As he pushed higher up the gully, the curve of the ravine wall took the road out of sight below him, and he began to wonder if he had imagined the scent of smoke. And even if he hadn't, would someone who camped in such a remote location be welcoming, or even tolerant, of an intruder?
He had no answer to these questions, but he knew he would find out soon as another bend of the steeply climbing trail brought him in sight of a shadowy cave mouth. He could see a faint glow of crimson from within; this was clearly the source of the fire and the smoke. Scrambling up another few steps, he reached a flat swath of gravel before the mouth of the cave. His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, but he didn't draw the weapon as he stared warily into the depths, wondering about the nature of the fire builder within.
"Hullo!" he called, trying to keep his voice cheerful. "Anyone here?"
A stocky, hunched figure moved from the wall of the cave to stand and face him. Silhouetted by the fire as it was, Kelryn quickly determined by the bowed legs and the barrel-sized torso that the cave's occupant was a dwarf.
"Who's there?" demanded the fellow suspiciously. Kelryn was startled to realize that, despite the backlighting, he could see the dwarf's eyes: two spots of milky white illumination, gleaming at him with uncanny brightness.
"A traveler-a poor horseman," he replied in the smoothest, friendliest tones he could muster. "I only hope to share the warmth of your fire."
With a snort, the dwarf turned his back and sat in the shadows of the cave's interior.
Kelryn waited a beat, wondering if the fellow would make more of a reply. When no sound, no sign of invitation or refusal was forthcoming, he cleared his throat. The horse's breath steamed at his ear, and the fire within the cave crackled atop a heap of embers that looked very warm indeed.
Finally the man determined that he would take charge of the situation. He moved forward slowly, tethering the horse in the entrance of the rocky shelter where it would be protected from the worst of the icy wind. Then he stepped inside, bowing to pass underneath a low mantel of flinty granite. Within, he found that the rocky ceiling rose high, giving him plenty of room to stand. The cave was a fine shelter, he observed, seeing that it even offered a natural flue near the back, where the smoke from the fire crept along the wall and then wafted upward, to be lost in the frigid night-and occasionally carried down to the road by a lucky gust of wind.
Kelryn noted idly that the stone around the flue was soot-stained and shiny black. He suspected that it had served as a fireplace for a long time and wondered if perhaps this dwarf had made the cave a more or less permanent home.
Advancing into the shelter, the man allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He held his hands to his sides so that the dwarf, who glowered silently from his seat near the fire, would know he meant no harm.
"I'm Kelryn Darewind," he said, offering his most beguiling smile. He gestured to another flat rock beside the fire, opposite the position of the still-silent dwarf. "Would you mind terribly if I made myself comfortable?"
"Hah!" the dwarf snapped, and again those pale eyes flashed, luminous and staring. "Let me see."
Abruptly the fellow clasped both hands to the front of his jerkin, pressing the garment tightly to his chest. Kelryn was surprised to see that the piece of stiff clothing was filthy and torn, lacking the usually fine workmanship of other dwarven garb. The cave dweller's scalp was covered with a bristling mane of stiff, spiky hair, and his beard was a greasy, tangled mat covering most of his chest.
Kelryn was wondering what the dwarf's last remark meant when he heard the wretched fellow begin to speak. He listened, prepared to formulate whatever reply his host might fold agreeable, until he realized that the creature was not speaking to his visitor.
"He wants to stay, he says," mumbled the dwarf. His pale eyes were vacant, staring past Kelryn, apparently focused on nothing at all. The fingers still clenched into tight fists pressed against his chest. "Wants to warm himself by the fire, he says."
"And it's the truth," Kelryn noted genially. "I wouldn't be surprised if we get some snow tonight."
"Snow, he says," cackled the dwarf, casting a wide-eyed glance at the human before turning his attention back to the vague distance.
Kelryn was mystified, yet intrigued. He suspected that the dwarf was mad, but the filthy cave dweller did not seem terribly dangerous, and Kelryn Darewind had a highly developed sense of danger, at least as it pertained to the protection of his own skin.
"You can stay," the dwarf said suddenly, releasing his shirt and sighing in what seemed to be exhaustion, or perhaps resignation.
"Thank you. I'm very grateful," replied the man. He considered a further question and decided to chance it. "Um… who is it that you were talking to? Or, I should say, to whom do I owe my gratitude?"
"Why, himself, of course," said the dwarf with a sly grin.
"Well, please convey my thanks."
"He knows… he knows."
The dwarf suddenly burst into activity, throwing several pieces of dry wood onto the fire, pulling out a crude bowl that he set in the coals beside the blaze. Kelryn realized that the dish was in fact a steel helm, probably of dwarven make, that had been ignominiously converted to duty as a soup caldron.
"And you are Kelryn," the dwarf noted, as if confirming his own memory.
"Quite right. And you…?"
"My name is Cantor Blacksword, but you can call me… call me Fistandantilus!" crowed the filthy fellow, as if he had just been struck by inspiration.
"Fistandantilus… the wizard?"
"The same. 'Twas he who gave his blessing to yer staying, he I was talking to." The dwarf patted his chest smugly, as if the great wizard himself was compactly stored in a pouch beside his skin.
"But you just said that I should call you by that name, yet you seem to indicate that it belongs to someone else."
"It belongs to me!" shrieked the dwarf, hopping to his feet, standing with legs bowed as if ready to do battle. "You can't have it!"
"Nor do I want it!" Kelryn hastily assured the dwarf, utterly convinced that the wretch was indeed hopelessly mad. He watched warily as the dwarf, apparently mollified, sat back down. Gantor swept aside his beard and pulled out the loose neckline of his shirt, peering downward, apparently at his own belly, then slyly raising his wide, unblinking eyes to stare at his visitor.
"And are you of the Thorbardin clans or the hill dwarves?" the human asked, hoping to change the topic quickly.
"Bah! None of them are worthy of me, though once I numbered myself among the clan of Theiwar. I am of myself, and of Fistandantilus."
"But you told me that you are Fistandantilus." Kelryn, keeping his hand ready near the hilt of his sword, was rather enjoying the verbal sparring. And he was mightily curious about the dwarf's cloak. What did he have under there?
"That's for protection-mine and his." The dwarf looked out the entrance of the cave, as if he suspected someone might be sneaking toward them. Apparently satisfied, he settled back to stir his soup.
"May I offer some bread? A taste of ale, perhaps?" suggested the human. He went to the palomino and unsaddled the horse, resting his own supplies in a sheltered niche within the cave. Searching through his saddlebags, he pulled forth some choice selections from his store of provisions.
The dwarf watched with glittering, hungry eyes as Kelryn ambled back to the fire and resumed his seat on the flat rock.
"In truth, it's been many a year since I've had the taste of real ale," Gantor admitted, maintaining his vivid stare. He reached out to snatch the skin as soon as Kelryn started to swing it over, as if he expected that the human would take it back at any instant.
"Take it. Have the whole thing," the man urged with utmost sincerity-not from any charitable sense, but rather because he knew the power of ale to loosen the tongue of dwarf or man.