Now, in late afternoon, as Tanis stirred a pot of venison stew over the fire, the force of Flint's sneeze sent the chair tilting backward so precariously that Tanis leaped to grab it before it tumbled over.
"Oof!" Tanis grunted, his knees nearly buckling as he pushed against the big wooden chair. "I know you aren't terribly tall, Flint, but you are a bit on the dense side." With a good deal of effort, he righted the chair, but the dwarf seemed less than grateful.
"Ah, what does it matter if I fall, seeing as I'm dying anyway?" the dwarf said glumly. He blew his nose into his linen handkerchief, a gift from the Speaker of the Sun, with a sound like a badly tuned trumpet. "At least that way I'll be all laid out and ready for my coffin." Flint huddled deeper into his woolen blanket and stuck his big-toed feet back in a steaming pail of water. Close as he was to the glowing coals of the forge, the heat couldn't drive the chill from his dwarven bones, and his teeth chattered as he shivered.
"As it is, I'm practically frigid with cold anyway. Might as well be officially dead," Flint complained.
"I could mull you some elvenblossom wine."
Flint glared. "Why not take your sword and end my pain quickly? I'll not go to Reorx embalmed in elven perfume!"
"Flint," Tanis said gravely, "I know you'll be terribly disappointed. But you've only got a cold. You're not dying."
'Well, how would you know?" Hint growled. "Have you ever died?" Flint let out another monumental sneeze, his bulbous nose glowing red, a complement to the glow of the setting sun. Tanis could only shake his head. There was an odd sort of logic to the dwarf's statement.
"No more adventures," Flint roared. "No more tylors. Give me ogres any day. No more sla-mori. No more walks in the rain on the edge of the elven version of the Abyss." He paused to gather strength for another volley. "This is all because I took that bath. Dwarves were not meant to be immersed in water two days in a row!" That last sentence, Tanis noted, sounded more like "Dwarvz were dod bed du be ibbersed id wadder du days idda row."
It's hard to believe the two had been sitting comfortably here at the forge only a day earlier, the half-elf thought.
Flint sniffled and blew his nose again. He set a warm washcloth on the top of his head, and, draped as he was in his dark blanket, he looked almost like some cheap mystic at a petty fair. "That's the last time 111 make the mistake of listening to you," he grumbled for the umpteenth time.
Tanis did his best to hide his smile as he poured hot tea for the dwarf and set the mug in his stubby hands. "The rain has stopped. I should go practice with Tyresian."
"This late? Fine, leave me to die alone," Flint said. "But don't come back and expect me to say, 'Hullo, Tanis, how are you? Come inside and ruin an old dwarf's day, won't you?' After all; I'll be dead. You've got an hour or two left of daylight. See you later," he said, waving his hand at Tanis. "Or then, probably not," he added glumly.
Tanis shook his head. When Flint was like this, it was simply best to leave him to enjoy his misery. Tanis made sure the kettle was in the dwarf's reach and that the water in the bucket was hot enough. He spooned a healthy portion of stew into a wooden trencher for Flint, then gathered his longbow and arrows and prepared to abandon the dwarf.
But as the half-elf gained the doorway of the dwarf's shop, he came face to face with two visitors-the Speaker of the Sun and Lord Tyresian.
Tyresian ignored the dwarf and snapped, "Are you always late for your lessons?" to the half-elf, then resumed a heated discussion with the Speaker. It seemed to be a one-sided discussion; Solostaran appeared unflappable today, nodding gravely in response to the elf lord's vigorous comments but making no statements that could be interpreted as affirming them.
If possible, Tyresian had become more sure of himself in the twenty years that Flint had known him. Even with his short hair, so unusual among the elves, the elf lord was handsome, with sharp, even features and keen eyes the color of the autumn sky. Tyresian gestured with grace as he spoke with the Speaker, and even standing in the doorway of the dwarf's rude lodgings, clad in only a plain, dove-gray tunic, there was a commanding presence about him.
"People are saying that the appearance of a creature as rare and as dangerous as a tylor is evidence that your policies regarding outsiders"-and here the lord's gaze flicked to Flint, then, preposterously, to the half-elf-"are misplaced."
Solostaran halted and faced the elf lord, the Speaker's face finally showing a shadow of emotion. The emotion, however, was amusement. "That's an interesting leap, Lord Tyresian," he said. "Tell me how you made it."
"Understand, please, that I'm not stating my own views, Speaker, rather the views of others as I've heard them," the blue-eyed elf lord said smoothly.
"Indeed," Solostaran said drily.
"I simply know that you, as Speaker of the Sun, are interested in the views of your subjects," Tyresian added.
"Please get to the point." Solostaran's voice showed annoyance for the first time since the pair had appeared in Flint's doorway. As yet, however, neither newcomer had greeted the dwarf. Flint glanced at Tanis. The face of the dwarf's friend had reverted to the mulish expression that the half-elf always showed when anyone other than Flint, Miral, or Laurana were around. Tanis's expression would have done Fleetfoot proud, the dwarf thought.
Flint opened his mouth to interject, but Tyresian resumed, brushing one hand through his short blond hair.
Flint noticed that the elf's arms, exposed by the short-sleeved spring shirt he wore under his tunic, were marked with scars-the results, no doubt, of years of swordplay with his companion Ulthen.
"They say that tylors tend to prefer hidden lairs near well-used trails, so that the creatures can prey on travelers. They say that even though you have continued to bar most travelers from Qualinost"-and the elf lord speared Flint with a glance-"trade has increased the numbers of elves heading out of the city, and out of the kingdom, with goods."
"Lord Tyresian…" Solostaran's patience had been strained, but the elf lord was too wound up now to give way to court decorum.
"They say, Speaker, that it was wrong, was 'unelven,' to install those… those gnomish bathtubs in the palace."
Flint snorted-a fairly easy task with a cold; Tanis laughed. Tyresian flushed and looked daggers at the two.
Solostaran appeared to be caught between laughing and launching into a tirade. His gaze caught that of Flint, whose steel-gray eyes were twinkling. "Care for a cup of mulled elvenblossom wine, Speaker, Tyresian?" the dwarf said, and snuffled. "My friend here has offered to prepare some for a sick dwarf."
Solostaran, turning his back to Lord Tyresian, winked broadly at the dwarf and Tanis. "I'll pass up your kind offer, Master Fireforge, but thank you. And I believe Lord Tyresian was looking for Tanthalas."
Tyresian's anger was barely controlled. "Speaker, I must press for a commitment on that other matter."
Solostaran whirled. "You 'must press'?" he demanded.
"Your actions now could affect your children later, Speaker," Tyresian said coldly.
Solostaran drew himself up to his full height. His eyes flashed green fire. Suddenly he appeared half a hand taller than the young elf-and a good deal too strong a presence to be contained in Flint's bungalow. "You dare to press me on such a matter in a public setting?"
Tyresian paled. The elf lord hastened to apologize and withdrew hastily with the half-elf in tow. Even as the two disappeared out the door, Flint could hear Tyresian begin to transfer his ire to Tanis. "You had better hope you practiced that technique I showed you yesterday, half -elf." The threat hung in the air as the pair's footsteps faded.