“Master Kharzog Hammerfell, my regards and the regards of my wife, Alynthia Krath-Mal,” the man said with rigid formality.
“Thank you, Captain,” the old dwarf answered. “May I present to you my long-time friend and boon companion…”
Cael stepped forward, planting his staff firmly on the wooden planks of the stage and bending to take the woman’s hand. “Caelthalas Elbernarian, son of Tanis Half-Elven, at your service,” he said as he brushed his lips across her fingertips.
“The Tanis Half-Elven?” the woman laughed musically.
“Truly. My mother was a sea elf. It was she who gave me these sea green eyes,” Cael answered while retaining his hold on her hand.
“What did your father give you?” Alynthia asked. “Funny, I never heard that the great Hero of the Lance had any children other than Lord Gilthas, the king of the elf realm of Qualinesti. I suppose that makes you a prince. Or does it?”
“That is an interesting scent you wear, Mistress Alynthia,” Cael returned smoothly, ignoring her jibe. He sniffed the air and smiled. “It reminds me of someone I met last night. Is this not the perfume of the yellow Ergothian lotus, said to have the mystical power to drive men mad with passion?”
She started, but her poise and delicate grace quickly overcame her momentary surprise. She shot the elf a knowing smile.
“How do the noble elves fare under its influence?” she asked coyly, her black eyes sparkling.
“We are, alas, completely immune to its magic,” he answered as he caressed her fingertips.
Yes, well,” the captain interrupted, clearing his throat. “Master Hammerfell, there are some in this city who know the true story behind the Founderstone and how the Hammerfells have been treated by the city fathers. To you and your family we are indeed indebted. On this day, especially, it is important to remember the past.”
“I thank you, Captain Oros uth Jakar, for your kind words,” the dwarf said, bowing deeply.
“Come along, my dear,” the captain ordered. Alynthia detached her fingers from Cael’s gentle grasp and let herself be pulled away by her husband. Cael ran a pale hand through his long coppery hair and watched her descend the stairs to the plaza below. She looked hack once as they crossed the plaza but made no sign nor gesture.
“Hmph!” the dwarf snorted, seeing the bewitched expression on his companion’s face. “There’s another treasure quite beyond your long-fingered grasp, my friend.”
“I wouldn’t trade her for all the jewels in Krynn,” Cael answered. “A mighty prize, worthy of my skills.”
The dwarf settled himself into one of the chairs left scattered haphazardly across the stage. At the farther end of the platform, attendants were beginning to sweep up and remove the chairs, while the sun lowered behind the Vingaard Mountains. A cool, pleasant twilight descended upon the plaza, and lights twinkled among the trees on Nobles Hill and the Golden Estates.
“Well, you’ll never get her away from him. He’s Captain Oros uth Jakar of Palanthas,” Kharzog Hammerfell said, as he produced a brier root pipe from his jacket. “He used to be some kind of merchant captain, I hear, made a lot of money in some venture or other. Pleasant fellow, what little I know about him.”
“I have heard of him. Some say he is master of the reorganized Thieves’ Guild,” Cael commented as a group of scholars and Aesthetics passed them.
“Pah! Don’t you believe it! Mulciber is the true master of the Guild. All know that!” the dwarf exclaimed. “Captain Oros is a retired captain, wealthy from business.”
At these words, a group of scholars passing on the stairs paused and looked pointedly at the dwarf and his companion. They made several signs to ward away evil. Over the past two years, the name of Mulciber had arisen like a shadow over the city. His very name invoked crime and evil. Folk were reminded of the old days, when the Tower of High Sorcery still rose like a skeletal finger above the Palanthian skyline and the name of Raistlin Majere, master of the Tower, was used to frighten wayward children.
Few had seen this mysterious figure named Mulciber, though many claimed to know someone who knew someone who had seen him. Some said he was a powerful black-robed mage, a throwback to former times. Others said the name could only refer to a famous and long-dead priestess of the evil god Hiddukel. In any case, ._ the Thieves’ Guild had indeed sprung back to life, after being nearly stamped out of existence by the Dark Knights. Those who crossed the Thieves’ Guild were sometimes found hanging from the yardarms of ships in the harbor, bearing visages of such frozen horror that, it was said, they had glimpsed the true form of Mulciber in their final moments of existence. Even the scholars and the Aesthetics of the library, normally inured to such superstitious nonsense, shuddered at the merest whisper of the name Mulciber.
The old dwarf snorted and tapped his pipe against the heel of his boot. The scholars turned and hurried away. “Captain Oros is a stodgy old merchant mariner, nothing more. Lady Alynthia is another matter entirely,” the dwarf said.
“Entirely!” Cael agreed.
The dwarf ignored him and launched into the history he so dearly loved to repeat. “They say her mother was a Palanthian from a wealthy merchant family. She married the third son of some noble or other, but she was wild, untamed as a tigress. She preferred to sail on her husband’s ships rather than stay at home with husband and child, hearth and kitchen. On one of those voyages she met an Ergothian pirate, fell in love with him, bore him a daughter. Some say the two died when their ship was destroyed by the red dragon Pyrothraxus off the coast of the Isle of Christyne. Alynthia was but a toddler then, but her mother’s husband took her in and raised her as his own. A good, noble-hearted man, he was. He died aboard the Mary Eileen, when she sank off the Teeth of Chaos.
“But the girl was her mother’s daughter. When still but a lass, she took to voyaging with her stepfather’s merchant fleet. That’s where she met Captain Oros, when she was still a child and he a merchant captain in her stepfather’s employ. When the man who had raised her as his own died, she dishonored his memory by taking her birth father’s patronymic, in the Ergothian tradition. Oros retired from captaining, she grew up into the woman you see while off sailing the seas, and when she returned to Palanthas, she and old Oros became something of an item. They say they are married, though I won’t venture to tell you the truth of it either way.”
“That is why I love you, Grandfather,” Cael said as he kissed the old dwarf on his bald pate. “You are a veritable living library. Is there anyone whose story you don’t know?”
“As a matter of fact there is!” the dwarf barked.
“Pray tell, who?”
“Yours! Why do you go about telling folk you are the son of Tanis Half-Elven?” Kharzog demanded.
Cael hobbled to the stairs and turned. “Because I am, Grandfather. Because I am.”
“Pah! You are a born liar, that’s what you are. Where are you off to, elf?” the dwarf asked.
“I hear a ship bearing wondrous treasures arrived this morning from Flotsam.” He waggled his fingers in farewell and descended the wooden stairs, his staff clunking with each awkward step. “Until tomorrow, Grandfather.” The elf’s voice floated back to Hammerfell.
The dwarf watched Cael hobble in the direction of Nobles Hill until he vanished in the shadow of the Courthouse. At his summons, an attendant brought him a candle, and with it he lit his pipe. He puffed angrily, filling the air about him with a cloud of fragrant blue smoke. “Blast that lying fool of an elf. He’s going to get himself into no end of trouble. Who will get him out of it, I wonder?” he grumbled.