a stranger came down the road, I’d ask him where he’d been.
And he’d talk about Tarsis by the sea, or the temples of Xak
Tsaroth, and one even showed me a machine from Mount
Nevermind, where the gnomes live. The machine didn’t
work, of course, but it was a lovely little thing, all gears and
sprockets and wires.
“But one and all, dusty from the road and tired from
travel, told me about Krinneor, and the more I heard, the
more I wanted to see it.” Graym’s eyes shone. “Golden
towers! Marble doors! And excellent drains.” He looked at
them all earnestly. “I hear that’s very important for a city.”
They nodded. Graym went on. “After the Claychasm – ”
“Cataclysm,” Darll snapped.
“Cataclysm, thank you, sir. I keep forgetting. After that
night, when the ground shook and the western sky was all
fire, people were frightened. They quit buying barrels,
saying that trade was too risky. That’s when I realized that
no one was coming down the road from Krinneor, and no
one was going there.”
He tapped the bowl of Skull-Splitter, which he had
emptied again. “And that’s when I realized there was no
more good Sarem ale going from Sarem to Krinneor. The
poor beggars there would be as dry as a sand pit in no time.
“So I made these.” He thumped the broken barrel,
refilled the bowl from it. “Extra thick staves, double-
caulked, double-banded. Bungs four fingers deep. Heads of
the last vallenwoods in stock this far west. Harder than any
man has seen. I spent everything I had making them, then
borrowed from you all to finish them. And when the bailey
heard we were going, he asked me to take you, sir, to the
Bailey of Krinneor for safekeeping.” He nodded
respectfully to Darll.
“For prison, you fat fool,” Darll said. “I can’t believe I
let a man like that capture me, especially after I beat the
town soldiery. A scrawny, bald-headed, weak-armed man
with no more strength in him than in a dead dwarf’s left – ”
“You wouldn’t have if you hadn’t been drunk,” Jarek
pointed out. He looked at Darll admiringly. “Single-handed,
and you beat them all. If you hadn’t been drunk – ”
Graym interrupted. “And I hope it serves to remind you,
sir, that ale is not only a blessing, but can also be a curse,
and not to be taken lightly.” He downed the bowl of Skull-
Splitter. “Back to my story. I took you, sir, and the tenpiece
from the bailey – ”
“Then we got the ale,” Jarek said. “And the horses,” Fen
and Fan said together. “Without paying for them,” Darll
finished. “And I gathered victuals and water and spare
clothes and knapsacks, and off we set” – Graym pointed to
the east – “down the long, dangerous road! Facing
hardship! Facing hunger and thirst…” He broke off. “Not as
much thirst as I thought, apparently, but some thirst. Facing
the unknown! Facing a ruined world! And for what?” He
looked around at the watching faces. “I ask you, for what?”
Jarek blinked. “For Krinneor.”
“True enough. For the golden spires, the marble towers,
the excellent drains, and the fortunes that made them. Think
of it!” Graym waved an arm unsteadily. “A city with all the
gold you can dream of, and nothing to drink. And us with a
cart full.” He glanced to one side. “A cart HALF full of the
best ale left in the world!”
“Our fortunes are made. We can ask what we want for
it, and they’ll pay twice what we ask. One barrel of Sarem
ale will be worth the world to them, and five barrels leaves
us one apiece.”
Darll looked up, startled. “You’re counting me?”
“You did your share on the road, sir,” Graym said.
“Each of us gets profits from one barrel of ale. And, if we’re
all clever – ” he looked at Jarek and amended hastily, ” – or
at least if we stick together, we get exclusive Sarem trade
rights to Krinneor. We’ll have all the food we want, and
houses.”
“And a sword?” Jarek asked eagerly. “I’ve always
wanted a sword. My mother wouldn’t let me have anything