Beyond, of course, there were places such as Haven and New Ports, but Kelryn realized that he would have to wait until spring before reaching one of those bustling locales. Thus he was in a sour mood as he passed into the barren gorge that sheltered the road leading to Pax Tharkas from the south.
He knew that the ancient fortress lay astride a pass that was several dozen miles ahead, and that it was a fair-sized town in its own right. Unfortunately, the massive compound would also inevitably be under the military administration of some sort of local governor or warlord. Like the dwarves, such men were hard to fool with tales of forthcoming riches and intangible family worth. Grimly Kelryn was coming to terms with the fact that he may, in fact, be reduced to actual work in order to see his way through the winter.
He traveled light, though he had purchased several hard loaves of bread in the last village he had passed through. Too, he carried in his saddlebags several skins full of the strong ale favored by the mountain folk. These would make for meager rations when he camped, but at least he had the provisions to see him all the way to Pax Tharkas.
Stern and practical when necessary, Kelryn Darewind was in fact a very hardy man. He could survive in the cold, and he was good enough with his sword to protect himself from brigands or even an ogre or two. But he was frustrated now, because he preferred it when the living was easy.
If only he could reach Pax Tharkas before it started to snow. Now, as the wind penetrated his cloak, whipping his mane of lush black hair forward, he began to doubt that this would be possible. There was a strong hint, a taste and a smell in the air, that suggested he would be caught in a blizzard if he tarried outside for too much longer.
The waft of campfire smoke, carried from a side gully by the bitter wind, reached his nostrils at sunset of his first day in the gorge. Knowing he had at least another day or two to ride before reaching the great fortress, he decided to seek out the fire builder and, with any luck, receive an offer of warmth and hospitality-perhaps even including food-that would see him through the long night.
The gully leading toward the source of the smoke ascended steeply from the road, and the palomino skittered nervously as it tried to negotiate the grade. With a muffled curse, Kelryn slid from the saddle, took the reins in his hand, and started upward on foot. He discerned a narrow trail, but he was more concerned with the damage to his once fine boots. Weeks on the trail had taken their toll in scuffs, scrapes, and even one long gouge along the side of the leather footwear.
As he pushed higher up the gully, the curve of the ravine wall took the road out of sight below him, and he began to wonder if he had imagined the scent of smoke. And even if he hadn't, would someone who camped in such a remote location be welcoming, or even tolerant, of an intruder?
He had no answer to these questions, but he knew he would find out soon as another bend of the steeply climbing trail brought him in sight of a shadowy cave mouth. He could see a faint glow of crimson from within; this was clearly the source of the fire and the smoke. Scrambling up another few steps, he reached a flat swath of gravel before the mouth of the cave. His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, but he didn't draw the weapon as he stared warily into the depths, wondering about the nature of the fire builder within.
'Hullo!' he called, trying to keep his voice cheerful. 'Anyone here?'
A stocky, hunched figure moved from the wall of the cave to stand and face him. Silhouetted by the fire as it was, Kelryn quickly determined by the bowed legs and the barrel-sized torso that the cave's occupant was a dwarf.
'Who's there?' demanded the fellow suspiciously. Kelryn was startled to realize that, despite the backlighting, he could see the dwarf's eyes: two spots of milky white illumination, gleaming at him with uncanny brightness.
'A traveler-a poor horseman,' he replied in the smoothest, friendliest tones he could muster. 'I only hope to share the warmth of your fire.'
With a snort, the dwarf turned his back and sat in the shadows of the cave's interior.
Kelryn waited a beat, wondering if the fellow would make more of a reply. When no sound, no sign of invitation or refusal was forthcoming, he cleared his throat. The horse's breath steamed at his ear, and the fire within the cave crackled atop a heap of embers that looked very warm indeed.
Finally the man determined that he would take charge of the situation. He moved forward slowly, tethering the horse in the entrance of the rocky shelter where it would be protected from the worst of the icy wind. Then he stepped inside, bowing to pass underneath a low mantel of flinty granite. Within, he found that the rocky ceiling rose high, giving him plenty of room to stand. The cave was a fine shelter, he observed, seeing that it even offered a natural flue near the back, where the smoke from the fire crept along the wall and then wafted upward, to be lost in the frigid night-and occasionally carried down to the road by a lucky gust of wind.
Kelryn noted idly that the stone around the flue was soot-stained and shiny black. He suspected that it had served as a fireplace for a long time and wondered if perhaps this dwarf had made the cave a more or less permanent home.
Advancing into the shelter, the man allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He held his hands to his sides so that the dwarf, who glowered silently from his seat near the fire, would know he meant no harm.
'I'm Kelryn Darewind,' he said, offering his most beguiling smile. He gestured to another flat rock beside the fire, opposite the position of the still-silent dwarf. 'Would you mind terribly if I made myself comfortable?'
'Hah!' the dwarf snapped, and again those pale eyes flashed, luminous and staring. 'Let me see.'
Abruptly the fellow clasped both hands to the front of his jerkin, pressing the garment tightly to his chest. Kelryn was surprised to see that the piece of stiff clothing was filthy and torn, lacking the usually fine workmanship of other dwarven garb. The cave dweller's scalp was covered with a bristling mane of stiff, spiky hair, and his beard was a greasy, tangled mat covering most of his chest.
Kelryn was wondering what the dwarf's last remark meant when he heard the wretched fellow begin to speak. He listened, prepared to formulate whatever reply his host might fold agreeable, until he realized that the creature was not speaking to his visitor.
'He wants to stay, he says,' mumbled the dwarf. His pale eyes were vacant, staring past Kelryn, apparently focused on nothing at all. The fingers still clenched into tight fists pressed against his chest. 'Wants to warm himself by the fire, he says.'
'And it's the truth,' Kelryn noted genially. 'I wouldn't be surprised if we get some snow tonight.'
'Snow, he says,' cackled the dwarf, casting a wide-eyed glance at the human before turning his attention back to the vague distance.
Kelryn was mystified, yet intrigued. He suspected that the dwarf was mad, but the filthy cave dweller did not seem terribly dangerous, and Kelryn Darewind had a highly developed sense of danger, at least as it pertained to the protection of his own skin.
'You can stay,' the dwarf said suddenly, releasing his shirt and sighing in what seemed to be exhaustion, or perhaps resignation.
'Thank you. I'm very grateful,' replied the man. He considered a further question and decided to chance it. 'Um… who is it that you were talking to? Or, I should say, to whom do I owe my gratitude?'
'Why, himself, of course,' said the dwarf with a sly grin.
'Well, please convey my thanks.'
'He knows… he knows.'
The dwarf suddenly burst into activity, throwing several pieces of dry wood onto the fire, pulling out a crude bowl that he set in the coals beside the blaze. Kelryn realized that the dish was in fact a steel helm, probably of dwarven make, that had been ignominiously converted to duty as a soup caldron.
'And you are Kelryn,' the dwarf noted, as if confirming his own memory.
'Quite right. And you…?'
'My name is Cantor Blacksword, but you can call me… call me Fistandantilus!' crowed the filthy fellow, as if he had just been struck by inspiration.
'Fistandantilus… the wizard?'
'The same. 'Twas he who gave his blessing to yer staying, he I was talking to.' The dwarf patted his chest smugly, as if the great wizard himself was compactly stored in a pouch beside his skin.
'But you just said that I should call you by that name, yet you seem to indicate that it belongs to someone else.'
'It belongs to me!' shrieked the dwarf, hopping to his feet, standing with legs bowed as if ready to do battle.
