"Oh, just wipe it off. One touch is enough, as I showed you. Now your blade is enchanted and can rend the flesh of any magical creature: harpies, liches, bugbears, anything."
"And I'll receive more enchantments when I return?" Carefully, Sunbright dried Harvester with a rag, then slowly slid it home in the sheath. "That's a promising reward. Thank you. I'll do my best to get your information on the One King."
"Please do." Chandler raised his left hand in farewell, his right hanging at his side.
Sunbright turned toward the party of traders, then suddenly whirled. "Oh, I almost forgot. You must know everyone here. Where lives a girl named Ruellana?"
Chandler frowned. He didn't know any of these peasants, but was supposed to command them. To stall, he asked, "Ruellana? There are so many young women here. How does she appear?"
"Curves like a walrus tusk. Green eyes, red hair." Lust dripped in his voice.
Red hair? A warning flag rose in the wizard's mind. Was Sysquemalyn sticking her oar into his machinations? "Uh, I'm not sure. I'll ask around, and see she's available when you return."
Thwarted, Sunbright frowned, but nodded curtly and, without another word, turned to go.
Chandler, or Candlemas, was glad to see him leave. The enchanting, of course, was a trick. He'd simply shielded his thumb from the first cut, relaxed it for the second. The "magic potion" had been river water this morning. Humans were easy to fool, and barbarians more so than most, it seemed. Still, the groundling was a fast learner, He wouldn't be tractable forever.
Right away, Sunbright saw problems.
The party milling by the ferry head didn't look or sound right. Travelers would normally be busy, preoccupied, a little nervous, giddy at the thought of adventure. This group milled like cattle in a slaughter pen: cursing each other and the packhorses, bickering with the bodyguards, screaming orders at locals fetching supplies, weeping openly and crying to the gods for protection. Many wore gaudy long robes, impossible for walking any distance, and slippers on their feet instead of shoes or boots. But these were lowlanders, the barbarian told himself, and so were soft in the arm, rump, and head.
He began to walk toward the dwarf, who was quietly organizing things, but a woman intercepted him with a glare as hard as glacier ice. "What do you want?"
The warrior lifted his chin. "I want nothing. I'm to join your party."
"You're not!"
Sunbright blinked, nonplussed by her rudeness-and the exotic looks of a half-elf. Her face was as pale as milk, with high arching brows and pointed ears, her hair jet black, drawn straight back into a braid intertwined with silver wire and rawhide. She wore a shirt of silk rife with white embroidery, boiled and molded leather armor of a glistening emerald green and breeches of the same color, with a wide black belt and boots. She looked like a brilliant banded lizard from the southlands that Sunbright had once seen at a market stall. An ornate sword with a basket hilt, very slim, jingled at her belt with a matching dagger, and on her back was a black bow as slender as a fox's rib.
She was beautiful but unfriendly, so Sunbright simply went around her. He hailed the dwarf. "I am Sunbright, Raven Clan of the Rengarth. I'm to join the party."
"Dorlas, son of Drigor. Welcome." They shook hands, the dwarf's like a sun-warmed rock. With a sigh, he pointed a craggy finger at a trader who'd dropped a bundle and then collapsed weeping atop it. "Cease your blubbering, Fendril! We've been over this. Consign your soul to the gods and get your sorry arse into motion!"
Sunbright gestured at the party. "Why are they so reluctant to depart?"
"Because it's a cock-up, that's why. Because they're idiots. Because I'm cursed," the dwarf rumbled. He wasn't that small, as the legends told, but came almost to the barbarian's breastbone, though he was twice as wide with arms like the rope hawsers restraining the ferry. His beard was strawberry-blond and braided, his hair the same under a simple steel helmet painted with a compass on the top. He wore all rough-out leather and a steel cuirass besides, easily toted a pack almost as big as himself and a fluted warhammer that Sunbright would have swung to kill an ox.
The half-elf interrupted. "This barbarian is not joining our party!"
The two males looked at her, querying. Green-gray eyes flashing, she snapped, "Barbarians can't be trusted! They're savages, not much risen above orcs! They've no sense of honor or decency, but pillage and rape and raid without mercy! And they're dirty and infested!"
Sunbright scratched his ear insolently. "Those traits are the same as I've heard attributed to elves. And I took a bath this morning." He held up his damp shirttail.
Dorlas rumbled again, a chuckle this time. "I've heard the same said of dwarves."
"I won't have him with us!" the elf went on. "Dorlas, if you're responsible-"
"I am, and so's he, if his scars are any proof. And part of this disaster was to employ a barbarian named Sunbright, if you recall. And we need another sword. Tears of Jannath, we need a dozen! Hoy there, don't strike that animal or I'll tie you to its tail!"
Sweetly, Sunbright said, "You haven't introduced yourself, sister."
"Greenwillow of the Moon Elves, cousin to the High Elves of Cormanthyr! Too high-born to wallow in a trough with human barbarians!"
Still smiling, Sunbright bowed. "Then please, your ladyship, don't speak to me." Huffing and jingling, the elf swung away.
"Never mind her. She's joined us with some mission to somewhere, and paid to do it, so thinks she has a say in my doings." The dwarf hooked a calloused thumb down the road through the village, where a round-backed wizard plodded toward the forest. "Who's your friend?"
"Not a friend. That's Chandler, steward of the local castle."
"No, he isn't." At the barbarian's angry look, as if he'd been accused of lying, the dwarf explained, "We bunked at the local castle last night. The steward's a tall cob that lacks two front teeth."
Sunbright didn't argue, only pondered. If there was no reason for the dwarf to lie, then Chandler must be lying about his true identity. For sure, he was a wizard, but who was he really?
"What a mess." Dorlas interrupted his thoughts. "I can't believe I signed on with these clowns. They'll be dead in the first five miles. Help them strap on these provisions, or we won't even cross the river before nightfall."
"In a moment. First I must seek a girl."
Dorlas peered up at him from under bushy brows. "Night's the time for loving. Day's for working. But go and hurry up. And boy, you'd better be a fighter. We'll need that sword."
Sunbright had no luck finding Ruellana. None of the villagers knew a girl by that name. He supposed some might lie to keep a rapacious barbarian away from the local girls, but many answers seemed sincere. Strangely, the people he believed most were the lumpy, bruised men he'd brawled with. They were nursing their hurts while picking up the mess in the tavern, but gave grudging admiration to a stranger who could bring down the house. But no, there was no Ruellana living nearby. No redheads at all within a dozen miles, in fact. One old duffer rasped, "If you spent the night with a fire-faerie or whatever she be, think yourself lucky to escape still a man and not a gelding."
Sunbright did not feel lucky and, remembering her firm, ripe body under his hands, found it hard to believe her a phantom. He'd hoped to find her quickly and ask her to accompany him, or at least wait until he returned. But maybe she was, after all, only a dream: the shaman's double blessing and curse.
Reluctantly, he rejoined the party, strapped tents and leather cases and satchels of food and finally a few traders to the horses, and slapped and prodded and dragged beasts and men onto the wobbly ferry raft.