Agron turned to Imongar. "And what will Magekind do?"
Imongar sighed. "We, too, shall set out for Pellar, for the High King will need all the aid he can muster, Magekind most of all, for Modru has at his beck not only Foul Folk but and Gargons and Dragons and other fell beasts which only we can ward against."
Phais's eyes widened. "Ye can fend Dragons?"
A grim look came over Imongar's face. "Mayhap in a great conjoinment of Mages, can we find a sorcerer to be the focus and wielder of the bonded, though the casting needed is like to slay all thus merged."
Phais shook her head and opened her mouth to speak, but Agron declared, "Then I march into Gron alone." His defiant gaze swept from DelfLord to Guardian to Mage.
Loric, too, looked 'round at the others and then said, "Regretfully so, my lord; thou and thine army wilt go alone and without our aid, for we deem victory will come at the High King's side, wherever he may be, and not in the colds of Gron."
Agron drew in a deep breath and then let it out. "It may be as you say, Lord Loric, yet hear me. By marching into Gron I will give Modru pause and perhaps buy Blaine some time, time to forge the alliance needed to throw down the vile one. In the very least, I will cause Modru to hold back several Hordes merely to meet my threat, Hordes which will not be cast against Blaine." Agron took up a thong from the table, a thong laced through a pewter coin. "That you will find him, I do not doubt, and so I ask but this: take back to him this token and say to him when you meet, the coin he sent by my son Dular, whom Modru most foully slew, the coin borne to me by others, that coin will be well spent."
Loric accepted the token and, glancing at Phais, said, "My lord, though we disagree on this mission to Gron thou dost undertake, Dara Phais and I will seek out the High King wherever he may be and deliver the coin and thy message. This we do so pledge."
And so it was: of DelfLord and Wizard and Lian Guardian, none could dissuade King Agron from his chosen course, Dwarf and Mage and Elves to go a separate way, leaving Agron and his men to march into Modru's realm.
And yet it was not only men who would be marching into Gron, but a wee Warrow was pledged to scout for the king on his perilous course, and wherever that wee Warrow scout would go, a wee healer would go as well.
"I say, Beau, we've been cooped up indoors for days on end; what say we go outside and you teach me some of those slingster tricks of yours, eh? I mean, any arrows I take into battle are like to be entirely spent ere the fighting is done, whereas rocks always seem to be at hand. And if I am to carry on the fight when my quiver is empty, then a sling seems the best choice, and I could use a trick or two."
Beau looked at Tip. "Ho, me teach you tricks? This from the one who saw me try to lob rocks at a tree and nearly brain my own self?"
Tip laughed, remembering. "Ah, but Beau, that was back more than a year past, and you've improved a wee bit since then."
Beau grinned. "Well then, we'll have to get Phais to make you a sling, for she is the one who made mine."
"Hoy, what's wrong with the one I cut from the Gar-gon's tent?"
Beau shook his head and said, "Wait'll you use mine, bucco; then you'll see."
They trudged out to an ornamental garden behind the mansion and gathered up chill pebbles amid the melting snow, then walked to an open space along the city wall.
"All right, bucco, here's what Phais taught me: first you've got to adjust the loop 'round your thumb: too tight, you cut off the blood; too loose, and you'll hurl the sling away with the bullet. And speaking of bullets, the best are not perfectly round, but elongated instead: they fit the sling pocket better for a better throw and seem more deadly when they strike. And another thing…"
Thus did Beau begin teaching Tip all he knew about slings and bullets and deadly casting, underhand and overhand and sidearm and backhand, for one never knew just where one might be when it came time to throw-on a cliff or hanging onto a tree trunk or peering over a wall or standing still or running or riding a pony or horse-at targets left and right, near and far, high and low, at stationary targets and moving ones, big and little both, speaking of the best places to strike the foe to bring him down or kill him outright. Although Tip was a quick learner, there was much more to slinging than he had ever suspected.
The following day, Valk and his remaining warriors prepared to set out for Kachar, and the Mages of Black Mountain for distant Pellar. As to Phais and Loric, they would not leave for a time to come, yet hoping to turn King Agron away from his mission to Gron and toward Pellar instead. Bekki though was of a mind to remain at Tipper-ton's side, for although his pledge to see the Waeran safely to Dendor had been fulfilled, still he felt an obligation to the wee Chak-Sol; besides, what better place to find Grg to kill than in the wastes of Gron.
Long were the farewells, Tip, Beau, Phais, Loric, and Bekki saying good-bye to Valk and the Mages. Imongar came limping to Tipperton and embraced the buccan and whispered her thanks to him in spite of his having stabbed her in the leg with one of his very sharp arrows.
And as they rode away, the Dwarves to the north, the Mages to the south, clarions called from the walls of Dendor, announcing to one and all that on this day heroes now rode across the plains of Aven.
It was on the third day of sling practice, when Beau frowned at something afar. "I say, Tip, what's that? It's the fourth one I've seen today."
Tip turned and looked. A white wagon, its driver in white, made its way down the cobbled side street. "Oh, it's a wagon for the sick, Beau, heading for the prison."
"Prison?"
"Aye. There's a dark disease in the city. Modru caused. When he had the corpses cast over the city walls-"
"Dark disease?"
Tip nodded, his face grim. "Awful. Pus-running boils. Dark rin-"
"Black nodules under the armpits, the groin?" broke in Beau. "Fever?"
"Well I don't know about nodules, but fever, yes, and dark rings about sunken eyes."
"Oh my," said Beau. "It sounds like the plague."
"Plague? But I thought a plague was something widespread, whereas this is not extensive. Just those who bore the corpses to the fires seem-"
"Perhaps it's not widespread yet," declared Beau, gathering up his jacket and cloak, "but if it's what I think it is, it'll bring down the entire city if it's not stopped."
"Where are you going?"
"To this prison, wherever it is. I've got to see for myself. Besides, they can use my help."
Tip began donning his own jacket. "I'll take you there, but as far as helping them, I dunno, Beau. The healer I talked to acted as if not many would survive."
"Oh my, but I was hoping I would never see this day," said Beau, the look on his face grim.
"Then it is the plague?" asked Tip.
Beau nodded. "Even though I've never seen it before, it fits all the descriptions I've ever read, particularly the one in my red healer's book."
Phais glanced at Loric. "Our help will be needed, chier."
Loric nodded in silent reply.
Beau sighed. "They've silverroot aplenty but none of the golden mint."
Bekki looked up from his plate of food. "Golden mint?"
"Yes. Gwynthyme. I've thought a tisane of golden mint mixed with silverroot might aid in curing the plague, yet I have no gwynthyme left. Do you know where there is some?"
Bekki shrugged. "Mayhap. Once when I was prospecting in the Grimwall above Nordlake I saw quite a lot of a golden mint growing in cracks and crevices along the face of the steeps. But whether this is what you are seeking, I cannot say."
"Quite a lot? Oh my, just what we need, if gwynthyme it is." Beau jumped down from the bench at the table. "Hold on, I'll show you a picture of it."