"Mady?" the tapster replied with evident disbelief.
"On my honor, that's what she swore."
The tapster's eyes made the journey from Ruari to the woman and back again. " 'Tain't like her."
Ruari shrugged. "She said she wasn't feeling well. I guess the ale didn't agree with her."
"Aye—" the tapster agreed, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe so. Didn't give you no problems now, did it?"
"Not at all," Ruari said and hurried out the door where he figured his problems would begin in earnest. "Zvain? Mahtra?" he whispered urgently into the darkness.
With what he'd learned from the woman, Mady, Ruari thought that a bit of druidry and his innate ability to follow the lay of the land could get them through the mountains and into the forest. He was less certain about the halflings. Mady had said the local halflings weren't cannibals, they merely sacrificed strangers to appease the forest spirits, and held celebration feasts afterward if the sacrifices had been accepted. It was too fine a distinction for him to swallow comfortably, but he'd deal with halflings when he had to, not before.
"Mahtra? Zvain?"
The world was edged in elven silver as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Ordinary colors vanished, replaced by the shimmering grays of starlight. Ruari could see the buildings with their hanging hides and skulls and brilliant candlelight seeping through cracked shutters. He could have seen anything moving from his feet to the farthest wall of the farthest building, but he couldn't see Mahtra or Zvain.
Growing anxious and fearing he might have to leave without them, Ruari started toward the pens where they'd left the kanks. The kirre started keening once it caught his scent. He almost missed someone calling his name.
"Ruari! Over here!"
It was Zvain, hiding behind a heap of empty casks between the animal pens and the tavern. Ruari dared to hope the shadow crouched beside Zvain was Mahtra, but that hope was dashed when he realized the shadow was standing and not crouched at all. Gray nightvision sometimes played tricks on a color-habituated mind. Ruari couldn't make sense out of what he saw: The stranger was a bit too tall and bulky to be a halfling. Its head was covered with wild hair that fell below its shoulders, so it couldn't be a hairless dwarf. He was about to decide Zvain had found another New Race individual when the stranger reached up to scratch its hair and pulled a dead animal off its bald scalp.
The stranger was a dwarf, a dwarf wearing a cap Ruari didn't want to see by the light of day.
"I solved all our problems, Ru," Zvain exalted, urging the dwarf forward. "This is Orekel. He says he can get us to the black tree."
It was true that Ruari's trousers were still damp and he smelled of sweat and ale, but the air around Orekel was almost certainly flammable. Ruari shook the dwarf's hand tentatively—and without inhaling—then retreated. Considering what he'd gone through to get free of Mady, Orekel was no improvement.
"We got it all figured, Orekel an' me," Zvain continued, unfazed by Ruari's silent displeasure. "All we have to do is give Orekel our kanks—he'll use them to settle his credit with the tapster in there, an' then he'll be our guide. It's a good deal, Ru—we can't take the bugs into the mountains anyway. Orekel's gone 'cross the mountains and into the forests a lot of times. You've got to hear the stories he tells! He says he can find anything up there—"
"Back up," Ruari interrupted. "You said we give him our kanks? How're we supposed to get home without our bugs?"
"Not a problem," Zvain said before turning to the dwarf. "You tell him, Orekel—"
"Gold," the dwarf said, grabbing Ruari's wrist and pulling on it hard enough to make the half-elf stoop. "That black tree—she's full of gold and silver, rubies and emeralds. The great halfling treasure! Can you see it, my friend?"
Everyone in Ject wanted to be Ruari's friend. "No," he grumbled, trying to free his wrist.
But a dwarf's fist wasn't lightly shed. Orekel pulled larder, and Ruari sank to one knee to keep his balance. They were more nearly face-to-face now. Ruari got light-leaded from the fumes.
"Look ye up there." Orekel directed Ruari's attention to the mountains. "You see those two peaks that're almost alike. We go between them, my friend, and down into the forest. There's a path, a path right through the heart of the halflings' sacred ground, right up to the trunk of that big, black tree. Can you see it now? As much treasure as your arms can carry. Buy your kanks back with halfling gold. Buy a roc and fly home. Can you see it, son?"
"No." This time Ruari twisted his wrist as he jerked it up and out of Orekel's grasp. "If you know all this, what's kept you from getting rich yourself?"
"Ru—" Zvain hissed and gave Ruari a kick in the shin as well.
Orekel shuffled his ghastly cap from one hand to the other, giving a good impression of abject embarrassment. "Oh, I would go. I would've gone a thousand times and made myself as rich as the dragon. But I get tempted, you see, when I've got a bit of jingly at my belt. I get just a mite tempted and the wine, oh, she tastes so sweet. The next I know, I'm out here with a sore head and the tapster, he's got a claim on me. I regret my temptation. Lord, I do regret it. Never again, says I to myself each and every time, then along comes some jingly and it's all the same. I do see my flaws. I do see them, but they rear up and grab me every time. But you've come at just the right time, son. I'm sober as the day is long and not in so deep with the tapster that your bugs won't buy me out. We'd be partners, the three of us."
Ruari retreated another step. "Zvain," he said with more politeness than he felt or needed. "Would you come over here, please?" Zvain hesitated, but took the necessary steps. "What? Did you make a better bargain with that
"Look at him. Get a whiff of him—if you dare. Your Orekel's a complete sot! I wouldn't give him a dead bug—"
The boy stood his ground. "Did you make a better bargain?"
"I learned some things. I could get us to those two mountains—"
"Did you learn how to speak Halfling? Did you know they're particularly fond of sacrificing half-elves?"
He didn't, and he hadn't, but: "That makes no difference. Wind and fire—I don't like this place at all. I'd rather be lost in the elven market than spend the night here where everybody wants to help us. Do you trust him with your life, Zvain? 'Cause that's what it's going to come down to—"
Ruari's tirade got cut short by the sound of a thunderclap on a dry, cloudless night. Zvain cursed, the dwarf dived for cover, swearing it wasn't his fault, while Ruari stared at one of the buildings where dust puffed through the upper story shutters.
"That white-skinned friend of yours?" Orekel asked from his hiding place.
"Yes," Ruari answered absently. He wondered what else could go wrong, and Pavek's voice at the base of his skull told him to quit wondering.
"Who'd she go with?"
"A mul. Big shoulders. Huge shoulders."
"Bewt. That's bad. You want to leave Ject now, son. Right now. Forget about her. It's late. I'm sorry, son, but Bewt— he's got a temper. You don't want to be in his way, not at all, son. We'll just leave the kanks here and tip-toe out the back. Son, son—are you listening, son?"
"Ruari?" Zvain added his urgent whisper. "Ruari— what're we gonna do?"
He didn't know—but he didn't have to make any decisions just yet. Mahtra had emerged from the building and was running toward them on Ject's solitary street, with her fringes flying. She didn't have Ruari's nightvision; he had to shout her name to let her know where they were. Other folk were coming onto the street, looking around, looking at Mahtra as she ran toward them.