diminished during the brief altercation; several other gully dwarves, casually ambling through the crowd, were busy licking traces of marinade from their lips and stringy beards. Though he glowered darkly after Tarn, the Theiwar fungus merchant made no further move as the half-breed ambled out of sight.
Tarn felt a little better after the confrontation. Though the Theiwar, like the Daergar of his mother's clan, were dark dwarves, he despised them. Unlike any of the other clans, the Theiwar were fond of magic and quite willing to employ it to further their ends. In the eyes of any self-respecting mountain dwarf this was clear proof of cowardice. For a moment Tarn wondered, idly, if he should have grabbed the vendor's ring and thrown it into the lake. An attempt to do that, he decided, would probably have taken the fight further than he wanted to go.
His bright mood lasted only until he came around another box of crates. He saw what at first looked like a pile of rags at his feet, but quickly realized that the rags were bleeding. Prodding with his foot, he rolled a small corpse over to see the plump gully dwarf, his throat neatly cut. The Aghar's eyes bulged in surprise, and his mouth gaped in silent protest. There was no sign of the mushroom. Undoubtedly he had been killed by someone meaner, stronger, or more treacherous, someone who had simply wanted that particular piece of food.
Tarn sighed heavily, saddened but not surprised by his gruesome discovery. Such was the lot of an Aghar in Thorbardin. Though no Hylar would butcher one of the pathetic creatures for such a trivial prize, there were plenty of dark dwarves around who wouldn't hesitate to draw blood. If someone had seen the killer, there would be little recourse; doubtless even many Hylar would be secretly pleased that one more of the pesky little scavengers had been removed from the city.
Taking care not to get any blood on his boots, Tarn stepped around the corpse and continued on. He soon encountered a trio of Daergar who looked at him suspiciously, then glanced back at the crates. Tarn spat in their direction and continued on, and the Daergar apparently decided to ignore the insult rather than tangle with a lone dwarf who was so easily offended. One of them hacked and spit loudly toward Tarn's back, and then the trio returned to their task of stacking crates.
Tarn felt a twinge of envy for the Daergar, who at least had a task to do, some real work. All of his life he had lived in comfort, well-supported by his mother's money and his father's status, a proud member of one of the finest of the Hylar's old noble houses. He had come to be accepted, though admittedly with reservations, by much of Hybardin society, and his exotic good looks had made him a favorite consort of some of the wilder dwarven wenches of his own age, not to mention the older matriarchs and grand dames who every so often sent a lascivious invitation in his direction.
It was a good life, he tried to tell himself, but by now he realized the truth: It was an easy life, and for many years that had been enough for him. His mother's departure was a reminder that times were changing, and his life was bound to change, too.
Of course, he could have joined Glade Hornfel's expedition to Solamnia. Though he was only half Hylar, Tarn Bellowgranite would certainly have been welcomed in the thane's army. After all, Tarn was Hornfel's cousin's son, and his fighting prowess was well-known. However, in response to the reluctance of the other clans, Hornfel had declared that he wanted only Hylar in his army. 'The pure of blood, for only they will have nobility of soul,' were his exact words. Tarn had found it easy to feel excluded, a reaction that had greatly pleased his mother. As regarded his father's disappointment, Tarn didn't really care. Baker Whitegranite was, to Tarn's way of thinking, the worst kind of dwarf, a man who would rather spend his days cooped up in a library than doing something, anything, that would bespeak a course of action.
There was one more reason Tarn had wanted to stay behind in Hybardin, and as he came around the wharves to the western side he saw her. He drifted closer, then settled himself onto a small pile of coal where he could get a good view.
Belicia Felixia Slateshoulders was drilling a group of recruits so young that their beards barely covered their cheeks. She stalked up and down before the would-be warriors, her face locked in a frown, a stout staff in her hands. This rank of Hylar was learning the finer points of holding a shield wall, and Belicia Slateshoulders, a veteran female warrior with sturdy legs, solid hips, and the broad shoulders of a true soldier, wasted no effort in pointing up their numerous failings.
'You! Crettipus! Hold that shield lower! Do you want to get your legs cut off?' For emphasis Belicia whacked her staff beneath the protective barrier, drawing a howl from poor Crettipus. That hapless recruit scrambled backward, holding his shin and hopping on one foot.
'And you, Farran!' She barked at the next dwarf. 'When your comrade goes down, you have to get your shield over fast or else the next one of you will go down as well.'
She thrust the pole past the stumbling Farran to jab the tip into the solar plexus of a third dwarf. That one went down, gasping, and Belicia strode through the shambles she had made of the shield wall, spinning to smack Farran on the backside.
'If this was a real fight, Raggat here would have been killed,' she snapped. Raggat, the fellow who had been dropped by the blow to the belly, glowered at Farran, who stammered an apology.
'Remember, your shield protects the dwarf to your left. If he falls, you have to move quickly! If you let an enemy do what I just did, we're all doomed. Now, are there any questions?'
The chagrined young dwarves, some three dozen in number, were too thoroughly cowed to so much as raise a hand.
'Good. You're learning,' Belicia barked. 'Now, by twos, get yourselves going on the sword and shield drill. And I want to see some sweat!'
Quickly the recruits paired off. Tarn smiled as he noticed that Farran was quick to find a partner other than the still disgruntled Raggat. In moments the dockside rang with the sounds of blades striking shields.
Tarn didn't know that Belicia had ever taken her eyes off the company, but as soon as the mock combats began she sauntered over to Tarn and plopped down on the small mound of coal.
'Come to join up?' she asked him with a wink.
'Do you think you could use me?' he asked, straight-faced.
She sighed. 'No offense, but we could use just about anybody with a warm body and at least one eye.'
'I'm sure you'll whip them into proper dwarven warriors in no time.'
'It's not only here that we need them,' she replied, meeting his gaze with a look that was all seriousness. 'But it's all over Hybardin. Thane Hornfel took every able-bodied fighter we have.'
'Almost,' Tarn replied, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
He was looking for pity, but he met with no success as she replied curtly. 'It was your choice, no one else's, that kept you behind. You know damned well he could have used you and would have welcomed your enlistment.'
Tarn shook his head belligerently. 'With all that talk about Hylar purity, he might as well have called me an ill-bred bastard. He can wage the Solamnian war without me.' His temper was lousy, and he felt acutely defensive. He had not come to see Belicia so they could discuss the Hybardin military situation-or lack thereof.
'I guess you haven't heard then,' the dwarfwoman replied, her tone softening. 'There's a rumor that the Hylar are no longer fighting the army of Takhisis. It's said they're sailing north of Ansalon to campaign against some new threat.'
'Sailing? By Reorx! You mean away from the continent?'
'That's what I've heard.' Belicia tried to be casual, but she couldn't entirely suppress a shudder of discomfort.
'Where did you hear that news?'
'A courier came from the army just a few hours ago. He went directly to your father but then talked a little bit to the staff of the barracks cooking hall. You know how word gets around, even in an untrained army.'
Tarn grunted. The topic of his father was another he had little interest in pursuing.
'Have you seen your father at all, recently?' she probed.
He snorted. 'Two weeks ago, but all he wanted to talk about was some silly tale of the Graygem and a platinum egg in that cursed Grotto of his! I swear, I hope he finds the place, just so he shuts up about it!'
'Well, go find out for yourself about the latest news, then. I've got to get back to my company,' Belicia snapped in exasperation.
'Wait. I'm sorry,' the half-breed interjected. 'I wanted to talk to you, to see if perhaps we could get away for an interval. Maybe take one of the freeboats across the lake.'
She sighed and shook her head. 'Timing: that's always the problem with us, isn't it?' she said, not
