Poleaxe handed the bottle back and Brand, obligingly, took another slug. He reminded himself to be careful, however-it wouldn’t do to drink too much and wake up the next morning groggy, having to cling to a saddle and ride through the rugged hills.
“What is it about the Bluestone that makes it so valuable to you?” Brandon asked finally, a question that had been hovering in his mind during the whole journey.
“Ah, there’s a reason, and you’ll find out soon enough. But it’s too long a tale to be telling now,” the hill dwarf said breezily. He gestured to the bottle again. “Help yourself,” he said encouragingly.
“No, thanks. I think I’ve had enough for now.”
“Suit yourself.” Harn held the bottle himself for a long time, and by the time he offered it again, Brandon didn’t need his arm twisted; the dwarf spirits had thoroughly warmed his belly and soothed away every worry, every concern that might ever have bothered him. His distant home, the loss of his older brother, his parent’s grief and fear… all of those melted away in the soothing pleasure of the moment and the strong drink.
He didn’t think he’d taken that many sips from the bottle, but he was surprised by how his head was starting to spin. Like most dwarves, he had a strong tolerance for the strongest dwarf spirits, and he felt a little embarrassed when he realized that his tongue was growing thick, his speech slowing and slurring.
“Had ’nuf,” he said, passing the flask to his companion, but Poleaxe simply passed it back. It never seemed to grow any emptier, though as the stars began to spin over his head, Brandon was well aware that he had had an awful lot to drink.
“Gonna be a tough day ’morrow,” he muttered finally, his head drooping near to his chest. He knew from experience that his head would hurt and his stomach churn in the morning and probably, considering how much he’d imbibed, well into the afternoon and evening.
“No more,” he blurted when Poleaxe tried to pass him the flask again.
“Are you sure?” asked the hill dwarf, standing over him. How was it possible that the fellow didn’t seem the least bit drunk? They had been sharing the potent liquor for hours!
“Sure,” Brandon declared with some difficulty. “No more.”
Then something struck him, very hard, on the side of his head. He was more mystified than angry as he fell over in slow motion, lying on the ground, gaping up at the sky. The stars were no longer pinpoints of lights, but instead had become a mere whirling blur. Against that blurry backdrop loomed a familiar figure: Harn Poleaxe.
“Hey!” Brandon mumbled. “Wha…?” The question trailed away as he couldn’t articulate the rest of the word.
Then it didn’t matter because Poleaxe hit him again, and everything went black.
THIRTEEN
Gus experienced a myriad of wonders on that, the most splendid day of his life. With the beautiful dwarf maid beside him and the dog Kondike bounding ahead, he strode through a deep valley of the Kharolis. Lofty peaks, mostly covered with snow but occasionally revealing crags of sheer, towering rock, pushed up on either side. On the lower ground in the valley floor, they were able to walk between the snowfields on ground that varied from hard and rocky to marshy mud that squished entertainingly around his boots-and his toes where they poked through the worn material of his ancient footwear.
He stared in amazement as they skirted a deep lake, the water as blue as the turquoise gems that ornamented so many Daergar nobles. Fish darted through those waters, moving with a speed and grace that was very different from the blind cavefish that meandered through the Urkhan Sea. In places the blue sky turned white, marked by what Gretchan called “clouds,” and Gus gaped at the myriad of shapes assumed by those cottony blobs.
“Clouds good to eat?” the gully dwarf wondered as his belly rumbled.
“Well, I don’t think anyone’s tried,” Gretchan replied.
“I try!” he boasted. “I eat two clouds!”
“Good luck,” she said with a laugh. “Are you going to climb back to the top of the mountain? Or can you fly?”
Gus pondered the problem. He looked back to see some of the clouds were, indeed, brushing the summit of Cloudseeker. At the same time, he could see the mountaintop was a very long way away, and the clouds were also a very great distance over their heads.
“Try clouds later,” he conceded, privately resolving not to get more than two steps away from his new, best, very smart, and beautiful friend.
His belly rumbled again and he belched, and she showed her appreciation for his company with an interesting grimace on her lovely face before she quickly turned away. It seemed to Gus as though she walked a little faster when she started back down the valley.
As they descended farther, he discovered “bushes” and “trees.” The latter were not like anything he had seen in Thorbardin; they were fragrant and impressive, rising far over their heads, waving branches laden with feathered green needles. He saw birds that rose in squawking flocks from the smooth surface of a sheltered pond and beavers that swam through the waters, slapping their tails in a loud smack when Kondike bounded near to them. The dog didn’t seem to mind the creatures’ eluding him; he delighted in springing through the shallows, throwing curtains of spray that shimmered like diamonds. When his long black coat was thoroughly soaked, he trotted back to his dwarf companions, braced himself, and shook mightily. Gretchan laughed, stepping behind a tree just in time, but Gus was showered with cool water and laughed himself at the dog’s obvious delight.
“Get fish here?” the Aghar asked hopefully as his belly helpfully reminded him to think of food. He licked his lips at the prospect.
“No,” she said. “I’d like to make a few more miles before we make camp.”
“Those vejables there?” he asked about two minutes later as they passed a field dotted with waving blossoms.
“No,” Gretchan replied before pausing to think. “Well, maybe they are. You can go look if you want, but I’m going to keep walking. You can catch up.”
“No,” he said firmly, pulling his finger out of his nose to inspect the impressive results of his digital probe. “Me stick with you!” he declared loyally.
She muttered under her breath what Gus took to be appreciation for his excellent nose-picking; he didn’t catch her exact words because he was loudly belching again. That time, when she started to walk, he was certain she had picked up the pace. He had to huff and puff as he trotted along, and unfortunately for Gretchan, he was breathing too heavily to continue entertaining her with his endless thoughts and ideas.
At least the shadows beneath the trees were easier on his eyes, which had been strained by the morning spent between snowfields under the open sky. He stared into the shade and relished the sight of spring flowers. When the sun dipped behind the western mountain ridge, the cool evening air and the muted illumination were wonderful to behold. They came upon a deer in a clearing, and the Aghar gaped, awestruck, until Kondike took off like a shot, moving with amazing speed through the long grass as the antlered herbivore sprinted, even faster, into the woods. It was a long time later that the dog, his tongue hanging low and his flanks heaving, padded back to the two dwarves.
“Did he kill it?” Gus asked, eyeing those long white teeth.
“Only in his dreams,” Gretchan assured him, patting the dog affectionately. “He’s fast, but a deer is faster.”
Soon the dwarf maid announced it was time to bed down for the night. Gus suddenly felt his weariness and greeted the news with relief. He plopped down between two outstretched pine roots, pulled his ratty cloak over his head, and prepared to slumber.
“Not so fast, bub,” Gretchan chided him, prodding him with her toe. “You go get some firewood, and I’ll make us a fire.”
“Who Bub?” he demanded, looking around belligerently. “I get you firing wood!”
