The sun rose in the cold dawn sky turning indigo through red to icy blue. About Beau the 'Wolves stood and shook snow from their fur and with tails low and fawning they gathered 'round Greylight, just as they did every morn. From beyond the turn appeared dark Shifter, trotting into view, and as if that were a signal, Longshank and Trace came to Beau for the saddlebags and Shimmer came for the buccan himself.
Westerly they fared along slopes above the pass, following its twists and turns, the snow yet deep and hindering. They had travelled but twenty-four miles the previous day, an extraordinary distance, given the conditions, and yet for Beau, used by now to going a hundred or more miles a day, it had seemed a crawl, and this day seemed no better. And worry gnawed at Beau's stomach, his gut a knot of anxiety.
Oh, Tip, Tip, you've just got to be alive somewhere in the miles ahead.
And onward across the laden slopes they struggled, the frigid morning growing colder with each and every step.
As the pack came closer and closer to the far eastern end of the pass, the snow within began to diminish as the gape widened. Even so, even though the rim and walls could now be seen, given that this end of the pass was much like that at the beginning, the snow yet stood a hundred feet deep or more, or so Beau judged.
Still they had seen no sign of life, yet they forged ahead, the remote sun shedding no warmth as it neared the midday mark.
In the lead, Shifter pressed on, but Greylight suddenly stopped, the pack behind stopping as well, and Greylight cocked his head this way and that, as if listening, as if catching an elusive sound.
'Whuff' called Greylight, and Shifter turned and trotted back. But Greylight bounded down the high-ramped snow and into the slot of the pass itself, clouds of white flying in his wake, and though the great Silver Wolf was half-buried, he turned toward the nearside wall of the pass and began frantically digging.
Shifter, too, sprang down the steep snow slope to come alongside Greylight, the dark 'Wolf to dig as well.
Shimmer came to the rim above and stopped, and Beau dismounted, looking down.
And then Beau heard a muffled cry of sorts, and it didn't sound as would a 'Wolf.
Greylight looked toward the rim and growled, and Beam and Seeker slithered down through the snow to aid in the digging. And then there came a shrill shout, but what was said, Beau did not know, yet he cried out and leaped down the ramped snow, tumbling through the deep white.
And as he struggled to his feet, he saw Shifter, the dark 'Wolf, plunge into the wall of snow and disappear from sight, while Greylight backed away, whuffing and snorting and trying to clear his nostrils as if something inside the hole stank.
And as Beau floundered forward, Dalavar emerged from the hole, and in his arms he carried an unconscious buc-can-Tipperton Thistledown.
Chapter 23
'His face is flush, as if-' On his knees in the snow beside Tipperton's still form, Beau bent over and placed his cheek against the unconscious buccan's forehead. As Beau did so, he looked across at Dalavar. 'He's fevered, all right.' Beau straightened up. 'What do you imagine- Oh lor'. Look. His sleeve. It's torn. I think he's been wounded. Help me get him out of his jacket. Just that arm. I don't want him to freeze out here.'
Swiftly, Dalavar and Beau pulled Tip's arm from the jacket sleeve, Tip moaning but not wakening. Greylight, Seeker, and Beam gathered 'round, the great Silver Wolves providing a windbreak, while on the rim above, Trace, Longshank, and Shimmer stood ward.
'He's treated it,' said Beau, carefully unwrapping the cloth bandaged about the limb, 'and with gwynthyme. See the pulp? Oh Adon, but his arm, it's all inflamed and swollen. What could he have-? Oh my, deep gouges, festered.'
' 'Tis a Vulg bite,' said Dalavar.
'Vulg bite?' Beau drew in a deep breath. 'Vulg venom.' He glanced up at the Draega on the rim above. 'I'll need my kit. It's in the saddlebags.'
Dalavar raised his face and spoke something akin to a growl. Trace and Longshank came bounding down the ramp of snow, whiteness churning in their wake.
As Beau dragged his saddlebags from the backs of the 'Wolves he said. 'From the looks of Tip's wounds, he was bitten some days back.' Beau rummaged through the pouches and hauled out his kit and a bundle of sprigs. 'Even so, it's Vulg venom, and Dara Phais took long to recover from her poisoned wound, and so may Tip. I must dose him with more golden mint… tea, preferably, and for that we'll need a fire and a place to work out of the snow.' Beau glanced up at Dalavar.
The Wolfmage gestured toward the small cave. 'Yon is the only place free of snow. I will bear Tipperton back within.' Dalavar stooped and took up Tip's limp form. As he stood, he looked at Greylight and spoke another growling word, and the great Silver Wolf turned and bounded away, Seeker following.
Catching up his saddlebags, Beau headed for the entrance to the cave, the wee buccan breasting through the snow. Following him and bearing Tipperton, Dalavar said, 'Vulg bites are not only poison, they are foul as well. This wound may be clear of venom, but festered with the taint of the Vulg's mouth. A wound such as this needs cleansing in addition to gwynthyme.'
'We'll want hot water,' said Beau, finally reaching the entrance. 'Oh my,' he said as he stepped inside, his face wrinkling in disgust, 'but this place smells like an outhouse.'
'Tipperton was trapped here long,' said Dalavar, stooping and following Beau in, 'days at least. Regardless of the odor, 'tis out of the snow.'
Gently, the Wolfmage lay the buccan down, and then moved to the entrance of the small cave and stepped outside and began knocking down snow hanging overhead and clearing it away. 'As soon as Greylight and Seeker return we'll build the fire here,' he called in to Beau.
Beau nodded but did not reply as he unrolled clean cloth and laid out gwynthyme and bandages and a cup. And he set his waterskin at hand as well. Then he turned and looked about; and he gathered up Tip's belongings- saddlebags, lute, bow, quiver of arrows-and arranged them nearby. Too, he espied Tip's cup sitting in a small crevice, the container nearly full, a drop forming on the stone above.
Well, at least you had water, bucco, though precious little from the looks of it.
The droplet fell: tink
Sighing, Beau turned just as Beam entered the small cave and lay down next to Tipperton.
'Doesn't the odor bother you, girl?' asked Beau.
Beam did not reply.
Beau shook his head and looked out at Dalavar, the Wolfmage still clearing snow from the entrance. 'I say, Dalavar,' called Beau, 'just how did Greylight find this place? How did he find Tip? The smell of the Warrow? The rank smell of this cave? What?'
Dalavar shook his head, then said, 'None of those, Beau. Instead, Greylight said he heard him singing.'
'Singing?'
Dalavar nodded.
Beau cocked his head. 'And he told you this?'
Dalavar nodded again.
'And Greylight said it was 'singing' he heard?'
Yet again, Dalavar nodded.
Beau frowned. 'How would Greylight even know what singing was?'
Dalavar stooped and looked inside, looked at Beau in surprise. 'Why, all Wolves sing, my friend… and laugh as well. Have you not heard them at night? Have you not seen them grin?'
'Oh my, but I never thought of it that w-'
Beam's ears flicked forward and her head came up from between her paws. A shadow darkened the entrance to the cave, and Greylight, a long pine bough in his mouth, stood before the opening, Seeker standing just behind, that Draega with a leafless limb of some sort long twisted by the wind. At a signal from Dalavar they dropped the branches and bounded away.
