At that moment, Dol limped into camp. His right sleeve was torn and blood from a scrape on his knee had dried to a crusty brown. “Hello.”
“What happened to you,” said Milli rushing over to the dwarf.
“Some soldiers thought I might be an easy mark,” said Dol with a smile and his eyes blazed red for the briefest of seconds.
“Are you ok?” asked Milli as she shoved Brogus off the stump, sat Dol down, and began to examine the scrape. “It doesn’t look too bad.”
“You should see the other guy,” said Dol with a smile and Milli took a step back and looked at the dwarf with her arms folded over her chest. “It’s got to be the water in the place. Dol, you haven’t been drinking, have you?”
Dol shook his head, “No. The beer is vile but the water,” this with a glance to the glacial stream that poured tens of thousands of gallons into the bay every second, “is exceptional. I cannot fathom why anyone would drink the slop they serve in the common houses.”
“It’s not that bad,” said Brogus with a little smile.
“Yes, it is,” said Milli with a shake of her head. “You’re not drinking any more beer as long as we’re in Das’von.”
“We’re not in Das’von,” said Petra, “technically.”
Milli rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. Dol, did you find a ship to get us out of this place?”
Dol nodded his head, “I booked passage on the Fists of Dogs.”
“What kind of ship is she?” asked Milli.
“Trader,” said Dol, suddenly reverting to his usual taciturn manner and volunteering no more information.
Milli sighed, “And where is she headed?”
“Stav’rol,” said Dol.
Milli looked to Petra.
“That’s about half way down the side of the continent,” said the old woman. “Or so I’ve heard. It’s in the right direction if you want to get to the southern realms but it’s still a long way from the volcanic regions of the far south.”
“It’s in the right direction and it’s out of this place,” said Milli with a firm nod of her little head. “Did you book for three or four?”
Dol looked up without an expression, glanced at Petra, and then said, “Four. Petra’s been a true guide and she knows the ways of the world better than us.”
“She overcharges though,” said Brogus suddenly finding his humor again and smiling in a lazy way.
“As a dwarf I would think you might learn to appreciate that quality,” said Petra with a lopsided little grin on her face as she poked at Brogus with a finger, “at least if everything I’ve ever learned about dwarves is true.”
Brogus laughed and nodded his head. “All right, you can come along, but not as a guide, as an equal partner in whatever we find. We’re not here on a sightseeing trip; we’re here to make a name for ourselves, riches, fame.”
“Then it’s settled,” said Milli with a curt little nod of her head. “When does the ship leave?”
“In two days,” replied Dol. “The captain said we can board any time after tomorrow night. They’re loading cargo for the return trip and don’t want passengers in the way.”
“Ugghh,” said Milli as she looked around the foul encampment. “Another day in this pit. I suppose it could be worse, at least we’ll be rid of that lice-ridden fleabag your so-called friends saddled me with,” she went on with squinting eyes at Brogus.
Brogus shrugged his shoulders, “They were some merchants I knew and we didn’t exactly have a great deal of time to plan the escape before we left. It was a last second decision. You can’t still blame me, can you?”
“Oh can’t I?” said Milli but with a playful giggle.
“You’re not mad,” said Brogus with a smile. “I can tell when you’re really mad and just pretending to be mad.”
“I am angry right now but that’s because the thought of getting out of this place broke my foul mood. Don’t let it go to your head. I’ll never forgive you for that mule.”
Brogus laughed and chucked Dol on the shoulder with a light punch, “She can’t stay mad, she’s a Halfling and everyone knows they are jolly bakers.”
Milli raised one eyebrow and looked at him with her strange yellow eyes. After a few seconds of this the young dwarf raised his hands and lowered his head, “Enough, enough, you win.”
It was late that evening and Brogus was on watch — they kept turns staying awake after their first night in the camp when ruffians attempted to burgle their possession — when he heard approaching footsteps. He was inside the little hut but at the door, sitting on an old wood chair that was missing its back and acted more as a stool. It was sturdy enough and the one piece of furniture in the place when they originally took possession. Footsteps in the night weren’t unusual in the encampment as soldiers, bored and mischievous, often drank too much and stumbled into the wrong hovel as they tried to find their way back home.
These footsteps were not the staggering strides of a drunken soldier but were steady, heavy, and purposeful. They approached the little shack and then stopped, next came the murmur of quiet voices, and finally the light tapping of a knock at the door.
Brogus looked over to the corner of the little shack where Milli and Petra slept on wood shavings they stole from behind a lumber mill north of the city and then to a wood board where Dol spent the evenings and saw no one stirring. He took the short handle of a throwing axe in his right hand and went over to the door, “Who’s there?”
“A messenger from the palace,” said a quiet, calm voice. It spoke just loudly enough to easily penetrate the thin door but not so quietly as to lose any authority.
“What palace?” said Brogus, and he raised the axe higher while reaching forward with his left hand to the heavy bolt on the door. They put the bolt on themselves almost immediately upon purchasing the right to squat in the little hovel. The place was totally unsecured originally but a few modifications from Dol and Brogus changed that quickly enough. They weren’t familiar with wood working but some of the same principals of stone masonry applied, at least enough for them to make the place safe from simple thieves.
“Corancil’s palace, at the base of the Fountain of Graves,” said the voice in the same quiet tone.
“I don’t believe you,” said Brogus and yanked the door open with a sudden movement. Brogus immediately took in the image of a tall, gangly man who wore a dark woolen overcoat. Even in the dim light of the moon the fine make of the cloak was obvious. The man stood quietly at the door and then bowed his head slightly, “May I come in? The camp is filled with ruffians and I fear for my safety.”
Brogus shrugged his shoulders but took a step backwards to allow the man to pass through. He held the axe high but the man didn’t seem to notice it as he ducked down to pass through the frame. Brogus realized he must be well over six feet in height and in the moonlight his skin seemed to shine a burnt orange color.
The visitor looked around the little shack for a moment and then walked over to the stove that dominated the center of the room where a kettle gently steamed. They kept hot water at the ready at all times during the long winter nights of the northern realms. “Can I pour myself a mug,” he asked with a look to Brogus as his hand stopped, poised at the handle of the kettle.
Brogus again shrugged, “Go ahead. The mugs are over there,” he said with a waving motion of his hand towards a little cupboard where half a dozen mugs rested on a plain wood panel that was partially warped to bend upwards at both the front and back.
“You might want to wake your friends,” said the man as he poured steaming water into one of the mugs. “This concerns you all.”
Brogus looked over to Milli and Petra but the two women were already awake and stared back at him with narrowed eyes in the dim light that came through the gratings on the stove. Dol was also awake and leaning on one elbow while he watched the newcomer closely. “We’re up,” said Milli with a little smile.
“Who are you?” said Brogus as the man finished stirring in some of the crushed coffee beans they kept in a little glass jar near the mugs.
“My name is unimportant,” said the man without expression on his face as he turned back to face Brogus. “I am here because First Citizen Corancil learned you are from Craggen Steep and hopes to make an alliance of
