"Oh?"

"Yes. You see, it seems that it doesn't grow very many places-the headwaters of the River Wilder being one of them."

Tip cocked an eyebrow. "Can't you take some of the seeds and plant them elsewhere?"

Beau shook his head. "The plant doesn't thrive elsewhere. Something about the Wilder soil, or perhaps the water, I believe."

Tip shrugged. "Well, I don't even know what a moonwrad herb is."

"It's not an herb, Tip, but a root instead."

"Oh… And just what do you plan to do with this root?"

Beau turned in his saddle and fished into a saddlebag, finally pulling out a thin book bound in faded red leather. "This journal, Tip, it contains nearly all I know about healing-a book about herbs and simples and medicks and potions and philters and physicks and healing, all to cure the ill."

Beau handed the book to Tipperton, who idly thumbed through the pages. Slowly a look of bafflement spread across his face. "Why, I can't read this."

Beau laughed. "There's a simple Wizard's trick to it, Tip."

"Wizard?"

"Oh, yes. This is the book, you see, given to me by Delgar."

"Delgar?"

"Uh-huh, Delgar the Wizard."

"Wizard!" Tipperton shrank back, trying at one and the same time to get away from the slender volume and yet not drop it. "You never told me about a Wizard."

"Take care, Tip, it's quite precious. And it'll not bite you."

At arm's length, Tipperton held the book at one corner by two fingers. "Yes, but a Wizard's book, magic and all."

Beau reached out. "Oh, it's not magic, Tip."

"Nevertheless…" Tipperton gingerly handed the journal back to Beau.

Eagerly, Beau flipped through the pages, finally stopping when he found what he was after. "Here it is: silver-root: to be dried and ground into a fine powder and then infused into a tea and given to those afflicted with the plague. To be taken internally to reduce the buboes and applied externally to any pustules as well. Recommended dosage: unknown. Cures one in six or seven."

Beau looked across at Tip. "They died of the plague, you know, my sire and dam."

Tip nodded. "Yes, you told me. -But say now, that was about something called silverroot, Beau, and I thought we were talking about moonwrad."

"They're two different names for the same thing, Tip; moonwrad is silverroot, though it took me years to find out it was so."

"And it only grows along the River Wilder?"

Beau nodded, adding, "And rare places elsewhere as well."

"Well, if it only cures one case out of seven, it doesn't seem to be very effective to me."

"One out of seven is better than the alternative, Tip. Without it, only one out of a hundred survive."

"Oh," said Tip, then frowned. "Still, there ought to be something better."

"Exactly so, Tip. You see, I believe that by mixing moonwrad with gwynthyme, we can make a more successful medick to treat the plague."

"Gwynthyme?"

"A golden mint which neutralizes poisons as well as promoting health. I think it grows high in the mountains in the summer, up near the snow. Although I'm not certain, if the plague ever comes again-Adon forbid-I'll mix it half and half with silverroot and then we'll see."

"Well, bucco, it's all quite beyond me," said Tip. "Wizard's work for certain."

"Not according to Delgar. He says that anyone with a good head on their shoulders and a passion to help others can be a healer."

"Delgar-the Wizard who gave you the book." As Beau nodded, Tip asked, "When was this?"

Beau grinned. "It was back in my stripling days, back when I wanted to be a Wizard. Oh, I did all sorts of experiments- mixing various forms of the five elements-trying to change lead into gold, or to transform insects into something else, or to learn to fly. But nothing I tried worked, though I did learn a great deal about admixtures and immixtures and such. All that was back before I had ever even seen a Wizard. But then one day in Raffin, I met Delgar on his way to Rood for the Mid-Year Festival. I asked him to take me on as an apprentice; he looked hard at me in a peculiar sort of way, then shook his head and said I hadn't the. But then he asked me a lot of sharp questions-mainly about my alchemistry-and he seemed to know how my parents had died. Finally he gave me this book and suggested I apprentice to Elby Roh-I told you about him-over in Wil-lowdell and become a healer instead. Anyway, when Delgar gave me the book, it was as if a light had dawned, and that's when I knew what my true calling would be."

Tip smiled ruefully at Beau. "You can keep your Wizards and their books. Me, I'll stick to grinding grain."

They rode onward in silence for a mile or so, but at last Tipperton turned to Beau and said, "You know, bucco, there's a great deal more to you than meets the casual eye."

They camped in a grove at sundown. "Out of sight should a band of Spawn come tramping by," said Tip.

"Out of the bluster as well," said Beau, glancing up at the overhead branches rattling in the late-day wind. "I do wish we could build a fire and have a spot of tea."

Tip shook his head. "Gaman's advice was sound, I think: travel between dawn and dusk, and set no fires."

"In spite of him swelling up like a toad, so was Prell's," said Beau, "to wear eiderdown and warm socks and boots. I mean, with no fires it's like to be right chill in the night."

Tip smiled grimly. "In the day too, Beau, in the day too, especially should the wind kick up."

Beau sighed and finished currying the tangles out of the ponies' thick winter shag. As he cast the combs back into his saddlebags he asked, "How far do you gauge we've come?"

"Twenty-five miles, I would judge," said Tip as he set out the jerky and biscuits of crue. Then he fished into his own saddlebags and drew out the copy made of Tessa's map. After a moment of study, he said, "Tomorrow should see us to the Crossland at the edge of the Wilderness Hills, and two days after we should come to the Stone-arches Bridge over the River Caire."

Beau took a deep breath and slowly let it out and said, "And the day after that should find us in Drearwood."

In the dying light Tip looked across at his comrade and somberly nodded, while chill wind keened through brittle branches above to make them clatter like bones.

The thin crescent of the moon had barely risen when faint light in the east heralded the glimmerings of frigid dawn. Beau, on final watch, awakened Tipperton, then turned to the ponies and fed them some grain. After the two buccen took a cold meal for themselves, they broke camp and saddled up and laded the pack pony and set out easterly once more. As they had done the day before, they rode and walked and now and again stopped to rest or to relieve themselves or to give the steeds a drink. And in late afternoon they espied a low range of hills standing across the way and stretching out beyond seeing to north and south.

"The Wilderness Hills," said Tipperton.

Beau grunted, but otherwise did not reply… and the ponies plodded on.

As the sun neared the western horizon they intercepted the Crossland Road curving down from the northwest and swinging back east and lying beneath a blanket of snow, the route hard-packed from centuries of slow-moving caravans and frozen in the wintertime cold. As it arced back easterly, the tradeway led them in among the snow-laden hills, the slopes barren and bleak but for a lone tree now and again, or an occasional small thicket of low-growing copse holding a handful of scattered thin trees.

Beau sighed and looked about at the desolate 'scape. "Why d'y' suppose they ever put a road this way, Tip? It seems a bad route to take, with Drearwood ahead and the Grimwall beyond…"

"I suppose it's the shortest way to the other side of the mountains," said Tipperton. "I mean, you've seen the map. A trader would have to go far south to find another pass like Crestan."