Trestan turned to a suitable distraction in another corner of the bar. A richly dressed dandy entertained the folk in one corner with a rhyming tale of an old hero of Kashmer. The man seemed talented, though he wasn’t putting on a public performance for the sake of the whole bar. He would play a familiar tune on a panpipe between song verses, to the delight of several ladies and a few gentlemen. Trestan’s attention focused more on the selected song than the man and his audience. The young smith was almost lost in the story when Petrow came up and clapped him on the shoulder.
“There you are! You might want to join us sooner than later, we are over in that corner,” Petrow indicated the direction, though Trestan could not see Cat or Mel.
“Soon enough, I was entranced by the tale being told over there,” Trestan nodded towards the singer, “It’s the song about Sir Halruth rescuing Princess Miawycke from the pirates. You and I have heard this one sung in Troutbrook before.”
Petrow turned to regard the story, listening in silence for some time before talking again. “Appropriate subject, don’t you think? If we rescue that noble lady, do you think they would sing a song about us?”
Trestan smirked, “I doubt it. Minstrels find it easier to write a song about the knight of noble blood rescuing a lady of equally noble blood, especially when they eventually married and had many children together.”
Petrow nodded, turning his attention back to the song. The local musician finished, to the applause of several people. Despite calls for more tales, the singer indulged in wetting his dry throat with wine, while romancing the local maid who had been the real target of his attention. The handyman of Troutbrook took that as a cue they should get back to the table. “Still, one must be allowed to indulge certain fantasies. Let us continue our night with the others.”
Trestan picked up his drink and made ready to follow. The young smith shrugged sadly, “I have been fantasizing since we left town, but I am mired in reality too many times. What I should be doing now is bugging you about if Mel is here with any information.”
“That’s a dumb question,” Petrow replied, “The gnome is a fountain of information, most of it useless and irrelevant! I’ll tell you right now though, he didn’t get any farther than we did.”
Trestan felt his shoulders sink, and his look of disappointment showed. The older man saw it and added, “But he did learn the Troutbrook guards didn’t find anything either. They simply rode south hoping to pick up the trail. For all we know, the other party may still be anywhere in the area. Mel thought they might be hoping to catch a ship due to the presumed sailors joining them. A talk with the harbormaster down by the lake revealed nothing odd. You might want to be more worried about…well…”
“Aye?”
Petrow led Trestan through the crowd, though the smith pushed Petrow in a way that gave them a wide berth around the dwarf bouncer. The handyman continued, “When I left to find you Mel was really starting to get on Cat’s nerves. He talked on and on and got off subject a few times. You could see Cat was getting ready to say or do something nasty.”
They came within sight of their two companions, and Trestan saw immediately that the situation seemed tense at the booth where their companions waited. Cat sat on Mel’s side, but stuck against the wall where there was no escape from his talking. She held a hand up to cover her face, and was pointedly staring away from the gnome. Trestan saw the hint of a frown in the corner of her mouth. Mel Bellringer, of the Bellringer family, talked in an animated manner, waving his arms. His visage appeared upset. At times it seemed as if he wasn’t talking to Cat, but rather directing his comments to someone unseen above him, loud enough that the half-elf could not help but hear him.
They overheard part of what the gnome was ranting about as they approached, “…but if you have good advice, or you go about doing as she asks, I guess don’t bother talking to her. NAY! She likes her silence and privacy! Nay cares in the world about a helpful gnome that spent the whole day scurrying about and trying to find the answer to her questions! I guess it is just, ‘Shut up until I give you permission to speak’, that is how she is…”
Cat interrupted, still facing away from the gnome, her expression hidden by her hand. “That is not what I said!”
The gnome wheeled about in his seat and pointed an accusing finger at her, though she didn’t see it. “But you meant it, you meant it! Let’s all ignore the lonely soul who came along to help, because we don’t want to listen to his helpful information. You just use me for my magic skills. You don’t give one wit about any advice I offer freely.”
Petrow glanced back at Trestan to make sure he noticed what was going on at the booth. The young smith nodded with a frown. Both could tell that the evening wasn’t promising to go well. The smith whispered to his friend, “Tell me when the coin flips back to the lucky side again.”
Mel quieted momentarily when the two young men approached the table. Petrow sat first, squeezing up against the wall and allowing Trestan the open portion of the booth, leaving him straight across from the gnome. The young men settled into their seats without a word. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence as they faced each other over the narrow table surface. Cat lifted an imploring look at the both of them as if she needed support. Her fine-angled elvish features were drawn into a frown. Neither human was sure what she expected of them. Trestan searched for something to say, but couldn’t think of anything that might have been appropriate.
Mel took the initiative during the silent period. He looked up at Trestan and asked straightforward, “Do you think I prattle on too much?”
Trestan sat stunned, pinned by the direct question and scrambling for a polite response. The small gnome just stared with hurt eyes. The smith put on a nice smile and stumbled on trying to find some words. Mel didn’t wait for an answer; the awkward moment of silence had given him the answer he feared.
“You do! You do think I talk too much,” exclaimed Mel. “I can see you have a hard time trying to answer me, but your opinion is clear on your face!”
The gnome pouted, taking a big drink of ale. Trestan shifted uncomfortably in his seat, not sure how to respond to him. Petrow’s reaction was less than helpful: he turned his head to some interesting cracks in the wall and quietly sipped his drink. The young handyman tried to blend in with the seat, though the bright colors of his clothes would have made that impossible. Cat still covered her face from the gnome’s view, but it was obvious she regretted whatever she said to upset him. The somber mood was not what Trestan had been expecting. The evening had looked to be full of promise in regards to nice clothes and food, but the tension within the companions spoiled the atmosphere.
The smith attempted to cheer the gnome. “You’re a valuable part of the party, Mel. Sure, you have quite a few tales to spin, but I’ve learned a lot from listening. I’m glad to have you with us.”
The gnome let loose a sniffle before responding, “Sure, you say that now! I can see what’s coming. It’s the story of my life. Nay person wants my company. My god abandoned me, my family exiled me, and nothing has gone right!”
Trestan put a hand on the gnome’s, “Oh come now! I can’t believe nay people or family would want you around. Why would your family exile you?”
As soon as he asked it, Cat sent a sharp glare in his direction. It was her silent way of saying, “Thanks, now he’s going to answer that with a big, long story again!”
She was right.
Mel began reminiscing, and to the embarrassment of the trio from Troutbrook he started to cry as he spoke. The incidents the gnome brought up stirred painful memories of his past. “My family brought me up to continue the Bellringer name. I spent time with my pa trying to make bells and chimes, but I never got good at it. Every time I thought I had a nice one, it was a little bent, out of tune, or some other flaw. I couldn’t make a decent bell to save my life!”
Mel paused to draw a handkerchief from a pouch and blow his sorrows into it. This attracted some attention from th
e other people at nearby tables. With tears in his eyes, he continued, “So here I was a failure at the family name. An embarrassment to my father! One day, another curse found its way to my doorstep. It was not my choice to be gifted with magic, and to make it worse there were times when some raw power would be channeled accidentally. A rat chased my sister on top of a stool one day. She screamed for me to kill it. Rats are nothing to you humans, but to a gnome child those vermin can be a real monster! I tried to shoo it away when suddenly a bolt of power shot from my hands and splattered rat pieces all over the living room! I have nay clue what I even said…I was just trying to make scary noises.”
Tavern patrons snuck glances as the gnome outright bawled at the table. Trestan tried to keep a polite, friendly smile, despite the spectacle. Mel continued, “You think my sister would listen to me and help clean up before my parents found out, but nay! She ran to them to tell them what happened. My father came in and I was still trying to clean rat blood off of mom’s favorite seat cushion. I’m not sure if he knew how he should react but he didn’t take the news well. I had a few other magical ‘accidents’ and before you know it my father is giving me supplies and kicking me out the door to go find my future elsewhere. Oh, he tried to make it sound like he was just pushing me to find my career as a magic man, but he was kicking me out of the house.
“I went and learned from the teachers I could find. When I first met adventure I proved unready for the task. Nothing went right for me for a long time. I remember getting knocked on the ground by a goblin in a battle one day, then healed by a cleric and back on my feet, then knocked on my butt again by the same goblin! I tell you, when mages end up within reach of an enemy sword, we need something better on our side to keep us from getting split in two! Anyway, I got robbed shortly after…despite being so helpful giving directions to that seemingly nice lady. One day I tried to rescue a dwarf trapped in a collapsed tunnel. Let me tell you, a shrink potion got him unstuck, but they don’t take kindly to such magic! I don’t think my kneecaps have ever recovered!”
Trestan noticed that Cat had her second hand covering her mouth, trying to hold back laughter. He didn’t turn his head to see Petrow, but he could feel his friend next to him quivering as he too tried to stifle a laugh. Trestan tried his best to keep a straight face while he consoled Mel Bellringer in the midst of the confusingly abbreviated tale. The nearby inn patrons, astonished and staring at the crying mage, also made this difficult. The local villagers weren’t sure how to react to the sight of the teary gnome. Oblivious to the rest; Mel struggled to lay bare his whole sad story.
Mel brightened a bit at this point, “But that same adventure with the dwarves brought me to a new deity. A strong dwarven god blessed me and showed faith in me! Ever since, my life has been better! I stand firm in the belief placed in me by the warrior god. My family still won’t take me in, I found that out when I tried visiting them recently, but life is looking good.”
Mel managed a small smile through his teary face at his proclamation. Trestan felt some relief that this had been a short story compared to most of the ones the gnome told over the last day. Even as Trestan and the gnome traded relieved smiles…the dwarf bouncer standing one foot away from Bellringer wore a big frown upon his face.
“Nay it isn’t a bad minstrel nor a drunk sailor that disturbs this portion of the pub room!” The dwarf shouted in Mel’s ear, “Tis nothing more than a prattling gnome who has less hold on his tongue than on his right to go about his affairs privately! The whole pub couldn’t care one bit about your sorrows, gnome. We appreciate your patronage but would prefer you not distract our other customers with unwanted blathering.”
The attention of all those at the booth was pulled to the dwarf at their table. The short yet muscular bouncer gave Mel a stern look. Trestan had not seen a lot of dwarves, but he was aware they took less kindly to gnomes than most other races did. If Mel Bellringer took offense to the dwarf’s message, he didn’t show it. Quite the opposite, the gnome visibly brightened a bit at the dwarf’s presence. The others at the table thought it odd until they remembered that Mel worshipped a dwarven god, and likely was very fond of the race. At such realization, they hoped that the gnome wouldn’t say anything else to upset their less-than-polite host.
Mel was quick to greet the bearded one, “Hello and fair eve! I am Mel Bellringer of the Bellringer family, makers of fine bells, chimes, gongs, and other…”
“I don’t care if you are the head ding-a-ling o’ clan tinklebells! My name is Salgor Bandago and I keep the peace around here. That means if you are going to cry off a river, do it far away and downhill from the rest o’ the patrons.”
Salgor rested clenched fists on his hips and broadened his scowl further than most humans could manage. Mel nodded his head, but was not swayed by the dwarf’s show of muscle. Undaunted, the small sorcerer started to say more, “Oh aye, I forgot how straightforward and gruff dwarves are. It’s been so long since I last had the pleasure of journeying with one. Adding my spells to their muscle, beating back enemies, drinking strong ale, passing out after half a mug; what wonderful memories those were! Ah, to adventure and fight with dwarves again!”
Salgor muttered, “Gods bless that time will never come, for the sake o’ the dwarf!”
For the first time Mel seemed ruffled. “I’m surprised you haven’t been more sociable to me. Dwarves are like a second family!”
An incredulous look came over the dwarf’s face, “Second family? While gnomes are like the bit o’ sandstone that occasionally pops up in our best mines? Look shorty, you have two marks against you: you are a gnome, and by your own admission you are a mage as well. That’s two combinations that don’t mix well with me. You want to go for a third?”
Even as he said it, Trestan and Mel seemed to notice the same tattoo on the dwarf’s left arm. The design bore a fist holding up a fiery hammer, the whole thing surrounded by a field of flames. While Trestan couldn’t tell one dwarven symbol from another, he noticed by the look of recognition on Mel’s face that it might be the symbol of Daerkfyre, dwarven God of Valor. The young smith had to come up with an interruption quickly, or the gnome might come up with the lucky third combination that would really anger the dwarf.
“You’re the dwarf that got hurt by the elf wizard a few days ago, aren’t you?”
Trestan could have hit himself for blurting out such poor choice of words. The dwarf whipped a scowl towards him so fast that he felt the blood drain from his face. The overly strong muscles in the dwarf’s arms tensed. Petrow, next to him, suddenly went rigid from the expectation of trouble. Cat’s eyes and jaw stretched wide open, looking at Trestan with a mixture of shock and pity.
The young man tried to add to his statement, though his mouth became very dry in the face of Salgor’s stare. “The same…elf wizard…that we’re hunting. Uh…he caused a disturbance up north in Troutbrook, and we’re trying to follow him.”
Salgor was angry, but he turned it past Trestan to something in his memory from days ago. He clenched a fist in front of him as he talked. “That rotten, cowardly cur! I helped stop a bunch of rioters from tearing apart this place to get to him! So then I told him that he and his bunch were unwelcome, and had to leave. He turned on me then, used his cowardly spells. Never should a dwarf have to endure such embarrassment!”
Katressa gave a look of relief at Trestan, using the opening he had provided in the conversation. “We thought you’d be interested in helping us because of that. After what they did in Troutbrook we journeyed to catch him and his band.”
Salgor turned an inquisitive look upon the half-elf. “I remember seeing you here that night. So what did the pointy-eared pile of sand do up in Troutbrook anyway?”
Cat leaned over Mel to respond. The gnome had momentarily forgotten the tattoo and listened attentively to the new conversation. “He attacked some townspeople on the main street at night. I don’t know what he was after, if anything, but when the fight was over he took off with a nobl
e’s daughter as a hostage.”
“And you followed him back here? He is back in this area?”
Cat nodded, and the dwarf’s response not only surprised them, it shook up the whole bar. “I WANT MY AXE BURIED IN THAT DIRTY PIECE O’ WATERED DOWN ALE!”
Veins visibly popping out on his arms and neck, the dwarf brought his fist down hard on the edge of the table. A sharp crack sounded as splinters flew and drinks toppled. The impact broke off the end of one of the boards. The roar of his voice and crunch of the table boomed through the smoky air of the tavern.
A hush descended on the common room as faces turned to regard the angry dwarf and broken table. Men paused in smoking their pipes; raised glasses were frozen halfway to the parched mouths that desired them. A couple dozen eyes focused on them. The broken piece of tabletop hung precariously from a splinter a moment longer before falling to the floor, echoing through the quieted room. Salgor’s frown disappeared as he turned to face the patrons staring at him. The dwarf then glanced over at the innkeeper, watching under raised eyebrows. Salgor spoke calmly, “I’ll pay for that Miek. I’m good for it.”
The barkeep nodded, but the attention of the rest of the bar focused on the dwarf for the second time that week. Since the first time was when the dwarf suffered under Revwar’s spells, Salgor didn’t take kindly to the renewed attention. The frown returned to the bouncer and he gave an ugly stare back at the common room. A dwarven stare fares as well against a wall of stares as a dwarven fighter against a wall of people: it stays true to its path.
“What? You’ve never seen an angry dwarf before? And do you really want to see one?”
Faces hurriedly turned away, resuming a focus on anything but the volatile dwarf. Commotion and conversation gradually returned to the room once Salgor turned back to face the booth. Even talkable Mel offered no words. Petrow was too scared to even put a hand out and pick up his toppled mug from the table. Salgor reached out and straightened the glasses and mugs so as not to waste good drinks. “So”, the dwarf continued as he grabbed a rag and wiped up the stains…a move that seemed silly given the wrecked state of the end of the table, “You said you followed them back here?”
The Earthrin Stones 1 of 3: Inheritance of a Sword and a Path Page 17
