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“It is inherently of no great value, but impossible to replace. There should be no danger beyond the usual minor difficulties that go with travel. I would prefer that you go by land rather than water, for the winter winds are coming, and I should hate to lose it to shipwreck.”
“Some thanedoms welcome dwarves better than—,” the smaller one behind said.
Elgee stamped. “No need for that, lad. Sir, you have the word of couriers of the Diadem that it will arrive.”
“Give it to Heloise. If she no longer lives, give it to whoever holds the Hypatian Archive Table-Head. I expect some tokens in return, and would wish you to convey them back here with the same care.”
“Barring delays in Thallia, you should see our masks again before the moon comes about again. Will you write your price and terms?”
The younger dwarf drew a small case from his cloak. Wistala thought it looked like it held paper. The dwarf worked the box, and a fresh length appeared at the top. He offered a quill and ink to his elder, who wrote upon it. He knelt and presented it to Rainfall.
Rainfall read it. “Prices have gone up since I last used your services.”
“The roads have become treacherous,” Elgee countered.
“This covers all expenses?”
“It does. And the bonding: our coin belts shall be yours if aught is lost.”
“Ah, you no longer negotiate each separately. It is acceptable, then. Shall I sign and seal?”
“A signature is all that is necessary from a Knight of the Hypatian Directory, sir,” Elgee said with a short bow.
Rainfall signed the paper revealed at the top of the box. “Ah, how courtly the tongues of the Diadem remain. You should give lessons to your cousins of the Wheel of Fire.”
“They’d rather burn their beards than listen to—,” the younger said with a hiccupping cough that Wistala guessed to be dwarf laughter.
“Keep your tongue behind mask,” Elgee said. “Forgive my nephew, he’s but—”
Rainfall held up his hand. “No, a jest is not out of place after business is concluded. Will you stay and bed this night?”
“Diadem couriers lose not an hour, once commissioned,” Elgee said. “It is written on our cloak-latch. We ride at once. Thank you for your business—and the hot sup. There remains only the portion to be paid.”>She was making herself miserable and hungry for metals, so much so that the tools hung by the hearth looked tempting. Rainfall had written a letter to the metalsmith’s guild in the coastal town of Sack Harbor asking for a quantity of brass and copper meant for the melting pot but so far only an answer had arrived naming a price. Wait, that Jessup fellow said something about spare shingles. . . .
“Stog, thank you for an honest tale,” she said.
As the night deepened, she wandered the grounds, prowling, really, for the vegetable garden’s fall planting was coming up, and if she was sharp, she might get a raiding rabbit if wind and shadow favored her.
Were she Father, she’d take Stog’s knowledge, every memory, every path, and learn about the Wheel of Fire dwarves and the Dragonblade. There were headless, clawless corpses of her own blood with only her left to mourn. What had those men shouted?
“The Avenger”?
But she was alone and small. Even Father in full fury hadn’t been a match for the dwarves, and she had nothing like his experience in battle.
Then there was her promise.
Even the worst cave has a best spot, Mother would say. She’d found a good spot here at Mossbell. But if the thane claimed Mossbell, there’d be no more clean, quiet cellars and hearth-roasted goats or Widow Lessup’s mutton stew and gravies. Hammar would certainly turn her out—or worse—and if Rainfall sold his estate, would he be able to find a new home with a growing dragon in tow? They’d make a sight on the road: an invalid elf riding muleback, a pregnant girl hardly out of childhood, and a stumpy-legged drakka. Of course, Mother would tell her to improvise.
Curse Hypatia and its laws and courts and judges, robbing a kindly elf of his all. Hammar shaped the law into an ax to cut down a better citizen than he.
Couldn’t the law be used to strike back at Hammar? No. Rainfall understood it better than she; he’d called it hopeless and would sell.
Of course. She hurried back to Mossbell, dragon-dashing when she saw the door and flushing a rabbit.
The household had gone to bed, and she had to draw back his bed curtains and wake him. The room smelled like the hot stones in their grate that warmed the metal plate that supported his bedding.
“Rainfall, I’ve got it,” she said when he left off blinking and rubbing his eyes.
She was disappointed to see the number of leaves left on his pillow as he drew himself up with his new bedrail. “Let’s have a light and hear it, then. For—”
