“My thanks, Chieftain,” Dalan said. He bowed politely and sat directly across from Rossa. Gerith had already taken one of the other chairs and began chewing a chicken leg noisily. Seren sat between Dalan and the halfling. The plates were heaped with roasted bird meat, steamed vegetables, and crusty black bread. A wave of hunger hit Seren when she saw the food; she hadn’t realized how famished she was until this moment. There didn’t appear to be any utensils, but that neither concerned nor delayed the halflings from consuming their own meals with their hands, so she did the same. The food reminded her of the bold, spicy meals Gerith prepared on Karia Naille. She tore into the offerings with great relish.
“Gerith told us your airship had been badly damaged,” Rossa said. “Most unfortunate.”
“Yes,” Dalan said, “but with the aid of your tribe’s carpenters it should be nothing we cannot repair.”
Koranth, seated at Rossa’s right hand, drew the folded papers from his jacket and dropped them on the chieftain’s table. Even from here, Seren could see they were letters of credit, marked with the House Cannith household seal. From her experience with the letters of credit she had encountered in her thieving career, she judged Dalan must have paid the halflings a small fortune.
“I apologize for the price, but it was necessary,” Rossa said, though his pleased grin demonstrated he wasn’t all that sorry. “Lumber is a prized commodity. We trade with the Valenar for most of our wood, but the elves have been standoffish this year.”
“Are the elves preparing for war?” Dalan asked.
“The Valenar are always preparing for war,” Rossa said with a shrug, as if it did not concern him. “Invading the Plains or Q’barra, or maybe even readying a fleet to sail Balinor knows where and start a fight with someone new. War is a sport to the elves. If they invade the Plains, they’ll get bored and leave eventually. Someone will fight them off. I wish them luck. Meanwhile we’re headed as far north as we can get before winter.”
Seren found the comment strange. Though the village was built of tents and wagons, none of them seemed to have been uprooted for some time and none of the halflings looked ready to leave.
“I am humbled by your generosity,” Dalan said. “It is my honor if the wealth of my House helps purchase the security of your tribe this winter, especially if my charity is forgotten.”
The halfling chuckled. “I catch your meaning, d’Cannith,” he said. “Have no fear of that. Lumber may be scarce but discretion is our most precious export. As long as your money’s good, you were never here.”
“Excellent,” Dalan said. “Then as our business is concluded, perhaps you would not mind speaking of other matters? I came here seeking someone and hoped that you or one of your tribe might have information.”
“Ask, my friend,” Rossa said, sipping deeply from his cup.
Dalan was silent for the briefest moment. He gave the chieftain a tight smile and continued. “I am seeking a young woman, a scholar named Kiris Overwood. I believe she was conducting research somewhere in Talenta. Would you know of her?”
“Is this Overwood a friend of yours?” Rossa asked, perhaps a bit more stiffly than was required.
“We are acquainted,” Dalan said. “She owes my family a significant debt.”
Rossa stroked his moustache with a cackle. “Why am I not surprised?” he said, voice tinged with malicious glee. “Yes, I know her. That girl is the lowest sort of thief. She came to us only a few weeks ago, looking for refuge from the law, no doubt. We gave her a home, and in thanks she stole one of my wife’s rings from the very tent where I sleep. My guards pursued her, but she fled into the Boneyard, only a few days’ journey from here. A shame and a disgrace it is, that I clasped such a serpent to my breast, but there’s little to be done. The Boneyard is taboo to my people. Bad luck will haunt any halfling that enters. My wingriders have watched the area carefully, and she has not emerged.”
“So, living or dead, we must seek her there,” Dalan said.
“I could not allow you to enter the Boneyard, Master d’Cannith,” Rossa said. “My riders are distraught enough at the idea of patrolling such a place. I could not place more friends at risk.”
“Most of my associates are not halflings,” Dalan said. “We are not bound by the taboos of your people. Perhaps we could aid you as you have aided us, and return what has been taken.”
Rossa’s eyes lit up as he turned to Seren. “What a clever idea,” he said, as if it had only now occurred to him. “Though she is unlikely to be carrying the ring, I am certain I could encourage her to reveal what she has done with it.”
“Dalan, there is something you should know,” Eraina said in a stern voice.
“Later, Eraina,” Dalan said with a warning tone.
“This is important, Dalan,” she insisted. “The chieftain …”
“I said later,” Dalan repeated. “Negotiation is my specialty, Eraina. Allow me to handle this.”
Eraina rose, her face pale and angry. She strode briskly out of the tent.
“Is there a problem?” Rossa asked, looking after her blankly.
“There is always a problem,” Dalan said. “The path of a Spear of Boldrei is beset by obstacles.”
“Ah,” Rossa said. “Paladins.” There was both understanding and odd sympathy in his tone, as if Dalan had informed him that Eraina was afflicted with some incurable disease.
“Seren, Gerith, why don’t you make certain she is all right?” Dalan suggested, looking at each of them in turn. “I have much to discuss with the chieftain in private.”
Seren looked forlornly at her unfinished meal. She noticed that Gerith took his plate and cup with him without any complaint from the chief, so she did the same. They emerged from the tent to find Eraina pacing back and forth before Omax, who sat on the ground and watched her patiently. She looked up with a cold expression as the tent flap opened, softening when she saw Seren and Gerith.
“Eraina, is something wrong?” Seren asked. “What were you trying to tell Dalan?”
“The chieftain,” she said in a low voice, glancing about to make certain none of the villagers were close enough to hear. “He is lying to us.”
“Lying?” Seren said. “About what? About helping us?”
“About Overwood,” Eraina said. “This tribe has not moved in many months. Why would any chieftain risk the safety of his tribe by lingering so close to a place that is so dangerously taboo, especially in the face of a Valenar invasion? He has lied to us, Seren.”
“Chieftains don’t lie,” Gerith said, absently nibbling the last piece of meat from his chicken bone.
Eraina looked at the halfling scornfully. “Gerith, your trust in your countryman is admirable but misplaced. I am quite adept at detecting falsehood with or without my goddess’s blessings.”
“No, you don’t understand,” he said, tossing the bone over one shoulder. “A Talenta chieftain is not a normal halfling. A chieftain is free of all sin and vice. A chieftain cannot lie, and he certainly doesn’t have extramarital affairs. And if he did he certainly wouldn’t give away family jewelry and then get caught.” He wiped one hand on his shirt. “If such a thing happened, it would shame him and all his tribe, wouldn’t it? So it doesn’t happen. Ever.”
“What are you saying, Gerith?” Eraina demanded.
“What you just saw in there is what we call the hmael,” Gerith said. “It means the ‘golden lie.’ The chieftain can’t tell the truth because it would harm his pride and put his virtue into question. Instead he tells an obvious lie, and assumes you’ll figure out the truth for yourself.”
“But a chieftain can’t lie,” Seren said.
“Exactly right,” Gerith said, snapping his fingers. “See? Seren understands. Thus the honor of the tribe is maintained. Hmael isn’t exclusive to chieftains either. Halflings will often tell an impossible lie instead of the truth, and assume that their friends will be smart enough to figure out the truth and polite enough not to bring it up.” He looked from one face to the next. “I can’t believe any of you could have been around me for any length of time and not notice me doing that.”