"You knew about my quest?"
"Only that you had a reason for exploring the Khal-kists," said Ariakas. "You never told me about it."
"I came here looking for dwarves," Ferros Windchisel explained without preamble. "All the way from Thorbar-din-on the trail four years before I got captured by ogres."
"Thorbardin?" Ariakas had heard of the place. The name conjured pictures of dwarven legions gathered under the banner of the mountain dwarf king. When considered from his own eastern homeland, Thorbardin was impossibly distant, so far removed that it might have been located on another world.
"Aye. What I wouldn't give for a smooth ferry-ride across the Urkhan Sea," Ferros mused. "Thorbardin's a wonder, you know-I'm amazed that I ever got around to leaving."
"Why did you leave?" Ariakas asked. "If you were looking for dwarves, I'd have thought you were in the right place before you started."
Ferros chuckled. "That I was. But, see, I know about the dwarves in Thorbardin-we all do. I'm looking for signs of dwarves that we've lost touch with. Several of my Hylar clansmen have set out on this quest in the last decades. We look for kingdoms around the whole of the continent that, since the Cataclysm, have been closed off from one another."
"And you believe that one of those kingdoms is in the Khalkists?"
"I did believe-now I know!" hissed the Hylar, his voice confirming the triumph of his discovery.
"You've heard, then, of Zhakar?" asked Ariakas.
Ferros looked somewhat deflated. "So, someone told you already, huh? Yup, that's the place."
"Good luck," the warrior noted wryly. "I've heard they kill anyone who even gets close to their borders. No one even knows where it lies!"
"Except for the Zhakar themselves," said Ferros, ges shy;turing to the dwarves crowded around them.
"That's why you're here? To get directions?"
"An invitation would be even better. I've learned they have a head honcho here in Sanction. I figure if I could talk to him, tell him why I'm looking for Zhakar … well, that'll be someplace to start, at least."
"You're looking for Tale Splintersteel, I take it?" Aria-kas asked.
Ferros managed to look crestfallen and indignant at the same time. "Do you know everything about these guys?" he groused. "Here you get to town yesterday and already you've learned what I've scraped together in the last three months!"
"Cheer up," Ariakas said. "I'm sure there's something you know that I don't."
"I don't even know what brings you into this tea-dive," Ferros complained.
"As a matter of fact, I'm looking to meet Tale Splinter-steel myself."
"So you know him, then?"
"I don't even know what he looks like," the warrior admitted.
"There I've got you!" crowed Ferros. "I not only know what he looks like, I know where he's sitting!"
Ariakas nodded, impressed. "Care to share that infor shy;mation?"
Ferros made a pretense of considering his request, then grinned good-naturedly. He nodded toward the darkest corner of the bar, where Ariakas discerned noth shy;ing more than indistinct shadows gathered around an unusually long table.
"Splintersteel's the one at the head of the table," Ferros explained. "The only dwarf I've seen in here who doesn't get a lot of lip."
"Well, let's go talk to him," suggested Ariakas, rising to his feet. At first he wondered if Ferros were about to object, but then the Hylar shrugged and stood beside him. The human warrior pushed his way through the Zhakar huddled at the various tables, working toward that darkened alcove.
Gradually the bar fell silent around them. The dwar-ven customers suspiciously watched the pair.
"Watch my back," the warrior hissed as quietly as he could, and he felt Ferros clap him on the shoulder to sig shy;nify that he'd heard.
By the time they reached the long table, the Fungus Mug had fallen silent as a still winter night. This close, he could see perhaps a dozen dwarves seated along the sides of the table, and each of them seemed to have his hands out of sight. The warrior readily imagined that each held a weapon-they could easily leap to their leader's defense if Ariakas should make any suspicious move.
Stiffly, he bowed to the dwarf, who was still half-buried in shadows, the man's eyes shifting back and forth between the bodyguards to either side of the table. "Tale Splintersteel?" he inquired. "I request the honor of an interview.. regarding a business matter that may yield considerable profit."
"Impossible!" snapped the dark figure at the table.
When he didn't elaborate, Ariakas pressed, his tone hard. "Why is it impossible?"
"Your companion …" replied Tale Splintersteel. "His very presence is an affront to me and my people. He should have the decency to remove himself from my sight."
"Hey, you're no pretty boy yourself!" snapped Ferros Windchisel. "Talking about affronts-"
"Perhaps you could wait over there," Ariakas said softly provoking a sputter of indignation.
"I will grant you your interview, human," noted Tale Splintersteel, "if you will first grant me a small entertain shy;ment."
"I'm no harpist," growled Ariakas.
"Not that kind of entertainment-but something that falls well within your obvious skills."
"What do you have in mind?" Ariakas felt an ominous sense of suspicion.
"Kill the mountain dwarf. We shall discuss your busi shy;ness over his bleeding remains," suggested Tale Splinter-steel conversationally.
"Hey-get your hands off me!" demanded Ferros Windchisel. Ariakas whirled to see three or four Zhakar bearing the Hylar to the floor, though Ferros kicked and punched, throwing two of the Khalkist dwarves off.
In that split second, Ariakas made his decision. His hands grasped the sword hilt over his left shoulder, and with one whistling slice the white blade flew from the scabbard, whipped through the air, and cut a deep gouge in the shoulder of the Zhakar holding Ferros's arm. With a cry, the wounded dwarf dropped to the ground, and the entire bar exploded into uproar. Ferros cursed and drew a small axe from his belt, forcefully chopping his other captor.
"Kill them both!" howled Tale Splintersteel, leaping to his feet and gesturing his followers forward. Even in the confusion, Ariakas was surprised to note that the influ shy;ential Zhakar was little more than three feet tall-a foot shorter than Ferros Windchisel.
Then armed dwarves surged at them from all sides. "Back to back!" the warrior shouted, and the Hylar piv shy;oted to match his own maneuver. The two fighters fended off a press of Zhakar dwarves, Ariakas driving his white blade over and over into the crowd of shadowy figures.
"Hold, you fools!" Tale's voice rose to hysterical levels, and the chaotic crowd of attackers paused for a moment.
"Form ranks!"
"Quick-over here!" grunted Ferros, darting toward the wall of the large room. Ariakas followed, realizing that their slim chances improved if they could get solid cover at their backs.
"After them!" cried Tale Splintersteel. The horde of howling Zhakar must have numbered a hundred or more, and as Ariakas killed the first two it seemed that ten-twenty! — more leapt in to take their places. He grunted as a steel blade bit into his arm, and then cursed as another cut gouged his knee-even as both attackers fell dead from the lightning-fast back-and-forth of his counterblows.
"I'm down!" gasped Ferros Windchisel, collapsing back against the wall, pierced by a Zhakar sword.
Ariakas stepped to the side, straddling the body of his friend as the rabid dwarves lunged closer, driven to fury by the prospect of victory. The slashing of that white blade couldn't hold them at bay for long. His weapon seemed to be the only brightness in the place, gleaming like ivory as it rose and fell. What was it about that sword?