He looked into the crown of a roadside tree. “And yew, great bird,” he called. “Knowledge of yer folk is part of our lore, though it’s at second hand from the tomttu. We’re too much inside the mountain to know ye first hand. But it’s well known that yewr kind has a penchant for doin’ that which, from time to time, influences events. Sometimes for good, sometimes not, but always honestly. Yer connection with this man is a favorable omen, and I wish ye well.”
He turned in his saddle. “Macurdy, hand me your blade.”
Macurdy did, and Kittul lay it across his lap (dwarves ride with their knees high), then sat with his eyes closed for a long minute, head back, beard jutting, his ruler’s aura swelling upward like pale, purple-blue flame. Then he took Jeremid’s saber, frowned a moment over it, and repeated the performance. And then Melody’s. When he was done, he looked long at Macurdy before speaking. “It’s a hazardous road you’ve chosen. That much I know, even if I don’t know what it is. Much will happen that none of us can foresee. But what I’ve done with these will help.” He gestured at Macurdy’s sword. “There is more to refinin’ weapons than just forgin’. And though it’s not dwarf made, like theirs”—he gestured toward the cousins—“still it’s better now than others made by tallfolk.”
With that he tossed his head in a dwarvish farewell, turned his pony, and trotted off westward at the head of his party.
With Blue Wing scouting ahead, Macurdy, Jeremid, Melody, and the three young dwarves rode eastward in the direction of the Silver Mountain, the Sisterhood, and he supposed Varia. Before long they crossed a modest river, and shortly afterward, saw where hooves had left the highway on a narrow, well-worn trail that disappeared northward into the forest. It seemed safe to bet they’d never see Slaney and his crew again.
21: The Inn
Within an hour of leaving the skirmish site, they rode out into cleared farmland, the most Macurdy had seen in this world, with woods only here and there. A couple of miles southward, a dark strip of forest stretched from east to west as far as he could see, with more farmland on the other side. The river woods, he supposed. Northward at the edge of seeing were high hills dark with forest.
As they rode, he questioned the dwarves about the country they’d pass through. Tossi, being the eldest of the three, did most of the answering. This, he said, was the beginning of Tekalos, whose king was Gurtho. The oppressive ruler the bandit chief had mentioned, Macurdy realized.
Occasionally they met traffic, most seeming local. There were numerous tiny hamlets—clusters of farmers’ huts and out-buildings—and here and there villages. Near evening they saw a rather large village ahead.
Tossi trotted his pony up beside Macurdy’s. “Macurdy!” he said, “there’s a decent inn ahead. I suggest we stop for supper, and spend the night.”
“Feel free, you and your cousins, Tossi Pellersson,” Macurdy answered. “The three of us will eat here, but our money’s too short to stay under a roof at night. We’ll camp by the road east of town, and meet you in the morning.”
“Ye don’t understand,” Tossi said. “We folk who live in the mountain seldom travel without money. I’ll pay for the rooms, and the meal too.” Macurdy began to decline, but Tossi cut him short: “Think where I’d be tonight, if it wasn’t for yew three. Dead in the woods, likely.”
“Say yes, Macurdy,” Melody broke in. “They probably have a bath house, and ale.”
Macurdy agreed. And there was indeed a bath, but only for men. Melody said she’d share, but the innkeeper refused, looking worriedly at Macurdy’s discolored face. He had a number of guests, he said, all of them male, and he feared if she bathed with them, there’d be fights, which could result in his being fined for encouraging disorder.
“How does your wife bathe?” Melody asked.
“In summer, in the walled courtyard behind our apartment, in a big tub. Otherwise in her own kitchen. If the lady would care to, you can use the tub in the garden.”