Greyfax Grimwald (27 page)

And with the echo of his sworn word to avenge his fallen friends still ringing grimly in his ears, Dwarf set out from the valley, not knowing where he was directing his course, so he picked the most obvious path to guide him, the majestic heads of the far, cold blue shoulders of the mountains that shone over the western borders of Atlanton Earth.

O
ver the door hung the sign of the shamrock. Dark lamps burned dimly in the short alleyway that led to the main room, and off the stairs to the right were three rooms to accommodate any travelers that might still be upon their journey of trade or commerce; but for the past year, they were mainly used by officers of the armies that swarmed about the countryside. Jason Wheatflower was therefore greatly surprised when the stout man in forest green appeared rapping upon his window at two strokes past midnight, carrying a common knapsack, and no weapons at all.

“Have you sleeping quarters, my good fellow? And a plate or two for a hungry traveler?” Bear’s overpowering thirst for a taste of something sweet had at last driven him from his usual practice of sleeping away from men’s settlements and traveling only by night, and that hunger within him grew huskier now as he spoke.

“I have, stranger, for those that can pay,” answered Wheatflower. He had had only a precious few soldiers that ever paid for what they took, although upon occasion some powerful general or commander would happen through, leaving gold enough to keep his door open for business.

Bear had forgotten the matter of money. Quickly he thought of anything he might have that would be of worm to this innkeeper. I can pay,” Bear said shortly. “I have precious wares about me that will more than settle you.”

“Wait a moment, then,” replied Wheatflower. “I’ll be down in a moment.”

He went to a drawer beside his bed and took out a long-barreled, ugly-looking pistol one never knew, he told himself, what mischief these night crawlers might be up to. Hastening downstairs, he hid the firearm in the pocket of his robe and opened up the barred front room.

“Welcome, stranger. If you desire food before you sleep, I’ll fix something cold in the galley to hold you over until morning.”

Bear strode over to the still glowing remains of the fire that burned in the large hearthplace.

“I’d like to warm myself a bit first. Then honey, if you have it, would settle my stomach for eating.”

“Certainly, friend. I have good wildflower comb on the premises, stout enough to kill the dull of colder nights than this.” Wheatflower disappeared through a door, and Bear heard steps going downward, into a cellar.

He looked about the room, studying his surroundings. The dying fire and the candlelight showed it to be comfortably furnished, two rather large stuffed armchairs before the hearth, two long tables, sideboards, and a bookshelf at the far end that contained a number of well-thumbed volumes. Mulling irons and pokers hung in their proper place, and Bear was already tasting the warm sweetness flowing through his chilled, bone-weary body. He was inspecting the. coat of arms above the fireplace when Wheatflower bustled back into the room, bearing three old, dusty brown bottles and a fourth container that looked to be a pot of hot coffee, and a large copper cup.

“These should hold you a moment while I get your food. Nothing fancy, mind you, but it’ll stick with you. Bacon, liver pie, and sweet bread my cook makes like no one else. There, sit awhile and stoke up the fire if you wish. By the time you’ve got the chill off, I’ll be back with the supper.”

“Thank you kindly, friend, but the sweet bread and butter will do,” Bear said, pulling up one of the big comfortable chairs and reaching out a fire poker to stir up the glowing ashes. Wheatflower paused at the galley door. “Begging pardon, friend, but I always get my price in advance. A reasonable demand, these days, and if you’ll not be offended, I’ll ask you now what you plan to settle my bill with. Jewels, or what sort of wares?” Wheatflower looked down at his feet as he spoke.

Bear, flustered by the request, jacked up his rucksack and began opening it. The tantalizing, heady aroma of the honey had turned his mind from all other thoughts.

“Ahem,” he began, shifting and tumbling through the contents of the pack. “Here,” he stammered. “No, now where has it gotten to? Ah, here it is,” and his hand fell on the gleaming eye of the dragon stone. He wasn’t sure if it was made of stuff men would treasure, but it sparkled and caught the dim light, bursting into a hundred colors at once, filling the room with the glow of an exploding rainbow. Bear had never really looked closely at the stone, and was as dumbfounded as Wheatflower, who stood, eyes starting from his head, at the door. The two figures watched, speechless, as the colors began taking shapes, moving quickly into spinning, glistening patterns upon walls and ceilings. A head, large and bright emerald green, appeared, snake-like, but with long rows of carved, gleaming teeth. Then came a body, serpentine, coiled and covered by a sheen of pale golden skin. As this vision unfolded before them, a distant echo of a deep voice reached through the veiled room.

“What seek ye of the stone, Master?” Vibrations of red and purple-gold sound rang about them, and a faint chime of bells in some faraway citadel sounded.

Wheatflower’s jaw dropped, and Bear had sprung for the safety of the underside of the nearby table.

The sound of a great, rushing tide flooded their ears.

“Speak, Oh Master. What task is set for the dwelling within the stone?”

Dwarf had never said anything about the dragon stone, except that it was an heirloom of his family, and Bear trembled to think he had been carrying it about with him like some ordinary piece of common feldspar. Tentatively, voice breaking, he called out.

“I am Bruinlen, descendant of Bruinthor, mighty king of old, keeper of the stone. My dear friend Dwarf has been taken by the Dark Queen, and I now carry you until such time as I may return you to your rightful master.”

Two sudden brilliant white flashes lighted the room, and the two men had to cover their eyes with their arms to keep from being blinded.

“I am aware of all you say, Bruinlen. You have carried me well, and I shall serve you as my master for the time it takes to discharge your mission. I would have spoken to you before, but there was no cause to awaken me until now.”

From the far corner of the chamber, a great, armored golden fish swam onto the air and passed over their heads, spewing large crystal bubbles that burst and showered the floor at Bear’s feet with a dozen or more perfectly shaped stones.

“You may use one of these for payment to the innkeeper. Carry the rest and use them as the need arises.”

“I wasn’t really going to part with you,” stammered Bear, but he was cut short by a loud, popping noise, and a miniature display of fireworks sizzled and whizzed about the floor. As the last rocket burst, the light faltered, flared once more, then went out, leaving Bear staring dumbly down at the dark eye of the stone in his still outstretched hand.

Wheatflower shook his head violently, blinking his eyes twice in rapid succession. He looked quickly at Bear, who was picking up the small, shining stones from the floor.

“I seem to have dropped them,” he said, trying to disguise his bewilderment. “Here, friend, here is your price, and more, but it’s the smallest I have to offer.” He placed the small, round stone in Wheatflower’s hand. The man stared in amazement at it, rolling it around with a finger, and at last placed it between his teeth and bit down sharply.

“Aoow,” he mumbled, taking it out again, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Just testing, friend,” he explained. “I’m not so dumb as to have never heard of worthless glass being passed off as jewels. This one seems on the straight, though. A pretty thing, too. I accept it, against your bill, and will extend you credit, too, if you travel these parts often.”

Bear had drained one of the honey bottles in a swig, and now sat wiping a sleeve across his mouth to dean the comb from his mustache.

“Thank you, friend. I don’t expect I’ll be in these parts beyond this once, but if you have any more of this, I’ll take a few more bottles in place of credit.”

“As you wish, sir, there’s plenty more where that came from. You admit it’s good then,” chuckled Wheatflower, the warmth of his new treasure resting safely in the pocket of his robe, next to his pistol

“Most excellent fare,” gulped Bear, already busy at the second bottle, then under his breath as Wheatflower left, “At least for a man stomach. Eek, but it would give me heart murmur, or worse, if I tasted this stuff as me.” He lost himself a moment, thinking of his snug cave and the great ripe barrels of bark bear honey that awaited his return, and musing on his home, he grew weary, and the prospect of his supper began to lose its promise for him. He tried counting the days he had been gone, wandering about these cold man roads, but somehow the mere counting made him even wearier, and he left his tally at something over eighty days, as Mankind marked it, and wished aloud Wheatflower would hurry back to show him his bed. He’d finished the third bottle, and had gotten halfway through the coffee when the innkeeper came clanking in again, arms full of the same dark brown bottles.

“There should be enough here to keep you, Master, er, I didn’t catch the name. Jason Wheatflower, at your service.” And bowing low, he placed the new bottles before Bear and picked up the empty ones.

“Bruinlen, friend, and thank you. If you could show me my bed, I’d be grateful. I’ve been upon the highway now for a good many miles, and would deep.” Bear rose, picking up the bottles. “I’ll just take these to my room with me, to ease up a bit.”

“Certainly, certainly, Master Bruinlen, come this way, please. I’ve just put fresh linens in one of my most comfortable rooms, and I’m sure it’ll satisfy your fancy.”

Wheatflower showed Bear up the stairs, and at the second landing led him into a rather small but cheery room that overlooked the inner courtyard and stables of the inn. Bear thanked his host again, bowed, and placed the honey on the table near the bed. After emptying two more bottles of the heady stuff, he wearily lay back, pulling the thin blanket up to his chin. There was no fire in the room, and he soon grew cold again, so he quickly crossed and checked to make sure his door was bolted, repeated the words and crawled back into bed, more comfortable in his heavy, warm fur body.

“Men,” he muttered sleepily. “Not even thick-skinned enough to ward off a simple chill.” Almost before he finished his speech, his head was beneath the pillow, paws to his muzzle, and he was snoring, his dream mind filled with the light of the dragon stone and great golden fish that breathed precious jewels.

Below him, in the stables, Wheatflower was waking his stable hand, a knobby-boned gypsy that worked for a scrap of food a day and warm nay to sleep on at night.

“Wake up, you useless lump. We’ve work to do.” Wheatflower directed a vicious kick at the dark head.

Whining, Strap cringed before his master. “No need in cracking my skull. I’ll do what you want, just give me time to get the sleep out of my eyes.”

Wheatflower handed the man an old, rusty dagger. “We have a guest tonight. I won’t expect to see him for breakfast tomorrow. If you do your work well, you’ll be justly rewarded. If not, I’ll flail the stinking skin off your miserable back.”

Strap shuddered.

“Is it another soldier whats you wants me to cut? Does he carry things to hurts me with?” Strap cringed, holding the rusted blade close against him.

“He’s unarmed, just like you like them. If he’d carried weapons, I wouldn’t have asked a stinking dog of a coward to kill him.” Wheatflower aimed a kick at Strap’s backside, but the man hurried out before him, still cringing and complaining. He looked up at the dark window of Bear’s room, twisting the knife in his hands.

“Use the trapdoor, idiot. And don’t wake him, or I’ll have seen the last of your likes. He’s a big one, this fellow.”

Strap entered the dark galley and disappeared. Wheatflower walked slowly back across the courtyard, listening to the hard-packed snow crunch beneath his feet, already counting the other jewels in his mind, the other stones he had seen after his strange half-waking nightmare, when the man had dropped them. He took the small, round, warm thing out of his pocket and held it before his eyes. It caught the silver-white light of snow and stars, holding them in its smooth surface, reflecting back the dark blue sky like a field of glittering, shimmering, brilliant fire.

“At last,” he sighed. “After all these years of sweating and starving I have my chance. No more licking boots for my living. I’ll be my own master for a change.” He laughed, and the stone glowed dimly in his dark eyes, burning his hand and mind with the power it would give him, once he had the others. Then it would be Master Wheatflower, or. General Wheatflower, if he wished, and he would be feared and admired by all those scum who had stepped on him as if he were no more than a beetle. Once he possessed all the stones, he, Jason Wheatflower, would step on a few beetles himself.

With these thoughts raging through his fevered brain, he went into the kitchen and sat down at the table to wait.