Four hours later, at the Dwarf’s prodding, Elyn groggily came awake. Adon! I’m sore! Stiffly, she stood, feeling all of the bruises, batterings, and cuts she had taken from the Wrg. She hardly noticed the Dwarf as she swept up her spear and her saddlebags and hobbled to a nearby pool in the brook, and when she looked back, he was already sound asleep in the long sweet grass.
Swiftly, she pulled off her left boot, and gingerly, the right one. Just above the ankle, where the Rutchen cudgel had struck, there was a swelling, sore to the touch, but she could walk. Wincing, she carefully stripped from her grimy leathers-Garn! I’m purple blotched all over! — and eased into the chill, sparkling water. While keeping a watchful eye on the surrounding ’scape, she washed herself, taking care to thoroughly cleanse the cuts and scrapes. During her frequent scans of the grassland, she could not help but note that the pony, too, had been rubbed down, and was staked nearby. Hmmph! At least the Dwarf cares for his mount.
Refreshed, she emerged from the stream and sat on the grassy bank to let the warm Sun dry her, all the while keeping her right foot in the cool swift water, hoping that the swelling would subside.
At last, she took some salve from a saddlebag and treated her cuts-left arm, left calf-rebinding them with new cloth strips. She donned a fresh jerkin and a pair of breeks, and then her boots, groaning with aches as she did so, forcing the swollen ankle down and in.
Elyn washed the old bandages, and laid them out to dry. And using her dagger, she carefully scraped the dried muck from her leathers, and wiped them clean with a damp cloth, then turned them inside-out to air, scrubbing down the interior as well, sponging away sweat salt and dried blood.
When she was finished she returned to the campsite and took up her saber, thumbing its sharp edge as in enmity she glowered down upon the sleeping Dwarf. It was obvious that he, too, had used his watch to tend to himself: he was no longer mud spattered; his coal black hair and black forked beard were clean and glossy; he wore dark brown breeks and a tan jerkin; too, he had new bandages on both arms and, Elyn assumed, his cut leg as well. Also, his weapons and armor had been cleaned and oiled: a dark steel helm, a black-iron chain shirt, a steel warhammer with a leather-bound haft, and a double-bitted, two-handed axe, and a light crossbow with red quarrels.
Pah! Regardless as to whether he is well kept or not, still he is a Dwarf!
And she could barely wait to be rid of him, and fleetingly thought of saddling up now and riding onward.
Elyn turned, and her eye fell upon-A Dragonhide shield!. . Ah, fie, no! It could not be the same. . Yet, where else would a Dwarf-or anyone-come upon such?
Her mind in a turmoil, Elyn cleaned her saber and oiled it, and followed with her other weapons, and her helm. Calmed by this routine activity, she took up her sling and went out into the grass, heading for a small roll in the land, keeping an eye to the Sun.
As her watch ended, Elyn brought two rabbits back to the site, casting them to the earth and waking the Dwarf with a prod of her boot.
“This time, Woman,” growled the Dwarf, “it’s two and two, for the Sun will be down by then, and Evil comes afoot in the dark.”
Saying nothing of the shield, Elyn eased to the ground and once more fell asleep.
When the Dwarf wakened her, there was the savory smell of spitted rabbit: one remained, fat dripping into the hot coals of a small cookfire. And at hand was a small store of dead branches to keep the blaze going. As now the Dwarf fell aslumber, eagerly she tore into the hot juicy meat, trying to avoid burning herself, not quite succeeding. A glance at the Sun told that there were but perhaps two hours remaining ere the duskingtide would wash across the land, just two hours till she would be shed of this Dwarf. She also noted that the pony was now saddled, although he remained tethered in lush grass.
When she finished the last of the coney, Elyn fed a bit of wood to the fire, then stepped to the stream and washed her greasy hands and face. Next, she changed back into her leathers, and gave Wind another bit of grain; and as the mare ate, Elyn curried her and then saddled her, slipping lance and bow and saber and long-knife into the well-worn saddle-scabbards, looping her black-oxen horn by its leather thong over her shoulder, sliding her dagger into her belt.
As the Sun touched the horizon, Elyn stirred the embers of the campfire, adding a branch or two to kindle flames, and set a small stewpan of water to boil. And at the onset of twilight the odor of steeping tea was redolent upon the air.
Waking the Dwarf, she hunkered down and filled her tin cup with the hot liquid, and without saying a word, she offered him some as well.
They sat in silence and sipped tea in the cool night air, watching the twilight deepen as orange faded through pink and into violet. How long they sat thus, nursing the hot drink and feeling their cuts and bruises and aches and pains, they did not measure. But winking stars filled the sky and a silvery Moon began to rise ere either said aught:
“Which way do you ride, Dwarf?” Elyn prodded the embers with a short stick.
“East, Woman. I go east.”
“Rach! That is my direction.”
“Think not to go with me, Rider, for I would quick be rid of you. Our alliance of yesternight is ended! Done! Would that I had not met you at all!” In the firelight, the Dwarf’s black eyes glittered with rancor.
Elyn’s voice spat venom: “If you had not met me, Dwarf, you would now be at the bottom of a quag hole, fodder for swamp reeds!”
“And you, Rider, would be soup bones in some Ůkh’s cooking pot!”
“Jackass Dwarf,”-Elyn’s words were filled with acrimony-“you cost me my best rope!”
Angrily, the Dwarf stood and stumped to his saddlebags and rummaged among his belongings, then stalked back. “Here, Rider, I would not be in your debt!” He flung down a coil of silken line beside her. “You will find no better, for it is Châkka made.”
Furious, Elyn leapt to her feet. “You pigheaded-” Movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention: Moonlimned sillhouettes afoot among the trees. She lunged at the Dwarf, knocking him aside as a cruel barbed lance hissed through the space where he had been, spearing into the earth.
Howling, four Drōkha charged from the coppice. And as the Dwarf snatched up his axe, Elyn jerked the Wrg spear from the ground and hurled it with all her might, spitting one of the Spawn ere he had taken five running strides.
The Dwarf stepped to the fore to meet the charge, his double-bitted axe at the ready in a two-handed grip: right hand high near the blade, left hand low near the haft butt. As is the way of Dwarven axe battle, he would use the helve to parry the weapons of the Hrōks; and he would stab forward with the cruel iron beak jutting from the head of the haft, or would shift his grip to strike with fury, lashing out the steel blade in deadly sweeping blows, driven by the power of his broad Châkka shoulders.
Elyn had nought but a dagger at her belt, for her saber, bow and arrows, sling and bullets, and spear were all saddle-scabbarded on Wind. Rach! I should have kept the Drōkhen spear!
Cursing herself for a fool, dagger in hand, Elyn turned and ran for the tethered horse, one of the Wrg hard on her heels. If she could just reach her weapons in time. . But Wind had caught the airborne scent of spilled Drōkh blood and-eyes rolling white, nostrils flaring wide-danced away hindward as Elyn dashed nigh.