“In here, mate,” Rune said abruptly, grabbing Brandon by the shoulder and propelling him to the left, toward a wooden structure that looked more sturdy than most.
A burly guard stood at the front door, which consisted of heavy logs strapped together with iron bands. The hinges were as stout as a dwarf’s arm. There was not a window in the whole structure.
“Got a mountain dwarf, needs a room-at least for a day or two,” Rune said with an evil chuckle.
“Got just the spot,” said the jailer. He was a repulsive-looking hill dwarf with a filthy beard and dirty leather pants and shirt. He spit a messy gob onto the plank floor, and from within his tunic, he fished out a massive key, worn on a thong around his neck, and unlocked the door. He needed the weight of his shoulder to push it open, but it gradually yielded to his efforts.
Prodded by his tormentors, Brandon clumped up the two steps to the brig and stepped inside. His nostrils were assailed by the stink of overflowing gutters and unwashed bodies. As his eyes adjusted, he was being pushed down a corridor between two banks of cells. The little cages had solid walls and doors of heavy iron bars. Most of them were empty but a pair was occupied by hill dwarves who barely looked up as the new arrival passed. Each of them stank of whiskey and vomit, and the smell-which called to mind his own recent excesses-almost made Brandon gag. Their leather tunics were stained, torn, and patched, and the normal Neidar complexion, brown and weather scoured, had faded on their faces to an unhealthy pale.
Just beyond was another cell. That one held two dwarves who did not look like Neidar. Their skin was pale too, but more naturally so, and their stout boots were cobbled with metal cleats. With some surprise, Brandon guessed they were a pair of mountain dwarves. Like their hill dwarf cousins, they looked up listlessly as the new prisoner was pushed past.
In another two steps, they came to the cell at the end of the corridor, a little closet-sized room barely half the space of the others. The door stood open, but Brandon wasn’t prepared for the shove that sent him stumbling through. He dropped to his knees and, with his hands still bound behind him, couldn’t prevent his face from smashing into the slimy wall. He squirmed around, bouncing to his feet in fury, only to see the door slam in his face.
“I’m locked in good here; at least untie me!” he demanded, glaring through the grid of iron bars.
“You’re fine for now,” Rune taunted, hoisting Brandon’s axe so the prisoner would be sure to see it. “We’ll let you know tomorrow if we’re going to untie you and feed you or cut your head off!”
All three Neidar laughed raucously as they passed out of the brig, slamming and locking the outer door, leaving Brandon in the darkness and the stink and the despair.
“So the black dwarf locked you in a cage and was trying to kill you for some reason, and then, after this attack you have described, he sent that creature after you because you escaped?” Gretchan’s tone was patient but terribly serious.
Gus nodded miserably after finishing his long, long story-at least two minutes’ worth. His stubby fingers wove through Kondike’s shaggy coat, scratching the dog between his massive shoulders. The Aghar couldn’t look the dwarf maid in the eye.
“Monster come kill me on top mountain,” he admitted dolefully. “But snow kill me even better. I think him gone away.”
“The black minion failed to kill you… and you escaped?” Gretchan said, her eyes widening. “Well, that’s a formidable achievement. Reorx must be fond of you.”
“I very formable! I run fastester than him can ever chase!” the Aghar declared, suddenly boastful. “Him bluphsplunging claws not even grab me!”
“And then the snow fell down, and Kondike found you,” the dwarf maid said. “Hmm. Well, you’re certainly lucky if you’re not fast.”
She was right, Gus knew, once more feeling a little guilty for having dragged the beautiful goddess into his troubles. “I lucky sure. But I thought him gone,” he said, sniffling. “I never thought him come for you and Kondike.”
“Well, lucky thing for you we were here,” she said, not unkindly. “That minion fears me now, but that doesn’t mean it will never be back. Still, I think we’re safe for the time being. We can afford to get some rest; my dog is a very light sleeper.”
“I should go ’way,” Gus said, shaking his head, though he wanted very much to stay right there. “It’s not fair you get killed for me.”
Gretchan reached out and patted him on the knee. “None of us are going to get killed. At least, not by that thing. Indeed, I think you should stick with us for a while.” She stared at him, and he felt that her eyes were peeling back his skin, looking right through him.
“Is there anything else you ought to tell me?” she asked sternly.
Gus tried to think. “Uh. Mebbe. You know ’bout bunty hunters?”
“Bunty hunters? No. What are they?” she asked.
“Big, nasty Theiwar. Kill gully dwarf, cut him head off. Say for ‘bunty.’ ”
“That was back in Thorbardin?” she asked and Gus nodded.
“I can’t believe it!” Gretchan snapped. She suddenly seemed to be very angry. She stood up and stomped away then spun around and pointed a finger right at Gus’s face, making him a little bit afraid. “You wouldn’t be lying to me, would you?” she demanded very seriously.
“Gus no lie! Bluphsplunging doofar bunty hunters kill Aghar! Cut off heads!”
“How in the name of Reorx is that possible?” the dwarf maid cried, smacking one fist into the palm of her other hand. She raised her hands and shouted at the sky. “Are you even paying attention?” she shouted. “Dwarves have been killing each other for centuries; it seems we don’t even need an excuse! Wars and gates and pride and clans give cause enough! But now, for one clan to charge a bounty for the heads of another? For gully dwarves!”
She stomped on the ground and planted her fists on her hips, glaring downward. “And you, down there-you claim to be the descendents of the great mountain dwarf clans! You’re a bunch of frightened little rats, hiding in your holes! Why, if I could reach you, I’d pull your beards out by the roots!”
Gretchan stalked back and forth in the little clearing. Gus stayed very still, hoping she would forget about him. He didn’t understand who she was yelling at, but he was pretty certain it wasn’t him, and he was determined to leave it that way. Finally, after two long, loud minutes, she came back to the stump by the fire and sat down with a heavy sigh.
“I’ll be damned,” Gretchan said, looking far away into the night. Her tone was sad, but not so loud anymore. She looked at him and shook her head. “You tell a very interesting story. It sounds as though things have soured under the mountain these days.”
Gus didn’t know what ‘soured’ meant, but he was inclined to agree. He would have said so too except Gretchan didn’t seem to want to talk anymore. She went back to her sleeping roll and, with her staff nearby, bundled herself up in her blanket. Her eyes were open, staring past the gully dwarf and the fire, peering into the darkness of the woods. She filled her pipe, lit it with a stick she drew from the fire, and puffed furiously as she glared at the night.
Wracked by guilty feelings, Gus nonetheless needed only about two minutes to fall asleep. His dreams were untroubled, and when he woke up, the forest floor was dappled with sunlight, and Gretchan already had a fire going and a pot of tea on to brew.
His ability to forget meant that Gus’s mood had brightened, his fear-and guilty twinges-vanquished to some distant, cobwebbed portion of his brain. He cheerfully warmed his belly with the tea and filled it with a hearty slice of dried bread. Soon they were up and striding through the woods.
“What we do today?” he asked as they set out. “More walking?”