Tip frowned, and Bekki growled, "A gardener I am not, nor an herbalist. How much should we leave behind? Does anyone know how to judge?"
Beau smiled and tapped the faded cover of the book. "Delgar does. He wrote it all down, and I'll tell you what he said."
And so, from his Mage-written manual, Beau began educating Tip and Bekki in the ways of the golden mint, though he himself had no experience with the growing of it.
During this same time, in King Agron's war room long into the night, obstacles to the king's war plan were raised and solutions conceived:
"The army is sapped, my lord, many of our best are wounded."
"That is why we wait for autumn, captain, to give many the time to heal."
"The crops, sire, what of them? We cannot leave a hungry nation behind."
"Much will be harvested ere we set forth."
"Ah, but Alvstad is far to the west, my lord, and it will take many a day for those in the east to reach the muster on the Argon River."
"Let them ride instead to the Crystal and Green Rivers on the east, for they are Argon tributaries. Let those in the north ride to the Argon as well. By raft and boat they can journey to Alvstad, for river legs never tire and it will make the passage swift."
"Even so, my lord, still there are late crops to gather in and next spring's tilling and planting as well."
"In those cases, where oldsters and women and children are not enough, by lottery leave behind sufficient of the able-bodied to bring in their own and their neighbors' crops and plant for the following year."
A captain on the far side of the map table cleared his throat and said, "My lord, was it wise to announce to the public your plans to invade Gron? What of spies bearing word to Modru himself?"
Agron's icy gaze swept 'round the table, and he clenched a fist. "I want him to know we are coming. I want to give him pause. Yet heed, he will not know by what route we will advance, and must needs hold back his forces instead of spending them to carry the fight to others."
"My lord, how will we enter Gron?" The captain gestured at the map. "It lies on the far side of the Grimwall, and I have heard that all passes are warded. Do we march north from Alvstad through Jord and take to the Boreal Sea and around?"
Agron shook his head. "Nay, we do not, though mayhap Modru will think so. Instead We enter by an unexpected way." The king looked up from the map. "This knowledge will not leave this room." After receiving nods from his captains, Agron traced a route across the chart. "We ford the river here at Alvstad, then march through Jailor Pass and into this corner of Jord. Here we turn to the west and enter the Gronfangs, for at this point there is a narrow twisting pass through that dire range, all but forgotten, blocked by a slide, and who would clear a slide for passage into the cold wastes of Gron, eh?"
At the captains' astonished gazes, Agron added, "I have seen it myself, for when I was but twenty, Prince Halfar of Jord and I rode in on a lark-a test of bravery then; but in hindsight nought but a foolish risk.
"Regardless, far within there is a slide, but one which an army can clear, providing a way to come upon Gron unawares."
An elder statesman leaned forward. "Sire, we will be marching across Jord, or a part thereof."
The king raised an eyebrow.
"What I mean, my lord, is that we should send an emissary to Jordkeep and apprise King Ranor."
Agron nodded and said, "Prepare a missive, Lord Vengar. I will set my seal to it." The elder statesman nodded.
Across the table a captain said, "My lord, what of this dark ill which strikes down the healthy?"
"The healers are doing their best, captain. Yet this I say: I have chosen for the muster to take place in Alvstad instead of Dendor for more than one reason, among them is this: my healers tell me that by waiting for the ill to run its course, we isolate the muster from the scourge. Although Modru's disease is in Dendor, we will keep it from spreading."
"Do you mean to quarantine the city, my lord?"
Agron nodded. "Aye. Not only that, but round up any who handled the Modru-flung corpses and set them off in separate quarters away from the general populace until this scourge is gone. Have the healers attend to them, and set apart those who seem healthy from those who seem not. Too, burn the houses of any who fall ill."
"But my lord, much of the city is already in ashes from the Wrgish fireballs."
Agron sighed. "I know, captain, yet drastic times call for drastic measures. We would not have these ill vapors spread to others, and fire purifies all."
To Agron's left, a captain cleared his throat.
"My lord, we will be marching into Gron in the dead of winter."
Agron nodded, then said, "We will not be ready until then, captain. And yes, winter campaigns are hard. Yet what better time to invade but when least expected?"
"But what I meant, my lord, is… the pass may be blocked by snow."
"The pass is low through the mountains, captain, and when Halfar and I rode in, it was nearly Yule, yet, but for a dusting of snow, the way was clear. Prince Halfar said it was due to the Gwasp, warm air flowing up from that vast mire keeping the way open."
"Sire," said another captain, glancing about, "I will say what none else has: it will be a winter campaign, and it is said that Modru is master of the cold."
Agron looked about the table, ice in his pale blue eyes. "Then we will prepare for the cold, captain, and let Modru waste his power."
Agron's cold gaze swept from captain to captain, and each and every one nodded in assent, though some but reluctantly. "It will be a long campaign," he said, "requiring much in the way of food and other supplies. Let us now reckon the total, based on six months, one year, and two. Then we can gauge how many horses and wains we'll need, and what supplies that will add to the whole."
And so the planning went.
The following day the gates of Dendor were shut, not to keep a foe without, but to keep the people within, all but those farmers and their families who the healers could declare to be plague-free; they were allowed to return to their steads to rebuild their homes and to grow needed crops and round up any animals that had survived. Too, the king's messengers were allowed like passage, for they were critical to the coming campaign. All else needed the king's exception to pass through the gates, for Agron was determined to keep the plague from spreading beyond Dendor's walls.
April came and went, winter loosing its grasp. Fields were tilled and crops planted, while buds broke forth on the trees. Yet even as the warmth of returning spring greened the land, within the quarantined city a darkness grew, for every day more stricken were brought to the healers. The prison was filled to overflowing with the ill and the dying, where they were treated with potions of sil-verroot. Yet this brew proved wanting, for, just as Beau's red journal had stated, in spite of the medick, six of seven died in agony. Even so, without the brew, only one or two in a hundred would live.
Just as he had in the aftermath of the Battle of Mineholt North, Tip took up his lute and visited the wards of those who had been wounded in this battle as well. He sang and played for them and lifted their hearts. Yet when he suggested to Beau that he do the same for those afflicted by the dark ill, Beau would not let him, saying that nought but healers were allowed within the prison wards.
May came, and with it the flowers and warmth and more tilling, and the leaves broke forth, and preparations for the muster continued. Some of those wounded in the Battle of Dendor healed, while others so wounded died… and Tip grieved for those lost, yet he continued to play and sing.
And still the dark ill spread, houses burning in its black wake, and there was great unease in the city, for people were frightened. Some tried to leave, but were turned back, and the quarantine held firm.