“I can imagine, if so many folks are too scared to even attempt it. What happens to those who don’t make it back? Bandits?” The swordsman was extrapolating from similar situations that existed on the borders of his own homeland.
The blacksmith was shaking his head. “Bandits people can deal with. Tolls can be met, bribes paid, ransoms raised. Highwaymen would not discourage more people from traveling to the west. It is the Brotherhood of the Bone that terrifies would-be travelers and keeps them at home.” Hitherto ringing, his voice had dropped to an edgy whisper.
“Do we have to ask what that might be?”
“Doesn’t matter.” The blacksmith’s tone remained subdued. “I can’t talk about it. Not openly, in front of others. You’re determined to push on, so I’ll just wish you good luck.” He indicated the front of his shop, where Ahlitah was toying with the delighted kittens and Hunkapa Aub lay half asleep, sitting up against one side of the entrance, his mouth open wide enough to reveal a gap sufficiently commodious to accommodate both nest- and abode-hunting birds. “You are obviously knowledgeable wayfarers, and you have powerful nonhuman friends of your own. With luck, you’ll make it. You might not have any trouble at all.” He spread his hands wide and smiled regretfully. “Iron and steel I can forge for you, but not luck.”
“You said ‘nonhuman,’” Ehomba remarked. “Are the members of this Brotherhood of the Bone not human?”
“Some are, some ain’t. I hope you don’t have occasion to find out.” Rising, he replaced his tools in his apron and wiped his hands. “Come inside for a cold drink and we’ll settle your bill.” His expression darkened ever so slightly. “You have money?”