splattered with his own sweat. He set his helmet aside as he knelt at the stream, then bent over and splashed water on his head. After taking a long drink and rinsing off, he settled back on the bank, rubbing his knees.
Only the brook spoke for a long time. I thought about the dead hobgoblins, my cousins, and myself. I wondered who had killed us all, and why.
I studied Orun then. He had leaned back against the fallen log on which his precious axe rested, his stumpy legs stretched out. His dark wet beard was as tangled and chaotic as a mop.
'Tell me about Theiwar,' I said.
Orun glanced over in surprise. 'Like what?'
'Everything,' I said.
Orun shrugged. 'Know anything at all 'bout 'em?'
'No.'
'Mmm,' he said. He looked down, chewing his lips. 'Theiwar. They're sorta like dwarves, but not normal. Not at all like true dwarves. They're uglier, o' course. You heard me say they throw spells, and they do that. But they're weaker. Sunlight makes 'em puke; can't stand it at all. Have to hide in the day or else wrap 'emselves up in black. Inbreedin' does it.'
He paused for thought. 'Not ugly only on the outside, either. They're cowards, thieves, murderers. Those're their good points.' He smiled only briefly. 'They're like a bad relative. You got a distant cousin you hate. He cheats, lies, steals, thinks he owns the world. He's still family, 'long as he obeys the rules o' the house. Follow me so far?'
I nodded and thought about the hobgoblins. 'They collect trophies?'
'Sure do. Ears they like — easier to cut off than fingers. Save 'em up, show 'em to their friends. Use 'em to prove their kills. Eat 'em later, maybe. Don't know, don't want to know.' He stroked his shaggy beard.
'Theiwar use crossbows?' It was a long-overdue question.
'Sure,' he said. He got to his feet, dusting off his trousers and cloak. 'Got all sorts o' funny weapons, but they do like them crossbows.'
It made sense that a Theiwar might have been my murderer. I knew a dwarf could see enough well in darkness. The Theiwar could have gone right up the cliff after killing me to do in the hobgoblin lookouts, then the rest of them. But why would a Theiwar kill me? Did he or the hobgoblins kill my cousins? Why would he kill his own allies? It made no sense.
Orun stomped his feet, then looked at the forest and ruins. He glanced back at his axe, still on the log, then shrugged and spat.
'Never thought I'd see a rev'nant, or talk to one,' he stated, adjusting his cloak. 'One of my old kin, great uncle, he was one. Lemishite killed 'im out in a field, took his steel. Broan came back, blood still on 'im, and called for aid. Two of my kin went with 'im. Found the Lemishite halfway back to his home. My kin came back, but not Broan. Kin never spoke of it much. Hundred, hundred ten years ago.'
He rubbed at his throat. 'Seen others who came back, but not like you. Walkin' dead, mindless. Black Robe wizards like 'em. Had one pass through Kaolyn once. Didn't let 'im stop. Had a bunch of dead helpers.' Orun's face twisted with disgust at the memory. 'Wizards,' he sighed.
'Did you know this Garith?' I asked.
A muscle twitched in Orun's left cheek, pulling on the side of his mouth. He looked toward the road, remembering. 'Was his contact with Kaolyn, kind o' to keep an eye on 'im. Supposed to have known what he was doing when he was killin' our people off, but he got by me.' The dwarf grunted, pulling the cloak tightly around his shoulders. 'Almost did for me, too, but I was lucky. Damn lucky.'
I eyed him for a few moments. 'You want him.'
Orun was silent for a moment more, then slowly turned around and grinned at me in a dark way, almost shyly. 'Sure do,' he said, eyes like arrow slits in a fortress. 'Want 'im bad. He killed some good friends o' mine. My fault, really. I know how y'feel. You want to get your claws 'round his scrawny neck and squeeze his life out, make 'im feel what you felt. That right?'
I said nothing.
He grinned more broadly. 'Well, you miss 'im, and I'll finish it for you. Lookin' forward to it. Our boy's been a busy little runt, killin' everything he can find. Got it in for everyone, like the rest o' 'is folk. Thinks he's a bad boy. But he won't like seein' you and me together.'
'Why aren't you afraid of me?' I asked.
The dwarf looked me over in silence, then snorted as if he'd heard a bad joke. 'You want me to be afraid there, dead boy? I'll tell you somethin'. In the war, my commander got 'imself killed by a draconian, sivak type. They're the big silver ones what change their shapes when they kill someone, so they look like what they just killed. You heard 'bout 'em?'
I remembered sivaks very well from the war. 'Yes.'
'I saw the killin', but I wasn't in a way to do anythin' 'bout it right then and there. Had to travel with 'im for two days, pretendin' he was my friend, all the time knowin' he was gonna turn on me and my buddies and kill us off or take us to an ambush. Got some help in time, though, and we cut that reptile boy down to gully dwarf meat. You may be a dead boy, but after that sivak, nothin' much ever gets to me.'
The dwarf clapped his hands together, then went to get his axe. ''Sides, like I said, you probably leadin' me right to Garith. Gonna be like a family reunion.' He lifted the axe to gaze down the blade. 'I been dyin' to see the boy. Like as not, he'll be dyin' too — after he sees me.'
Evening came at last. We stopped once more for Orun to rest, then moved on as the sun went down. I told Orun about my 'cousins, my uncle, my life, and my death. He walked silently as he listened, asking few questions. I talked until I knew of nothing more to say.
At dusk, my awareness of my murderer's location arose in my consciousness as comfortably as if it had never left. He was still heading for Twisting Creek, but we were much closer to him now. He'd make it to town before morning, but we'd not be far behind him. His speed picked up as the evening deepened, and so did mine — and I was faster, even with Orun.
By noon the next day, we were just two hours outside of Twisting Creek. There we stopped at an abandoned farmhouse, one I knew had belonged to a couple who had moved away during the war. The log-and-stone home was overgrown with vines and had been boarded up, but it still appeared to be in good shape. It took only moments to break inside. There Orun slept until early evening. I knew we could afford the break. I wanted Orun in good shape when we found the Theiwar. Orun awoke 'ready to do business.'
'Wish I knew what spells he's been collectin',' Orun said for the third time later that evening. The whetstone in his hand made a soft grinding sound as he touched up the blade of his axe. 'Garith could turn invisible, hypnotize folks with colors, and make light shine. And make poison gas, which he probably used on them hobs. But he knew lots more than that.' He held up his axe and examined it in the dim light coming through the cracks in the shuttered windows. 'Damn, I'm lookin' forward to seein' him.'
Orun ransacked the house while I waited for my supernatural senses to focus. He found a moth-eaten gray cloak and dropped it on my lap, as well as a stained pair of trousers and a shirt. I needed something besides my old clothes to wear in town. It wouldn't do to have everyone know who I was — including the Theiwar, right at first. By the way his big nose wrinkled up, I knew the clothes had to stink of mold and mildew. I probably stank worse, but I couldn't tell, since I never breathed.
It grew darker outside. Energy poured into me like a cold river. When I faced in the direction of town, I could tell that my murderer was just a short walk away.
'I see him,' I said.
Orun nodded, wrapping up his feet with a dry cloth strip. 'Like I said,' he replied, tugging on his boots next, 'Theiwar hate sunlight. Probably stayed at an inn or in a cellar, hidin' from that sun and heavin' 'is guts out, waitin' for the night. Reorx Almighty, they hate that sun.'
We left at nightfall. Orun had wrapped an extra layer of moldy cloth under his armor to add a little protection from the daggers he said Garith was fond of using. He knew it wouldn't stop a crossbow bolt, though, and I'd earlier told him about the poison I'd seen. Black wax was difficult to use, so it wasn't likely that Garith would have his bolts already poisoned. Still, we couldn't count on anything. He'd slain a dozen hobgoblins in one evening, probably without breaking into a sweat.
