by Rich Wulf
After several minutes of negotiation, Dalan took several folded papers from his coat and handed them to the halfling. Koranth turned in his saddle and whistled shrilly. In reply, an enormous threehorn rumbled around the bend in the gorge. This one wore a complex harness over its broad back. Two halflings sat at the front, each holding a thick rope tied to one of the creature’s horns. Two more hung from the back on each side, shortbows slung over their backs.
“Their beast can carry three of us to the Ghost Talon camp, where we can negotiate directly with their chieftain,” Dalan explained. “I will go, obviously. Gerith, we will need your knowledge of the culture. Follow us on your glidewing.”
“Aye, Dalan,” Gerith said.
“Seren, I will require your aid as well.”
“Aye,” she said, echoing the halfling.
“You should take Omax along,” Tristam offered. “You may need his strength.”
Dalan looked at the warforged with some surprise. “Are you certain you don’t wish him to remain with the ship?” he asked.
“Tristam is correct,” Omax said. “You may need me.”
“The halfling beast cannot carry you,” Dalan said.
“I can keep up,” the warforged said, undaunted.
“Very well,” Dalan said with a respectful nod. “Probably best we also bring the paladin, if only to keep her away from Aeven for a while.”
“Aeven didn’t seem angry,” Seren said.
“And count us all fortunate,” Dalan said. “Aeven’s temper is difficult to rouse, but terrible to behold. Gather whatever supplies you will need and bring the marshal, Seren.”
Seren murmured her agreement and returned to the airship. She did not see Eraina on the deck, so she went to her cabin. She grabbed a leather satchel filled with extra clothing and, assuming the worst, tucked her belt of assorted thieves’ tools inside as well. She slung the bag over her shoulder and turned to see Tristam standing in the hall.
“Seren, take this,” he said, in a worried voice. He held out a silver bracelet studded with dark green gems. “Its enchantment is similar to Dalan’s hat, so you’ll be able to understand the halflings a little, even if you can’t talk to them.”
“Thank you,” she said, slipping the bracelet over her wrist. She gave him a confident smile and walked past him.
“Seren,” Tristam called out.
She looked back. His expression was distracted, looking at the ground rather than directly at her. “Be careful,” he said. “Marth has found us twice now with no warning.”
“If he finds us again, I’ll be ready,” she said.
“That’s not what I mean,” Tristam said. “Doesn’t it strike you as odd that he keeps finding us so quickly?”
“Couldn’t he be tracking us like you tracked me?” she asked.
“That sort of magic only works at close range,” he answered. “It doesn’t explain why he keeps finding us half a continent away.”
Seren caught the darker meaning behind Tristam’s words. Marth’s attacks had not been the result of magic or coincidence.
“You think there’s a spy,” Seren said softly. “Why do you trust me?”
He looked at her earnestly. “Why shouldn’t I?” he asked.
Seren was taken aback by the sincerity in his voice. She wasn’t used to people trusting her. Impulsively, she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips.
“You be careful too, Tristam,” she said.
He blinked at her in silent surprise.
Seren climbed back up on deck to find Pherris still unconscious. Zed had limped off the ship to speak to Dalan. Eraina stood on the deck alone, near the door of Dalan’s cabin.
“Eraina,” Seren began.
“I heard,” the paladin said, walking down the gangplank. “I’m coming.”
Seren followed her to the threehorn, wondering how she had missed the paladin on her way below deck. Dalan was already mounted in the center of the threehorn’s back. He peered about in obvious discomfort but offered no complaint. One of the halflings watched Dalan carefully, obviously waiting for the fat human to fall out of the saddle. The gigantic dinosaur stamped one foot in boredom but otherwise looked unconcerned as another halfling helped Eraina climb onto the creature’s complex harness. A third hunter offered Seren a hand as well, and she took her place just above the creature’s right hind leg.
The halfling pointed out a leather loop between her knees and instructed her how to strap herself in using gestures and babbling in his native tongue. In her head, Seren heard another voice superimposed over his words, produced by the bracelet Tristam had given her.
“Hold on there and keep the belt over your left leg secure,” the voice said. “If you need to get off quickly, give the slack end a tug. Just don’t do that when we’re running or you’ll fall and bust open your cabbage.”
Seren had to cough to cover up her laugh. She wondered whether the “cabbage” was a translating error or just part of the odd halfling sense of humor. Chances were roughly equal that it was either.
With their passengers secured, Koranth gave a sharp cry to his men. The threehorn rumbled into movement, and the clawfoot dinosaurs fell into a trot. While the creature she rode moved with a stolid, powerful inertia, the clawfoots loped along with birdlike grace. Their ease of movement suggested that they were capable of far greater speed. Gerith’s glidewing swooped into the sky ahead.
For more than an hour they traveled across the plains. The skies were clear and the land was flat and open. Seren was grateful for that. At least if Moon came after them now, they would see the airship coming. As the sun began to set, a small village of brightly painted conical tents and covered wagons came into view. A pair of clawfoot riders rode out to escort them. These creatures were larger than the others, equipped with impressive white leather armor studded with metal spikes. A quartet of glidewings now circled overhead, each bearing another rider.
“How do we know these halflings are not in league with the men who shot us down?” Eraina asked Dalan, eyeing the halflings with caution.
“Because we are alive,” Dalan said, as if that were obvious.
“Perhaps they intend to capture us,” Eraina countered.
“An interesting hypothesis,” Dalan admitted. “I would argue that even captured we’re better off alive than dead, as death offers little opportunity for escape. Now allow me to ignite your paranoia with my own suggestion—how do we really know these halflings don’t speak our language?”
Dalan looked back at her with a smirk. One of the halfling drivers glanced at them with an innocent smile and returned to steering the threehorn.
As they made their way through the camp, a small crowd gathered to watch them pass. Men and women, old and young, all emerged from their tents and wagons to see the strangers. Children no taller than a foot peered out shyly from behind their parents. A dozen dogs with low, stocky bodies and fluffy coats danced around them in a barking frenzy. They were led to a large tent at the center of the camp, where they dismounted.
“So now we bargain for their aid?” Eraina asked.
“Already done,” Dalan said. “The chief empowered Koranth to bargain on our behalf, so we resolved it back at the ship.”
One of Koranth’s men was shouting at a group of laborers lounging around a cart heaped high with lumber and tools. At their command, the massive threehorn pulling the cart lumbered off the way they had come.
“So what are we doing here, then?” Seren asked.
“A halfling chief doesn’t leave bargaining to underlings,” Gerith said. “Nothing is official till the chief approves. It’d be against tradition.”
“But the workers already left,” Eraina said, pointing at the departing wagons.
“The halflings rarely let tradition impede efficiency,” Dalan said. “One of many things I admire about them. In any case, I still have much to discuss with the chieftain.”
Koranth looked at them cautiously as they gathered before the tent, eyes r
esting on Eraina’s spear. “Leave the weapons outside,” he said to Dalan. “Even that one.” He looked directly at Omax.
Omax looked down at the halfling impassively. If he took insult, he gave no sign.
Dalan smiled. “Seren, Eraina, please leave your weapons out here while we meet with the chief,” he said. “Omax, it may be best if you remained to guard our possessions, just in case.”
The warforged nodded, accepting Eraina’s spear and sword and Seren’s dagger in grim silence. Koranth removed his boots and set them beside the entrance, glaring and not moving aside so they could enter until they did the same. The interior of the tent was carpeted with thick, soft fur. Six chairs of woven wicker padded with felt stood in a circle. A small table stood before each chair, each featuring several plates of food and a small pitcher of wine.
In the chair directly opposite the entrance sat a halfling who could only be the chief. He was an older halfling a long, white moustache and white hair tied into thick braids. His clothing was outrageous, consisting of a motley suit of green and gray silk, several sparkling beaded necklaces, and a peaked yellow hat capped with a long green plume. A suit of spiked leather armor hung on a stand beside his chair. It was dyed the same riotous color scheme as the chief’s outfit.
“Chieftain Rossa,” Koranth said in the halfling language. “I present to you Dalan d’Cannith and his associates: Gerith Snowshale, Seren Morisse, and Eraina d’Deneith.”
“Greetings, travelers, and welcome,” Rossa said, speaking in the Common tongue. He gestured dramatically at the chairs. “I offer you all the hospitality the Ghost Talon tribe has to offer. Sit, eat, and let us talk of friendship.”
“My thanks, Chieftain,” Dalan said. He bowed politely and sat directly across from Rossa. Gerith had already taken one of the other chairs and began chewing a chicken leg noisily. Seren sat between Dalan and the halfling. The plates were heaped with roasted bird meat, steamed vegetables, and crusty black bread. A wave of hunger hit Seren when she saw the food; she hadn’t realized how famished she was until this moment. There didn’t appear to be any utensils, but that neither concerned nor delayed the halflings from consuming their own meals with their hands, so she did the same. The food reminded her of the bold, spicy meals Gerith prepared on Karia Naille. She tore into the offerings with great relish.
“Gerith told us your airship had been badly damaged,” Rossa said. “Most unfortunate.”
“Yes,” Dalan said, “but with the aid of your tribe’s carpenters it should be nothing we cannot repair.”
Koranth, seated at Rossa’s right hand, drew the folded papers from his jacket and dropped them on the chieftain’s table. Even from here, Seren could see they were letters of credit, marked with the House Cannith household seal. From her experience with the letters of credit she had encountered in her thieving career, she judged Dalan must have paid the halflings a small fortune.
“I apologize for the price, but it was necessary,” Rossa said, though his pleased grin demonstrated he wasn’t all that sorry. “Lumber is a prized commodity. We trade with the Valenar for most of our wood, but the elves have been standoffish this year.”
“Are the elves preparing for war?” Dalan asked.
“The Valenar are always preparing for war,” Rossa said with a shrug, as if it did not concern him. “Invading the Plains or Q’barra, or maybe even readying a fleet to sail Balinor knows where and start a fight with someone new. War is a sport to the elves. If they invade the Plains, they’ll get bored and leave eventually. Someone will fight them off. I wish them luck. Meanwhile we’re headed as far north as we can get before winter.”
Seren found the comment strange. Though the village was built of tents and wagons, none of them seemed to have been uprooted for some time and none of the halflings looked ready to leave.
“I am humbled by your generosity,” Dalan said. “It is my honor if the wealth of my House helps purchase the security of your tribe this winter, especially if my charity is forgotten.”
The halfling chuckled. “I catch your meaning, d’Cannith,” he said. “Have no fear of that. Lumber may be scarce but discretion is our most precious export. As long as your money’s good, you were never here.”
“Excellent,” Dalan said. “Then as our business is concluded, perhaps you would not mind speaking of other matters? I came here seeking someone and hoped that you or one of your tribe might have information.”
“Ask, my friend,” Rossa said, sipping deeply from his cup.
Dalan was silent for the briefest moment. He gave the chieftain a tight smile and continued. “I am seeking a young woman, a scholar named Kiris Overwood. I believe she was conducting research somewhere in Talenta. Would you know of her?”
“Is this Overwood a friend of yours?” Rossa asked, perhaps a bit more stiffly than was required.
“We are acquainted,” Dalan said. “She owes my family a significant debt.”
Rossa stroked his moustache with a cackle. “Why am I not surprised?” he said, voice tinged with malicious glee. “Yes, I know her. That girl is the lowest sort of thief. She came to us only a few weeks ago, looking for refuge from the law, no doubt. We gave her a home, and in thanks she stole one of my wife’s rings from the very tent where I sleep. My guards pursued her, but she fled into the Boneyard, only a few days’ journey from here. A shame and a disgrace it is, that I clasped such a serpent to my breast, but there’s little to be done. The Boneyard is taboo to my people. Bad luck will haunt any halfling that enters. My wingriders have watched the area carefully, and she has not emerged.”
“So, living or dead, we must seek her there,” Dalan said.
“I could not allow you to enter the Boneyard, Master d’Cannith,” Rossa said. “My riders are distraught enough at the idea of patrolling such a place. I could not place more friends at risk.”
“Most of my associates are not halflings,” Dalan said. “We are not bound by the taboos of your people. Perhaps we could aid you as you have aided us, and return what has been taken.”
Rossa’s eyes lit up as he turned to Seren. “What a clever idea,” he said, as if it had only now occurred to him. “Though she is unlikely to be carrying the ring, I am certain I could encourage her to reveal what she has done with it.”
“Dalan, there is something you should know,” Eraina said in a stern voice.
“Later, Eraina,” Dalan said with a warning tone.
“This is important, Dalan,” she insisted. “The chieftain …”
“I said later,” Dalan repeated. “Negotiation is my specialty, Eraina. Allow me to handle this.”
Eraina rose, her face pale and angry. She strode briskly out of the tent.
“Is there a problem?” Rossa asked, looking after her blankly.
“There is always a problem,” Dalan said. “The path of a Spear of Boldrei is beset by obstacles.”
“Ah,” Rossa said. “Paladins.” There was both understanding and odd sympathy in his tone, as if Dalan had informed him that Eraina was afflicted with some incurable disease.
“Seren, Gerith, why don’t you make certain she is all right?” Dalan suggested, looking at each of them in turn. “I have much to discuss with the chieftain in private.”
Seren looked forlornly at her unfinished meal. She noticed that Gerith took his plate and cup with him without any complaint from the chief, so she did the same. They emerged from the tent to find Eraina pacing back and forth before Omax, who sat on the ground and watched her patiently. She looked up with a cold expression as the tent flap opened, softening when she saw Seren and Gerith.
“Eraina, is something wrong?” Seren asked. “What were you trying to tell Dalan?”
“The chieftain,” she said in a low voice, glancing about to make certain none of the villagers were close enough to hear. “He is lying to us.”
“Lying?” Seren said. “About what? About helping us?”
“About Overwood,” Eraina said. “This tribe has not moved in many months.
Why would any chieftain risk the safety of his tribe by lingering so close to a place that is so dangerously taboo, especially in the face of a Valenar invasion? He has lied to us, Seren.”
“Chieftains don’t lie,” Gerith said, absently nibbling the last piece of meat from his chicken bone.
Eraina looked at the halfling scornfully. “Gerith, your trust in your countryman is admirable but misplaced. I am quite adept at detecting falsehood with or without my goddess’s blessings.”
“No, you don’t understand,” he said, tossing the bone over one shoulder. “A Talenta chieftain is not a normal halfling. A chieftain is free of all sin and vice. A chieftain cannot lie, and he certainly doesn’t have extramarital affairs. And if he did he certainly wouldn’t give away family jewelry and then get caught.” He wiped one hand on his shirt. “If such a thing happened, it would shame him and all his tribe, wouldn’t it? So it doesn’t happen. Ever.”
“What are you saying, Gerith?” Eraina demanded.
“What you just saw in there is what we call the hmael,” Gerith said. “It means the ‘golden lie.’ The chieftain can’t tell the truth because it would harm his pride and put his virtue into question. Instead he tells an obvious lie, and assumes you’ll figure out the truth for yourself.”
“But a chieftain can’t lie,” Seren said.
“Exactly right,” Gerith said, snapping his fingers. “See? Seren understands. Thus the honor of the tribe is maintained. Hmael isn’t exclusive to chieftains either. Halflings will often tell an impossible lie instead of the truth, and assume that their friends will be smart enough to figure out the truth and polite enough not to bring it up.” He looked from one face to the next. “I can’t believe any of you could have been around me for any length of time and not notice me doing that.”