Weapons! And not just any weapons, but blades of supe rior craftsmanship, excellent quality. The steel gleamed with purity, proving it to be expensive and rare.
But they were without craftsman's marks, no artist's sig nature. Wherever the arms were headed, the mountain dwarves wanted their origin to remain a secret. Nearly every day for at least a year, a wagon full of weapons had left Thorbardin for some unknown shore. What nation on Krynn needed so many weapons?
Only war required such numbers.
The answers Flint had sought left only more questions.
Had Aylmar learned of this before he died? Flint swallowed a lump in his throat as he remembered Garth's mutterings of a 'humped one and magical blue smoke.' Had Aylmar died because of what he had stumbled upon?
Heart pounding, Flint dropped back to the ground and was preparing to dash for the south wall when a heavy boot crushed his left hand into the mud.
'You didn't know half-derro could see in daylight, eh?'
Flint looked up slowly from under the wagon and saw a der ro standing above him, leering. Flint shifted his eyes and saw that, for now, the guard was alone. Desperate, he grabbed the derro's ankle with his free hand and tugged with all his might. The surprised mountain dwarf slid in the mud and dropped, hard, on his back, knocking the wind from his lungs. Flint could get no traction, so he pulled himself up by the other one's elbows and pierced the thrashing derro's windpipe with one quick slash of his carving knife. The der ro stopped struggling.
Flint looked around quickly, then back under the wagon toward the shop. He could see one figure shifting uneasily in the shadows, calling out the dead derro's name. He would come looking for his friend any minute.
Flint looked at the surrounding walls bathed in twilight, including where he had entered the yard and his boots still lay. He had no barrel and sapling to help him over the seven foot barrier now. He looked to the vast wooden gate, di rectly opposite the shop, the wagons obscuring his view.
Though closed, the gate was made of closely spaced rails.
His boots would never have fit in the spaces, but his bare toes might… He had to make the fifteen-yard dash to that gate.
Keeping low, Flint ran as fast as he could, keeping his eyes on the ruts that threatened to trip him. He hurled himself at the gate and jammed his toes into the spaces between the rails.
'Hey!'
The cry came from behind him. Heart pumping wildly,
Flint hauled himself up the gate by sheer desperation. Bal anced on his stomach across the top of the gate, he was swinging his right leg up to prepare to leap off when the gate underneath him swept open. Flint looked down anxiously and saw that two of the guards were returning from the tav erns, staggering and laughing, oblivious to Flint clinging to the top of the gate above them.
But the guard from the shop was yelling a warning as he ran to the gate. His cohorts looked up in time to see the hill dwarf's exhilarated expression as he threw himself from the top of the gate and crashed into them. Their bodies broke his fall, and they were scattered like bowling pins, taking the other guard down with them. Flint jumped to his feet un hurt. The stunned derro could only shake their foggy heads as the barefoot hill dwarf cut left on Main Street and tore down the road and out of sight.
Chapter 6
Flint deliberately avoidea the village, leading his muddy trail away from the Fireforge home. He would not be able to explain his appearance to his family — from his head to his toes he was mud-caked and spattered with blood. His mind was in a tumult, and he needed to think things out before he could face anyone with his suspicions.
His tender bare feet cold and sore, Flint set out into the eastern hills just south of the pass. Using steel and flint, he made a fire in the seclusion of a small cave that had a moun tain stream trickling past it. He stripped off every stitch of his dirty clothing and washed it by hand in the ice-cold wa ter, laying it out to dry on rocks around the fire. The tired old hill dwarf splashed his face, scrubbed the mud from his hair, and then, unclothed, he returned to sit by the fire, star ing without thoughts into the flames for a very long time.
Flint's blue-green cotton tunic dried quickly, and when he slipped it over his head, he was glad for the long hem that dropped to his knees. His leather pants would take much more time to dry. And he dearly missed his boots.
His stomach rumbled now, reminding him that he had not eaten since that morning. Noticing fish in the shallow stream, he knelt beside the water and pushed up his sleeve.
He dipped his hand in, slowly herding an unsuspecting rain bow trout to where he could raise his hand quickly and flip the fish onto the shore. It took him four painstaking tries, but finally a small trout, yet a good seven inches long, was flopping around on the sandy cave floor. Flint quickly slit its silvery belly with his carving knife, cleaned it, then skew ered the fish on a sharpened stick. He remembered seeing some berries on his way to the cave, and while the fish was roasting over the flames, he picked two handfuls of red raspberries by the light of the waxing moon.
Only after his stomach was full of succulent fish and sweet berries did he feel capable of thinking at all. Though he had only the ramblings of a simpleton to support the be lief, Flint knew in his gut that Aylmar must have been mur dered, and likely because he knew the true contents of the mountain dwarves' wagons. He had killed one of the derro on instinct — but on what evidence? The word of the village idiot? Though his family might believe him, he would still be imprisoned, causing great humiliation and the ruination of the Fireforge name in Hillhome. What bothered Flint more, though, was that from jail he would be unable to dis cover Aylmar's killer and avenge his brother's death.
Flint was determined to do both, or die trying. He would keep his suspicions to himself, until he had evidence no one could refute.
'This is a fine example you set for the family!' grumbled a harsh voice from the barn door when Flint arrived on the front lawn the next morning. He had spent a fitful night sleeping in the cave before setting out at dawn, circling around the south side of the village to reach the family home. Ruberik was in a huff, his milking pail in hand. 'Dis appear all night and then come staggering home — a dis grace, that's what it is!'
Flint's feet were blistered and cold, and he had no patience left. 'Listen, Brother,' he growled, fixing Ruberik with a glare that halted him in his tracks. 'I don't know what branch of the family could produce such a tight-faced, sneering, pompous sourpuss of a hill dwarf as yourself!'
Ruberik's eyes bugged out of his head, and he was too as tonished to reply before Flint continued. 'Whatever quirk of nature made you my brother, you are my younger brother and you've taken too much advantage of my good nature. Now, I've had enough of your self-important proc lamations. You have no idea where I've been or what I've been doing, so I'll expect you to keep your opinions to your self and show some respect to your elders!'
Ruberick's ruddy face turned ruddier still, and he spun about on his heel, clanging his milking can against the barn door's frame in his haste to leave. Sighing heavily, Flint stepped into the house and was thinking about grinding some chicory root to make a hot morning cup when Bertina scurried out from the depths of the house and set about the task herself.
She gave Flint an appraising glance, but kept her opinions to herself. 'Out a bit late, weren't you?' She glanced down at his bare, red feet. 'I'll bet Aylmar's old boots would fit you if you're needing a pair,' she offered tactfully. She was unfazed. Without waiting for an answer, she fetched a pair of boots very like his own lost ones from the depths of the house.
Flint slipped them on gratefully. They were a little big, which was good now, considering his swollen feet. 'Thanks Berti,' he said softly, 'for the boots… and for not asking.'
His sister-in-law knew what he meant and nodded, beat ing some eggs in a bowl. They ate a breakfast of
