Chapter Seven #3
“Never said you was. I was just warning you to not try to talk down a dwarf. You’d sooner talk down a stone troll from bashing your brains in.
” He padded along as I stewed, my sight darting to a plethora of stalls and shops as we walked down the spiral path.
I had never seen such an array of weaponry and armor.
Stalls filled with gem cutters, stonemasons, glassblowers, and runesmiths lined each side of the busy path.
Jewelers shouted at passersby to come see their precious stones and jewelry.
Bright gemstones set in buttery gold glittered in the smoky torchlight.
I spied a small dwarven woman selling cuffs and earrings.
A bright green earring caught my eye. It touched off a memory of my grandmother.
Odd to have a recollection of her come to life now, here, at this moment in time.
I had not seen her for several seasons. Perhaps when this quest was done I should visit her.
I began to move toward the stall, but a strong hand clamped around my wrist. “Not here to shop, Chirp.”
“That green stone. What is it?” I enquired, walking on but gawking over my shoulder, through my bow, at the stall with the enchanting earrings.
“They call it forest garnet. Pretty common in the western mines.”
“It reminds me of my grandmother’s eyes,” I softly said as we moved out of view of the stall.
“Ah, yeah, it does glow just like your eyes, Chirp.” I glanced down to see him studying me in that odd way of his. “Come along. We need to keep moving. You look ready to drop, and the sooner I get off the thoroughfare, the better.”
We walked in silence then, Asdren chugging along at top dwarf walking speed, me at his side, my longer stride keeping us even.
We came across more shops and stalls. Breweries galore, fungus stalls selling mundane mushrooms all the way to fungus glowing from within.
Meat stalls popped up, plucked ducks and chickens hanging on hooks beside ropes of sausages as stout women in white aprons cooked meat chunks on skewers over small braziers to sell. I did my best not to look too appalled.
Another stall held small cages of birds, mostly safflower finches, being sold in wicker cages to grimy-looking miners. The birds were scared, unsure of where the sky had gone.
“Best not let the mine birds talk to you. They ain’t got nothing but sad songs to sing,” Asdren told me. I longed to go run over and throw the cage doors open. Sadly, I dared not, for they served a larger purpose for the workers who toiled so far underground. “Come along, Beiro.”
He touched my hand gently. I trudged after him, the long, painful day catching up to me. My entire body hurt, my head and shoulder worst of all.
Outfitters with lanterns, ropes, and mining equipment. Herbalists. A bookseller with two stalls filled with tomes of all sizes and widths appeared last. This stall was the most popular, it seemed, as two dozen dwarves perused the maps, writing instruments, and stacks of books.
“We’re a literate people,” Asdren explained while we wiggled through the lines of small folk with arms laden with books. “Most of us never leave here, other than the merchants and the unwanted, so them who stay need entertainment. You like to read?”
“I…uhm, no, not really.” He threw a curious look over his shoulder as we passed a small band of jugglers performing for coins. “My head confuses the letters.”
“Ah, that explains the troubles you had earlier. Hmm, shame. I like me a nice pipe with a good book in the evening.” He hurried on as we moved deeper, the temperature climbing upward as we went downward.
I removed my coat as my back was now wet with sweat.
A small stone arch with a gilded gold gate appeared on our left, guarded by two males in fine silver armor.
“Now that there, behind the arch, is the miner’s mile.
The richest and most powerful mining clans call that section of the city home.
The queen’s residence is in there as well.
” He gave the arch a sniff as if it smelled and walked on with his shoulders tightly set.
We soon came to an area packed with pubs and inns.
Music could be heard flowing from the dozens of taverns.
The heat down here was high enough to make me wish I were in short pants.
Plus, there was a fine coating of rock dust that lingered in the air, coating all exposed skin.
It was gritty on the tongue. Surely not healthy to breathe in season after season.
I missed the forests of the wood elves. Clean air, bright skies, the song of a crested whippoorwill.
There was no bird life down here other than the little yellow finches the miners took with them into the digs.
“We’ll be booking a night here,” Asdren told me as we came to stand under a fat wooden sign with a purple beard hanging off the round face of a sleeping dwarf.
The lettering was old, soot-coated, but readable as The Pickled Beard.
“I know the owner. Served in the military with him. Good sort Barron is, makes shite whiskey but won’t ask no questions. ”
“A bed would be nice,” I wearily mumbled, stepping up and into a packed pub with Asdren on my right.
The music continued to play, but the entirety of the tavern gawked at me as we strode into the lively alehouse.
The tables filled with drinkers, the bar packed with thirsty miners, even the musicians in the far corner gaped. I felt my face heat.
“To the end of the bar.” Asdren took hold of my good arm, weaving through drunks and those well on their way to drunk.
Females eyed Asdren with interest as we moved to the far end of a hearty wooden bar.
The steady beating of a drum began to resonate inside my skull as I threw a leg over the short stool and sat.
A burly dwarf with no hair, a nose as wide as a frying pan, and four gold spikes in his brow ambled down to us.
His apron was splashed with ale as well as some red dots that could have been soup or blood.
“Barron, you look like something a shaft crawler ingested and then spit back up.”
The barkeep laughed. “That’s rich coming from a male with legs weaker than a crippled goat.” They clasped hands, grips tight to forearms, then released each other. “Figured you would show up soon as I saw Smuta.” Barron jerked a thumb at the stairs leading to the second floor.
“Oh yeah, she likes to get her face in a nice soft muff right off. So this here is my servant Beiro. We need a bed, some of the venison stew your sister cooks up, and a hot bath. One night.”
Asdren slapped some gold coin on the bar. Barron, he who had made the whiskey that had nearly killed me, slid it into his cupped hand and pocketed it.
“The stew will be a minute, seeing how Thysta just went upstairs with your second,” Barron muttered and threw a look my way. “Huh. Never seen an elf with ginger root hair afore.”
“I hear that often.” I sighed. “May I have some water, please?”
Barron chortled. A mug went flying over our heads to smash on the floor with a cheer. “Polite little thing, ain’t he?”
“Polite and tired. Elves ain’t made to traipse up the side of the Witherhorns. Give him some water and me an ale. You got a room for us?”
“I do. Two silver, and it’ll come with a bath, food, and no questions.”
“We’ll take it.” Coins fell into the barkeep’s hand, then a key tumbled into Asdren’s. “Send the drinks to our room. I need to get this lad into bed.”
“Go easy on him!” Barron shouted over a small brawl breaking out by the front door.
As the barkeep went to deal with the fight, Asdren headed upstairs.
I followed along, miserable, sick at heart for the caged birds, and ready to return to Celear.
Surely Aelir would understand. I would live up to my father’s prophecy for me.
I would be that failure who thought he was above a common bandit.
“In here, boy-o,” Asdren said, pulling me from wallowing in pity.
The door creaked open. A song about a wild dwarven lass with four teats floated up to us.
Surely that was not right. I had seen Smuta’s hefty bosom.
There were only two. Any more and she would tip face front.
“Not much in the way of fancy, but the bed is soft and the sheets are clean. Mostly.” He tossed our saddlebags onto the pine board floor.
I made my way inside a small room with a short bed, a dresser, a fire in the hearth—the insignia of the Hearthmother carved in the stone chimneypiece—and a bathtub propped in the corner.
“It seems fine,” I said, dropping my arse to the bed to stare down at my boots.
“Barron will have some hot water and food sent up quick aways. I’m going to go see about a few things. You wash up, eat, and get some sleep.”
I raised my sight from my boots to the dwarf lingering in the doorway.
I gingerly nodded. He gave me a long look and backed out, closing the door with a soft click.
The rowdiness and music seemed less thunderous up here.
Easing my arm out of the makeshift sling with a groan, I stalled in undressing to a knock at the door.
Calling to whomever it was to enter, I watched as three plump dwarven women entered carrying buckets of hot water, a tray of food and drink, and a fat cloth with a bar of brown soap resting on the drying cloth.
They all stared openly at me for a moment before attending to their jobs.
Once they were done, they left me to it.
The tub was made for dwarven builds as was the bed, but an elf does not shy away from a short tub or a stubby bed.
Stripping down to my short clothes, I hung my armor, coat, shirt, and trousers over the bedposts before diving into one of the two bowls of stew.
I fished the meat out with a wooden spoon bit by bit, depositing each chunk into Asdren’s, and attacked the carrots, potatoes, and turnips with gusto.
Thick brown bread with soft butter was dunked into the rich broth.
I ate like a wild dog. When I was done, my head ached less, but my shoulder hurt more.
With a sigh, I removed my undergarments and stepped into the bath.
The water was hot the mine tunnels, but I eased down into it, hissing as it hit my balls.
There was no room to stretch out fully, so I washed while sitting up, knees bent, thighs pressing into my chest. The soap was much like I had grown up using.
A distinct soapy smell, clean, which lingered on the flesh.
It cleaned the rock dust from my skin and hair.
Rinsing was messy, but soon I was out of the tub with somewhat clean clothes.
A loose shirt that I left dangling to the middle of my thighs would have to serve as a bed shirt.
The room was warm, my hair damp and clean, and my belly full.
Sleep beckoned. I turned down the sheets, lay sideways in the bed, and let my head rest on the lone pillow.
The fire leapt and crackled. Moving to the side more, I tucked my arm into my side, easing the pull on the sore muscles in my shoulder, then fell into a deep, dark, dreamless sleep.