The Lioness

Stanach shook his head as over a child’s willfulness. “D’ye have a question for every occasion? Climb up.”

Unwilling, still she did what he said, finding no foothold her wet-soled boots could use and laboriously pulling herself up the sloping shoulder of stone with only stingy handholds. The boulder was only twice her height, maybe a little more. After the exertions of the day, however, she felt as though she’d undertaken a bitter peak of the far Kharolis Mountains.

Once to the top, she looked down at the dwarf. “Well?”

“Well, what do you see?”

“Trees.”

Stanach gestured to indicate she should turn around.

Carefully, uncertain of her footing, Kerian did. She looked to either side and back the way they came. Stanach muttered something about Reorx’s forge and called:

“Would you look south and east, please?”

Kerian did and then saw a faint gray plume of smoke pointing down the breeze. Sliathnost! They had traveled in such a way that now they could enter the town from the north and not the south.

“Satisfied?” Stanach asked.

When Kerian said she was, he started walking away, down the hill toward little Sliathnost.

“Hey!”

Stanach looked up and around.

“Give me a hand—and don’t argue, will you?”

He gave her his good left hand and did not argue. They walked down the slope together, they returned to the road shoulder to shoulder, and together, silently, they walked into the village, past little farms on the outskirts, past a small stone mill, and straight onto a main street lined by tidy houses of wood and stone.

Two large buildings dominated the town, one at either end. Coming in from the north, the blacksmith’s forge and smithy stood strongly before a tall wide barn and livery stable. Behind that stretched a fenced enclosure where horses of various kinds grazed, a pair of little red ponies, a tall chestnut gelding, a neat-footed black mare and three thick-chested draft horses. Kerian looked quickly for signs of Knightly battle chargers and saw none.

At the opposite end of the village stood the tavern, the Hare and Hound. Stone from foundation to oak-shuttered windows, the walls were stout oak to the slate roof. Four chimneys rose from the roof. Smoke curled up from each, for here at the end of the afternoon, they were starting to cook in the kitchen. The Hare and Hound did a good custom, people traveling to and from Qualinost, tinkers and hunters, leathermen, sellers of furs. This season before winter was a traveling time; farmers had the yield of the fields and felt secure enough to spend a few coins on such luxuries as polished silver buttons and buckles, a scroll containing an illuminated text, a pretty blouse for a daughter who had been wearing homespun and home-sewn for the last few years. All these travelers stopped at the tavern and in this season people from the town often came to eat and drink and talk.

Kerian said, “Tell me, Stanach. What did you trade that you did so well on your foray into Qualinesti?”

He looked at her sidelong, his eyes narrowed. Then he shrugged and said he’d traded the wares of his cousin’s metal shop. “Pots, pans, buckles, and bells.”

“No wagon, no donkey?”

Stanach didn’t miss his stride. “Donkey was killed, never did have a wagon. Me, I got lucky. Four bandits fell on me when I was nearly out of wares. They killed the donkey; I killed them.” He was silent a moment, then he looked up at her, his smile cool as truth. “Guess you were lucky, too. Things turned out the other way, I might not have been around to lead you out of your backyard to safety and the road to the fine Hare and Hound, eh?”

Arrogant dwarf!

“Tell me, missy, how do you reckon you’re going to pay for your fare inside?”

Kerian shook her head, not knowing how she’d pay for her supper, not willing to complain to him about her troubles. She would think of something, and perhaps Bueren Rose could be convinced to break the tavern’s strict custom and trust her for the fee.

Coins rang, one against another. Stanach held out his hand, a small bronze piece glittering on his palm. “Go on. Take it.”

After a moment’s hesitation Kerian did, trying awkwardly to thank him. He walked past that thanks, and they said no more, going in silence again.

Kerian kept her eye on the tavern as they walked. Her heart rose with hope and filled with memories of her brother as he was the last time she saw him. Iydahar, tall, lean, and brown, lounging against the long oak bar, talking to the barman or flirting with the barman’s pretty daughter, Bueren Rose. She would see her brother soon! She would see him soon and know at last that he was well.

Weary, tired of this dwarfs company, Kerian squared her shoulders and pushed on ahead. She was not going to go hobbling into the Hare and Hound behind this stranger.

As it happened, she didn’t have to.

Stanach left her in the doorway of the tavern, where she had paused to adjust her eyes to the sudden dimness within. He did not say goodbye or even look over his shoulder. They might have been two strangers who’d never met.