you walk beneath them.'
Wingover left his horse with a liveryman and made his way to the pavilion of the mountain dwarf trader, Rogar Goldbuckle.
The pavilion, with its red and yellow awnings, was one of the largest in
Barter, for Goldbuckle and his party did most of the outside trading commissioned by the Daewar merchants in Thorbardin. The pavilion was a large rectangle, with tended stalls on three sides. There, dwarves wearing
Goldbuckle's colors offered the finest of Thorbardin commodities — gemstones of many kinds, pyrites and hewn stone, minerals in powder or granule form, prized funguses famed for their taste, burningstone to fuel hearths in winter, huge varieties of handcarved trinkets and decorations, and — of course — some of the finest arms and armor available anywhere in
Ansalon.
Within the pavilion's fourth side were the counting tables, and there
Wingover found Rogar Goldbuckle. The trader raised a bushy eyebrow at sight of the human and said, 'Well, it looks to me as though you are still alive. Did you give up the idea of going to Pax Tharkas by way of the wilderness?'
'Give up, nothing,' Wingover chuckled. 'I've been there and back, and
I'm ready to collect on our wager. But first, it will cost you a mug of ale to hear about it, Rogar Goldbuckle. And none of your trade swill, either. Bring out your own supply.'
'Trade swill indeed!' the dwarf snapped. 'I handle nothing but the finest, and each barrel better than the rest.'
Despite this claim, though, Rogar Goldbuckle brought out his own stock and led the man to a quiet corner where there was a table and benches. He poured golden ale into a pair of fine silver goblets, and for a time they sat together in silence, enjoying the potent beverage. Only when Wingover had drained his goblet and licked his whiskers in appreciation did the dwarf get down to business. 'You promised proof,' Goldbuckle said. 'What kind of proof do you offer?'
With a wink, Wingover slid his pack from beneath his bench, hoisted it, and set it on the plank table between them. 'Check the seal,' he said.
'It's from your own consignee in Pax Tharkas. And it's unbroken.'
The dwarf inspected pack and seal, grumbling as he went over it. 'It was a stupid wager anyway, and had I been sober at the time you'd not have duped me into it. How much was it, again?'
'You know very well how much it was,' Wingover said. 'Now pay up. And what do you mean, 'duped?' It was your idea, as I recall.'
'I was just trying to do you a good turn,' Goldbuckle snapped. 'You had nothing constructive to do, so I thought I'd give you an opportunity for a pleasant outing.'
'Pleasant outing? When was the last time you tried to cross that wilderness, you old charlatan? I made it there and back, but it's not something I'll do again for a while. What with thieves and waylayers at every turn, and cave-ogres… and cats.'
'Cats?'
'Cats. Oh, yes. And goblins. Why are there goblins this far south,
Rogar? Have you heard anything?'
'You actually saw goblins?' the dwarf's eyes narrowed. 'There have been some rumors, of course, but — '
'Not only saw them, but fought them. Garon Wendesthalas and I. He was on his way down from Qualinost, and a band of armed goblins set a trap for him. I happened along and spoiled the party. Half a day from here, or not much farther. Where the trail comes down from Grieving Ridge.'
'But — ' Goldbuckle's eyes widened. 'But that isn't even the wilderness.
That's well within Thorbardin's realm.'
'That's what I thought. Garon and I think they were a scouting party, but that's about all we could learn. The one that we kept alive — or tried to — had a spell on him. It killed him before he could tell us anything, except a name. Darkmoor. Do you know about anyone by that name? Or anyone called Commander?'
The dwarf shook his head.
Wingover shrugged. 'Maybe we'll never know what it's all about. What are these rumors you mentioned?'
'Oh, just odds and ends. Someone said that goblins were seen in upper
Dergoth recently, and several people have mentioned seeing more ogres than usual. They said the ogres seemed to be laughing sometimes, as though at a great joke.'
'What's a joke to an ogre could be bad news for anyone else,' the man noted. 'What else?'
'Well… they say that some of the plains tribes in the northern lands have begun migrations southward, with tales of strange happenings in the
Khalkists.'
'What sort of happenings?'
'Oh, people disappearing and that sort of thing.'
'People disappear all the time.'
'But not usually whole villages… even whole tribes.'
'Not usually, no.'
'Tarnish,' the dwarf rumbled. 'It's an uncertain world we live in,
Wingover, and troubling times. I've heard a dozen predictions, just since
I arrived here, that Ansalon will be overrun by war within two years. Some say less time than that. The seers have been studying omens and comparing notes, along with some of the mages. But not one has any idea who, or what, may be involved in the war if the time should come. Ah, me. What's a poor trader to make of it all?'
Wingover grinned at the dwarf. 'Every profit the market will bear, as usual. Speaking of which, I'm ready to collect on our bet, in case you've forgotten.' He held out his hand, palm up.
'Corrosion!' Goldbuckle snapped. 'That's a lot of money. Do you think all I have to do is snap my fingers old -
Wingover nodded. 'You old skinflint, that's no more than petty coin to you, and you know it. So hand it over, and I'll stand the first round at the Flying Pigs. Garon will meet us there, and we can compare goblin stories and sinister rumors.'
Still the dwarf hesitated, and Wingover crossed his arms on the table.
'If you're thinking about trying for double or nothing, forget it,' the human said. 'Of course, now, if you'd like to just keep your coins and cancel my debt of service instead…'
'I can't do that,' the dwarf muttered. 'Oh, very well!' Without looking around he raised a sturdy arm and snapped his fingers. Within seconds a counting clerk was at his side. The trader whispered to the young dwarf, and the clerk scurried away to return moments later with a fair-sized leather purse. The bag made a resounding, satisfying whack when Goldbuckle slapped it down on the table.
'Ill-gotten gains if ever I saw such,' the dwarf rumbled. 'But I've never been one not to pay a just debt.'
'I never doubted it for a minute,' Wingover assured him. 'By the way, what's in the pack I brought you?'
'Money,' Goldbuckle said, blandly.
'Money?'
'A year's accumulated proceeds from my ventures at Pax Tharkas. You'd be amazed at how difficult it is to make shipments of coin these days,
Wingover.'
The human's mouth hung open in disbelief. 'You you had me set out through the wilderness with your year's fortune in a pack? Do you know how much I'd have charged you to take that responsibility? Even if I took it all?'
'Of course I know,' the old dwarf said blandly. 'It really was far cheaper to make a bet of it.'
'You scoundrel! You… you…'
'Try, 'bedamned old thieving dwarf,' ' the dwarf suggested. 'Some good human swearing might make you
