'No. Actually it was a call from High King Blaine to summon Agron and his army to Blaine's side, but since ' no one knows where Blaine is, Agron decided to invade Gron instead.'
Dalavar shook his head.
After a while, Beau said, 'The coin was a Gjeenian penny, practically worthless in and of itself. Yet now an army marches into Gron because of it.'
Dalavar sighed and fingered the silver nugget. 'Many tokens of power are that way: rather plain in and of themselves, but mighty in what they bring.'
Beau watched Dalavar absently worry the silver piece. 'And what might that be about your neck?'
Dalavar took his hand away from the nugget. 'It is sil-veron, Beau, starsilver, an amulet of sorts, and I but hold it temporarily.'
'Temporarily?'
'Yes. It is meant for two who are yet to come: One to hide; One to guide. Ask me no more, for I am pledged.'
'But-?'
Dalavar abruptly stood. From their places nearby, Draega stood as well. 'Let us be on our way.'
Beau rolled his bindle and packed the saddlebags, and when he looked up, Dalavar was nowhere to be seen.
Sighing, Beau climbed atop the fallen log and draped the pouches over the two Silver Wolves who came for them. Shimmer stood beside the log, and Beau stepped astraddle, and as the pack trotted from the woods they were joined once more by the dark Silver Wolf who awaited them at the marge.
The second day out of Dendor, the sky overhead began to turn grey, and on the third day, dark clouds gathered above. As far as Beau was concerned, though, each of these days was much the same, Dalavar disappearing a bit after dayrise and reappearing on the nighttide, the Draega ever bearing westerly, miles vanishing under their long strides. And still they paused to let Beau stretch his legs and relieve himself and eal a midday meal. Too, they paused at streams not yet frozen for him to take on water, the Draega lapping water as well.
During his nighttime conversations with Dalavar, Beau learned all the 'Wolves' names, or at least a short, common-tongue equivalent he could use: The largest of the Draega was Greylight, who seemed to lead the pack. Then there were Shimmer and Beam, the two females, much alike in carriage and manner, though Beam seemed always to defer to Shimmer. Seeker and Trace and Longshank were three of the males, but when Beau asked about the dark 'Wolf, Dalavar laughed and said, 'I think you can call him… Shifter… yes, Shifter will do.'
Just after dawn on the fourth day of running, a harsh wind rose, hurtling snow riding on its wings, filling the day with blinding whiteness. Although the Silver Wolves seemed to relish running into the teeth of the storm, Beau pulled his hood 'round tightly and buried his face in Shimmer's fur and away from the wind-driven snow. That evening in the shelter of the thicket, as the wind and white howled overhead, Dalavar said, 'This blizzard comes from afar, Beau, from the Gronfangs in the least.'
'Oh my, do you think it's Modru's doings?'
For long moments Dalavar looked into the hurtling snow, as if seeking… seeking… what? Beau did not know. Again he asked, 'Do you think it's Modru's doings?'
The Mage turned to the buccan. 'That, wee one, I cannot yet say, though it does have a taint of.'
The wind and snow continued racing by on the fifth day out from Dendor, and once again Beau kept tight to Shimmer's fur. And just after nightfall, through the swirling whiteness gone black in the dark, they espied the lanterns of Alvstad, where the muster had taken place. In all, the pack had travelled some five hundred and forty miles in but five days, yet they seemed none the worse for the wear.
As the 'Wolves stood in the storm on the downslope of the hill surveying what could be seen of the town below, Dalavar came striding over the crest behind. 'We will stop here for a day, Beau,' he called above the wind.
'Stop? But shouldn't we be moving on? I mean, it's plain to see the army is gone, else there'd be tents and such surrounding the town.'
'You may think them invincible, my friend, but even Draega need to hunt, to eat, to rest. They will run tonight and bring down a stag or two. They will rest after filling their bellies. You and I will stay in the town below tonight and tomorrow and tomorrow night as well. But the morning after you will meet the pack at the ford, yon, and then press on.'
'How can they hunt in this blizzard, Dalavar?'
'The storm will end ere morrow's dawn, wee one. They will hunt then.'
As Dalavar took up the saddlebags from Longshank and Trace, Beau stepped through the wind to Shimmer. 'I'm sorry, sweet Shimmer, but I didn't think. Do go. Hunt. Eat. Rest if you can in this blizzard. I will see you at the ford.'
Shimmer's great tongue lapped Beau's cheek, then she looked to Dalavar.
The Wolfmage turned to Greylight and spoke-neither a word nor a growl, but something in between-and then started off downslope through the storm. Beau gave Shimmer a final pat and then hastened after the Mage, the wee Warrow following in Dalavar's 'track through the deep snow. Partway downhill, Beau turned 'round to look back upslope, but the Silver Wolves were gone. Sighing, the buc-can faced into the wind again and followed Dalavar down to the town.
Following the gate warden's instructions, they stepped out of the blow and into the Kunghus, as the hostel had been renamed following Agron's stay at the time of the muster even though the sign out front yet bore the image of the head of a red boar. After arranging for beds and a hot bath, Dalavar and Beau took places at a table in the sparsely populated common room and called for a good hot meal.
Dalavar ate as if he had gone without food for days on end, the Wolfmage signalling several times for the serving girl to bring more fare. And though he ate as if starved, to Beau's eye Dalavar seemed no thinner than usual, nor fatter after consuming what seemed to the buccan to be more than anyone could possibly eat.
Long after Beau had been sated, the Wolfmage finally pushed back from the table and joined the buccan in front of the fire, where together they called for hot mugs of spiced mulled wine.
' Tis not often I enjoy such luxuries,' said Dalavar, as he took his mug from the maid.
Beau sighed. 'Me neither. I think the last time I had mulled wine was back in Bridgeton.'
The serving girl looked at Beau. 'That's what the other Litenfolk said.'
Beau looked up at her. 'The other Litenfolk?'
'Sir Tipperton, he was, and a scout,' she replied. 'He stayed here with King Agron.'
'How did he look? Was he all right?'
'Oh yes, sir.'
Across the room another patron signalled the maid, and as she took up her tray she said, 'He rode off with the king and the army, um, a month back it was.'
As the girl stepped away, Beau looked at Dalavar. 'At least we're on his trail.'
They sat without speaking for a while, the moan of the blizzard groaning down the chimney, the wind hammering on the clapboards of the inn. Finally, Dalavar said, 'This storm, Beau, it indeed carries traces of Modru's.'
'?'
' wrenched from others, stolen from victims through torture, through fear and pain and agony and death.'
'Oh my,' said Beau, a sudden shiver running along his spine.
Dalavar's features grew grim. 'Like all Black Mages, Modru cares not what happens to others; only his own gratification is paramount. Hence, rather than use his own, he wrenches from victims and uses it to his castings… in this case, he has used to raise a storm in the cold reaches of the Boreal Sea, or in the Barrens, and has guided it to fall on those he would crush.'
The wind whistled 'round the Kunghus and moaned in the chimney, stirring the flames in the hearth.
Beau looked into his cup and said, 'Well, in spite of Modru, I would think in their snug winter gear Tip and the
