“Well that one’s gonna have a story to tell,” she said. Then, red-faced, she climbed off the dwarf and pulled him to his feet. “How can we do this, Djeri? I’m gonna have a hard time keeping myself away from you.”
“I know how you feel, believe me.” He smiled. “Hey, if we could go a month among dwarf smugglers pretending to be a couple when we weren’t, we can go as long as we need to among our friends without being all over each other.”
She sighed. “I don’t agree. This will be much much harder.”
He gripped her arms with his strong hands. “Focus on the task at hand. Everything else can wait until your rogue horse is safe.”
“Right,” said Tarah, though all she wanted was to kiss him again.
Taking a deep breath, she turned from him and jogged up the road. At the top of the slope, the cultivated fields gave way and she walked into the trees. The forested area was made up of a mix of cedar and oak and for a few minutes Tarah felt quite at home. Then Coal’s keep came into view.
It wasn’t what she had expected from a wizard’s keep. She had expected stone walls and a tower, but what she saw reminded her more of a smaller version of Pinewood. The walls were made of thick logs strapped together vertically. The keep’s heavy gates stood open without so much as a guard posted outside. Tarah could see buildings inside and heard the clang of a smithy. The faint smell of food cooking caressed her nostrils.
“There it is,” said Djeri, stopping at her side and breathing hard from their run. “The others have to be wondering what took us so long.”
“You been here before?” Tarah asked.
“No. I never had a reason to. But I heard all about it from my uncle-.”
“There you are!” shouted a loud and coarse voice. “Djeri, you dag-gum con-founded boot-licker of a nephew!”
Tarah’s heart jumped as a dwarf smuggler strode out of the gates to the keep. Or at least that was her first impression. He had a head of thick red hair and a wide handlebar mustache just like the smugglers that had held her and Djeri captive. But the forge-blackened leather apron he wore and the wide gap-toothed grin on his face eased her mind.
“Uncle Lenui! You old turd farmer!” Djeri replied with a grin of his own.
The two of them came together with a fierce embrace. Djeri was big for a dwarf, but this uncle of his was even bigger. He had to be at least an inch taller and his sleeveless shirt exposed muscles thickly corded by forge work. Sweat steamed off his arms in the frosty air.
Lenui pulled back. “Dag-gum it, Djeri, where’s yer crab suit? It’s been probly twenty years since I done seen you out of armor.”
“It’s kind of a long story,” Djeri said, looking embarrassed. “My armor was ruined and the outpost didn’t have one that would fit me. I was kind of hoping you might be able to help me out.”
Lenui raised one bushy red eyebrow. “Son, this ain’t the kind of place makes heavy armor like that. ‘Specially that’ll fit dwarfs.” He looked Djeri up and down, a gleam in his eye. “Still, I’ll see what I’cn do. How much time you gonna be here? Bettie said you got a mission.”
“We do,” Djeri said. “I’m afraid we won’t be staying long. It’s urgent.”
“If it were up to me, we wouldn’t stay the night,” Tarah said.
The big dwarf glanced in her direction and Djeri cleared his throat. “Uncle Lenui, may I introduce-.”
“Tarah Woodblade, the hero of Pinewood,” Lenui said, turning his wide grin on her. “Bettie said you was bringin’ her with you. Dag-blast it, girl, I wanna shake yer hand!” He strode forward and his big hand engulfed hers so tightly she had to remind herself to squeeze back. “Hell, after what you done, I’ll give you a hug!”
Before Tarah could stop him, the dwarf had yanked her forward and wrapped his big arms around her. She inhaled the scent of fire and steel. Then he squeezed her so hard, he forced the breath from her lungs.
When he released her, she staggered back a step, reflexively swinging her staff around into an attack position.
“It’s okay, Tarah,” Djeri said. “My uncle is just an affectionate sort.”
“I can see that,” she said through gritted teeth. “You know folks in Pinewood, Lenui?”
“Bah! Call me Lenny,” the dwarf said. “All the other humans do.”
“Really, uncle?” Djeri said.
“It bothered me at first, but it’s grown on me,” Lenny replied, then turned his focus back to Tarah. “Yeah, I knew a bunch of folks in Pinewood. Good folk. Solid. Not many of ‘em made it through the war, dag-blast it, but the ones who did were ‘cause of you. Hell, one of the folks you saved was a good friend of mine, Noony, my ore supplier. He was just in town for the night. He run when the durn rats and trolls started attackin’ and he told me how you snagged him in the woods and dragged him up into the hills, safe with the others.”
“Short guy? Balding? Wears glasses?” she asked.
“Yeah, that’s Noony,” Lenny said.
“He complained so much, it was hardly worth it,” Tarah said. Most of the night was a blur for her but this one stood out in her memory. “Thought about tossing him to the trolls. As it was, I nearly had to knock him out and drag him.”
Lenui burst out in rolling laughter. “Gall-durn it, you should’ve done it. Would’ve taught old Noony a lesson!” The dwarf slapped his leg. “The key to dealin’ with that old nose-picker is to get him nice and drunk. It’s the only way I could do business with him!”
“There wasn’t time for any of that,” Tarah said, puzzled. This dwarf acted so different from Djeri. “You sure you two are related?”
Djeri chuckled. “Let’s just say we were raised differently.”
“His momma’s my sister, Raechelle,” Lenny explained. “Me and daddy were smithies. Raechelle and his daddy are farmer folk.”
“That’s not what she means,” Djeri said. He gave his uncle a serious look. “We ran into a band of Corntown Smugglers, Lenui. We were held captive by them for several weeks.”
Lenny’s smile fell. “Who’s band?”
“Donjon was in charge,” Djeri said.
“That frog-snatchin’ son of a dog!” Lenny swore.
“We think he might be dead if that helps,” Tarah put in.
Djeri raised his hands. “We don’t know that for sure. His boat crashed, but most of the passengers survived.”
Lenny scratched his head. “Yer losin’ me here. Donjon was in a boat crash?”
“It’s a long story,” Djeri said. “The short of it is that we got away and the surviving smugglers joined up with your Uncle Blayne. He . . . he captured a rogue horse, Lenui.”
Lenny’s jaw clenched and his eyes tightened into a glare. “You let garl-friggin’ Blayne Cragstalker capture a rogue? That’s what this mission yer on’s about?”
“I wasn’t there when it happened,” Djeri said defensively.
Lenny’s face was reddening with anger. “I don’t give a flamin’ piss whether you was-!”
“I was there,” said Tarah, causing Lenny to turn his glare onto her. She couldn’t let Djeri take the blame. “It ain’t Djeri’s fault. It’s mine. I’m the one that tracked her down. If I hadn’t been so focused on her trail, I would’ve known they were following me.”
Lenny’s glare loosened slightly. He jerked a thumb towards the open gates. “Right then, dag-blast it. Y’all get yer arses in here. Folks are waitin’ in the lodge to hear yer story. It durn well better be a good one.”
Chapter Six
Tarah walked up to the lodge as Djeri’s uncle gave them a rundown of the place. This building was the heart of Coal’s Keep. It was a wide two-story structure. The upper level was made up of bunk rooms for the workers, while the bottom floor consisted of kitchens, storerooms and a large common room where the keep’s meals were served.
When Tarah stepped inside, the smell of freshly baked bread and roasted meat hit her like a smack to the face. Her mouth started to water immediately. A long wooden table took up
the majority of the room and the academy soldiers were already sitting there with their backs to her, eating. On the opposite side, facing her were Willum and a middle-aged man that had dark hair peppered with gray and even darker eyes. He wore a sword strapped over his shoulder and, even though he looked at ease, something about him radiated danger.
Tarah moved over to the table, but before she could speak to anyone, the woman Lenny referred to as Miss Becca called out to her, and ushered her to a seat. Becca was the owner of the keep now that her husband, Master Coal, was gone. She was a portly middle-aged woman with a kind smile, but everyone followed her directions as if she were a slavemaster.
“You eat before you talk,” Becca said, showing her where to sit and seating Djeri to Tarah’s left. There was such a note of command in her voice that they had no choice but to obey. “People make their best decisions on a full stomach. Sorry I don’t have more options for you, but you showed up between regular meals. I have a pig roasting in the back if you end up staying for dinner.”
She patted Tarah’s shoulder and placed a steaming plate of food in front of her. There were two fried eggs, big chunks of sausage and a pile of yellow vegetable that she couldn’t place right away, but looked vaguely familiar. Sitting on top of it all was a large roll with chunks of orange cheese baked right in.
Tarah looked at the woman open-mouthed. She called this a meal with few options? It was a regular feast! Then Djeri elbowed her and she said, “Thank you. Uh, ma’am.”
“Why you’re welcome. Thank you for being polite.” Becca said, then looked at Willum. “See? I told you I’d get a ma’am out of her.”
Tarah considered giving Willum a scowl, but forgot all about it when she took a bite of her roll. It was still warm. The cheese was tart and there were herbs in the dough that Tarah would have never expected to be in bread. She dove into the rest of the plate. The sausage was meaty and packed with sage and the eggs were cooked perfectly with the yolk still runny. But the real surprise of the plate was the vegetable. Tarah recognized it the moment she placed it into her mouth. This was the same vegetable she had eaten at the Mage School. Flame roasted with just a bit of char on the edges, it had a smooth texture somewhere between that of a squash and a tomato and had just a bit of a peppery tang.
“What is this stuff?” she asked between savory mouthfuls. She could already feel her energy rising as the magic of the food took hold.
“Honstule,” said the dark-eyed man. “It’s somewhat of a local delicacy around here.”
“Soon to be a common food everywhere,” said Miss Becca. “We’ve started sending packets of seeds out to the other major farms in the known lands. It’s got magic in it, you know. It’ll grow almost anywhere.”
“Sent some to yer momma, Djeri,” Lenny said around a mouthful of cheese roll. “If’n they start growin’ this stuff soon, they could become dag-gum rich. No one in the Corntown area’s got it.”
“We are no respecters of persons, Lenny,” Miss Becca said with a frown. “This isn’t about making money. When old Honstule created this plant, he wanted to feed the world with it, not create a marketplace for it.”
“Well it sure is tasty, that’s all I know,” Tarah said.
She polished off the last bite and used the crust of her roll to sop up the last bits of egg yolk stuck to the plate. Then she started licking off her fingers and noticed a disapproving look in Becca’s eyes. Djeri cleared his throat and handed her the hand towel that had been folded next to her plate. Tarah took it from him grudgingly and wiped off her fingers.
“What’s this?” asked the dark-eyed man and Tarah noticed that Swen the Feather was leaning out over the table, holding out a long package wrapped in leather.
“I don’t know, Master Tolivar, sir,” Swen said. “This came to the outpost a week ago with instructions to bring it to you at Coal’s Keep the next time we came up here. It was sent by Captain Commander Riveren.”
Tarah’s interest rose. So this was the Master Tolivar that everyone was speaking of. No wonder she felt such a sense of danger from him. He’d been a legend before he was named at the Bowl of Souls. Her poppa had talked about him with great respect.
“From Riveren, you say?” Tolivar said and the smile that had been on his face started to slide. Tarah suddenly had an inkling of what was in the package.
Just then, the door to the outside opened and a figure stepped inside. Tarah turned to see a pretty woman wrapped heavily in winter garb and carrying a thick cloth bundle. The woman approached the table. “Good morning, Tolivar.”
He quickly glanced her way, “Morning, Nala.” Returning his attention to Swen, he reached for the package. “Is this something of Zambon’s?”
“Like I said, I don’t know,” Swen said. He bent over the table and placed it in Tolivar’s hands.
Tolivar squeezed the package. “It’s a sword,” he said, his eyes troubled. He moved a bowl of rolls aside and laid the package on the table in front of him. Then he untied the twine holding it shut and began unwrapping the leather from around the sword.
“Excuse me,” said the woman called Nala as she slid onto the bench next to Tarah. She laid her bundle onto the table in front of her and, as Tolivar finished unwrapping the sword, Tarah saw the face of a small baby peering up at her from within the cloth. Its eyes were a brilliant blue.
Tolivar lifted the sword from the wrapping, then dropped it with a clatter and stood. The baby let out a sudden cry. Nala hushed it, though she was watching Tolivar. He was looking down at the weapon with troubled eyes. The sword was a beautiful polished silver and covered with intricate runes along the base of the blade and hilt. Tarah recognized it immediately.
“Why did he have to find her?” Tolivar said softly. “I’d hoped she was lost forever.”
Willum eyed the sword with distaste. He covered it back up with the leather. “Surely Riveren knew better than to send Meredith here.”
Djeri glanced at Tarah. “He was just doing his duty.”
“The duty of a dag-blasted fool,” spat Lenny.
“I’m the one who found your sword,” Tarah said to Tolivar.
All eyes in the room turned to her.
“I was jumped in the woods by some of Ewzad Vriil’s men who went bandit after the war,” she said defensively. “When I saw the sword, I knew a blade like that didn’t belong to them. I heard some of the academy folks were looking for lost weapons, so I brought it back to the Mage School with me.”
“I see. Are you looking to be paid for finding this?” Tolivar asked her, his hand going to a purse at his belt.
Never turn down a source of coin, Grampa Rolf piped up.
Tarah felt no compulsion to follow Rolf’s advice in this case. “No, sir, it’s just . . . It ain’t Riveren’s fault. When I found out this was your sword I wanted you to have it. See, my papa told me a lot about you and Meredith. I don’t know if you’d remember him. His name was Gad the Brawler. He really respected you.”
“Gad?” His troubled look faded somewhat. “Tarah Woodblade is Gad’s daughter?”
“I am,” she said. “And I had no idea you wouldn’t want it back or . . .” She probably would have tried to sell it, but she didn’t tell him that.
“Gad was a good soldier,” Tolivar said. “He’d be proud to know his daughter turned out to be a hero.”
Tarah felt a twinge of guilt at the approval in his voice, but brushed it off. Djeri was right. It did no good for her to feel bad about her decisions during the war. She had saved those people after all.
“So what should we do with Meredith, then?” Willum asked.
“Lenny,” said Tolivar. “Do you still have that magic forge powder?”
“Well, yeah,” Lenny said, though he didn’t seem pleased to admit it. “I got a pinch or two left, but-.”
“Then melt her down for me,” Tolivar said.
“Good idea,” Willum said, and slid the sword in front of the dwarf.
“But melt Meredith?” said Len
ny, pulling the leather back and tracing one finger over the runes on the hilt. “I know you got some dag-gum bad memories with her, but the craftsmanship . . . She’s a masterpiece, you know.”
The door to the lodge slammed open, bringing in a gust of cold air. A tall, muscular figure strode in. “Don’t you dare do it, Lenui!” She was a woman, the first woman Tarah had ever seen taller and more muscular than herself. Like Lenny, she wore a sleeveless shirt under a forge-stained leather apron and her face was smudged with soot. The woman slammed the door shut behind her and Tarah saw her yellow eyes. This woman was a half-orc.
“Where’s the boy?” Lenui asked.
“What do ya think?” she snapped. “Down for his durn nap. Had to make like six friggin’ horseshoes just to get him to sleep.”
Tarah’s eyebrows rose. What did that mean?
“Bettie, this is my problem to deal with. Not yours,” Tolivar said,
“You don’t go melting that sword down, Tolivar!” she shouted.
“What do you want me to do?” he replied, throwing his hands up in frustration. “She represents everything I need to leave behind!”
“You know he can’t keep it, Bettie,” Willum said. “The last time he used it he almost lost himself.”
“I ain’t saying he should keep her, ya durn fool!” she snapped. Bettie leaned over Tarah and yanked the weapon away from Lenny. She held it to her chest. “She might be a mean old thing, but she is a lady. You don’t just melt down a lady. I’d take her myself if she wasn’t a sword.”
Tolivar pursed his lips, his eyes pained. Finally, he looked at the academy soldiers who had been watching the whole conversation wide-eyed. “You,” he said pointing at the youngest of them, a blond-haired man with tanned skin and a boyish face. “What’s your name?”
The man swallowed, both excited and frightened at being addressed by such a legend. “Dinnis, sir.”
“You carry a sword. Did you train as a specialist? Do you belong to any guilds?” Tolivar asked.
“N-no guilds. I’m a guard specialist, sir,” Dinnis replied.
Protector Of The Grove (Book 2) Page 9
