by Doug Niles
“So that’s why you told your friends I was your cousin?” Brandon concluded, feeling a new trepidation about his sojourn to the south.
“Yeah. And come to think of it, maybe we should stick to the back roads for a while until we draw closer to Hillhome.”
For the next three days, the two dwarves followed rugged paths, avoiding the many small villages, making discrete camps near streams or in glades in secluded valleys. When they stopped to make camp on the fourth night, however, Poleaxe announced that they were, at last, on his home territory.
As if to prove his point, that night the Neidar dwarf built a large campfire, clearly abandoning the caution that had limited them to small, well-contained cookfires over the long march. With an air of sly celebration, he produced a flask from his saddlebags, and when he shared it with Brandon, the Kayolin exile was pleasantly surprised to discover that it contained top-shelf dwarf spirits, the bitter but potent brew that was barely tolerable to humans, elves, or kender but represented the nectar of Reorx himself to a thirsty dwarf. Poleaxe must have been saving it for that occasion. The brew was better than any they had had on the road.
“Now that hits the spot,” Brandon remarked after drinking deep, leaning back against the saddlebag that served as his pillow. The fire was warm against his face, comforting in those southern climes where the air was undeniably chillier than in the more equatorial north. The liquor was even warmer in his belly, and he felt a languorous pleasure as the effects seeped through his bloodstream into every part of his body.
“I thought you’d like it,” Poleaxe said. “Help yourself to more, and then pass the bottle back.”
Brandon followed his companion’s advice, looking up to watch the stars come into view against the slowly darkening sky. “How long has it been since you’ve been home?” he asked.
“More than two years, now,” Poleaxe said wistfully. “That’s how long it took to settle my affairs in Kayolin.”
“All that time to buy a stone?” Brandon mused.
“Ah, but it had to be the right stone. That’s why I was so pleased your father finally decided as he did.”
Poleaxe handed the bottle back and Brand, obligingly, took another slug. He reminded himself to be careful, however—it wouldn’t do to drink too much and wake up the next morning groggy, having to cling to a saddle and ride through the rugged hills.
“What is it about the Bluestone that makes it so valuable to you?” Brandon asked finally, a question that had been hovering in his mind during the whole journey.
“Ah, there’s a reason, and you’ll find out soon enough. But it’s too long a tale to be telling now,” the hill dwarf said breezily. He gestured to the bottle again. “Help yourself,” he said encouragingly.
“No, thanks. I think I’ve had enough for now.”
“Suit yourself.” Harn held the bottle himself for a long time, and by the time he offered it again, Brandon didn’t need his arm twisted; the dwarf spirits had thoroughly warmed his belly and soothed away every worry, every concern that might ever have bothered him. His distant home, the loss of his older brother, his parent’s grief and fear … all of those melted away in the soothing pleasure of the moment and the strong drink.
He didn’t think he’d taken that many sips from the bottle, but he was surprised by how his head was starting to spin. Like most dwarves, he had a strong tolerance for the strongest dwarf spirits, and he felt a little embarrassed when he realized that his tongue was growing thick, his speech slowing and slurring.
“Had ’nuf,” he said, passing the flask to his companion, but Poleaxe simply passed it back. It never seemed to grow any emptier, though as the stars began to spin over his head, Brandon was well aware that he had had an awful lot to drink.
“Gonna be a tough day ’morrow,” he muttered finally, his head drooping near to his chest. He knew from experience that his head would hurt and his stomach churn in the morning and probably, considering how much he’d imbibed, well into the afternoon and evening.
“No more,” he blurted when Poleaxe tried to pass him the flask again.
“Are you sure?” asked the hill dwarf, standing over him. How was it possible that the fellow didn’t seem the least bit drunk? They had been sharing the potent liquor for hours!
“Sure,” Brandon declared with some difficulty. “No more.”
Then something struck him, very hard, on the side of his head. He was more mystified than angry as he fell over in slow motion, lying on the ground, gaping up at the sky. The stars were no longer pinpoints of lights, but instead had become a mere whirling blur. Against that blurry backdrop loomed a familiar figure: Harn Poleaxe.
“Hey!” Brandon mumbled. “Wha …?” The question trailed away as he couldn’t articulate the rest of the word.
Then it didn’t matter because Poleaxe hit him again, and everything went black.
THIRTEEN
VISITOR IN THE NIGHT
Gus experienced a myriad of wonders on that, the most splendid day of his life. With the beautiful dwarf maid beside him and the dog Kondike bounding ahead, he strode through a deep valley of the Kharolis. Lofty peaks, mostly covered with snow but occasionally revealing crags of sheer, towering rock, pushed up on either side. On the lower ground in the valley floor, they were able to walk between the snowfields on ground that varied from hard and rocky to marshy mud that squished entertainingly around his boots—and his toes where they poked through the worn material of his ancient footwear.
He stared in amazement as they skirted a deep lake, the water as blue as the turquoise gems that ornamented so many Daergar nobles. Fish darted through those waters, moving with a speed and grace that was very different from the blind cavefish that meandered through the Urkhan Sea. In places the blue sky turned white, marked by what Gretchan called “clouds,” and Gus gaped at the myriad of shapes assumed by those cottony blobs.
“Clouds good to eat?” the gully dwarf wondered as his belly rumbled.
“Well, I don’t think anyone’s tried,” Gretchan replied.
“I try!” he boasted. “I eat two clouds!”
“Good luck,” she said with a laugh. “Are you going to climb back to the top of the mountain? Or can you fly?”
Gus pondered the problem. He looked back to see some of the clouds were, indeed, brushing the summit of Cloudseeker. At the same time, he could see the mountaintop was a very long way away, and the clouds were also a very great distance over their heads.
“Try clouds later,” he conceded, privately resolving not to get more than two steps away from his new, best, very smart, and beautiful friend.
His belly rumbled again and he belched, and she showed her appreciation for his company with an interesting grimace on her lovely face before she quickly turned away. It seemed to Gus as though she walked a little faster when she started back down the valley.
As they descended farther, he discovered “bushes” and “trees.” The latter were not like anything he had seen in Thorbardin; they were fragrant and impressive, rising far over their heads, waving branches laden with feathered green needles. He saw birds that rose in squawking flocks from the smooth surface of a sheltered pond and beavers that swam through the waters, slapping their tails in a loud smack when Kondike bounded near to them. The dog didn’t seem to mind the creatures’ eluding him; he delighted in springing through the shallows, throwing curtains of spray that shimmered like diamonds. When his long black coat was thoroughly soaked, he trotted back to his dwarf companions, braced himself, and shook mightily. Gretchan laughed, stepping behind a tree just in time, but Gus was showered with cool water and laughed himself at the dog’s obvious delight.
“Get fish here?” the Aghar asked hopefully as his belly helpfully reminded him to think of food. He licked his lips at the prospect.
“No,” she said. “I’d like to make a few more miles before we make camp.”
“Those vejables there?” he asked about two minutes later as they passed a field dotted with wav
ing blossoms.
“No,” Gretchan replied before pausing to think. “Well, maybe they are. You can go look if you want, but I’m going to keep walking. You can catch up.”
“No,” he said firmly, pulling his finger out of his nose to inspect the impressive results of his digital probe. “Me stick with you!” he declared loyally.
She muttered under her breath what Gus took to be appreciation for his excellent nose-picking; he didn’t catch her exact words because he was loudly belching again. That time, when she started to walk, he was certain she had picked up the pace. He had to huff and puff as he trotted along, and unfortunately for Gretchan, he was breathing too heavily to continue entertaining her with his endless thoughts and ideas.
At least the shadows beneath the trees were easier on his eyes, which had been strained by the morning spent between snowfields under the open sky. He stared into the shade and relished the sight of spring flowers. When the sun dipped behind the western mountain ridge, the cool evening air and the muted illumination were wonderful to behold. They came upon a deer in a clearing, and the Aghar gaped, awestruck, until Kondike took off like a shot, moving with amazing speed through the long grass as the antlered herbivore sprinted, even faster, into the woods. It was a long time later that the dog, his tongue hanging low and his flanks heaving, padded back to the two dwarves.
“Did he kill it?” Gus asked, eyeing those long white teeth.
“Only in his dreams,” Gretchan assured him, patting the dog affectionately. “He’s fast, but a deer is faster.”
Soon the dwarf maid announced it was time to bed down for the night. Gus suddenly felt his weariness and greeted the news with relief. He plopped down between two outstretched pine roots, pulled his ratty cloak over his head, and prepared to slumber.
“Not so fast, bub,” Gretchan chided him, prodding him with her toe. “You go get some firewood, and I’ll make us a fire.”
“Who Bub?” he demanded, looking around belligerently. “I get you firing wood!”
The process took longer than necessary because Gus wasn’t clear on exactly what constituted firewood. His first few expeditions into the wood were ruled out; no rocks, moss, or any of the soggy driftwood that he pulled from the stream with no small effort. Eventually, the patient Gretchan showed him the dry branches to be found low on the big pine trunks, and when he found a deadfall, limbs intact but dry and brittle, she praised his diligence enough that his chest puffed out in sheer pleasure. Soon she had a hot fire going, and Gus eagerly filled her small kettle with water from a nearby stream.
“Gonna make some more vejables?” he asked and was delighted with her affirmative answer.
Kondike, meanwhile, stalked back and forth along the bank of that stream. Gus was amazed to see him plunge his face into the water once or twice before emerging with a wriggling trout in his jaws. Several times the dog repeated that remarkable procedure, feasting on two catches as Gretchan and Gus enjoyed a warm, filling vegetable stew.
After their feast, Gus was truly drowsy. With a belly more comfortably full than it had ever been in his life and the companionship of the most wonderful person he had ever met, he sighed in contentment and leaned back against a tree trunk, gazing through drooping lids at the warm embers of the flameless fire. Gretchan pulled a cloak around herself and, using her pack as a pillow, settled herself on the far side of the glowing coals. She put more of the crushed leaf into the bowl of her pipe and puffed quietly.
Gus enjoyed the aroma but remembered her caution, so he remained on his own side of the fire, drifting off to sleep.
Abruptly, a deep, menacing growl echoed through the camp, and Gus’s eyes snapped open, his heart pounding. Kondike stood beside the dwarf maid as she sat up. The dog’s fur bristled and he growled again, the sound like the deep rumble of a rockslide.
“What is it?” Gretchan asked, her hand wrapping around the haft of her walking stick.
Two spots of red glowed at them out of the darkness, and immediately Gus knew why the dog had warned them.
“It—it—it—” He tried but he couldn’t quite articulate what he intended to say.
The embers of the fire suddenly whooshed into a blaze, crackling high, casting bright light through the wooded campsite and illuminating the horrifying image of the creature that had attacked Gus. Its great wings, batlike and widespread, seemed to reach out toward them like encompassing limbs. Eyes blazing with infernal heat, the monster opened its mouth and uttered a screech that sent a paralyzing tingle of fear down Gus’s spine. Those crimson orbs remained fixed upon the gully dwarf as the monster took a long, sinuous step forward.
The little Aghar sat up, rigid with terror, his back pressed against the rough bole of a pine. Knees knocking, hands trembling, he wanted to flee into the darkness, but he couldn’t make himself climb to his feet. His mouth opened, closed, and opened again, but somehow he couldn’t even muster the control to shriek his fright out loud.
Kondike lunged forward, jaws wide, fangs bared, barking furiously—a snarling sound totally unlike the friendly “woof” Gus had become accustomed to. The creature raised a taloned paw. Unafraid, the dog stood its ground, barring the path into the campsite as the apparition took another step closer.
“Kondike—come!” ordered Gretchan. Still growling, the dog took a spring backward just as the minion swiped a hand that could have torn the animal’s head away. Kondike bristled and snarled, stiff legged, but slowly retreated toward his mistress.
Awestruck, the Aghar saw that the dwarf maid had risen to her feet and was holding her staff before her in both hands, the butt of the thick shaft planted on the ground. Bravely she faced the approaching horror. Kondike stood before her, forelegs widespread, the thick fur on his back bristling, making the big dog look even larger than he was.
“Halt, beast!” cried Gretchan, and the metal image of an anvil atop her staff abruptly glowed with a pure, golden light—like a tiny burst of sunlight penetrating the gloom of the forest night.
Gus gaped, forgetting the monster, the wizard, Thorbardin, everything. He really, really knew he was in the presence of a goddess. How else could she turn night into day?
With a shriek suggesting raw, physical pain, the monster recoiled. One of its wings closed over its face, as if to block its face from that harsh illumination. Arms flailing, talons slashing, the thing backed away. It seemed diminished, no longer towering like the great trees. Roaring and howling, it stepped back, under the fringe of the trees surrounding the campsite. There it crouched and, abruptly, lunged toward the gully dwarf.
Or, at least, it faked a lunge. Gus yelped and fled around the fire pit to cower behind Gretchan, and the monster hesitated, again shielding itself with its wings, as the dwarf maid challenged it. “Go!” she commanded, her voice ringing like a trumpet. “Leave us!”
To Gus’s astonishment, Gretchan took a step toward the monster, the anvil glowing brighter than ever. She raised the staff from the ground and brandished it like a spear, thrusting the glowing head toward the creature, forcing the monster away from the fire. It uttered another unworldly wail, and its red eyes blazed more brightly then ever as it stared at Gus with palpable hatred. The gully dwarf’s knees collapsed, and he dropped to the ground, pressing his face into the dirt, throwing his arms over the top of his head.
Kondike barked even more frenziedly, his loud woofs echoing through the woods. The big dog bluffed a charge, but firmly held his position close beside his mistress. The monster stepped to the side, and the dog moved to block it, bristling and snapping, nimbly ducking back again when a taloned claw lashed out.
“Go!” Gretchan cried again, striding steadily forward, forcing the monster to scrabble back. She broke into a run, and those great wings spread as the thing leaped into the air, clawing for altitude as she swung the staff viciously at it. When the anvil struck the beast’s foot, it shrieked even louder and quickly vanished into the dark, night sky.
Gretchan, her face slick with sweat, gasped for
breath as she retreated back to the dying fire. Kondike kept pacing, stiff legged, around the perimeter of the little camp as Gus slowly stemmed his trembling and, with considerable effort, lifted his head from the ground, sat up, and pushed himself to his feet.
He found himself looking up at the dwarf maid’s staring face. It was still a beautiful, round-cheeked, and sweet face, but there was a new appraising expression in her eyes and furrows across her forehead. She cast another look upward to make sure the monster had gone then stepped up to the gully dwarf to kneel before him.
The pure blue of her eyes had turned to ice, and there was a sternness in her voice Gus had never heard before as she addressed him.
“Well, little fellow,” she said softly. “You’re more interesting than first appearances might suggest. What is it that you haven’t told me?”
True to form, Brandon’s skull throbbed painfully when he woke up. It was the worst headache he had ever experienced, and for a few minutes, all he could do was grit his teeth and fight the pain. He was vaguely aware that full daylight had brightened the camp, while a cold breeze chilled his sweaty garments and made him shiver. His tongue was swollen in his mouth, and when the throbbing in his head rose to an almost unendurable level, he rolled onto his side and retched the contents of his stomach onto the ground.
He felt terrible, but even so, he was surprised that the hangover afflicted him so severely that he couldn’t even move his arms, which seemed to be awkwardly pinned behind him. Where was he? What in the name of Reorx had he been drinking?
Gradually, a few answers came to him from deep inside his foggy mind. He had been in a campsite, traveling with Harn Poleaxe. They’d been sharing a flask of dwarf spirits … but then everything got confusing. What had happened to them?
Only gradually, as he continued to struggle to form his thoughts, did he realize the bitter truth: he was bound! He struggled against the tight cords that restrained his wrists, speared by pain as he forced himself into a sitting position. He looked around for Poleaxe, wondering if his companion, too, had been taken captive by unknown foes. But how? Hadn’t Harn told him that, at long last, they were back on his own, friendly territory?