by T. H. Lain
Devis nodded, smiled uncertainly, and dropped back to walk beside Lidda.
A few hours later, Lidda joined Tordek in gathering firewood. Once they were out of the bard's hearing, she said, "That was kind of mean, you know."
Tordek nodded and shrugged. "What he doesn't realize is that I'm a damned fine actor, too."
"Not all the time," said Lidda. "Right?"
Tordek looked at her and saw that she was not about to let the question pass unanswered. He set aside the fallen branches in his arms and sat on a fallen log. Lidda joined him there, sitting beside him without speaking for a long time. They watched the sun sink lower in the west until its upper edge barely broke the silhouette of the highest trees.
"You felt it, didn't you?" he asked.
"Maybe," she said. "A little bit, right before I threw it into the forge. Everything was happening so fast that I couldn't really tell whether it was the sword or my own fear."
Tordek nodded. "It was difficult," he said, "to resist the lure of the hammer. If I had held it any longer..."
Lidda chucked him on the arm. When he seemed not to notice the gesture, she repeated it with much greater force. "You did great. You were a real—"
Tordek looked down at her with one hairless eyebrow arched, and she squirmed under his gaze.
"Hero. There, I said it. I know you don't like the word, but it's true."
Tordek shook his head and rose to his feet. He gathered up the firewood in his arms, and Lidda did the same. They walked back to the campsite.
Sandrine stirred as they pulled the lid from her coffin.
Her eyes were still closed against the light filtering into her cottage from above. The vampire lay in a grave lined with skulls. Four shadows fell across her pale body.
"Did you think we would forget you?" asked Devis. He held the sharpened stake to her heart.
Either his voice or the pricking point of the stake plucked the vampire fully from her torpor. Her eyes widened as she saw her predicament.
"Kill us by inches, I believe she said," added Lidda.
"Hurry," said Vadania. "The earth cannot abide her poison any longer."
Tordek raised his axe and brought its flat side down against the stake. Sandrine shrieked one last time as her body wracked with the final, hated spasm of true death.
Tordek grunted and raised his axe again. This time he did not strike with the flat. The rest was work for flame.
No festival awaited them in Croaker Norge, but never had Tordek felt more genuine gratitude from people he helped. Granted, this lot had not paid him for his services so they should be doubly pleased with the results. Still, their honest offers of the best they had was more touching than countless free ales and fawning adulation from tavern wenches in towns he'd defended for pay.
Soon Tordek realized the trap of such honest gratitude when he began feeling that he should do more to deserve their accolades. They asked for nothing, but a blind man could see that they needed help repairing and rebuilding homes. Even with the return of the captives, they were left with barely half their previous population. Many of the survivors were injured too severely to be of much help. It would be worse for the families of the slaves who died in the mine, Tordek knew. He wished fleetingly that they had found a way to rescue all the hostages before facing Hargrimm and his henchmen, but he also knew that more evil might have been the result if he carried Andaron's Hammer any longer than necessary.
The druid's spells were especially beneficial in healing the wounded and repairing damaged property. Devis worked reluctantly during the day, but in the evening he was the center of attention as he told the tale of Andaron's Delve to an enraptured audience. The chronicle grew and transformed each time he repeated it. By the fifth night, it had become a tuneful song.
It was around that same time that Tordek and the others came to an unspoken agreement that they had lingered long enough. It was time to count their coins and gems, divide them equally as they had agreed, and go their separate ways.
"You can't be tired of me already," protested Lidda. "We've had some great times, haven't we?"
Tordek nodded. "We will meet again, I'm sure, but it's time I walked alone."
She made no attempt to hide her disappointment, but the halfling nodded her acceptance. "I guess I understand that. You don't mind if I take Devis with me, though, do you? I know you and he have this special bond, but if you really want to be alo—" She leaped away just in time to avoid Tordek's boot connecting with her bottom.
Lidda and Devis set off that afternoon. The halfling gave Tordek a fierce hug and made him promise to look for her the next time he heard of a great adventure that didn't involve spiders, aboleths, illithids, or anything gelatinous.
Devis offered his hand, and Tordek grasped it.
"You'd do well to stay out of dresses," advised the dwarf.
"I can't promise that," said Devis, "but I promise to stop wearing them around frisky dwarves."
On the morning after their departure, Tordek rose early to find Vadania sitting nearby, waiting for him to wake. She sat patiently as he went washed his face and dressed. When he finished, she had her pack slung over her shoulder.
"Well, then," he said. "All obligations settled?" She nodded. They clasped hands and said in unison, "Bargain." Vadania tugged gently on Tordek's beard and leaned down to kiss him on the cheek. "If you should ever need a friend's help, do not think you need to hold my obligation to call upon me."
"Aye," he said. He hesitated so long that she turned away to leave before he added, "And you should call on me."
She smiled at him over her shoulder. "I shall," she promised, "whenever I need a valuable dwarf."