Rega knew the dwarf wasn’t the slightest bit attracted to her physically. Probably because I don’t have a beard, she reflected, grinning to herself, remembering what she’d heard about dwarven women. He did seem eager to discuss this fairy tale his people’d dreamed up. Rega never liked to let a customer go away angry.
“Forgive my husband, sir. He’s had a little too much to drink. But I’m interested. Tell me more about the tytans.”
“Tytans.” The dwarf appeared to taste the strange word. “That is what you call them in your language?”
“I guess so. Our legends tell of gigantic humans, great warriors, formed by the gods of the stars long ago to serve them. But no such beings have been seen in Thillia since before the time of the Lost Lords.”
“I do not know if these . . . tytans . . . are the same or not.” Blackbeard shook his head. “Our legends do not speak of such creatures. We are not interested in the stars. We who live beneath the ground rarely see them. Our legends tell of the Forgers, the ones who, along with the father of all dwarves, Drakar, first built this world. It is said that someday the Forgers will return and enable us to build cities whose size and magnificence are beyond belief.”
“If you think these giants are the-er-Forgers, then why the weapons?”
Blackboard’s face grew shadowed, the lines deepened. “That is what some of my people believe. There are others of us who have talked to the refugees of the norinth lands. They tell of terrible destruction and killings. I think perhaps the legends have got it wrong. That is why the weapons.”
Rega had, at first, thought the dwarf was lying. She and Roland had decided that Blackbeard meant to use the weapons to attack a few scattered human colonies. But, seeing the black eyes grow shadowed, hearing the heaviness in the dwarf’s voice, Rega changed her mind. Blackbeard, at least, believed in this fantastic enemy and that was truly why he was buying the weapons. The thought was comforting. This was the first time she and Roland had ever smuggled weapons, and-no matter what Roland might say-Rega was relieved to know that she wouldn’t be responsible for the deaths of her own people.
“Hey, Blackbeard, what are you doing-getting cozy with my wife, huh?” Roland eased himself back down at the table. Another mug awaited him, and he drank deeply.
Noting the shocked and darkening scowl on Blackbeard’s face, Rega gave Roland a swift and painful kick beneath the table. “We were discussing legends, dear. I’ve heard it said that dwarves are fond of songs. My husband has an excellent voice. Perhaps, sir, you would like to hear the ‘Lay of Thillia’? It tells the story of the lords of our land and how the five kingdoms were formed.”
Blackbeard’s face brightened, “Ya, I would like to hear it”
Rega thanked the stars she had spent time digging up everything she could about dwarven society. Dwarves do not have a fondness for music. They have an absolute passion for it. All dwarves play musical instruments, most of them have excellent singing voices and perfect pitch. They have only to hear a song once to catch the melody and need hear it only a second time to pick up the words.
Roland had an excellent tenor voice, and he sang the hauntingly beautiful lay with exquisite feeling. The people in the bar hushed to hear him, and there were many among the rough crowd who wiped their eyes when the song came to the end. The dwarf listened with rapt attention and Rega, sighing, knew that they had another satisfied customer.
From thought and love all things once born, earth, air, and sky, and knowing sea. From darkness old, all light is shorne, and rise above, forever free.
In reverent voice, five brothers spoke of sire’s duty and wondered fare. Their king dying ‘neath fortune’s yoke, from each demand their landed care.
Five kingdoms great, born of one land. To each fair prince his parcel part. Dictates of will and dead sire’s hand, for each to rule, with just’ and heart.