satisfaction of killing us today, but nothing at all after that.”
“And if you live, does all this money appear like magic?”
“We came here to make a proposition. Dram here remembers you as a shrewd businessman and an intrepid miner. If we live, I offer to buy something from you-something that you can mine in great quantity, that you currently have very little use for.”
Swig leaned past Jaymes to glare at Dram. “You brought this fool here? After what you did to my daughter?” he demanded.
“Now, er, Swig,” Dram said, holding up his hands again. “You got the wrong impression. I didn’t actually do anything!”
“Liar!” roared the hill dwarf, rising to his feet so quickly the thick ale in his mug almost slopped over the sides. He paused and took a long drink, so that he could gesture with no danger of wastage. “I caught you sneaking out of here with your pants in your hand! Are you claiming she ain’t pretty enough for you?”
“No! She’s lovely-a real treasure! A mountain flower,” Dram protested. “Er, a hillside flower, I mean. But my intentions were honorable. I had split a seam, and she was mending it for me! I know how it looked. Mighty suspicious. But that’s all that happened!”
“Bah-why’d you run away, then?”
“You wouldn’t let me explain it at the time! If you recall, I took an arrow in my hindparts as it was! You were in no mood to listen to reason!”
Swig snorted. Still, he blinked, as if considering Dram’s words. “That’s the same story she gave,” he grunted. “Clever, you mountain dwarf scum-even working out your lies together in advance!”
“I tell you, it’s no lie!” Dram’s face grew red, and his beard was twitching. Jaymes rested a hand on his companion’s shoulder, exerting gentle pressure, until his dwarf companion exhaled very slowly.
Swig took another long pull, draining his mug, and sat down. Jaymes took the opportunity to steer the conversation away from reminiscence.
“I understand that you mine plenty of iron from these hills-a good, pure strain of ore.”
“Aye. You understand right. So what?”
“And you do the smelting and casting, right here?”
“That we do. No sense letting a good raw material get gunked up by a bunch of amateurs.”
“Commendable. Vingaard black iron is famed throughout the lands of Solamnia and beyond.”
The dwarf preened a bit, warmed by the praise. “We sell it to the Solamnics at a good price. They take all we can dig and pay premium. So if that’s what you’re after, you might as well stop talking right now. We already got our customers.”
Jaymes shook his head. “No. I have no need of iron and couldn’t match prices paid by the dukes even if I did. But Dram tells me that there is another material, a waste rock of dusty yellow, that you have to cart out of the way in order to get at the iron. Is that true?”
“Sulfir?” Swig shook his head in disgust. “Oh, we haul a bit of that stinking junk off to the cities-some of the metalsmiths use it in their smelting. Most of it we pile up just to get it out of the way.” Suddenly the chieftain narrowed his eyes. “You don’t mean to suggest that you’d be wanting some of that useless chalk?”
“It might have a use for me, yes,” Jaymes said. “I would be willing to negotiate a fee. To start, I want to arrange for the purchase of five tons.”
“Five tons, eh?” Swig looked bored. “Hmm. That’s a lot, that would add up. That might be possible. When do you want it?”
“I will need it in three months’ time. Delivered to a place I will specify one month before delivery-some place in Solamnia.”
“Delivery? Well, of course, delivery is one of our specialties, but that will cost extra.”
“Of course,” Jaymes agreed. “I have no desire to cheat you. If this works, it might be the start of a whole new business for you-something you’ll be able to sell as fast as you can dig it out of the ground.”
“What do you intend to pay for this…” Swig seemed to realize that “junk” was the wrong word to use in describing his newfound and apparently valuable commodity. “… this sulfir ore?”
“What do the dukes pay for iron?” Jaymes asked.
Swig’s eyes narrowed, and he made a great show of scratching his bearded chin. “Well, that depends, depends. The finest grades fetch a thousand steel per ton, paid in gems, usually. Rough ore makes me in the neighborhood of four hundred.”
“I’ll match the price of low grade iron,” Jaymes offered. “Say four hundred steel per ton of sulfir. But I only want the pure yellow rock-your miners will have to chop out the waste.”
Now the hill dwarf looked indignant. “Of course they’ll get rid of the waste! How long do you think I’d stay in business if I was selling impure product?”
“Not long-not with me, in any event. I just want to make sure we understand each other.”
“I understand,” Swig said. He mused for a moment then looked up at Dram, his face locked in a scowl that slowly cracked into something resembling a smile. “She was really just mending your trousers?” he asked.
“I tore ’em on a snag coming up from the south,” the mountain dwarf said with a glower. “And your daughter, bless her kindness-and Reorx knows where she gets it from! — was good enough to see that I could pass on from here without the chill winds of winter blowing up my… well, you get the picture.”
Swig tossed back his head and laughed. The two gnomes joined in, as did the other hill dwarves standing around. Even Jaymes cracked a smile, the warrior winking at the sulking Dram.
“Enough with business!” roared the Vingaard chieftain. “Brewer-bring us a fresh keg. We’ll seal this suitable arrangement over a fine ale-as sacred a bond as a pledge to any god!”
The resulting feast was one of those parties that could be called the stuff of legend. Pilsy Frostmead, lovely and cherished daughter of the chieftain, emerged with several other young lasses, carrying pitchers of Special Reserve Ale, and they proceeded to see that all became better acquainted. Pilsy was a beauty by the standards of the race, with rosy cheeks and a plentitude of toothsome curves.
Dram Feldspar and Swig Frostmead, of course, proceeded to get roaring drunk. The inevitable fistfight erupted shortly after midnight and lasted for slightly less than an hour. In the end they clinched as wrestlers and, after staggering around the room with increasing unsteadiness, collapsed, utterly exhausted.
They fell asleep in each other’s arms, lying in the cold ashes outside the hearth, brothers in dwarfdom…
And mortal proof of Reorx’s blessing.
“You the fellow that drove the Duke of Thelgaard into the Vingaard River?”
The speaker was a human knight dressed in dark armor. He wore no emblem on his breast and carried no weapon-otherwise the guards would not have allowed him to approach Ankhar. The dark-armored knight had a companion, a man dressed in supple black leather, including gloves and a riding cape as long as a robe. The camp guards, naturally, had searched beneath that voluminous garment and pronounced the man unarmed.
These two were courageous, for they did not flinch as the half giant rose to his full height and looked down at the visitors.
“My gobs and hobs did it,” Ankhar replied flatly. “Attack plan all mine.”
“Nice piece of work. That bastard drove me right out of my own city. I’d like to see him spitted on a sword, myself.”
“Your city? Thelgaard?”
“Well, it was for a time, a while back,” the man said. “I got no place now.”
“Well, duke drowned. Or swam away.” Ankhar had been a trifle disappointed that his warriors had not been able to bring him the head of the enemy commander. “His army pretty much broken up. Nine out of ten men fell on field.”
The half giant was more than pleased with the result of his first battle against a large force of trained knights, but it had not sated him. He hungered for more victories. That aim would not be served by fighting this man or his force of some two thousand men-including hundreds of knights in dark armor. Ankhar’s scouts had reported the humans encamped just over the horizon.
The half-giant gazed at the human, sizing him up. He was handsome, by the standards of humankind, with a dueling scar on his cheek.
“You warriors? Captains of men?” Ankhar said.
The armored knight replied. “I am the leader of this brigade. My companion here is a knight of a different
