“Listen, we’ll stock up on food before we leave town, I promise,” Gretchen said as he stared forlornly at the endless baskets of produce. “While we’re here, though, don’t touch anything, and don’t take anything. Besides, we’ll let others do our cooking for us.”
“Others cook for us?” declared Gus in wonder. He was starting to think that he would like Hillhome very much indeed.
“This looks like a good place; it’s called Moldoon’s,” the dwarf maid explained, helpfully pointing to the name above the inn door. “It’s been here a long time; it shows up in some of the old stories of this place. Rich in history. Perfect for my work.”
Gus followed her and Kondike up the few steps to enter the cool, smoky inn. The Aghar’s nose was assailed by many strange smells, nearly all of them enticing. A few dwarves sitting around tables in the great common room turned to look over at the newcomers. Gus froze as he heard a loud challenge coming from the red-bearded dwarf behind the bar.
“Hey! You can’t bring that big dog in here!” he declared.
Gretchan gave him her sweetest smile. “Oh, that’s all right,” she chirped. “He goes with me everywhere!”
The bartender blushed, stammering and staring into the dwarf maid’s blue eyes then running his eyes approvingly up and down the outline of her tunic. Resenting the bold inspection, Gus planted his fists on his hips and stepped in front of Gretchen, glaring furiously at the dwarf innkeeper. The hill dwarf’s eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the small, smelly gully dwarf, and he looked as if he were about to raise another objection when something caused him to clamp his mouth shut. Instead, he gave Gretchan a broad smile and wink and, when she sat at a table-with Gus on an adjacent chair and Kondike flopping onto the floor at her feet-he came bustling over to her.
“And what might the little lady want?” he said merrily with an effusive manner that Gus found very irritating.
“I’ll take a mug of your finest ale. And bring a smaller glass for my friend here, if you please.”
“Hmm.” Once again the bartender frowned at Gus but then overcame his unspoken objections to quickly fetch the two drinks. “And what brings a pretty stranger such as yourself to our humble village?” he asked, plopping a small glass down in front of Gus before wiping the table and gently placing a foaming mug before Gretchan.
“Well, I’m a historian by avocation, and I’m traveling the lands of the hill and mountain dwarves, writing down as much as I can learn. I’m trying to visit every town from the old days that I can find. Hillhome is more legendary than most, of course.”
“Of course it is!” boasted the bartender.
“Are you Moldoon, himself?” Gretchan asked.
“Yes! Well, no. I mean, I’m the current owner, Web Breezefallow. Moldoon-the original Moldoon-was my wife’s grandfather. He’s not around anymore. So I’m a Moldoon by marriage.”
“That is very interesting,” the dwarf maid replied, daintily sipping from her mug then slurping the foam from her lip with a flick of her pink tongue. She took some parchment out of her knapsack and scribbled a note on it, much to the awe of the bartender and Gus.
“Excuse me, miss,” said another dwarf, walking-swaggering, it looked to Gus-over to the table. “Did I hear you say you’re interested in our town?”
“That I am,” she said. “My name is Gretchan Pax.”
The newcomer whistled and, without waiting for an invitation, sat down at the table, rather rudely nudging Gus to the side. He was a very tall and sturdy dwarf, a little thick around the middle, but his girth suggested strength more than sloth.
“And you are…?” She left the question hanging in the air as she pointedly put her notepaper away.
The big dwarf straightened abruptly. “Sorry. I’m Harn. Harn Poleaxe.”
“What a coincidence,” Gretchen replied. “I’ve wanted to make your acquaintance, having heard your name on my travels.”
“All lies, I assure you!” Poleaxe protested good-naturedly. “And I was never near that woman’s house!”
His loud comments drew raucous laughter from the group of dwarves at the table he had recently vacated. Gus glared stonily at the rude dwarves, but they didn’t pay any attention-all seemed to be casting admiring looks that shifted between Poleaxe and Gretchan.
The two did make a rather attractive pair, Gus thought sulkily. Gretchan’s beauty was unsurpassed, and Poleaxe had an easy confidence, buttressed by his impressive size, that seemed certain to attract the admiration, even obedience, of lesser dwarves. Gus tried to sit taller, puff out his chest, hold his chin up.
“Ah, be quiet, you rock-scrubbers!” Poleaxe called out before leaning in and taking Gretchan’s hand in both of his big paws. “And who,” he said, looking dubiously at Gus and slightly wrinkling his nose, “is this, uh, little whippet?”
Whip it! thought Gus angrily.
“Oh he’s my, uh, assistant,” answered Gretchan smoothly with a slight wink.
Sisstant, thought Gus proudly.
“What say you and I get out of here and find some place we can get better acquainted?”
She smiled sweetly, somehow extracting her hand without Poleaxe’s noticing. “What a charming invitation,” she commented. She pulled her pipe and pouch of dried leaves from her tunic, slowly filling it. “But after this drink, my assistant and I must get busy. First we will have to find a place to stay while we’re in town.”
“I know just the place! I’ll walk you over and show it to you when you’re ready.”
Again Gretchan smiled sweetly. She took a candle from the table and lit her pipe, the pleasant smoke swirling around her as the two dwarves chattered on and on about many things that Gus didn’t understand: touching on the Neidar, the Dwarfgate War, the wandering elves, and some hideous monster they called the Green Wyrm. About the only thing the Aghar could extract from the long, boring conversation (at least two minutes’ worth) was some monster called the Green Wyrm had died some time ago, destroying most of a city, Quali-something, in the process. He shuddered, glad the creature was gone.
After a while his eyes were feeling a little bleary.
“So what do you want to see in Hillhome, besides me?” Harn asked at one point with a chuckle. “I warn you, though, it’ll all be downhill after Harn Poleaxe.”
Gretchan laughed good-naturedly. “Actually, there’s an elderly woman I’d really like to meet. I’ve heard she lives in these parts. I don’t know her name, but people call her Mother Oracle, I believe. You wouldn’t know where I could find her, would you?”
“Know her? Why, I was just there myself; she’s an old friend of mine!” Poleaxe declared. Then his demeanor grew solemn and sorrowful. “Sadly, she’s not well. Wouldn’t even see me after I returned from two years’ traveling. Told me to come back in ten days and see if she was feeling any better. I could ask her then if she’ll see you.”
“Ten days?” the dwarf maid replied, looking disappointed. “Oh. I don’t know if I can stay here that long. I have work to do, so many other places to go.”
“Well, that’s unfortunate,” Harn said. “But I hope you’ll be here for a little while longer. I’d like a chance to get to know you better,” he added slyly.
Gus bristled, but Gretchan, strangely, acted as if she found the hill dwarf kind of beguiling. She gave the Aghar a warning look whenever he opened his mouth to voice his opinion. He settled for clamping his jaws shut and glowering his most menacing glower at Harn’s back.
“There’s a lot of history in these old hills,” the Neidar boasted. “Of course, my people have lived in these lands for better than two thousand years. Lots of it prosperous too until the damned mountain dwarves locked their gates during the Cataclysm. That’s a cause we’re still settling!” he concluded, thumping his chest.
“Why is there always some cause to be settled?” Gretchan snapped back, her vehemence taking the hill dwarf by surprise. “I mean, the Cataclysm was more than four hundred years ago! How long can you people hold a grudge?”
“It’s more than a grudge!” Harn protested, holding up his hands. “Why, the Dwarfgate War-”
“Who do you think started the Dwarfgate War?” she cried, smacking her fist onto the table so hard that the mugs bounced. Her voice was rising, and the gully dwarf sensed that everyone in Moldoon’s was looking at them. Gus slowly slipped down in his chair until just his eyes were above the edge of the table.
“Well, I mean, Fistandantilus-” Poleaxe stammered.
