beau, not only did you save Dendor, but the whole of Mithgar owes you a debt it can never repay, for ever has the plague beset all folk, and you have found the cure. Others have been named Hero of the Realm, but I name you Hero of the Entire World.'
'Hear, hear!' said Tip.
Under the remaining dark pustules, Beau blushed. 'Oh, I'm not a hero at all, not like everyone here-'
'Nonsense,' snapped Bekki. 'King Agron is right, and I here and now proclaim you Chak-Sol of Mineholt North, Beau Darby, Master of the Plague. So I have said; so shall it be.'
'Oh my,' said Beau, as Tip grinned.
