“You did not return alone from the dwarven nation in the north,” she said, her voice suddenly sharp.
“No,” he admitted warily. “I came with a Kayolin dwarf. It was his family, an ancestor, that uncovered the stone, and his father bade me bring the son along. It was the only way I could get the stone.”
“That was a mistake,” she said, sitting on her haunches and shaking her head dismally as if she could not believe the scope of Harn’s incompetence.
“What do you want me to do?” Poleaxe asked, suddenly-he couldn’t say why-chagrined.
“The Kayolin dwarf must never leave Hillhome,” replied the oracle. “He must be eliminated.”
“Well, I intend to do just that,” Harn said defensively. Suddenly his throat felt terribly parched, but he wasn’t about to ask for a drink, not from the Mother Oracle. He gulped. “He’s locked up right now, and I have arranged for him to be charged as a spy. If the trial goes as planned, he will be executed shortly.”
“Make sure, then, that the trial does go as planned,” she said. “For this Kayolin outsider is a great danger to us if he lives. Remember, he must never leave Hillhome.”
“I will make it so, Mother Oracle,” pledged the Neidar stoutly. “Is… is there anything else you need from me?” he added, silently hoping the answer would be “no.”
“Yes,” she said immediately. She leaned forward for a moment, touching the leaves again, even bending down to loudly sniff at them.
“Another stranger, a female, approaches Hillhome-a dwarf maid. She interests me. I want you to meet her, study her, see what her purpose is.”
“Why is she coming here?” Harn asked worriedly.
“She comes to seek me. But I will not allow her into my presence. You must make sure she stays away.”
“How can I do that?”
“For now, tell her that I am very unwell. Sick, even dying, in my bed. I will accept no visitors.”
“I will,” Harn said. “But what if that doesn’t work?”
“Then,” she said sharply. “Think of something else.”
Gus gazed into the valley as the road crested a gentle rise and began to wind again toward the lowland. He saw a collection of brown shapes, apparently made of wood, sprawling through the fields, along the roads, up and down the banks of the narrow stream, and scattered all around a wide, central square.
“Those are buildings, and this is a town,” Gretchan explained. “Hillhome, to be precise.”
“Hill home,” repeated the Aghar in awe.
The dwarf maid, together with the Aghar and the big, black dog, ambled down the road toward the place. Gretchan puffed easily on her pipe as she walked along, while Gus looked around at new wonders as they approached: fenced pastures where cattle, pigs, sheep, and horses grazed; wooden houses with flower gardens; neatly tended ponds where fish jumped and splashed. He was particularly taken by the sight of a lumber crew, Neidar dwarves using axes to fell tall trees while massive horses hauled the logs toward a pile of timber next to the road. He gawked so long, he had to race to catch up to his companion, who had kept walking and was already at the edge of town.
“We’ll stop at an inn first,” Gretchan said. “I learned years ago that that’s the best way to find out what’s happening in a community-especially a town of dwarves!”
“I like inn!” Gus agreed. He had never actually been inside of such an establishment-the dwarves of Norbardin were notoriously strict about keeping the Aghar out-but he had sniffed around the edges and sorted through the garbage of many eating and drinking inns. Maybe, with his new friend Gretchan at his side, the Neidar would actually let him inside the door.
Gretchan was busy looking around the town that crowded the valley before them. She frowned. “I really can’t believe Hillhome is this big.”
“Never been here before?” Gus asked.
She shook her head. “I’ve been doing my work for a number of years,” she admitted. “Traveling. But I’ve really only scratched the surface of the vast dwarven nations.”
“You can scratch my surface,” the Aghar offered helpfully, doffing his cap in case she needed access to his scalp.
The dwarf maid recoiled with a grimace, which to Gus’s eyes was a mighty beautiful expression. “Listen, Gus,” she said in a low, gentle voice. “Sometimes people aren’t always nice to… um, your kind. You just stick with me, and I’ll do the talking, all right?”
“All right! You do talking!” he agreed. Strutting proudly along on the right side of Gretchan, with Kondike pacing on her left, Gus marched purposefully into his first hill dwarf community. Several dwarves, maids filling buckets at a well, looked at him scornfully, but he ignored their hostile glances-they were nothing he hadn’t experienced every time he dared to skirt the edges of Norbardin. He was more concerned with the hill dwarf males who, to a man, ignored the gully dwarf in favor of ogling the pretty Gretchan. He wanted to rebuke them-challenge them to a fight-but he remembered the dwarf maid’s instructions and decided that he would indeed let her do the talking.
So he tried to communicate his displeasure by glaring at the dwarves who took such a lascivious interest in his companion, but when one fellow uttered a long, low whistle, Gus lost his temper.
“You stop it, you big bluphsplunging doofar!” he barked, taking a step toward the hill dwarf, but Gretchan snatched him back by his collar.
“Keep quiet!” she snapped, and he vowed he would really, really try.
They wandered down a street that was busy with pedestrians and cart traffic. Gus spied vaguely familiar sights: a smith pounding iron beside his hot forge; a baker pulling loaves from an oven; a fishmonger standing at a cart full of a fresh catch, calling for business, exchanging his wares for silver or copper coin. But much of Hillhome was utterly unprecedented in his narrow experience. He yelped and jumped out of the way as a team of oxen, lumbering like giants over his head, rumbled past, pulling a wagon full of beer kegs. He gawked at horses and ponies in the street, and goats and chickens in the yards of some of the houses. They passed carts full of vegetables, for sale like the fish, but more brightly colored and fresh smelling than any food in all of sunless Thorbardin.
He reached for one of the things Gretchan called “carrots” but flinched back when she cuffed him on the head. “Hands to yourself,” she told him, then sighed at his crestfallen expression.
“Listen, we’ll stock up on food before we leave town, I promise,” Gretchen said as he stared forlornly at the endless baskets of produce. “While we’re here, though, don’t touch anything, and don’t take anything. Besides, we’ll let others do our cooking for us.”
“Others cook for us?” declared Gus in wonder. He was starting to think that he would like Hillhome very much indeed.
“This looks like a good place; it’s called Moldoon’s,” the dwarf maid explained, helpfully pointing to the name above the inn door. “It’s been here a long time; it shows up in some of the old stories of this place. Rich in history. Perfect for my work.”
Gus followed her and Kondike up the few steps to enter the cool, smoky inn. The Aghar’s nose was assailed by many strange smells, nearly all of them enticing. A few dwarves sitting around tables in the great common room turned to look over at the newcomers. Gus froze as he heard a loud challenge coming from the red-bearded dwarf behind the bar.
“Hey! You can’t bring that big dog in here!” he declared.
Gretchan gave him her sweetest smile. “Oh, that’s all right,” she chirped. “He goes with me everywhere!”
The bartender blushed, stammering and staring into the dwarf maid’s blue eyes then running his eyes approvingly up and down the outline of her tunic. Resenting the bold inspection, Gus planted his fists on his hips and stepped in front of Gretchen, glaring furiously at the dwarf innkeeper. The hill dwarf’s eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the small, smelly gully dwarf, and he looked as if he were about to raise another objection when something caused him to clamp his mouth shut. Instead, he gave Gretchan a broad smile and wink and, when she sat at a table-with Gus on an adjacent chair and Kondike flopping onto the floor at her feet-he came bustling over to her.