“Look, son. It ain’t somethin’ I talk ‘bout and now ain’t the time.”
Justan wanted to press him on the issue, but he could smell the smoke of the campfire wafting up from over the next hill. He could also smell something cooking. Some kind of meat covered in spices? He could almost pick out what kind of meat. Maybe . . .
Rabbit, Deathclaw answered with distaste. He felt that cooking wasted the meat. Justan hadn’t been able to talk him into trying it yet. They have them cooking on sticks.
Thanks, Justan sent a bit dubiously. Deathclaw had become quite adept at monitoring his thoughts through the bond. He listened so quietly that Justan couldn’t tell when the raptoid was doing it. On some level it was concerning, but Deathclaw had so much to learn about humanity that Justan had decided it was best to let him observe.
They walked around the edge of the hillside until the dwarven camp came into view. Five dwarves sat in a semicircle around the fire laughing and talking while one of them snored away on the ground not far away. None of them noticed the two approaching.
Two horses stood to the side with feedbags attached to their heads. They were hitched to a long red wagon. With a start, Justan noticed the words, “Firegobbler : Weaponsmith” painted along the side in bright yellow letters.
Before Justan could stop him, Lenny cried out in outrage. He pulled Buster from the straps on his back, started towards the dwarves, and yelled, “What the dag-blamed, horn-chewin’, hell are you doin’ with my wagon?”
The dwarves scrambled to their feet, drawing finely polished steel weapons. One of them kicked the sleeping dwarf awake. Justan swore. What was Lenny thinking? He drew his swords and sent a mental command, telling Deathclaw to ready himself.
Then the dwarves saw their attacker. All at once, they backed away, holding their weapons behind their backs. One of them, an older dwarf with a heavy mat of graying hair forced a smile and said, “Lenui! Sorry, couldn’t tell it was you at first. Uh . . . what happened to yer face?”
“What’re you doin’ with my wagon, Pall?” Lenny scowled, drawing close. Justan noted that Lenny was at least a good inch and a half taller than the others. He swung Buster menacingly. “And my dag-blamed weapons? Never took you fer the stealin’ type.”
“Stealin’?” The older dwarf paled. He was wearing a chainmail shirt and shiny plate boots. “Well, uh, we’re just traveling with Nhed like you wanted.”
“That was over a blasted month ago! Y’all should be in Wobble settin’ up my shop right now! Not lollygaggin’ in the plains wearin’ my gall-durn armor!”
“Uh, well, we weren’t able to get . . . there . . . yet,” Pall said.
“What’s going on, Lenny?” Justan asked.
“‘Fore I left Dremald, I told Nhed to close up shop and head fer Wobble,” he explained, then returned his glare to the dwarves. “Where is my stupid nephew anyway?”
Pall grimaced and stepped back behind the others. They all glanced away, refusing to look Lenny in the eyes.
“Someone durn well better speak!” Lenny growled. They stared at the ground and began nudging each other. Finally, he pointed a finger at one of them. “Rahbbie! Spit it out ‘fore I grab you by yer dag-burned head and stuff yer mouth full of road apples!”
“Uh, well . . .” Rahbbie was balding badly, and wore a shining breastplate over leather armor. “He’s been nabbed.”
“Nabbed?” Lenny shouted. “Dag-blast it, by who?”
No one spoke up. Lenny stomped forward and swung a fist into Pall’s face. The older dwarf’s head whipped back and he fell in the dirt.
Lenny stomped on Rahbbie’s foot. “By who, I said?”
He swung Buster low as one of them tried to get away, sending the dwarf sprawling in the dirt. “By who, you garl-friggin’ sons of goblins?”
He wasn’t getting anywhere. Justan spoke up. “Lenny!”
The dwarf rounded on him. “What?”
“Can I ask them a question?”
“When I’m finished bashin’ heads, maybe!”
Justan kept his voice even. “That’s fine. I just want to ask them something first. Can I do that? Please.”
Lenny’s scowl softened slightly. “Ask somethin’ then.”
“Okay,” Justan said. He looked them over. “Which one’s the most trustworthy?”
“Well ‘fore today, I’d’ve said all of ‘em!” Lenny replied. “Well, maybe ‘cept fer Derk.”
One of the dwarves whose face was covered by a platemail helmet looked down in shame.
Justan shook his head. “Okay, so which one’s the best talker?”
Lenny frowned and pointed to a dwarf with a deep black beard and a pointy nose. “That’d be Kile.”
Kile’s eyes widened and Justan beckoned him forward. “Why don’t you tell us what happened, Kyle? And from the beginning, please.”
Kile frowned slightly at the pronunciation of his name. “And who are you?”
Lenny lifted Justan’s right hand and shook it at them. “He’s Sir Edge, named at the Bowl of Souls, you pie-pinchers! Give some respect!”
“Named? I guess you’re okay then,” Kile said. In truth, the dwarf, who wore chainmail headgear and shiny plate greaves, looked glad to be talking to anyone besides Lenny. “So, uh, right after Lenui left Dremald, Nhed started asking around seeing if there was any dwarves that’d come to Wobble with him. A lot of us wasn’t happy with the way things was going in Dremald. He had ten of us getting ready to go when a big order came in at the shop. There was a noble that wanted a set of ten daggers made and he was offering a lot of coin.”
“That crab-snatcher! I told him to leave right away!” Lenny snapped. His brow furrowed. “How much coin we talkin’?”
“Three gold apiece!” piped Rahbbie.
“Yeah,” Kile agreed. “But that’s ‘cause he wanted the hilts jeweled and stuff so Nhed charged him extra.”
“Dag-nab it! Nhed still should’a turned him down,” Lenny grumped, though he didn’t seem quite as angry as before.
“Anyways, so he made the order and that took some time,” Kile said. “And then just when he was done, the king got killed and we heard the place was under lockdown. Then word got out that Duke Vriil had saved the princess and was being made Lord Protector and Nhed panicked. He got us all gathered together and packed up, but by the time he was ready to leave there was twenty more dwarves wanting to go.”
“Twenty!” Lenny said.
“That made thirty of us all together,” Rahbbie added.
“What’d he promise to pay you?” Lenny said darkly.
“Well the ten of us he started with was going to be able to pick out the weapons we wanted when we got out on the road, but the others just wanted out of the city,” Kile said.
“Yeah? And he gave you the last suit of armor I made too?” Lenny asked suspiciously.
“We was just gonna wear it till we got Nhed back,” spouted the dwarf wearing the helmet.
“Shut up, Derk!” Rahbbie yelled.
“Did you have a hard time getting out of Dremald?” Justan asked Kile.
“Yeah, the guards didn’t like the look of thirty dwarves leaving Dremald so soon after the king was killed-.”
“Wait! That’s thirty one counting Nhed,” Rahbbie said.
“So Nhed had to pay ‘em off,” Kile finished.
“How much did he pay?” Lenny asked with a glare.
“A sword for the guard captain, a dagger for the sergeant . . .” He swallowed. “And ten golds to keep the rest of the men quiet.”
“Dag-blamed son of a hoop-skirtin’ frog-licker!”
Kile winced, “He said you’d be mad.”
“If’n he’d only left when I told him to! Wait ‘till I get him in front of me.”
“Lenny, ten gold isn’t going to break you,” Justan said, knowing the dwarf still had a nice little stash left over from his raid on the rock giant’s cave. “So what happened after you left Dremald, Kyle?”
“Well we tried t
o keep as quiet as possible, which was kinda hard with thirty dwarves and two wagons. Soldiers was riding back and forth on the road a lot, but nobody bothered us till we got to Sampo. There was a big ruckus going on when we got there. A bunch’a scruffy soldiers wearing Duke Vriil’s colors was roughing up some of the townsfolk.
“They was saying that Lord Protector Vriil had sent them to come and guard the town since the Dremald garrison had been recalled. They had a whole list of new rules and the local folks didn’t like it.”
“The mayor of Sampo was telling ‘em all to cooperate,” Rahbbie said.
Lenny snorted. “‘Course he did. Mayor Hoofer’s always been in cahoots with them Dremald nobles.”
“Well Nhed told us to stay out of things and had us set up the wagons near the edge of town, selling weapons out the back. He wanted to take in some extra cash before heading to Wobble. We was doing pretty good too, ‘till Vriil’s men surrounded us. They said the Lord Protector has suspended all weapon sales in Sampo until after the Queen was safe.”
“Of course he did,” Justan said with a frown. “Sampo is the most well armed city in Dremaldria and next to Dremald, the one best able to send help to the academy.”
“Nhed had us pack things away and we was going to leave town, but more of Vriil’s men came. They wouldn’t let us leave with the weapons.”
“They was gonna take all of it,” Rahbbie said.
“Those hog-lickers!” Lenny swore.
Kile nodded. “Well, Nhed wouldn’t stand for it either. A scuffle broke out and Nhed broke their captain’s arm. Then it became a big fight and the Duke’s men hauled Nhed and the other boys off. We was the only ones that got away.”
“Dag-blast it! Where’re they keepin’ ‘em?” Lenny asked.
“In their camp just outside town,” Rahbbie said.
“How many of them are there?” Justan asked.
“There was maybe two hundred of ‘em at the time,” Kile said. “There wasn’t nothing we could do.”
“Why didn’t you head to Wobble fer help?” Lenny asked.
“We couldn’t cross the bridge. They had it guarded,” Kile said. “That night we was gonna try crossing the river ourselves but there must’ve been a thousand moonrats on the other side. It was lit up like a carnival, all of their glowing eyes just pacing back and forth while they made those terrible moans.”
Justan shivered. He wasn’t looking forward to traveling through the Tinny Woods again. Hopefully when it came time to cross the bridge, they would be doing it with the might of the Mage School behind them.
“How long has it been?” he asked.
“A week,” Kile said. “We didn’t know where to go. Couldn’t go back to Dremald. To be honest, some of us was figuring on leaving Dremaldria altogether. Maybe go to one of the dwarf towns in Razbeck. I’ve got kin there. So does Rahbbie and Derk.”
“You’d just leave Nhed and the others to stew with Vriil’s men?” Lenny said.
“I wouldn’t have let ‘em do it,” said Pall. The old dwarf was still sitting on the ground where he had fallen after Lenny punched him. He was holding his nose and glowering. “I’ve been sayin’ go around the mountains and take the back pass to Wobble. We could get men together there and come back fer Nhed.”
“But that way’s-,” complained Rahbbie.
“Nhed would’ve done it fer us,” Pall snapped.
Lenny’s eyes softened a little. “C’mon, Pall! Get yer butt up off the ground.”
The dwarf grunted and climbed to his feet. “You know I hate it when you break my durn nose, Lenui!”
“It’ll heal. But yer right, Pall. That was uncalled for,” Lenny said. To Justan’s surprise, he looked a bit ashamed. Lenny wasn’t one to apologize. “Just wanted some answers is all.” Lenny stuck out his chin. “C’mon. You owe me one from last time anyway.”
“Durn right I do,” Pall said. He took a step forward and swung, putting his weight into it. His fist caught Lenny’s nose at an angle, knocking his head back and staggering him to the side. “Hah! Feel that one, Lenui?”
“Dag –burn it!” Lenny said. He swayed and squatted to gather his balance, then stood. “Kept my feet.” He reached up to feel his face. Blood streamed from both nostrils, but Justan was just glad to see that he still had a nose after such a brutal punch. “Hah! Still not broke!”
“Blast!” Pall shouted. “Next time fer sure.”
Lenny tossed an arm around the other dwarf’s shoulders. “I gotta admit, though. My dag-gum eyes are a spinnin’.” Both dwarves laughed and Justan thought they had to be crazy.
“Seriously, Lenui,” Pall said. “What happened to yer face? Why’d you trim your ‘stache?”
Lenny ran his fingers over what Justan felt looked like a respectable moustache now and frowned. “Done got it burnt off fightin’ a bandham. It’s takin’ its gall-durn sweet time growin’ back.”
“A bandham!” Pall’s eyes nearly fell out of his head. “You don’t friggin’ say! How come yer alive?”
“Edge killed it,” Lenny replied. “Now show me what you got in my wagon.”
Pall stared at Justan in awe as he led them over. “M-most of the weapons and good eats was in the other wagon that Vriil’s boys took. All we got here is a few crates of weapons and some sacks of dry goods.”
“Dog-gone it, what was Nhed thinkin’?” He hopped up and pulled himself up over the top lip of the wagon. Lenny rustled around, cursing, and Justan peered over the edge to see what he was up to. “Where’s my pepperbean wine at?”
“We been on the road fer weeks. It’s gone, of course. There was two cases left, but they was Hubert’s brand and Nhed made us keep ‘em in the other wagon,” Pall said.
“Alright,” Lenny announced, hopping back down. “The good news is I still got most’a what I need. My tools’re there and all the good weapons. Always told Nhed to keep the good stuff in the family wagon. Looks like he listened to that much anyway.”
“So what are we going to do about your nephew, Lenny?” Justan asked.
“We’re gonna go get him,” Lenny replied. “Him and the other dwarves them corn-chuckers took.”
“I-I dunno, Lenui,” said Rahbbie. “There was two hunnderd of ‘em before, but more and more keep coming up the road from Dremald since we been here.”
“Don’t matter,” Lenny said.
“But it ain’t just men,” Kile said. “There’s . . . things with ‘em too.”
“Ain’t gonna stop us!” Lenny said, yanking a thumb in Justan’s direction. Justan stood tall and folded his arms, trying his best to look imposing.
The others seemed to relax a little, but Pall shook his head, “Yeah, Lenui, you got a named warrior with you, but Kile’s right. You ain’t seen what we saw during that fight with Vriil’s men. They got some durn scary things fighting for ‘em.”
Lenny snorted. “You ain’t seen the rest of our party yet. We done fought what Vriil’s got on his side and it don’t scare us.”
“Lenny’s right,” Justan said. He called out through the bond and Deathclaw stepped out of the grass, his magic sword in hand. The dwarves took one look at the raptoid and stumbled backwards, clutching their weapons. “You see? We have scarier things on our side.”
Chapter Twelve
I have found the short ones, Deathclaw sent.
They’re called dwarves, remember? Justan replied and sighed at the mental shrug the raptoid sent in response. How many of Vriil’s men are watching them?
Deathclaw thought for a moment. Ten and two more.
Twelve, Justan said. You really should let me teach you numbers through the bond. As our scout, we will need you to make these kinds of calculations all the time.
Deathclaw ignored his suggestion. The short . . . dwarves are stacked in boxes. Not many are needed to watch them.
How close are they being held to the rest of the men?
Close.
Let me see, Justan said and Deathclaw fed him a steady stream of memori
es. The raptoid didn’t usually like to share his thoughts, but Justan found him to be quite good at it.
Vriil’s men had stuffed the prisoners in small individual cages stacked three high and two deep. Justan calculated that there were sixty in all stacked in one long line and a group of guards were stationed on either side. The rest of Vriil’s troops were camped a few hundred yards upwind and Justan could see why. They didn’t bother to let the prisoners out of their cages for any reason and the resulting smell was atrocious.
The War of Stardeon (The Bowl of Souls) Page 18
