Pushing through a low doorway, Ariakas was forced to duck his head. He remained stooped within, for the ceiling support beams were exactly the height of his fore shy;head. His first sensation was the overpowering smell he had detected in the alley-it was as if he had entered that cellar he had earlier imagined. The next thing he noticed was the nearly complete darkness of the inn. He could hear sounds of laughter and angry words exchanged in a variety of languages. Somewhere a glass broke, and a female voice joined the cacophony.
Ariakas bumped into a stone ceiling support and mut shy;tered in vexation. He massaged his forehead and groped his way past the obstacle. A huge fireplace stood in the far wall, and within the vast hearth the remains of a coal-fire smoldered. The embers did not cast much light, but slowly Ariakas made out vague details of his surround shy;ings.
There were many tables between him and the fire shy;place, and most of them seemed to be occupied. The laughing and bickering immediately around him ceased, and he suddenly felt very self-conscious. A long, low bar stood along one wall, and small oil flames glimmered in several places behind the bar. Hunched silhouettes showed Ariakas where the customers were, and by avoiding these he found a seat facing the barkeeper.
Sitting, he now got a good look at the little flames. Each flared beneath a copper kettle, and from these con shy;tainers steady clouds of steam escaped. He watched the bartender fetch several empty mugs from dwarven cus shy;tomers and refill them from the steaming pot. A waft of steam floated past his nose, and he realized that the warm liquid was the stuff he had smelled even out in the alleyway.
"What'U it be-I ain't got all night!"
The cantankerous voice drew his attention down, and he saw the shadowy outline of a dwarven barmaid, fists planted firmly on her hips, face upturned. Though he couldn't see details of her features, the irritation in her voice blended well with the other sounds of debate and disagreement in this place.
"An ale, cold as you've got it," he replied curtly.
"Don't get your hopes up," she retorted, ducking behind the bar. She drew a mug from a tap, and brought the stuff over to Ariakas.
The warrior flipped her a silver piece, declaring he'd be ready for another in a few minutes. When she marched off, presumably to harass a few more cus shy;tomers, he turned and slumped his elbows on the bar, wondering how to go about finding Tale Splintersteel. Tasting the brew, he found it palatable, if a bit more bitter than the grainy eastern ales he was used to-but nowhere near as bad as he had already decided the steaming stuff in the pots must be.
Looking up and down the bar, his eyes grew further accustomed to the gloom. The warrior observed several other humans, but most of the customers had the short, stocky outline of dwarves. He noticed, with curiosity, that the dwarven figures were universally cloaked in dark cloth, often with garments wound so tightly as to expose only eyes and mouth. Others had their faces free, but hid their features within deep hoods. Though the dwarves used their hands frequently, both for drinking and for communicating, they all wore gloves. Often they gestured with clenched fist right in the face of a com shy;rade, and he saw several dwarves shoving each other back and forth brutally. Among humans, he would have expected such duels to explode into fights, but the dwarves seemed able to settle their differences thus, with one or the other finally conceding and the whole group sitting back down.
"Well, drink up if you want another-like I said, I ain't got all night!" The barmaid barked at him, appearing suddenly out of the darkness. Her face glowered at him from the depths of her hood. The dwarf woman's skin seemed pocked and rough, though Ariakas could see no details in the dim illumination.
He drained his mug, and when she returned with the refill, he asked a question. "That stuff in the pots. what is it?"
"Tea," she explained brusquely.
Ariakas grabbed her shoulder as she turned to go.
"What's it made from?"
She looked at him fiercely, apparently torn between bashing him on the jaw and answering his question. "Mushrooms. Zhakar mushrooms," she answered, jerk shy;ing free of his grasp and starting through the darkness again.
He regarded the pungent scent critically. So the Zhakar dwarves liked 'mushroom tea,' he reflected with a grimace-quite a difference from the other dwarves he had known, all of whom preferred drink of a much stronger nature.
His curiosity grew. What horrid plague effects caused them to cloak themselves so heavily? And if the argu shy;mentative atmosphere in the bar were any indication, they were more hostile and unpleasant than any other dwarves he'd encountered-and that included a fair number who lacked social grace.
At this point he didn't even try to solve the problem of meeting Tale Splintersteel. He could barely get two words out of the barmaid who worked here-he could imagine the reaction he'd get if he asked to meet the most important Zhakar in Sanction. His reflections were interrupted by a startling clap on his shoulder. Ariakas reached instinctively for his sword, then held his hand at the sound of a familiar voice.
"So, warrior-our schemes bring us together again in Sanction!" Ferros Windchisel's hearty words sent a sur shy;prising jolt of pleasure through Ariakas.
"Your escape was successful I see. Congratulations!" The man pumped the dwarf's hand as the Hylar slumped onto the seat adjacent to Ariakas. He felt a warm flush of friendship; the presence of Ferros brought back the memories of his stay in the tower.
"And you, too-though I began to wonder. I kept my eyes on that drawbridge for a couple of days and didn't see any sign of you coming out."
"No-as it was, storms closed in before we could leave. I was trapped there for the winter," Ariakas said softly. He couldn't bring himself to tell Ferros that it had all been a test, and that his reward had been the 'pris shy;oner' in the top level of the tower. "I didn't get to Sanc shy;tion until a few days ago."
"You did what?" sputtered Ferros Windchisel. "What about the ogres?"
"You did a great job of leading them away," Ariakas said with a grin. "The snow was so deep after the first storm that they couldn't get close to the mountain."
"By the way, you're looking good," Ferros noted. "Your face isn't in two pieces anymore."
Ariakas scowled, annoyed by the reminder of his encounter with the two kender. "It healed over the win shy;ter," he explained tersely.
Ferros squinted at the human and then shook his head with a rueful grin. "Pretty gutsy, that-to live in an ogre den."
Ariakas squirmed uneasily, uncomfortable with the knowledge that, like himself, Ferros Windchisel had been a pawn in the Dark Queen's test.
"I wish I'd had that luxury," the dwarf continued, grumbling good-naturedly. He shook his head. "One night I had to kick a bear out of a cave just to get a place to sleep. And those ogres weren't any too pleased with me, either. Had to bop a couple of 'em when they kept following me too close."
"Did you winter in the mountains?"
"Nope-made it into the lower valleys before the heaviest snows hit, then I was able to clomp down into Sanction by mid-Cold-Rust. You'd be surprised how warm it stays around here, what with these mountains smoking and belching all the time."
"You've been here all that time?" inquired Ariakas, surprised. "I thought you had some pressing business to attend to."
"I do!" Ferros agreed, subconsciously lowering his voice and looking furtively around. All the nearby dwarves argued and bickered with their comrades, pay shy;ing the two companions no attention whatsoever.