dwarves…”
I watched in amazement as Jickie and Kenzo hefted Delthal over the Feisty-Goat’s prow. They began stripping him naked, then offering him more Dwarven attire.
“ You’ll at least stop cutting your beard off like a damned maid, I hope,” Gilli offered, at which the others had a good laugh.
We had our seventh member.
Chapter 9
As we were embarking, young dwarves with wild hair and hungry faces scampered along to the banks, watching us as we began to paddle upriver. Dwarf lads embraced adventure like a wrestling partner. And if they could not find trouble, they made it themselves. Most had nothing but monstrous pride, battle scars, and well-sharpened wood axes, and with those things they would make whatever trouble they wanted. A few even began to hurl stones at us, hoping we would give chase. We very nearly had to pull ashore and oblige them at one point, as they threatened to sink us with larger stones for not taking them along.
Beyond that first obstacle came another.
My uncle.
Almost immediately, he launched into advice, lest we encounter unfriendly elves: “Don’t hesitate with the wild elf. Skin him, Fie. By thunder, skin him! Let him play the skinned-deer, lest he make you think there’s no need for skinning at all! Keep your own wits and work him for all you’re worth! Let him play his deceitful game! By thunder! Give the villain enough rope to hang himself! Gain your end! Then get him! Afterwards beg the heavens to forget and forgive if you like; but don’t ignore the fact that repentance can’t turn a skunk into a dog!”
I nodded silently, understanding about half of it.
And so Master Jickie continued to warn me all the way from Goback to the human Citadel upstream, mixing his metaphors the way Yrlkandic elves like to mix cow’s milk and deer blood. Of course I had long since learned not to complain against these outbursts of explosive eloquence—lest all the canons of Dwarven heritage be outraged. Growing up with a human father, and a mild-mannered one at that, I had not ever known what an outrage it is to try to teach an elder dwarf. And the first time I did, I nearly died. Or so I thought.
“ What’s that, sir!” he had roared out when I had audaciously ventured to pull him up once, telling him he was pronouncing “salmon” wrong.
“ What, sir! Don’t talk to me of your book-fangled man-twaddle! Is language for the use of the dwarf, or is dwarfdom for the use of language?”
I could not answer, and he looked at me in a way that set me packing.
The walls of the citadel, one of the few stone structures in all the no-mans’ highlands was all that saved my weary ears from more lessons. There is something about stone that quiets a dwarven soul, and sometimes it even quiets an uncle’s mouth.
There were ships like the Feisty-Goat clustered together on the riverbank, and even though it was the full light of day, fires were lit ashore. Lanky men were posted as sentries, and every warrior kept his weapons beside him atop the thick stone walls and high palisades, a line that was heavy with axes, swords, spears, shields, and war hammers.
They were saluting us with fists over their hearts.
One strange thing I must confess is this: I knew more about dwarves than I did about men at that point. The saluting was a mystery to me, so I just presumed it was normal. But my uncle whispered that this was Old Addly’s way of wishing us well.
----
Apart from the peppery discourses of my uncle, little happened on our first day of travel. It was the nature of the eastward sweep of the Aegian Mountains that the further south you went, the further into Yrkland you were. I had hopped, perhaps strangely, that getting out into his homeland might somehow enliven Halvgar. But it was a much more somber affair than I had supposed. He was still sitting dazed and silent opposite me.
My uncle
I watched in amazement as Jickie and Kenzo hefted Delthal over the Feisty-Goat’s prow. They began stripping him naked, then offering him more Dwarven attire.
“ You’ll at least stop cutting your beard off like a damned maid, I hope,” Gilli offered, at which the others had a good laugh.
We had our seventh member.
Chapter 9
As we were embarking, young dwarves with wild hair and hungry faces scampered along to the banks, watching us as we began to paddle upriver. Dwarf lads embraced adventure like a wrestling partner. And if they could not find trouble, they made it themselves. Most had nothing but monstrous pride, battle scars, and well-sharpened wood axes, and with those things they would make whatever trouble they wanted. A few even began to hurl stones at us, hoping we would give chase. We very nearly had to pull ashore and oblige them at one point, as they threatened to sink us with larger stones for not taking them along.
Beyond that first obstacle came another.
My uncle.
Almost immediately, he launched into advice, lest we encounter unfriendly elves: “Don’t hesitate with the wild elf. Skin him, Fie. By thunder, skin him! Let him play the skinned-deer, lest he make you think there’s no need for skinning at all! Keep your own wits and work him for all you’re worth! Let him play his deceitful game! By thunder! Give the villain enough rope to hang himself! Gain your end! Then get him! Afterwards beg the heavens to forget and forgive if you like; but don’t ignore the fact that repentance can’t turn a skunk into a dog!”
I nodded silently, understanding about half of it.
And so Master Jickie continued to warn me all the way from Goback to the human Citadel upstream, mixing his metaphors the way Yrlkandic elves like to mix cow’s milk and deer blood. Of course I had long since learned not to complain against these outbursts of explosive eloquence—lest all the canons of Dwarven heritage be outraged. Growing up with a human father, and a mild-mannered one at that, I had not ever known what an outrage it is to try to teach an elder dwarf. And the first time I did, I nearly died. Or so I thought.
“ What’s that, sir!” he had roared out when I had audaciously ventured to pull him up once, telling him he was pronouncing “salmon” wrong.
“ What, sir! Don’t talk to me of your book-fangled man-twaddle! Is language for the use of the dwarf, or is dwarfdom for the use of language?”
I could not answer, and he looked at me in a way that set me packing.
The walls of the citadel, one of the few stone structures in all the no-mans’ highlands was all that saved my weary ears from more lessons. There is something about stone that quiets a dwarven soul, and sometimes it even quiets an uncle’s mouth.
There were ships like the Feisty-Goat clustered together on the riverbank, and even though it was the full light of day, fires were lit ashore. Lanky men were posted as sentries, and every warrior kept his weapons beside him atop the thick stone walls and high palisades, a line that was heavy with axes, swords, spears, shields, and war hammers.
They were saluting us with fists over their hearts.
One strange thing I must confess is this: I knew more about dwarves than I did about men at that point. The saluting was a mystery to me, so I just presumed it was normal. But my uncle whispered that this was Old Addly’s way of wishing us well.
----
Apart from the peppery discourses of my uncle, little happened on our first day of travel. It was the nature of the eastward sweep of the Aegian Mountains that the further south you went, the further into Yrkland you were. I had hopped, perhaps strangely, that getting out into his homeland might somehow enliven Halvgar. But it was a much more somber affair than I had supposed. He was still sitting dazed and silent opposite me.
My uncle
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