morning. Where are we?”
“You’re in Goodlund, halfway to Sarem if you started
from just west of Kendermore.” Graym snatched a forked
stick from the hands of the tall kender – who didn’t seem to
mind – and hung his pack from it, lifted it over his head.
“Where are you going?”
“Oh, around.” The tall kender took a forked stick from
one of the others, who didn’t seem to mind either. “East,
mostly.” He spun the stick, making a loud whistle. “Do you
know, the gods told me that the world’s greatest disaster
would happen in a land to the west? Only it didn’t.”
“What are you talking about?” Graym looked openly
astonished. ‘The Catcollision?”
“Cataclysm!” Darll snarled.
“Cataclysm, thank you, sir. I keep forgetting.” Graym
turned back to the kender. “All that happened in the east,
you know.”
“I know,” the kender said, and sighed. “The gods lied to
me. They did it to save our lives – we were going west to
see the run – but still, a lie’s a lie.” He fingered the torn
collar of his cleric’s robe. “So we don’t believe in the gods
anymore.”
“Good enough,” Graym said, brightening. “Smashed the
world, didn’t they? We’re well rid of that lot.”
“But they did save our lives,” Fenris pointed out.
“From horrible deaths,” Fanris added, “like being
smashed.”
“Or squished, Fan.”
The tall kender shrugged. “You miss a lot, worrying
about things like that. Say, what’s that smell?” His nose
wrinkled.
“Dirt, mostly,” Jarek said.
The Wolf brothers scowled. “It’s a perfectly natural
smell,” Graym said. “Strong, but natural.” He smiled down
at the kender. “My name’s Graym.”
The kender smiled back. “Tarli Half-kender. Half man,
half kender.”
Graym looked startled, then shrugged. “Well, I’m
liberal-minded.”
He offered his hand, taking care to keep his pack and
pockets out of reach. But at a shout from Jarek, Graym
whipped his head around.
“Here now! Off the cart. Mind the barrels.” His
knapsack fell from the stick.
Tarli caught the pack nimbly, flipped it over once in his
deft fingers, and passed it to Graym, who was surprised that
a kender would return anything. “Thank you,” he said to
Tarli, but his mind was on the kender falling and climbing
all over the cart. The barrels, three times their size, wobbled
dangerously. “Don’t they know they could be killed?”
Tarli looked puzzled. “I don’t think it would make much
difference. Like I said, you can’t worry about things like
that, like Skorm Bonelover, coming from the east.”
“Who?” The name sounded vaguely familiar to
Graym’s still-fuddled mind.
“Skorm,” Tarli said helpfully, “the Fearmaker, the
Crusher of Joy.”
“Oh, THAT Skorm. You know him, do you?”
“Only by reputation. Everyone’s talking about him.”
Tarli looked to the east. “Well, we’d better keep going if we
want to meet up with him.” He put two fingers into his
mouth and whistled.
The crowd of kender scrambled off the cart and
scampered down the road again, pulling the travois behind
them. To Graym’s watchful eyes, their pockets seemed
fuller, and their bundle of supplies seemed larger, but there
was nothing he could do about it.
“Cunning little things.” Graym watched the kender
running happily away. “Good attitudes, the lot of them. You
can’t keep them down.”
“I’ll try,” Darll grated, “if you’ll let me go.” He held out
his manacled hands.
“Ah!” Graym reached into his pack. “Can’t do that, sir,
but I could give your arms a rest while we’re dragging the
cart. You promise not to run off, sir?
He vaguely remembered Darll’s saying something last
night that should make Graym nervous, but dragging the
cart was hard work, and Darll deserved a reward.
Darll looked sly. “Word of honor.” He braced his feet
for a quick start and smiled at Graym.
The Wolf brothers ducked under the cart. Even Jarek
looked suspicious.
“Right, then.” Graym fumbled in the pack, then reached
into his left pocket. . .
Then checked his right breeches pocket, his hood, and
his jacket.. .
Then stared at the departing kender. He looked back at
Darll’s impatient face. “Life,” he said thoughtfully, “can be
funny, sir . . .”
When Darll understood, he shook both fists at the