visitor to see. His court, his seneschal and even his guards had been
withdrawn because Aelric, the most powerful elf west of the mountains, had
“begged the favor” of a private audience.
Dwarves and elves have scant dealings and Tosig had absolutely no idea why
one of the greatest elves should come to call. He noted his guest was
carefully treating him to every shred of courtesy and respect to which he
was entitled. Somehow that was not reassuring.
First there were the formalities to get through. Elves are notoriously
punctilious and dwarves are sticklers for forms and honors, so that had
taken time. Further, elves are as courteous and delicate as trolls are
rude and direct. After half a morning’s pleasantries, Tosig almost
preferred the trolls.
At last, when Tosig was ready to scream, the elf turned to the subject at
hand.
“I understand your nephew has undertaken a quest to fulfill a promise you
made to the troll kings.”
“He’s not my nephew,” Tosig snapped. Then he softened. “But, ah, yes, a
minor kinsman of mine is off doing some small service for the trolls.”
Aelric said nothing for a space. Tosig watched him warily. This elf was
known to consort with mortals, including even this strange wizard the
trolls wanted dead. Were he to take a hand in the business . . .
“The honor of dwarves in keeping their promises is well-known,” Aelric
said. “It would be tragic if such an important promise were not kept
because your relative was not given full support.”
“I’ve supported that insufferable young pup to the limit of my purse and
beyond!” Tosig burst out. “Oh, if you only know what this thing has cost
me first and last. The supplies, the gold paid to griffins because he and
his friends were too good to walk like ordinary dwarves. And always more
demands. More supplies, more treasure. More gold to the griffins. More . .
.” He stopped and beat his chest to relieve the burning pain. “I have
supported him,” he finished.
“But perhaps not with everything asked for?” Aelric murmured. “There was
mention of a sword, I believe?”
“Blind Fury?” Tosig screamed. “Never! Never in a thousand lifetimes I tell
you!” He dissolved into a choking fit.
“A great treasure to be sure,” Aelric agreed. “And yet after all you have
done it would be ironic if you were blamed for-lack of support.”
“Greed,” Tosig grated. “Say it outright! Dwarves are miserly and for my
miserliness I would not risk giving Glandurg the sword Blind Fury.”
“I would never say such a thing.”
“But others would and you wouldn’t correct them. Bah! Even for an elf
you’re mealy mouthed.”
Aelric only nodded gracefully in a way that indicated he was much too
well-bred to argue with his host.
Tosig drummed his fingers on the throne arm. He could afford to turn his
back on his debt to the trolls if he had Glandurg for a sacrificial goat.
But to have an elf telling such a tale . . . Well, it would ruin his
tribe’s trade for generations.
“The thing’s cursed, you know,” he said at last. “And the boy’s
incompetent. He’s had a score of chances at this alien wizard and muffed
them all. Sword won’t do him a bit of good.”
Aelric made a throw-away gesture with one elegant hand. “As you say, I am
sure. Yet the point is not whether your nephew . . .”
“Don’t call him my nephew!” Tosig barked. “He isn’t my nephew, rot him!”
“Your relative then. The point is not whether he accomplishes his mission,
only that you cannot possibly be blamed for his failure.” The elf arched a
silvery eyebrow. “Besides, the wielder of Blind Fury is invincible in
battle. Who knows what even your-relative-might accomplish with it?”
Tosig glared at the elf and continued to beat a tattoo on the throne arm.
He was trapped and they both knew it.
“Why are you so interested in this anyway?” the dwarf king demanded. “I
thought you had dealings with the wizard.”
“Oh, I do,” Aelric told him. “However there is the matter of a prophecy.
It were best if it were fulfilled.” A strange expression flashed across