“Aye, all true. But he’s changed, hasn’t he? I’d be blind not to see it,” Dram declared softly.
“Yes, he has. And sometimes… I worry about the future.”
“You and me both, wife,” Dram replied gruffly. “You and me both.”
The cool stone walls of the house were pleasing, and Mikey squealed with pleasure as Dram and Sally entered the front hall. The little boy toddled from the nursery to greet his parents, while his grandfather stood back, beaming with pride.
“Mums! Dada!” Mikey chortled as Sally kissed him, and Dram nuzzled his son with his bristling beard. As usual, the lad was consumed by giggles at these ministrations.
“Thanks for staying with him, Dad,” Sally said, going over to Swig and kissing his furry cheek. “Any problems?”
“Not a one,” the grizzled hill dwarf said, beaming. “That little fellow is a real prodigy-why, he was using my pocket knife like a pickaxe, digging in the backyard. And today I showed him how to make two fists!”
“Uh, thanks, Dad.”
“Don’t mention it. You can call on me any time.” Swig glanced at his son-in-law and cleared his throat. “But you got a visitor waiting. Rogard Smashfinger came down from Kayolin to see you. He’s set up at the inn.”
“Well, we’ll send a message and have him come for dinner,” Sally said quickly before Dram could head for the door. Her husband had been known to take six or eight hours, sometimes, when he went to personally fetch someone from the inn.
Sheepishly, the dwarf nodded. “I’ll send one of the men down with an invitation. Tell him to come over as soon as he can.”
“Good. I’ll see to the kitchen,” said the dwarf maid, bustling through the dining room, Mikey rolling along behind.
“Did Rogard say what he wanted?” Dram asked as Swig drew a couple of mugs of ale from the keg that rested in an alcove in the front hall.
His father-in-law handed him one of the foaming vessels and shrugged. “Nah. He seemed kind of out of sorts, though. I suppose it’s the usual-he wants us to buy more steel.”
Swig’s guess proved prescient when, not long after, the mountain dwarf arrived. Rogard Smashfinger wore the fur cape and bejeweled bracelets, rings, and necklaces that marked him as a noble merchant of no small station, and in fact they knew that he was a cousin of Kayolin’s king. It was Rogard who had provided the incredibly strong bands of spring steel that had allowed the bombards to finally be rendered functional. Three years ago he had been the master forger of that dwarf under-mountain realm, but his activities and dealings with New Compound had allowed him to take off his leather apron and don the splendid merchant’s togs.
Rogard’s gray beard was split by a grin that was just a little too friendly, and the gleam in his eye looked as if it had been placed there more by design than by genuine emotion. Even so, it was a relaxed trio of dwarves who retired with their cold ales to the sitting room.
The mountain dwarf from Garnet leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and fixed Dram with a determined look. “So, now. I have ten wagons of steel bands forged and finished, ready to roll down here. When do you want ’em?”
“I’m not sure that I do want ’em, to tell you the truth,” Dram replied. “I haven’t been doing much work on the bombards lately. The emper-Jaymes, that is-still has three of them, and I think they’ll be sufficient for the time being.”
“You can’t be serious!” objected Rogard. “Will you be content to be just another dwarf mining town, here in the Garnet Range?”
“There’s veins of gold and silver in these hills,” Dram allowed grudgingly. “Turns out I’ve got kind of a nose for the stuff.”
“Well, listen. If that’s your purpose, then the king will have to take a little bit more interest in your operation. Seems likely that you’ll owe him some taxes, seeing as how you’re digging in his mountains!”
Swig sputtered so hard that he blew the foam off of his mug and all across his trousers. He leaped to his feet then made an effort to hold his temper when Dram calmly held up a hand. “Now, Rogard, I am a loyal subject of the king, having been born in that great city under the mountain. But I know where Kayolin is, and I know where we are. There’s a lotta miles between us, and the king doesn’t have any claim to these valleys around here.”
“Are you going to tell the king that? Knowing his majesty like I do, I expect that’s more the kind of decision he’ll want to be making himself. After all, you led him to believe that you’d be taking this steel off his hands. He’s been busy forging up there, while you were poking around in the hills, digging up nuggets and ore. I can’t say he’s going to be happy about it.”
“How dare he tell us what to do?” demanded Swig, stepping forward and balling his fists. “Why, if that mountain dwarf mole ever stuck his nose out from under his mountain, he’d know-”
“Now, now, Swig,” Dram said, standing and placing a restraining hand on his father-in-law’s shoulder. “Let’s mind our manners.”
“Manners?” Swig spluttered. “Why, you’re just as-”
“Dad?” Sally chirped sweetly, sticking her head through the door to the kitchen. “Oh, hi, Rogard,” she said, offering a dazzling smile.
“Hi, Sally,” the mountain dwarf replied, beaming at her then warily glancing back at Swig.
“Can you give me a hand in here, Pop?” she asked. “I need someone with a little strength…”
The hill dwarf looked angrily at the master forger then turned an appealing expression to his daughter. “But-we’re just-I was gonna-I have to-”
“Go ahead, Swig,” Dram said cheerfully, using his hand to steer the muttering hill dwarf out of the room, flashing his wife a grateful wink. Only when the two had disappeared into the rear of the house did he turn back to his visitor. Before speaking, Dram took a moment to refill their mugs, carefully sculpting the foam into a perfect head on each glass. He handed the drink to an appreciative Rogard.
“That old hill dwarf has a temper,” allowed the guest.
“He’s set in his ways. But he’s true to his soul, and he’s as brave a dwarf as you could ever hope to find.”
“Don’t doubt it. But it makes me wonder who’s in charge down here.”
“You just saw who is in charge,” Dram argued. He meant himself, of course, but he had a momentary thought that it might have actually looked as if he were talking about Sally. No bother, that. It was close enough to the truth, anyway.
“Now, there might be some more of those bombards coming. I really don’t know. I’m going to be sending Swig back to the Vingaards to bring a load of sulfur over the next few months. When I get that in, I’ll be able to take stock.”
“You’re not going yourself? Don’t you want to see the emperor in Palanthas?”
“He knows where to find me,” Dram said with a shrug. “So no, I like it here just fine. And one way or the other, I can find a use for some of that splendid steel around here. Just not sure it will be ten wagons.”
Rogard glowered but nursed his ale for a while before replying. Finally, he set the empty glass down and rose to nod stiffly to his host. “I’ll tell the king that you’ll have an answer for him in two months, then. I think he’ll be willing to wait until then.”
“He’d better,” Dram replied, lowering his voice to a growl. “We’re not without allies, or weapons, here in New Compound.”
“Now, now, Dram. I’m sure there’s no need to be thinkin’ along those lines. At least, not if you can keep Swig out of the room. Good day.”
Dram was holding his own mug, barely touched, when Sally came in a few minutes later. She looked around the empty sitting room. “He’s gone? What about dinner?”
“Turns out he didn’t have much of an appetite,” Dram said sourly. A moment later he brightened. “But I do,” he concluded, following his wife into a room full of wonderful aromas.