, unfortunately, was still quite the opposite.
Jickie held with just enough bluster to make me wonder if he weren’t working to conceal his nervousness for the road ahead, endlessly going on about “skinning the elvish skunk before he lulls you into thinking there’ll be no fight” and “knocking the head off anything that stood in my way”.
I admit, it was starting to make my head hurt. I wanted to paraphrase him to show him how ridiculously patronizing he was being and tell him, “Uncle that’s the tenth time you’ve said that. The tenth damn time, and you’ve imparted no more information than the first!”
But I recalled trying to teach him how to say “salmon”, and I held my tongue.
Barely.
Besides, my head did not hurt not half so bad as my arms. My right shoulder was already burning as the sun started dropping, though we had paddled fewer than twenty miles.
Some miles upriver from that, perhaps four miles beyond where I decided to hold my tongue, the sun began to redden. We traveled now between shores that showed less and less ice and snow . We even glimpsed the first, sheerest hint of green. It was a refreshing hint of life, and somehow, it even hushed my uncle. But as we drew near a deep rift of cliffs, frosty air blew through the dank ravines, where snow patches yet lay in the shadow. And he started up again. It was hopeless.
And there was no cloth lying about to stuff in my ears.
Here and there throughout the rocks, we could smell the fresh, spring odor of dampness. There was a faint suggestion of violets, mayflowers and ferns, already bursting the cold black clods of soil.
S adly, the odors did not have the same quieting effect on Jickie. So I distracted myself with the scenery. The purple folds of the mountains, with their wavy outlines fading in the haze of distance, lay in every direction. Everywhere were endless hills. On a few of these rested the brown shades of dwarven hamlets with chapel spires and citadels pointing above tree-tops.
Then we would pass them, ever rowing, ever listening to Jickie’s well-meaning advice.
At the end of the day, when our boat sheered once again against a bluff of cliffs, came the dull, heavy roar of a riverside village. Above the walls of rock rose great, billowy clouds of woodsmoke. With a sweep of our paddles, we were opposite a cleft in the vertical rock, where we saw the stout walls of a wooden fortification, leaning high over the dizzy precipice. The walls continued down a riverside hill until they were at a level with the lapping water.
We ended the first day of our voyage here.
The town was called Beergarden, which was not the merry place it sounded. It was a much larger village than Goback, but as we neared the banks, we saw that the roar of this place was only rapids in the water. The town itself was a darker, quieter place than our little burg
Some ships’ crews nodded to us silently, waving to the sentries atop their fortification . There was an amazing amount of effort that had gone into building these defenses—probably an amazing amount of maintenance too; the citadel’s walls wrapped the town itself, while our own was just four-walled structure on the riverside.
High above, the guards on that amazing wall gave a long, high, whistle. This was our signal that we could go in, if we like.
“ I’m hungry,” Frobhur said.
“ I’m thirsty,” Gilli said.
“ Now what? Nonsense!” Uncle Jickie lashed out. “I told you two—leave your hunger—leave your thirst back in Goback!”
“ Ah, Jick, let them be,” Halvgar said. “Let those who can, go feast, and let those who are able, be merry.”
“ Here! Here!” Delthal agreed.
“ I could use a maid to rub my back,” said Kenzo.
“ Oh, Big Zo,” said my uncle, palming his forehead. “You too, sir?”
I thought I saw Halvgar smile.
Chapter 10
We flung three reels of copper to the fine
Jickie held with just enough bluster to make me wonder if he weren’t working to conceal his nervousness for the road ahead, endlessly going on about “skinning the elvish skunk before he lulls you into thinking there’ll be no fight” and “knocking the head off anything that stood in my way”.
I admit, it was starting to make my head hurt. I wanted to paraphrase him to show him how ridiculously patronizing he was being and tell him, “Uncle that’s the tenth time you’ve said that. The tenth damn time, and you’ve imparted no more information than the first!”
But I recalled trying to teach him how to say “salmon”, and I held my tongue.
Barely.
Besides, my head did not hurt not half so bad as my arms. My right shoulder was already burning as the sun started dropping, though we had paddled fewer than twenty miles.
Some miles upriver from that, perhaps four miles beyond where I decided to hold my tongue, the sun began to redden. We traveled now between shores that showed less and less ice and snow . We even glimpsed the first, sheerest hint of green. It was a refreshing hint of life, and somehow, it even hushed my uncle. But as we drew near a deep rift of cliffs, frosty air blew through the dank ravines, where snow patches yet lay in the shadow. And he started up again. It was hopeless.
And there was no cloth lying about to stuff in my ears.
Here and there throughout the rocks, we could smell the fresh, spring odor of dampness. There was a faint suggestion of violets, mayflowers and ferns, already bursting the cold black clods of soil.
S adly, the odors did not have the same quieting effect on Jickie. So I distracted myself with the scenery. The purple folds of the mountains, with their wavy outlines fading in the haze of distance, lay in every direction. Everywhere were endless hills. On a few of these rested the brown shades of dwarven hamlets with chapel spires and citadels pointing above tree-tops.
Then we would pass them, ever rowing, ever listening to Jickie’s well-meaning advice.
At the end of the day, when our boat sheered once again against a bluff of cliffs, came the dull, heavy roar of a riverside village. Above the walls of rock rose great, billowy clouds of woodsmoke. With a sweep of our paddles, we were opposite a cleft in the vertical rock, where we saw the stout walls of a wooden fortification, leaning high over the dizzy precipice. The walls continued down a riverside hill until they were at a level with the lapping water.
We ended the first day of our voyage here.
The town was called Beergarden, which was not the merry place it sounded. It was a much larger village than Goback, but as we neared the banks, we saw that the roar of this place was only rapids in the water. The town itself was a darker, quieter place than our little burg
Some ships’ crews nodded to us silently, waving to the sentries atop their fortification . There was an amazing amount of effort that had gone into building these defenses—probably an amazing amount of maintenance too; the citadel’s walls wrapped the town itself, while our own was just four-walled structure on the riverside.
High above, the guards on that amazing wall gave a long, high, whistle. This was our signal that we could go in, if we like.
“ I’m hungry,” Frobhur said.
“ I’m thirsty,” Gilli said.
“ Now what? Nonsense!” Uncle Jickie lashed out. “I told you two—leave your hunger—leave your thirst back in Goback!”
“ Ah, Jick, let them be,” Halvgar said. “Let those who can, go feast, and let those who are able, be merry.”
“ Here! Here!” Delthal agreed.
“ I could use a maid to rub my back,” said Kenzo.
“ Oh, Big Zo,” said my uncle, palming his forehead. “You too, sir?”
I thought I saw Halvgar smile.
Chapter 10
We flung three reels of copper to the fine