"Yes, but with Drearwood along the way-"

"That's why they go well armed, Beau, and in a great cavalcade."

Glumly, Beau nodded, and they rode ahead without speaking. But at last Tip said, "I seem to recall that in the past there were several attempts to establish a fort at the far edge of these hills-a garrison of soldiers to escort wayfarers through-but each time they tried, the fort was burnt down… or torn to flinders."

Beau's eyes flew wide. "Torn to flinders? By what?"

Tip shrugged. "Who knows? Certainly not I."

"Weren't there survivors?"

Tipperton turned up his hands.

Beau shuddered and his gaze swept across the surround, as if expecting to find a massive unstoppable monster bearing down upon them.

Misunderstanding Beau's peering about, "Good idea," said Tip, glancing at the sinking sun. "We do need to find a place to stop."

Around the next bend they came to a draw with an ice-covered stream running through. As the sun sank into the horizon, they made their way well off the road and down into the shadows of the sparsely wooded gully, where they set a cold fireless camp.

"While standing a turn 'neath the stars last night, I was thinking," said Tipperton, as easterly they rode once again, the noon sun diamond bright but shedding little warmth.

"Oh? About what?"

"Well, Beau, every night we've camped, we've done nothing about our tracks. I mean, should another band of Spawn come this way, they could simply follow the hoof-prints to find a couple more victims for their slaughtering blades."

Beau's features paled.

"I mean, it's not like we're mighty warriors or such," added Tipperton, "like the man who gave me the coin. The band who attacked him he laid by the heels, but we'd be short work for such. I think on this night and the ones thereafter we'd better erase our trail from the snow, at least for a way. A pine branch broom ought to do the deed." Beau glanced about. Not a pine tree was in sight.

In late afternoon of the following day, beneath leaden grey skies they emerged from the bleak hills to see the road descending before them; down and across a short flat it ran and to the River Caire, the ice-clad waterway curving out of the north and disappearing in the south. A snow-laden stone bridge spanned from bank to bank, and the road rose up and out from the river valley beyond, where it entered a dismal tangle of forest, stark barren limbs clawing at the sky.

Reining to a halt, "There it is," said Tipperton. "Drearwood, straight ahead."

"Lor', but they named it right, they did," said Beau, taking a deep breath. "Dark, depressing, dismal… dreadful."

"And deadly," added Tipperton, glancing at Beau, "if what we've been told is true."

Beau swallowed. "How far to the other side?"

Tipperton twisted about in his saddle and fished out the› map. "Hmm. Some eighty miles or so."

"Adon, but that's three or four days."

"If we push the ponies, perhaps we can make it in two."

Beau shook his head. "The best we've done so far is twenty-five."

"Even so," said Tip, "we've gone rather slow, and might be able to make forty."

Beau cocked a skeptical eyebrow. "It's not like we're riders from Jord, bucco, fiery steeds and all. I mean, these are just plain ponies."

"Time will tell, Beau. Time will tell," said Tipperton. "But for now, I suggest we go back into the hills and find a place to camp, and start our run through Drearwood on the morrow."

"I'll see if I can find a pine," said Beau, "and take care of our tracks."

As Tip awakened Beau for his next turn at ward, he hissed, "You'll have to use your ears, bucco, for there's no light whatsoever."

Beau sat up and peered about in the blackness, wondering how Tip had managed to find where he was bedded. Beau yawned, then looked overhead. "Not even a glimmer," he muttered.

"The overcast, Beau, it's blocking the stars," responded Tip, crawling into his own bedding. "And tonight is the full dark of the moon."

As Beau fumbled his way toward the boulder where he would take station, he found his heart racing with apprehension. I can't see a bloody thing, for there isn't any starlight and tonight indeed is the full dark of the moon… Oh, my, the full dark of the moon. Oh, I do hope that's not an omen of things to come.

As dawn broke to a dismal day, an overcast yet covering all, Tipperton, on the last watch and weary, his eyes gritty and raw, stood and stretched. His entire being seemed at low ebb, and he knew that Beau would feel the same; neither buccan had rested well, but instead, turn in turn-three turns each-had slept in fits and starts throughout the long, frigid night. Regretting that he had to do so, Tip stepped over to awaken Beau. "Come on, bucco, it's time to go."

Groaning, Beau levered himself upward.

"You get the jerky and crue, Beau. I'll tend the ponies."

"Jerky and crue," moaned Beau. "Four straight days of jerky and crue, with who knows how many more days to come. Is anything else as tasteless as a crue biscuit? And jerky is called jerky 'cause it's so accursed tough that it'll jerk your teeth out by the roots just trying to gnaw off a simple bite."

Tipperton burst out in laughter, and Beau glared up at him through red-rimmed eyes… then burst out laughing himself. "Lor', Tip, you look like I feel-I mean, your eyes are ready to bleed to death. If I didn't know better I'd say we've both been dragged by the ankles through Hel."

Again they both burst out in laughter.

Humor restored in spite of their weariness, the buccen watered and fed the ponies and took a meal themselves. As they ate, Tip said, "Shortly we'll be entering Drearwood, Beau, so keep your weapons at hand. We never know when we might need to make a fight of it."

"Weapons? I didn't bring any weapons, Tip. I'm a healer, not a fighter."

Tip's jaw dropped open. "No weapons! Lor', Beau, you thought I was mad for setting out on this venture, but here you are about to enter Drearwood itself and now you tell me you have no weapons?"

Beau turned up his hands and shrugged.

Tipperton blew out a puff of air. "Not even a dagger?"

Beau shook his head. "No, though I do have some knives."

"Knives?"

"The ones in my healer's satchel for lancing boils and the like, and of course the one I carry for eating and whittling and skinning game and such."

"Listen, do you know how to use any weapons? A bow, a stave, a sling, a long knife, a-"

"Say, I did use a sling when I was a stripling, though that was some years back."

"Well, bucco," said Tip, "you step down to the stream and gather up some slingstones while I fashion you a proper strap."

As Beau rummaged about in the streambed, kicking aside snow and breaking through ice and gathering suitable stones, Tipperton unthreaded a leather thong from one of the ties of a saddle cantle, then cut a swatch from the leather flap. Carefully trimming the swatch and piercing it at each end, he cut the thong into two straps and fastened one in each of the swatch holes. Then he tied a loop in one end of one of the straps, a loop sized to fit snugly over the thumb. "There, now," he muttered, "a proper sling for Beau."

Stepping down to the streambed, Tip handed the casting strap to Beau. "Here, bucco, while I saddle the ponies and break camp, you practice hurling stones."

"But, Tip, I had a time gathering these, and now you want me to fling them away?"

Tip threw up his hands and burst out laughing, and Beau grinned and took the sling.

As Tip strode back to the camp, behind him Beau set a stone in the looped strap and sighted on a tree trunk and whirled the sling 'round and let fly. The stone flew practv cally straight up. Beau watched it arc up and stepped hind-wards out of the way as it came down to land in the creek.

"Huah!" grunted Beau, setting another stone into the sling pocket. "It's been awhile." Once again he sighted on the tree trunk and whirled the sling around. The rock hurtled upward at an angle to clatter through branches as it headed somewhere far beyond.