Chapter Four
EYES BURNING FROM LACK OF SLEEP, I nonetheless was seated on a hitching post in the bailey when the dwarves arrived.
Asdren spied me right off, alert warrior training honed well, I assumed, bright blue eyes locking onto me.
I waved at the quartet, all of whom looked to be fresh from their beds, if their hair, beards, and clothes were any indication.
Even Asdren appeared slightly unkempt as he neared.
The first call of a songbird could be heard from far away, the crow of a cock following on the bunting’s song.
Thankfully, the pens were empty of animals.
There was a soft red glow in the forge of Kinney Ironhelm, the castle armorer. The castle slept, but not for long.
“Well, look at this. Not every day you see a red warbler sitting so pretty on a post,” Asdren tossed out.
I leapt to the ground and bowed to the legion leader with a flourish.
Smuta reached down to scratch a breast, her leather armor snug tight around her waist, a mace dangling from a hook from her wide belt.
“Least wise he’s prompt,” she said around a yawn.
The twins eyeballed me and then stumbled into the stable, emerging a few moments later with five striped ponies with thick fur, small ears, and long hair covering their hooves.
They looked brownish red in the flickering torchlight of the bailey. “Ah, there’s my pretty.”
Smuta went over to one of the stout horses to cuddle it. The twins, looking more and more haggard the lighter the sky grew, began saddling the horses for the ride. The ponies were placid about it all, happy to be fussed over by Smuta.
“I’ll go saddle Hasulett, then we can be off,” I announced. The dwarves snickered. “What?”
“Chirp, you can’t ride that twig-legged horse of yours up the side of the Witherhorns.” I folded my arms over my chest to glare at Asdren. “He’ll snap a leg, then we’ll have to eat him, and I figure you and him is like ham and cheese on hot bread so he best be staying here.”
“Bull piss,” I replied hotly. “Many people ride horses up the side of the Witherhorns. Two druid teachers I know well did so, and their horses were fine.”
Asdren rubbed a hand over his face and looked up at me.
“Look, I don’t know nor care what some druid teachers did.
I’m telling you the only things that can make it to the Iron Gate at the top of them deadly peaks is either one of these here agate ponies or a fucking crag goat.
Now, if you’d rather ride a goat, we can procure you one once we get closer to the base of the mountains. ”
“I cannot ride a pony. I will look like a jackass,” I argued. A raven arrived, Click I assumed, and landed atop the forge roof. His black eyes found me quickly.
“Now that’s something to see for sure! A jackass riding a pony!” Narub—or was it Dulgar?—hooted while tossing saddlebags over the back of their pack pony.
“Feel free to walk, or fly if you have a wish, Chirp, but I ain’t taking no elf steed up the mountain.
Plus, once we get inside, there ain’t no way a big horse can fit in the tunnels.
It ain’t safe for the horse nor its skinny rider, so either you go say goodbye to your horse or you stay behind, but whatever it is you decide, do it now. ”
Asdren planted his booted feet, thick arms crossed, and glared up at me. Daring me not to comply. The hairy oaf. I was tempted to wrench the huge war hammer hanging from his belt free and crack him over his thick skull.
“I shall go say goodbye to Hasulett.” He smiled up at me with straight, white teeth before waving royally at the stables.
“Foul-smelling rat-about,” I flung at him as I stalked into the stable to speak with my horse.
Saying goodbye to him was difficult. He was perhaps the better half of me, and with the loss of Pasil so fresh, I clung to his strong neck as the scuttle of stableboys arriving and the titters of dwarves drifted by.
“I will come back as soon as I can, my friend.”
Apple.
I had to chuckle but dug into my satchel to pluck a few apple slices from my travel bag.
I must ride the ponies for this trip.
They are small. Tiny. Not real horses.
Nothing like you. I will miss you.
I will miss your hand on my brush.
While he ate, I kissed his snout and then found a sleepy lad to give him strict instructions and a warning about his backside should I return to find my horse in poor condition.
I wanted to write a note to the stablemaster, but my writing was terrible, so I dictated a missive for the stablemaster to the lad and watched him slide it under the locked door of the stablemaster’s office.
Looking back at my gelding being fed fresh hay by an eager young elf, I pushed myself back into the bailey.
The dwarves were waiting for me, none seemed pleased. I cared not.
“This one here is yours,” Asdren patted a pony on the backside, his fingers sinking into her thick fur to scratch her rump.
“Her name is Jagar. She’ll tote your scrawny arse up the mountain with little trouble, but remember she ain’t like your mainland horses.
She’s prone to fits of pure stubbornness that only go away when you sing a song to her. ”
“Oh horse shite,” I fired back before stamping to the pony. I opened my mind to her. The little thing startled when I touched her thoughts, dark eyes flaring wide, short ears pinning back.
Hello, Jagar. I am a friend. My name is Beiro.
Friend. Scared Jugar. Sing song.
My sight flew to the dwarves smiling smugly at me. I returned my attention to the pony, stroking her long mane from her eyes.
Sing a song for you?
Yes. Sing song. Apples.
Oh joy, another apple addict.
Does a song make you less scared?
Yes. Sing song. Strong pony song.
Knowing I was beaten, I fished out a few more apple slices, held them out on my flat palm to Jagar, and watched her delicately take them one by one. Then, as she chewed, I turned to Smuta, who was climbing onto the back of her pony.
“The strong pony song,” I said before throwing a leg over the pony then sitting. My feet nearly touched the ground, but amazingly, the saddle fit well enough. Due to the generally stockier build of the dwarves, I assumed. I had to look a total fool. “Do you know the lyrics?”
“Aye, I do, but it’s in Dwarvish. How’s your tongue, Chirp?”
“Quite skilled,” I bragged as the males saddled up, Narub fitting his sword and shield to his saddle as his twin gathered the reins of the pack ponies, his daggers strapped to his thick thighs in scabbards festooned with dwarven runes burned into the leather.
“Bet you say that to all the boys,” Asdren flung out as he trotted past me to take the lead. The others howled in mirth.
If I did not kick that black-maned knob off the side of the Witherhorns, it would be a miracle.
Riding a pony when you had long legs was not the best ride.
Thankfully, Jagar seemed okay with my odd seat.
Pity I could not say the same. Her gait was off, which made riding her seem unstable.
By midday, my thighs ached from holding my legs up for so many hours.
The leader of this band of high-paid thieves had decided we would ride on until nightfall to get as far as we could as quickly as we could.
I rode beside Smuta, gnawing on some baked pine nut roll, the twins behind us.
“No, Chirp, you ain’t making your throat sounds right.” She sighed at the twentieth try of the strong pony song. “You’re hitting them fancy elven court inflections. Dwarvish is more about the power of the rock in our words than the airy-fart diction of your people.”
Klept, her pony, plodded along in step with Jagar, both waiting for me to get the damnable song right.
Agate ponies had about as much patience as the gruff folk who rode them.
And just about as much speed. They were painfully slow.
Hasulett would have had me halfway to Kanazen in the time it had taken us to get to the farmlands of Celear.
At this rate, we would be a fortnight, if not more, just reaching the Iron Gate, wherever that sat.
Click was acting as our scout, flying ahead and then coming back to report that there was nothing to report.
“Your tongue is difficult,” I confessed around a mouthful of my midday meal.
“Aye, that it is, but once you know it, you feel the surge of hot rock in your gut. So, once more now, your pony is waiting.”
An hour passed, yet I was no closer to pinning down this song in their tongue than I was of touching the sun high above us. Several white and red goats watched us from the other side of a fence as we trotted along.
“For the love of the Hearthmother’s sweetly scented muff, just tell the boy the words in his damn tongue!
” Asdren barked over his shoulder when I stumbled over the hard R sound in a word I wasn’t even sure was about a pony.
“If I hear him butcher our language once more, I will toss both of you into that fucking creek and then stand on your chests.”
I looked over at the creek. It was not deep enough to drown with a dwarf on your chest unless you were face down, but then he would be on your back.
“You and which other fucker?!” Smuta shouted as her cheeks went red. The twins snickered softly at the rear.
“Look, Chirp, just sing the fucking song in your language,” Asdren barked once more.
“I could if I knew the lyrics in Elvish,” I fired at his back. His wild black hair hung down to rest between his shoulder blades, a tangle of bits of dead leaf, braids, and kinky strands that curled at the ends.
He yanked on the reins. His pony, a stallion by the name of Rotto, came to a fast halt in the middle of a quiet dirt road. Asdren wheeled the pony about to face us.