Neither had he stinted on his wardrobe. His feet were shod in well-made drakeskin boots cuffed at the knee, expensive not only because drakes were dangerous reptiles, but also because their hard black-and-red pebbled hide was extremely tough and difficult to work. A true craftsman had made those boots. The black-and-gray striped kirreskin breeches and the matching forearm bands were equally expensive, as was the mercenary’s sleeveless, laced-up tunic, made from the brown speckled hide of a cloud ray and studded with black onyx.
Everything the man wore was made from highly dangerous game. The only way he could afford such apparel on a mercenary’s salary was if he had provided the skins himself, and that spoke volumes about his prowess as a hunter.
“A bit ostentatious, perhaps,” said the mercenary, noting Sorak’s scrutiny, “but I find that flamboyance makes a strong impression. A poorly dressed mercenary is a poorly paid one. I am called Kieran.”
“Sorak.” They shook hands.
“I know. I heard you tell the captain. Apparently, your reputation precedes you. He seemed impressed when you gave him your name.”
Sorak shrugged uncomfortably. “Whatever reputation I may have is much exaggerated.”
Kieran smiled. “Oh, I doubt that, judging from the way you handled that giant.” He glanced toward Ryana.
“Oh, forgive me,” Sorak said. “This is Ryana.”
“It is an honor, priestess,” Kieran said, inclining his head respectfully. “The reputation of the villichi sisterhood is known far and wide.”
“You are most gracious,” said Ryana.
“Are you seeking employment in South Ledopolus?” Kieran asked Sorak.
“I have not yet decided,” Sorak replied.
“Ah, well in that case, perhaps I may tempt you with an offer. I am on my way to Altaruk, where I have accepted a post as the new captain of the guard for the merchant house of Jhamri. I could use a man of your abilities, and the merchant houses pay top wages, as you doubtless know.”
“Thank you, I shall consider it,” said Sorak.
“Take your time,” said Kieran. “The caravan of Jhamri is even now in South Ledopolus, but it is not scheduled to depart for another day or two, and you can leave word for me with the captain.”
“Thank you, I shall,” said Sorak.
Kieran nodded. “I will let you rest,” he said, then moved off to give them some privacy.
“Why did you agree to consider his offer?” asked Ryana. “We do not even know if we are going to Altaruk.”
“I did not wish to seem impolite, after his courtesy,” Sorak replied. “Besides, the merchant houses pay very well.”
“But we are not in need of money,” said Ryana, glancing at their packs sitting on the deck beside her.
“Yes, but it would not be wise to advertise that fact,” said Sorak.
She nodded. “I see your point. Good thinking.” She looked up toward the bow. “It seems we have a welcoming committee.”
The boat was pulling up to the dock at South Ledopolus, where an anxious crowd was waiting with torches, having seen the battle from the shore.
“Well, it seems your arrival in South Ledopolus is destined to cause quite a stir,” the ferry captain said, gazing at the crowd as they approached the dock. “By tomorrow morning, the whole village will have heard of your battle with the giant. It’s likely you won’t have to pay for any of your drinks during your stay.”
Sorak sighed wearily. “I was looking forward to a bath. The last thing I want now is to be peppered with questions.”
The captain grinned. “A lot of men in your position would relish the prospect of an audience eager to hear a tale of battle. But never fear, I will have one of my crew escort you to my house while I distract the crowd. Please make yourselves at home, and I will join you after I am finished here.”
“You are very kind,” said Sorak.
“Nonsense. You saved my boat. I am happy for the chance to show my appreciation. Make ready the bowlines!”
The lines were thrown out to waiting hands on the dock as the rowers stowed their oars and the boat drifted gently up against the moorings.
“This way,” said the captain’s mate, coming up beside them. “We will disembark from the stern while the others file down the gangplank. That way, we can lose ourselves quickly in the crowd and make our way into the village. I will take you to the captain’s house.”
“Thank you,” Sorak said, lifting his pack.
“No need,” the dwarf replied. “It is we who are in debt to you. Come, let’s go.”
As the crowd on the dock surged around the gangplank, anxious to hear firsthand reports of the battle, the mate jumped off the stern and landed lightly on the dock. Ryana followed, then Sorak, and they quickly made their way around the outer fringes of the crowd and down a narrow side street of the village.
It occurred to Sorak that he and Ryana were forever either sneaking out of a town or sneaking into one. This time, however, a welcome awaited them and there was no one on their trail. It made for a refreshing change. It would be nice if things remained that way for a while.
Perhaps that was too much to hope for.
4
The ferry captain’s home was much larger than they had expected. It was a two-thousand-square-foot adobe house built around an atrium, with a walled courtyard entrance. It had been constructed to human rather than dwarven scale, as were most buildings in the central part of the village. The floors were flagstoned with attractive, pale pink slate, and throughout the house, the doors were made of beautifully figured, hand-carved pagafa wood. Inside, everything was neatly arranged. Most dwarves liked order, and the ferry captain was no exception. His home was elegant, yet simple, with well-made, functional wood furniture and few decorations save for some house plants and some exquisite black-fired dwarven pottery. He was unmarried but had two servants, an elderly dwarven couple who kept his house and cooked for him. His job was hazardous, but judging by the way he lived, his pay reflected that accordingly.
Sorak luxuriated in a heated bath while his clothes were taken to be cleaned. As he washed, Ryana relaxed by the fireplace and enjoyed some herbal tea and fresh-baked biscuits with kank honey. Soon afterward, the ferry captain arrived, bringing Sorak a change of clothing, which he had borrowed from one of the mercenaries.
“I think these should fit you,” he said, laying them out while Sorak bathed. “Your own clothes should be clean and dry by tomorrow morning.”
“That was considerate of you, Captain,” Sorak said. “Thank you.”
“It was nothing. And please, call me Tajik.” He sat on a wooden chair while Sorak bathed. “You will pardon my curiosity, but I can see you are not a full-blooded elf. Yet, you look different from most half-elves I have seen.”
“My father was a halfling,” Sorak said. “Half-elves are part human. I am an elfling.”
Tajik’s eyebrows went up. “Indeed? I had heard something of the sort, but thought it merely a fanciful embellishment.”
“Embellishment?”
“Of the song,” said Tajik. “The Ballad of the Nomad.”
Sorak rolled his eyes and shook his head. “It hardly seems possible it could have spread so quickly,” he said.
Tajik chuckled. “Bards travel widely and steal each other’s songs as readily as they compose new ones. Tell me, is it true you single-handedly saved a caravan from a host of marauders?”
“Nothing quite so spectacular, I fear,” said Sorak with a wry grimace. “I merely learned of a marauder plan to ambush a caravan from Tyr and passed on a warning to the merchant house.”