Prell shook his head and glanced at the others, resignation and rue in his gaze. "Go on, son."

Arth paused to take a pull on his mulled wine, but none else at the table said aught. Setting his mug down, Arth continued:

"Jorn and Aulf then discovered that a beacon fire north was burning-not the next one at Wilderhill, but the one beyond that-the one on the Weiuncrest.

"They knew that none of us down here could see the muster call, and they knew that they needed somehow to recapture Beacontor and light the balefire-"

Beau's eyes flew wide. "Two against forty?" he blurted, then clapped his hand across his mouth.

Arth nodded. "Aye. Two against forty. They waited until nightfall and beyond, coming back to Beacontor and lying low until the wee hours. And then they slew the ones they found on watch, and crept into the cotes where the weary Rucks and Hloks now slept, and in the dark and in silence they began cutting throats, their hands held tight across mouths that might scream."

Shuddering, Tip looked at grimacing Beau as Arth paused for another drink of spiced wine, and no one spoke a word.

Again Arth set his mug down. "But before they were done with the slaughter, they were discovered by a sentry they had missed, and the few remaining Spawn came awake.

"The nephew was killed, as were the Spawn, but the man survived and lit the fire-a funeral pyre for Aulf, a balefire for us." Arth looked at his sire. "And, Father, war has come, and we're all to report to Stonehill, and then march to aid the High King."

"Oh, my," breathed Tessa.

"War?" barked Gaman. "With who? Who's behind this bloody mess?"

"They didn't say," replied Arth. "Foul Folk, I suppose. Oh, they did find a standard of red on black."

"Like this?" said Beau, fishing out the banner from 'neath his jerkin.

"Aye," said Arth, his eyes wide. "Where did you get it?"

"Took it from beneath a dead Ruck," replied Beau, passing the flag into Tessa's outstretched hands. As the elders and Arth examined the banner, Beau turned to Tip. "Well, I think this sets one problem to rights: I mean, given that they found one of these standards at Beacontor, I would think it wasn't the dead Kingsman's out at the mill but a device of the Spawn instead."

Tip nodded. "I don't suppose it belonged to those standing ward atop Beacontor-Jorn and Aulf. No, not likely."

As Arth examined the banner, he looked at his sire. "Whose sigil is it, Father?"

Prell shook his head. "I don't know, but surely we'll find out when we get to Stonehill."

"Stonehill!" exclaimed Trake, taking up the scroll and unbinding it and rolling it out and placing the stone weights at the four corners to hold it open. It was a map, and he measured distances using his thumb. "W,hy, that's a hundred miles or more to the west-thirty-five leagues at least. I don't like this one bit, this going off to fight in foreign parts. Going to Beacontor is bad enough, but now all the way to Stonehill?"

Handing the flag back to Beau, Arth nodded, then added, "And then beyond."

"To wherever the High King-" began Prell, but Gaman broke in:

"Say, just how do you know we're to report to Stonehill?"

"Huah!" Tessa barked. "What do you mean we, Gaman? Like me and the rest of us ancients, you're not going to report anywhere. Your fighting days are long past, and neither you nor I nor Trake here nor anyone else of our age should get in the way and be a burden to those able to do the fighting."

Gaman bristled at her words, yet said nothing in return. But Trake held up a finger. "What you say is true, Tessa, yet Gaman's question nonetheless needs answering." The oldster turned to Arth. "Tell me, lad, just how do you know we, er, rather, the muster needs to march off to Stonehill?"

"Because, Mr. Trake, just after dawn a squad of men came to stand duty on Beacontor, and they carried the word."

"Just after dawn?" said Beau. "This morning, you mean?"

At Arth's nod, Beau's face fell. "Oh, my. If they'd just been a day or two sooner, they could have helped Jorn and his nephew, and perhaps Aulf would still be alive."

' "Then again, perhaps not," said Prell. "I mean, had the others been there, likely they would have stood and fought. And a small squad against forty Spawn in open combat… well, who knows what might have happened."

Beau shrugged. "Who can say, since it didn't happen? Regardless, what now?"

Prell's eyes narrowed. "Tonight we rest, and tomorrow we'll set off for Stonehill."

Tipperton shook his head. "You are forgetting one thing, Mayor."

"Oh? And what's that?"

"At my mill the tracks of a large force of Foul Folk headed west over the Wilder and toward the Dellin Downs." Tip stood in his chair and pointed at the map. "If their tactics hold true, I suspect that they've gone to the hills to capture one of the beacon knolls to stop the signal from going on down into Harth and beyond."

"Adon, but you're right," gritted Prell, gazing at the chart. "And if they break the chain of balefires-"

"Then no one south will be warned-" interjected Tessa, stabbing her finger down to the parchment.

"And they'll be taken unawares if the fighting comes south," added Gaman.

Prell looked at Tipperton, surprise in his eye, for clearly he did not expect someone no bigger than a five- or six-year-old child to think of it. "You've put your finger on a problem, all right, yet I reck' we can do something about it." He turned to Arth and clapped him on the shoulder. "Well done, lad, well done. But even though you're tired, I've another task for you. The men are mustering at the stables. I want you to go there and tell them what you found out-they'll want to know. Then bid the squad leaders to come back to the Fox-we've some planning to do. Then go home and get a good meal and some rest, for tomorrow we march."

Arth grinned and said, "Yes sir," and stood and swigged the last of his wine. Snatching up his cloak, he nodded to the others and stepped to the door and out.

"What about the Spawn in the Dellins?" asked Beau, that Warrow also standing in his chair to see the map.

"That's why I've asked the squad leaders to come back to the Fox," replied Prell, '"cause if the miller is right and the Spawn have taken one of the beacon hills in the downs, well then, it's got to be taken back. And so"-his finger traced a route across the map-"I'm thinking we'll follow their track into the downs and deal with whatever we find, and make certain the signal gets through so that other musters take place. Then and only then will we press on to Stonehill."

"Not me," said Tip stubbornly, his eyes fixed on the map. "I'm heading east."

"Oh, my." Beau shook his head.

"Look, Beau, I intend to carry out the Kingsman's last wish and find this Agron-whoever or whatever he or she or it may be-and deliver the coin." "But the muster-" "Don't you see, Beau, there's more to it now than just the Twoforks muster? I mean, you heard it right here: war has started and the High King is calling for all to aid." Tip turned to Prell. "You said it yourself, Mayor: it's vital that the war signals get through, the warning sounded, and other musters take place, not only south along the Dellins but everywhere else as well-and that includes the east. And that's what the dead man told me: 'Go east, warn all.' I mean, if war has begun, then all must be set on alert."

As Prell frowned, Beau's face fell, and he said, "But, Tip, there's nothing to the east but peril."

"Not true, wee one," said Tessa. "To the east, somewhere beyond Arden Ford they say Elves live"-her forefinger stabbed the map-"somewhere here between Drearwood and the Grimwall."

Tip's eyes widened. "I say, that's right, Miss Tessa. And someone out at the mill said Agron does sound like an Elvish name. Perhaps that's who the coin is intended for."