Dennis McKiernan - Into the fire

A horn cry drifted in through the window slit.

"Oh my, Beau, I've got to go now," said Tip, catching up his lute. "Get well, and soon."

"I will, bucco, and you can wager on it."

Bekki, Phais, Loric, and Tip: they all stepped from the prison cell. "Remember," cried Beau, his voice tight with emotion, "stop by the healer station and get gwynthyme and silverroot to take with you."

Beau heard Tipperton call back, "We will," and there came a chord on the lute, and Tipperton's voice lifted in song:

Oh-fiddle-dee hi, fiddle-dee ho,

Fiddle-dee hay ha hee.

Wiggle-dee die, wiggle-dee doe,

Wiggle-dee pig die dee.

Once there was a very merry man

Who came to Boskledee…

Tipperton's voice faded away as he went down the hall and into the stairwell. And Beau sat propped in his bed, tears running down his face, humming along with Tip's song, Beau's favorite: "The Merry Man of Boskledee."

Long moments later Beau heard a second horn cry, followed by the shouting of voices and the clack of hooves on the cobbles below, the ching of arms and armor and the clatter of the cavalcade to fade into the distance…

… And then he could hear nothing more but the silence of the prison.

In the last seven days of October and the first nine of November, Agron's cavalcade pressed on toward the muster at Alvstad. And during these sixteen days of travel, snow fell five of them altogether, unusual in Aven this time of year. Some claimed 'twas Modru's doing, while others claimed 'twas not. Regardless, in spite of the early snowfall and the cold, Agron's company finally arrived at their goal on November the ninth.

Alvstad itself was a stockaded city nigh the banks of the River Argon, yet with the muster at this place it was more tents and wagons ringed all 'round than buildings of wood within. Down through this gathering fared the cavalcade, down through snow churned to mud. And when the blue and gold of the king passed by, followed by the king himself, men stood along the route and cheered their monarch, slayer of the Gargon and conqueror of Modru's Swarm. Coming after the king and astraddle a horse towed behind a mounted soldier rode a legend alive: one of the Litenfolk.

Through cheering men and into the town proper fared Agron King, Tipperton and others following in his wake. At last they stopped before an inn, the king to dismount and signal a handful of others to follow, Tip among these latter. The remaining soldiers gathered up the horses and rode on toward the town stables, where they would quarter until time to leave.

As Tipperton stepped into the inn, he was glad this part of the journey was over, for he did not enjoy being on a tall horse tethered behind one of Agron's kingsmen, nor did he enjoy sleeping on the hard ground. Yet it seemed as if he had done nothing but such for absolutely ever so long, and for this night and the next several, he would sit adoze before a hearth and wallow in a soft, soft bed.

As a wide-eyed serving maid brought him a sweet-smelling cup of hot mulled wine, Tip shed his cloak and jacket and plopped down in comfort dear. A week from now they would be leaving for the wastes of Gron-but that was a week from now… practically forever.

In Alvstad as Agron had promised, there were several stables where ponies were available, and the very next day Tip spent long candlemarks looking over the stock before finally selecting two for his own use: a small brown pony from the hills nigh the Rimmens, and a black from the Steppes of Jord.

"If I were you, I'd ride the black," advised the stablehand.

"I fully intended to, but why did you say?" asked Tipperton.

"Why, lad, it's from Jord," replied the hand, as if that were explanation enough.

Tip shook his head and grinned, then outfitted the black with a small enough saddle and shortened the stirrups to length. The hand threw in a blanket and bridle for the good king's coin he received. Saddlebags and a currycomb were added to the goods, along with a stock blanket and lade-rack for the brown, as well as nosebags and other such. Tip arranged for the keep of the ponies until it was time to inarch, but when the stablemaster found that the buccan was a kingsscout, he would accept no pay for such. "Doin' my part for the war," said the man. "Doin' my part for the war."

Over the next five days more wagons and men and soldiers on horses drifted in, but on the sixth, the bugles blew and Agron's army set forth-wagons rolling, men marching, horses prancing-the army thirty thousand strong, all led by a wee buccan riding far-point along with another scout, that one a grizzled man.

Across the Argon River they passed, crossing at the wide ford, breaking through a thin layer of ice all the way to the opposite bank. Behind Tip and his companion, as each ridden horse and each drawn wagon came to the ford, they paused to wait for the marching men, each rider taking on a walking soldier, each wagon taking several men. And thus they crossed the Argon, horses bearing double, wagons hauling more, as through the shallows they fared.

In all it took until late midmorn for the entire army to cross, for many were the men and wagons and horses, and the whole stretched for miles altogether.

Up through snow toward Jailor Pass they fared, the route through the Grimwall Mountains standing against the distant sky some thirty miles and three days away, for an army is a slow beast when faring across open land. And although Jailor Pass was a principal trade route between western Jord and Aven, still there was no maintained road between… but for a rough track the merchants' wagons and horses had made.

Ten miles a day and only ten would the army try to achieve, for as King Agron had said, " 'Tis a long march and better to arrive with ready soldiers than with an army worn by haste."

And miles out front rode Tipperton and Auly, the two far-point scouts.

Two days, three days, they fared up the land, Tip and Auly now deep in the grip of the pass, the army just then reaching the southern gape. And again snow fell, a chill descending down.

"Oh my, but I hope this weather doesn't bode ill," said Tip, drawing his cloak tight around.

"Here in the col it could be a bane," said Auly, a veteran of battles past, "but down in the flats, it's more likely a blessing."

"How so?"

Auly scratched his greying beard and gestured about. "Unlike the flats below, up here the snow is like to get deep, hindering horse and wain and marching men all. But down in the flats, if it doesn't snow a deal, the cold will actually aid us. It'll freeze the ground, you see, and the harder the ground, the less likely a wagon will mire."

"Ah, yes," said Tipperton, nodding in understanding.

They fared onward through the slot, scanning the slopes and the col ahead for any sign of foe. But the way seemed clear, and the two rode mostly without speaking. Yet at last, Auly said, "What I'm truly worried about is that Modru is master of the cold, or so I hear, and I don't want him casting his power against us."

"I am not certain he will, Auly. When I was in Dendor, six Mages were there as well. They said some castings take an enormous amount of, um,. I would think that raising a blizzard is one of these… though Modru might have done so after the city of Dael was destroyed by Sleeth."

"The Dragon?"

"Yes. He whelmed the city with fire and might until no shelter was left, and then the blizzard came. Whether or no Modru sent it, I cannot say, though others tell it was so."

"And you saw this?"

"Only the aftermath. We waited out the storm in a shelter of sorts many miles and several days away and only came to Dael after the dark deed was done."

"Well I just hope Black Modru doesn't send a storm down on us, though when you think about it, what better target than an enemy army marching on the land?"