Alvaron raised his cup. "Here's to wagon wheels which jump in the way, else we would not now be breaking fast with a true herald of glad tidings."

"True herald?"

"You, my boy. You. Though you brought sad news of the death of a prince, you brought good news as well, for salvation comes riding on your shoulder, or so we hope."

Imongar frowned. " 'Twill not be easy, Alvaron, and it will take all six of us working together as well as a company of men to lay the Gargon by the heels."

Tip looked up in surprise, for although he had known it was up to the Dendorians to deal with the Dread, still he had not known just how they would succeed. Oh, he knew that a Wizard was critical to accomplishing this objective, but now he discovered there were six Wizards involved and not just the one he first met.

"I say," said Tip, "if six Mages and a group of Dendorian warriors can combine to slay the Gargon, then why hasn't he already been? -Been killed, that is."

Alvaron sighed, but Imongar said, "We tried, but we could not win through-the Dread was too well protected by the Swarm."

Imongar looked at Alvaron, and he said, "But with the Dwarves attacking elsewhere and drawing their forces away, well then… perhaps this time we will succeed."

Tip frowned at the two Mages. "You sound in doubt, yet I would have thought magic powerful enough to deal with any threat."

Imongar shook her head. "What you call 'magic,' Sir Tip-perton, has its limitations. Astral can be warped to do many things, some most powerful indeed, but at a cost none can bear for long."

Alvaron nodded and plucked at a lock of hair. "This was black when the Spaunen first came, and now it is shot through with grey."

Tip raised an eyebrow, and at his puzzled cast of face, Imongar said, "To manipulate, one must spend one's own at the cost of youth, and the greater the cast, the greater the cost."

"Adon," said Tip, his eyes widening. "You mean magic ages you? Each spell makes you grow older?"

Imongar nodded. "Aye, our astral dwindles with each cast, and the more powerful the spell, the greater the drain."

"Still," said Alvaron, "we can recover that by resting a special way, though now that Rwn is gone, we cannot return to Vadaria, and the cost to recover in Mithgarian years is staggering."

"Goodness, and here all along I thought magic was, um, free."

As Tip was served from a platter of eggs, rashers of bacon on the side, Alvaron shook his head. "Oh no, my lad, in spite of what some innkeepers claim, a lunch is never free, nor breakfasts for that matter. We all must pay as we go, more or less, and that includes Mages as well."

Tip frowned in thought and looked at his meal and then across the room at King Agron at the high table. The king, he had paid a high price: his only son and heir was dead. And what had Tipperton paid? A vision of Rynna filled Tipperton's mind, and his eyes brimmed, and in that moment a sense of shared sorrow swept over the buccan.

Without speaking and with tears sliding down, Tip clambered from the bench and stepped across the chamber to where the king sat, the buccan to kneel beside Agron. With a puzzled look the king turned toward the Warrow, and Tip said, "My lord, the mission to deliver the coin is finished, yet I am a scout well trained. I ask that you take me in your service until this war is done."

"You would pledge to me?"

"Aye, my lord, as a scout."

King Agron's face fell grim, and his hand strayed to the black band at his left wrist. "For what I have in mind, Sir Tipperton, scouts will be in high peril."

"Nevertheless, my lord."

"Then rise, Sir Tipperton, scout of Aven, until this war is done."

After breakfast, his sense of purpose renewed, Tip strode with Imongar toward the south gate. "So, then, it was you, Tipperton, who bore the king the woeful news as well as the good you did bring."

Tip sighed. "Yes, though I didn't know at the time that it was the king's son Dular who had died at my mill. Why it was he bearing the coin, I do not know."

"He was in service to High King Blaine," said Imongar, "and would have been the obvious choice for Blaine to send to Dendor… not only to fetch aid but to remove Dular from harm's way."

"Remove him from harm's way?"

"Aye. Did you not tell the war council that Challerain Keep had fallen?"

Tip nodded.

"Well then, I think Blaine sent Dular away ere that battle began… as I said, to take him out of harm's way."

Tip frowned and said, "In my experience, Lady Mage Imongar, all of Mithgar stands before harm."

Imongar canted her head. "Aye, Sir Tipperton, it does at that."

At last they arrived at the gate and made their way up to the ramparts above. There Imongar relieved Delander, another tall Mage like Alvaron, though Delander's hair was a rich golden brown, a shade nearly matching his eyes. After greeting Imongar and meeting Tipperton, Delander went down to take a meal and then to rest, for his was the first shift, midnight to morn, and standing watch on a Gar-gon was a task most fatiguing and dire, especially here where the pulse of the Dread was strongest.

Climbing to the weapons shelf, Tip stood and looked south. Teeming maggot-folk yet beringed the city, but the buccan had expected no less. Somewhere a deep drum thudded relentlessly, out among the Swarm. In their midst the Gargon's tent stood alone, Foul Folk all 'round but no nearer it seemed than a hundred long paces nigh. As to the Draedan itself, no creature was in evidence; but it was not gone from the city, nay, for the racking dread yet pulsed, a thudding in the gut keeping pace with the beat of the drum.

Tip tried to ignore all these things as he stood and looked long at the distant ridge south, trying to see… trying to see…

"Beau and the others are up there somewhere," he said. "I wonder how they fare?"

"How did they fare when you left, Tipperton?"

"Unh… on cold rations and camping in snow," replied Tip, sighing, "but otherwise they were hale."

"Then I suspect that they fare that way still."

Tip drew in a deep breath and let it out. "It's no way to live, you know-on the ground with no fire and nought but cold food to eat."

Imongar nodded. "Much like an animal, neh?"

They stood and looked a moment longer, then Tip said, "Did they launch the fire arrows?"

"Aye, as planned," replied Imongar, "last night and this dawn as well."

"Good," said Tip. "By that sign alone they will know I am safe."

"Ha!" barked Imongar, "I would not call being surrounded by a Swarm to be safe by any means." Imongar looked about, and seeing that none were near, she added in a low voice, "Too, here in Dendor a dreadful sickness has come, cast over the walls by the Spaunen."

Tip looked at her wide-eyed. "Dreadful sickness? Cast over the walls?"

"Aye, a dark ill. Some twenty-four days agone the-"

Tip shuddered and said, "They cut up the dead and flung the parts over the walls, using those, those-"

"Trebuchets," supplied Imongar.

"Yes, those trebuchets." Tip looked out. The great catapults were yet there, along with other siege engines: tall towers on ponderous wheels and dry-moat spans and scaling ladders and the massive rams. "We saw what they did, Imongar, my comrades and I. From the ridge. From up there it was appalling, but down here it must have been horrible beyond all words. That was the day we left for Kachar to fetch the army of Dwarves."

"Well, Tipperton, that was but the first day of their vile casting. For three more days they flung the dismembered dead into the city-Rucha, Loka, Gulka, men-it mattered not to the Rupt, their own dead or ours, all were cloven asunder and the parts hurled over the walls.

"The king ordered all and sundry to gather up the remains and bear them to the plaza to be thrown on a great flaming pyre." Imongar now shuddered. "Ai, the smell of burning flesh, 'twas whelming throughout all of Dendor."