Into the fire

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" 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 army are safe. I mean, we are no worse for the wear having come through the very same storm."

Dalavar sighed. "Beau, we cannot judge by that which blows without, for it may be considerably more brutal where they are."

As Beau frowned up at the Mage, Dalavar gestured toward the window, where illuminated by lanternlight white snow hurtled past. "Ere the storm reached us it had lost much of its strength, for two great barriers stand across the way-the Gronfangs and the Grimwall-where much of the blow has been lost, dashed against mountain stone."

"Oh my," said Beau. "Oh my."

And the wind without rattled the walls of the inn.

The next morning dawned to stillness, the blizzard completely gone, having blown itself out sometime in the night; not even a faint breeze remained. All that day Beau and Dalavar rested, though "rested" might be the wrong term, for, except for acquiring some crue and jerky to replace that which he had consumed. Beau paced agitatedly, anxious to be on the way. As to Dalavar, he downed meal after meal, as if stoking up for some great effort, or as if recovering from one. Again it seemed as if he would never get filled, though at last he did stop.

The day wore on, and finally night fell, and from the nearby hills there came a prolonged howl, and of a sudden the night was alive with yips and yammers and whines and more howls. Below in the town, doors slammed, doors opened, some shutting, others being flung wide, and lanterns were held on high, casting their light across snow. Finally, silence fell, and doors in the thorp slammed to again, latches clicking, bolts throwing home, bars banging down into brackets; the stockaded town entire closed up tight.

The next morning when Beau awakened, Dalavar was gone. Dressing quickly, Beau took up his bindle and saddlebags and his replenished waterskin and hurried downstairs. When he tried to pay the innkeeper, someone had more than settled the bill with a fresh-killed stag. "Brought down by dogs, I think," said the 'keep, "for there's nary an arrow mark on it, but a throat torn out by teeth."

As the innkeeper stepped into the kitchen and snatched up a biscuit and some rashers of bacon for the wee Litenfolk, Beau slung on his jacket and cloak and fitted his bindle-strap over all. He looked about, seeking Dalavar, but did not see the Mage, yet was not surprised by such, what with Dala-var's "magical" comings and goings. Carrying his saddlebags and munching the food, Beau stepped from the inn and strode out the north gate and down toward the river and the ford, where he found the pack waiting, all seven of the 'Wolves.

Across the Argon they fared, and toward the mountain pass through the Grimwalls ahead, their travel slowed by blizzard fall. Through Jailor Pass, Shimmer with Beau came last, running in the path through the snow broken by the others. Night had fallen ere they came down from the mountains and into Jallorby, and there they stopped and rested another day, for it had been a difficult passage. Yet in spite of the deep snow, still the pack had run some seventy-five miles in all.

Leaving Jallorby, west they fared, toward the Gronfangs afar, and here in this corner of Jord the snow lay deep on the land. Even so, even though stopping more often and resting longer each time, the pack covered seventy miles altogether, and when they stopped for the night, the Gronfangs were visible in the distance ahead.

In early morn of the next day, they came to the narrow pass, and snow ramped high within, rising up some two hundred feet or so here at the entrance.

Beau's heart lurched, and he involuntarily clutched Shimmer's fur. ''Oh, Shimmer," breathed the buccan into the great 'Wolf's ear, "the way is blocked."

The pack paused and looked toward Greylight, but he in turn looked at Shifter. And that dark 'Wolf took the lead and scrambled up the snow along the southern flank.

All day they struggled along the slopes above the south rim of the slot, now climbing across mountain flanks, now faring along high ledges, now breasting through chest-deep snow. And the farther into the pass they went, the deeper was the snow down in the gorge, as if the way entire had been buried by an avalanche. Seldom did they fare in the snow-filled pass itself, for there they would sink deep and struggle hard simply to go a few yards. But now and again the stone flanks of the Gronfangs would be bare, for clearly all snow and rocks that should be lying on them had slid down into the gulch below. Across these barren places the pack loped easily, though all too soon they would come unto snow-laden steeps again. And often they stopped to rest, Silver Wolves lying on their sides and panting, their great tongues lolling, dripping, even in the frigid air.

By late afternoon they had covered but some twenty miles in all along the jinking, twisting, snow-choked pass, when Greylight paused, his nose held high in the air. So, too, did the other 'Wolves stop, their noses up, their lungs taking in deep breaths, scenting and then snorting and then scenting again. Shimmer whined, and her tail drooped, as did those of the other Draega, all but Shifter, who peered down at the snow in the blocked pass below and growled.

"What is it, girl?" asked Beau, but Shimmer whined, as did Beam, and Longshank raised his muzzle and howled.

Greylight swung about and stared fixedly at Longshank, and the 'Wolf howl chopped shut. And then Shifter turned away from the snow below and took up the trek again, the rest of the pack following.

At last the sun sank, night rushing on, and Shifter found a more or less level place on a mountainside, and there the pack stopped. Shifter went on alone, passing from sight beyond a turn in the stone.

Beau took the saddlebags from Longshank and Trace, and cast them down to the snow, and then unlooped his bindle-strap and dropped the roll as well. Kneeling, Beau dug into a saddlebag, and as he did so, Dalavar said, "I bear ill news, Beau."

Beau, now used to the Wolfmage's abrupt comings and goings, looked up, a biscuit of crue in hand. "Ill news? Does this have anything to do with the pack's strange behavior a few miles back?"

"I'm afraid so. You see, w- the pack, that is, caught a faint scent of men and horses and other such back there."

Beau frowned. "And…?"

"It lasted for nearly two miles altogether."

Beau turned up a hand. "How is this ill news?"

"Beau, I believe that Agron's army is buried back there, under the snow, under an avalanche."

The air went out from Beau's lungs, and he felt as if he had been struck a blow. Gasping, he slumped back into the snow. "The army? The whole army?" He gestured toward the snow-filled pass, glimmering grey in the- light of remote, icy stars. "Under all of that?"

"I cannot think of aught else to account for the spoor," said Dalavar. "A slain soldier or slain horse or even a hundred would not be scented were they under all of that snow, two or three hundred feet deep in the least, perhaps five hundred in places. Yet even five hundred feet of snow is not enough to conceal from Draega the scent of an entire army."

Tears filled Beau's eyes. "Oh, oh…"

Dalavar knelt beside him.

Not seeing, Beau looked at the Wolfmage. "Tip. What about Tip? Is he… is he…?"

"Ah, wee one, I cannot say. He could be there or not."

Shimmer came and lay beside the buccan.

Beau reached out and twined his fingers in her fur. "I don't want him to be there. I don't want-Look, we've got to go on. Tip was, Tip is a scout. He may be ahead somewhere. He may be ahead."

"Perhaps," said Dalavar, standing and peering west. "Perhaps."

The Wolfmage glanced down at the buccan. "On the morrow we will look."

Dalavar walked away and squatted by Greylight, leaving Beau in his misery behind. And the buccan buried his face in Shimmer's fur and wept, and the she-'Wolf laid her head down and did not move from his side.

Beau awakened just ere dawn, a fingernail-thin crescent moon leading the sun into the sky. Remembering back to when they had been in Jallorby, Beau counted on his fingers. It was Winterday, the shortest day of the year, and tonight would be Year's Long Night. Just one year past on the solstice, he and Tip had stepped out the Elven rite of the change of the seasons, and Bekki had been on the hill above praying to Elwydd.

Perhaps this is an omen for good.

But then Beau remembered that Foul Folk had come through the dark and had spoiled the night for them.

Perhaps it is an omen for ill.

Beau managed to choke down a biscuit of crue and drink a bit of water from his full waterskin.

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.