Greenwillow said, "They'll be gone. They have their own twisted honor. Once the quarry reaches the city, the game is over."
The guards waffled, for it was known that the city wanted to retrieve the gallant dwarf's body for a hero's funeral-once the coast was clear and the sun well up in the sky.
"We'll go now and save you the trip," Sunbright told them, and that clinched the argument.
By starlight and the ghostly glow of the dusty road, the two crept forth. Sunbright trod silently awhile, wary of ambush, but the elf, who had cat's eyes, told him there was no one about. So they talked.
Greenwillow asked, "What did you call that constellation you steered by?"
The barbarian pointed. "The Panther. There's her head, and there's her tail."
"My people call it the Bell."
"Ah." Having quarreled earlier, albeit silently, they were now overly formal. "I suppose it matters not, as long as we can see it. I doubt the stars care what mortals name them."
A sniff sounded, but the elf added, "That's poetic for a barbarian."
"Who better to know poetry?" Sunbright returned. "I know lowlanders call us savages because we don't read. We carry our tribe's lore in our heads. Give me enough liquor, and I could recite stories and sing songs the night long, and never repeat one. And I'm no storyteller, just a warrior. Our storytellers could talk you deaf with weeks of lore and song!"
Greenwillow said nothing, only marched along the road they'd run during the day. His boasting was pointless, in a way, for even in her short years, thrice those of any human, she'd learned thousands of stories and songs and forgotten more of them than a mere man or woman could know. But Sunbright paid himself a compliment by valuing his people's history and glory. Neither his head nor his heart were empty, she had to admit.
A grumbling snarl sounded ahead. Sunbright hissed, "Scat!" and two fat shapes waddled away. A short, dark outline in the road marked the dead dwarf, and the two were glad they couldn't see his face after raccoons had worried it.
The barbarian gave a short epitaph like a prayer. "Come, friend. Your work is done and the day gone. Let us hie you home, where many will sing your praises." Neither spoke as Sunbright hoisted the stocky body to his shoulder. It was surprisingly light from having lost so much blood. "Get his war-hammer. We don't want…"
"I've got it."
They turned back toward the gates. To distract them from what he carried, Sunbright mused, "I wonder how the farm folk and harvesters knew to flee inside the walls. How could they know the Neth would come hunting?"
"Probably some other Neth sent the city elders a warning. I'd like to think that not all Netherese approve of hunting humans. But with their penchant for intrigue, it could merely have been a spoilsport scaring off a rival's game."
The young man stumped along with his burden, shifting it to the other shoulder. "How do you know so much about the Hunt?"
The silence was long. "The hunting rules the Neth abide by were adopted from my cousins, the High Elves of Cormanthyr, who have hunted humans for centuries." She added in defense, "As usual, the human mages have perverted the original purpose, which is lost in ancient times. Believe it or not, the High Elves hunting humans was a compliment, for it marked the ascendancy of mankind and the eventual decline of elves."
Silence implied the human didn't consider being hunted a compliment, so Greenwillow tossed out her own question. "How did you turn that great cave bear from attacking us?"
Sunbright waved his free hand, realized she couldn't see it-though she could-and said, "Oh, I just told him we were friends. I work to be a-" He stopped the word "shaman" before it escaped. "A friend to animals. Which reminds me. We'll buy a goat and tether it near the bear's den. You should thank anyone who gives you a gift, and my life is my most prized possession."
"Mine too."
For a second, the barbarian thought Greenwillow meant his life was precious to her. Then he realized that, of course, she meant her own.
So the three companions, two living, one dead, trudged silently back to the city they'd spent almost two seasons trying to reach.
In the end, Dorlas was neither buried nor burned. Three dwarves had taken custody of the body and worked the night through to plane and hammer a coffin that was only partly watertight. At dawn, as the sun rose rimmed in blood, the three carried the short coffin on their shoulders to the edge of the river. A quiet word had passed to the city elders that there would be no ornate state funeral. The only observers to the ceremony were Sunbright and Greenwillow, who argued they had been friends of the dead man, or at least comrades.
The dwarves eased the coffin down on the pebbly shingle. Each bent to pluck a handful of gravel that was then sprinkled over the wooden box. The rattling was loud enough to startle sleeping ducks from the cattails on the other side of the river. When invited, Sunbright and Dorlas also stepped forward and sprinkled handfuls of soil on the coffin.
The dwarf in charge of the funeral, Mondar, explained, "These stones will cover him as he begins his journey to his homeland." Dorlas, they'd been told, was originally from a tribe called the Sons of Baltar in the Iron Mountains far to the south. Since the river wended that way, the leaky coffin would be consigned to it. Somewhere along the way it would surely sink, but the idea was that the dead Dorlas could travel the rest of the way underground once he reached the riverbed. Together, the five participants pushed the coffin into the quiet water. It bobbed and tipped, then straightened side-on to the current and sailed southward. Mondar called, "Go, brother, and lead the way!"
Dorlas's warrior tackle had been stripped from his body, for it was thought there was no fighting in the afterlife, only simple pleasures and fulfilling work. Solemnly, Mondar held up the dead man's knife, and asked, "Who will take this knife, that it might work well and honor its master's name?" A dwarf held out his hand and received it. So went the crossbow and quarrels, baldric, even his file and fishhooks and compass. The dwarves were all workmen in the city and could find a use for the tools. At the last, Mondar held up the fearsome warhammer, frowning at it, for with its long narrow head and sharp parrot's beak on the back face, it would make a poor tool for blacksmith or cobbler or silversmith. At the ritual question "Who will take this warhammer, that it might work well and honor its master's name?" no one extended his hand.
In the awkward silence, Sunbright surprised himself and everyone else by saying, "I will."
The dwarves squinted in the bright light of dawn. Needing to explain, Sunbright said, "I have more battles ahead, and can do honor to Dorlas's name. But I promise that someday I will return the hammer to his family in the Iron Mountains. I'll tell them how he died and saved our lives."
"It is not necessary." Mondar frowned. "We know of his dying. Word will pass to his relatives."
"Good. For if I'm killed, I won't be able to relate the tale. But if I live, I will make that journey. I owe him that much." Behind him Greenwillow sniffed, but this time to hold back tears.
Without a word, Mondar laid the cold, heavy war-hammer in the young man's hand. Sunbright slid it in his belt, felt it nestle beneath his ribs. He wasn't sure why he'd taken it or made that vow. Perhaps he was only being selfish, and hoped that when he was killed, someone would make an effort to see that his family knew. But whatever the reason, he was glad.
Barbarian and elf had slept for a few short hours in a soldiers' hostel where the women were separated from the men. Over a breakfast of bread and ale and cheese served at long tables in a surprisingly quiet throng, Sunbright suggested, "Since this is my first time in a city, you'd best lead the way. What do we do?"