Bausch nodded. The wisdom of the dwarf cut deeply.
Nordun gave a slight wink and ran a hand through his silver beard. “Watch out for one another.” With that remark, he turned his horse and commanded the other dwarves to begin their rapid return to Icevale.
Bausch understood the statement was meant for him to watch out for Lehrling and not the other way around. Lehrling had proven his ability to fight against the Vykings, and as a trainer, Bausch knew no other could have trained him as well as Lehrling had. Had the old man not fallen and busted up his ribs, this concern would have never occupied Bausch’s mind. But the injuries needed time to heal.
Lehrling took the reins of his horse and then he placed a foot into a stirrup. He couldn’t hide the pain from showing on his face. He gasped and groaned, but his stubbornness prevented him from stepping out of the stirrup.
“Let me help you,” Bausch said, walking toward him.
Lehrling stubbornly wanted to protest, but he couldn’t form the words due to holding his breath. He winced and closed his eyes.
Bausch grabbed Lehrling’s free boot and pushed up. Lehrling winced but brought his leg over the horse, slowly settling into the saddle. Several long moments passed before he was finally able to breathe out.
“We’re knights,” Bausch said. “Ever think that maybe we should seek squires?”
Lehrling grimaced in what resembled a slight grin. “Never really thought about doing so.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “I took you in as my own to train. Didn’t have time to deal with a squire, and as you grew into a man, I really saw no point. We have always kept a watchful eye for one another.”
“Always,” Bausch replied with a firm nod.
Drucis rode his pale horse up beside Lehrling. “You lads ready to head deeper into the mountain pass?”
The lit torches carried by the wagon rider and a couple of the horse riders slowly faded down the tunnel, leaving the three dwarves and two humans behind.
Bausch nodded. He didn’t like seeing the flickering torches vanish. Circumstances looked grimmer by the moment. With only the five of them remaining, he wondered how well they would have fared against the Ratkin swarm they had fought the day before.
Drucis grinned. “If we hurry, we’ll be drinking ale in a few hours, but remember to watch your heads. Low ceilings and all.”
“What about torches?” Bausch asked.
“Draken and Sorgen will each carry one.”
“Will that be enough?”
“Aye, it be plenty,” Drucis said. “This is the halfway point, but it won’t take us nearly as long as to get to Glacier Ridge as it did to reach this point.”
“Why not?” Lehrling asked.
Drucis smiled. His bushy eyebrows rose. “Cause we don’t have a loaded wagon slowing us down.”
“Makes sense,” Lehrling replied.
“And . . . we no longer have any barrels of our Icevale Ale with us. After an hour or so of riding, I get a hankering for some dark ale. Tends to wash away me boredom. Which means . . .”
Sorgen finished the statement. “It means that he’ll be wanting us to ride faster.” Sorgen shook his head. His long black braided ponytail slung back and forth with the motion. He had a thick black beard and a golden nose ring. “And be forewarned, we will be riding faster now that ol’ Nordun’s not around.”
Drucis howled with laughter, pointing at the cave ceiling. “Just remember to ride low. Don’t want you fellows knocking yourself out cold. It’s much more pleasurable if you let the harder drinks do that for ye.”
“And stay within sight of the torches,” Draken said.
Draken had dark hair that fell untied down his back. Large golden rings pierced each of his earlobes. He and Sorgen looked to be brothers, but that could be due to the dim lighting inside the cavern.
Bausch climbed upon his horse. He glanced at Lehrling. While he liked the idea of getting to Glacier Ridge quickly, he didn’t know if Lehrling could physically handle the jarring of a galloping horse, especially since Lehrling would have to lean forward to avoid the low ceiling. He hoped he could ride without excessive pain. At least if they found a medic in Glacier Ridge, Lehrling could get the attention he needed to help heal and mend. It might mean that they would need to lodge for a couple of days in a town of thieves, but Bausch could think of worse situations.
Chapter Thirty-four
Boldair walked along the dark winding path with his ax slung over his shoulder. His stomach growled. His throat was dry. He didn’t know which he desired most—food or dark ale.
“Hungry?” Viorka asked.
The dwarf frowned and gave the fynx a harsh side-glance, as though the question was unnecessary, because it was. Hungry, parched, and achingly tired, he found himself growing more irritable the longer he walked. Of course, it also didn’t help that he had lost so much of a treasure he had believed to be his. But as he had stated to Taniesse, he wasn’t a thief and would gladly give back what was rightfully hers and to her sisters as well. To add to his problems, he now walked alongside an overly cheerful catlike beast. Perhaps beast wasn’t a good word since it had offended her. It was nice, however, to have someone shorter than himself to talk to.
Destroying the orb would give him back some of the gold and gems. Exactly how much, he wasn’t certain but he’d be pleased nonetheless. Treasure was treasure.
Viorka gave him a curious side-glance because of his silence.
“Famished,” he finally replied.
Viorka scrunched her thin-bridged nose and sniffed the air. Since her face resembled a human more than a cat, the action was almost laughable. “You’re in luck.”
“What?” he asked with a gruff voice.
“Someone farther down the path roasts a wild boar on a spit.”
“Ah, now, don’t be playing games with me.”
She shook her head. “I’m not.”
“Just by the scent, you can tell it’s a boar?”
Viorka shrugged. “Stewed yams and carrots are in another boiling pot.”
Boldair’s eyes narrowed. His jaw tightened.
“You don’t believe me?” She crossed her catlike hands across her chest. Innocence played in her soft soprano voice.
“I’ll be smacking your backside with the flat side of me ax, should you be lying.”
Her catlike ears backed. Her eyes narrowed but her lips pouted. “I have no reason to lie to you. We’re partners.”
“Partners? That may be an extreme way of putting it.”
“Aren’t we?” Her eyes beamed at him. She waved her hands dramatically as she spoke. “A great dragon has sent us on a mission to find and destroy the Dark Orb of Misthalls . . . for a handsome reward.”
Boldair’s bushy eyebrows rose, and he regarded the fynx with a sly grin. His mind raced to the Bridgebarrow Tavern and how he might tell the story. “I do like the way you worded that. Better than a bard could put it. It’s quite a tale to tell!”
“It is, isn’t it?”
“Indeed.”
“Provided we survive to tell it.”
“And why wouldn’t we?”
“He has the orb.”
Boldair nodded. “But no dragon.”
Viorka mewed. “That’s true.”
The dwarf stopped on the dark path. Night insects and birds filled the forest with their songs. His eyes widened.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I smell food.”
Viorka smiled. “I told you.”
“That you did. Let’s hurry and find it.”
“Don’t be hasty.”
“Why not? I’m starving.”
“Yes, but dangers lurk in the forest here or did Taniesse not tell you?”
Boldair thought back to the poisonous plant darts that had nearly done him in. “Aye, you’re right. It being dark now, it’s harder to see the dangerous vines.”
“We stick to the path, and we’re fine. But bandits travel at night,
too.”
“Aye. Tis true anywhere in Aetheaon.”
A line of smoke hung above the forest floor and over the dark path. The scent of roasted boar grew stronger. She pointed. “Up ahead. See the fire?”
“Aye. I see it. She mentioned a trading post. You reckon that be it?”
“I believe so.”
Boldair released a long sigh. “At last. Food and drink.”
“Don’t forget that we have to find the orb.”
“I’ll be ready to do that after I fill me belly. It’s been going on three days since I’ve eaten.”
Viorka frowned. “Why so long?”
Boldair shook his head. “Ahh, tis a long story.”
She noticed the metal cuffs around his wrists. “Were you a prisoner?”
They stopped on the narrow path. He ran his hand through his beard and then he looked down at the cuffs. “Funny story, that. I must tell you later.”
“Would you like me to remove them?”
“You can do that?”
Viorka nodded.
“Then, by all means, please.”
The fynx inserted the tip of a long claw into the keyhole of his right cuff. After a few seconds, the lock popped open and the cuff dropped to the dark path.
“How the—”
She shook her head and frowned. “Shh. I must concentrate.”
Boldair glanced down at her claw as she was inserting it into the other locked cuff. The end of the claw was crooked into the shape of a key. She twisted and unlocked the second cuff. After it dropped to the narrow road, he rubbed his wrists. “Ahh, yeah, that’s much better. Thanks!”
Viorka smiled.
They both looked toward the fires. The dark path led to the trading post, which consisted of several roofed trading tables. A half dozen people stood around the fire while one used a lever to spin the spitted boar. As they approached, Viorka touched Boldair’s arm lightly, stopping him.
“What is it?”
“I must return to my other form,” she replied.
“Why?”
“It’s a trading post. Someone might try to take me since I’m a magical creature, but as an ordinary cat, they won’t be as interested. Probably won’t even see me. Make certain you get me a piece of that cooked meat.”
Before Boldair replied, she shrank into a grayish cat with white ears and a white patch on her chest. She looked up at the dwarf and mewed.
“Ah, very well. Come on, little cat.”
She slunk into the low ferns and plants that outlined the trees, visible only when she wished to be seen.
On the outskirts of the trading booths, Boldair noticed Sissrow’s horse. It was tied to a post, and Sissrow stood near the spitted boar.
“That’s the man,” Boldair whispered to the cat. “His horse is tied there. My guess is that he has the orb in one of his saddlebags.”
Viorka darted into the trees. He assumed she was probably circling around the trading post to get closer to the horse before emerging from hiding.
“Evening, traveler,” an old man said from beneath the roof of one booth.
“Aye, a very good evening, isn’t it?” Boldair replied.
“You traveling alone, dwarf?”
“Aye. Here of late I am.”
The old man studied him with keen curiosity. “Ye buyin’ or sellin’?”
“Buying, if the rumors be true.”
“And what rumors have ye heard, dwarf?”
“I hear that you sell a strong drink ‘ere that packs a powerful punch. That be true?”
The old man smiled and nodded. “Word travels far and wide.”
“Indeed. I fancy the harder stuff, and well, once I heard about yours, I had to venture ‘ere to try it for myself.”
The old man took a glass flask, popped the cork, and poured a thumb shot into a small glass. He slid it over to Boldair.
“How much?”
The man grinned. “The first one’s always free.”
“Ah, now there’s a price to me liking!” He held the small glass up and tried to see the liquid in the dim lighting of the fire, but there wasn’t enough brightness. He sniffed the drink. “Strong. Potent. And that’s from the smell alone.”
But a part of him couldn’t shrug away the thought of the liquor being brewed from the fermented seedpods of the deadly vines. The one free drink might well be his last.
Others around the trading post turned to watch Boldair. Uncertainty washed through his mind. Few dwarves lacked courage, and he was never one to run away from a challenge. He took a quick breath, pressed the glass to his lips, and downed the drink.
The liquid was harsher and bitterer than Icevale’s darkest stout. It burned his lips, his tongue, and all the way down his parched throat. A few seconds later, his stomach tightened around what felt like a fireball blazing inside him. Tears leaked down his cheeks, and he was thankful that nightfall was upon them because it saved him from embarrassing laughter from the onlookers. Liquid fire would have been the best way for him to describe the hellish drink.
He waited for several minutes before he dared utter a reply. He doubted he could have said a single understandable word. Sweat heated beneath his armor. As he tried to regain his composure, he felt dizzy. He set the glass on the tabletop and gripped the side to steady himself.
“Strong enough for you?” the old man asked.
“Aye, quite a kicker you have there.”
“Not like the stout you’re used to though.”
Boldair shook his head. “Too bitter in comparison.”
“Another?”
Boldair shrugged. “Cost?”
“Two gold shillings.”
“Aye, one more then.”
The old man cocked a brow. “You sure?”
Boldair pounded his fist once on the table. He leveled an even stare at the man. “Aye.”
As the man poured another thumb shot, Sissrow neared Boldair. Others milled around, studiously observing. Boldair took the glass, turned to where he could keep an eye on Sissrow and the others, and then he downed his second shot.
The second shot wasn’t as harsh as the first, perhaps because he felt numb, other than the roaring burning sensations rushing internally. His vision blurred momentarily.
“Your name?” Sissrow asked. His voice was low, whispery.
“Boldair.”
“Ah, never seen any dwarf travel alone. Seldom see less than a half dozen riding together. And yet, you’re alone? No mount?” Sissrow looked over the dwarf and back down the dark path where they both had traveled.
Boldair squinted, trying to distinguish which of the three rotating faces was the real Sissrow. “You ask . . . too many questions for someone that’s a traveler as well.”
Sissrow shrugged and leaned back against the tabletop. “Just curious, tis all.”
“And who do you travel with?” Boldair asked.
“Like you, I travel alone.”
“Less arguments that way.”
“Indeed.” Sissrow held a plate piled with slabs of roasted boar and boiled potatoes. His eyes were shrewd, his voice cold and uncaring. “Care for some? I think I bought far more than I can swallow.”
The scent wafted its enticing scent. Boldair’s mouth watered. His stubby fingers had already lifted to grab a piece of the roasted boar, before he hesitated. “Ye don’t mind?”
Sissrow shook his head. “Not at all, my friend. It will just go to waste.”
Boldair eyed the man suspiciously. Friend? With the tale that this man’s father had told, Sissrow had no friends, nor would he ever for that matter. People like him only sought to benefit and take for himself without a bone of charity residing within. Boldair played along. “Aye, thanks for your kindness.”
Sissrow grinned craftily, and he offered a slight bow. “Anything for a fellow traveler. To where are you journeying?”
“Damdur,” he lied.
“Ah, your brethren?”
“They are.”
“I’m st
ill curious as to why a dwarf chooses to journey alone. And during the night as well.”
Boldair peeled a glob of fat away from the boar meat and popped it into his mouth. He sucked on the salty juiciness it offered. He simply shrugged at the comment, not adding any additional information. He half expected a dagger to flash in the faint light of the bonfire and suddenly press against his throat. Offered friendship on dark forbidden forest paths usually meant a pilfering was about to take place. The victim might then be murdered and tossed into the thick underbrush without anyone caring. The forest predators and insect swarms quickly consumed the corpse without anyone ever knowing.
“Thief!” one of the traders shouted.
Sissrow and Boldair turned in the direction of the accusing shout. The man pointed to the side of Sissrow’s horse. Viorka, standing in her cat humanoid form, held the orb in her paw-like hands. Her pointy catlike ears backed, and her eyes widened as everyone stared at her. She ducked and darted into the trees.
Sissrow pulled a dagger from his belt. Boldair looped his foot around Sissrow’s, causing the man to trip and fall headfirst onto the dark path. The tray of boar meat splattered on the ground. Narrowly missing the blade of his own knife, Sissrow rolled and lunged upward. Evil spite contorted his face. He pointed the sharp dagger at Boldair. “It’s with you! The beast is with you!”
Boldair released a hearty laugh, pulled his ax, and placed his feet into a defensive stance. He expected Sissrow to charge and attack, but instead the man turned and went into the dark woods after Viorka. The man wanted the orb badly. Boldair understood why.
Frustrated, Boldair shook his head, still trying to clear his vision from the grip of the liquor. He stooped, grabbed the chunky hambone off the road and followed after Sissrow. Leaving the path and the campfires, Boldair found himself in a dense forest with only the faint light from the moon breaking through the canopy. He stopped and listened for footsteps. Only a fool rushed into the thickets after a man with a drawn dagger. While he listened, he took a huge bite of the boar meat and chewed.
Lady Squire- Dawn's Ascension Page 27
