An image of Li'kän's pale, naked form rose in her mind. Magiere had locked that ancient undead in the orb's cavern below the ice-bound castle … the place from which Wynn, with Chap's aid, had gathered the same texts she now sought.
Li'kän was one of the thirteen "Children" of the Ancient Enemy of many names … perhaps one of the first vampires to walk the world in the time of the Forgotten. Had she escaped? Was that monster loose, somehow crossing the world to this continent?
"She shouted at me in the Numans' tongue to ‘give room,' " the thänæ exclaimed.
Wynn spun in confusion.
Li'kän had been fascinated by the power of speech, but she'd been alone for so many centuries that she'd lost her own voice.
"Her blade was long and broad," Hammer-Stag went on. "Single-edged, and too weighty for her stature, but she wielded it as if it were light as a scribbler's quill. Sparks of bloodred ran in her tresses."
Wynn teetered on her feet. The thänæ was speaking of Magiere!
"Before I knew where the pale one came from or why, she charged in at my side… ."
Wynn shoved Chane aside, rushing back between the tables.
"Then came a silver wolf, taller than its kind, rending its way to give me aid… ."
Wynn's mouth opened, but she couldn't get a word out. Now, he spoke of Chap and tears welled in her eyes.
"And last, an elf with blunted ears dropped from the treetops and bolted in faster than I could—"
"Where?" Wynn cried, shoving forward toward the platform. "Where did you see them?"
Sudden silence filled the greeting house.
Hammer-Stag stopped midsentence, looking at her, and then gasps and curses exploded all around.
Wynn froze in place. She'd just committed some terrible breach, but she didn't care.
"Where?" she shouted more firmly.
"You broke my tale!" he barked, but his haughty tone was as overly dramatic as his telling. "Have you no manners … puppy?"
Then his gaze shifted aside and down. Wynn heard Shade's rumble as the dog pushed in beside her. Hammer-Stag straightened. As he stared, his broad face filled with stunned puzzlement. The crowd's hostile grumbles grew again into loud, derisive shouts.
Wynn cringed. But Hammer-Stag had spoken of Magiere, Leesil, and Chap. She was desperate to hear more, no matter what else she'd come here for. And she had just offended the locals, who might have helped in either pursuit.
"I … beg your pardon," she said quickly.
She couldn't be sure anyone heard amid all the noise. Chane's hand closed on her arm from behind, but she jerked free, trying to think of some way to serve all her desires.
"I came seeking the whereabouts of the Iron-Braids," she shouted. "But your tale was so engrossing that I spoke out of turn. Please go on. What happened next?"
Hammer-Stag blinked again. His astonishment at Shade vanished.
"Too late!" he shouted, and then snorted like a bull, swinging his arm to silence the crowd. "The tale is broken, the mood gone! So you must have a better one to take its place … if you wish to barter."
"What is he saying?" Chane demanded.
Confusion overtook Wynn, and she waved him off. Too much was happening, and she kept her eyes on the thänæ.
"Barter?" she asked. "Barter for what?"
"This is the way you seek my aid … our aid?" he challenged, smoothly changing to Numanese as he gestured to the gathering. "Do you think me some servant to fulfill your demands? Fair trade is our way, and rightly so, here and now. If you find my tale wanting, enough to cut it off, then tell me—us—a better one!" He smiled with a knowing wink to the crowd, spreading his massive arms wide. "Perhaps one of your own worthy exploits."
Wynn choked on smoky air and swallowed very hard.
"If your tale is as grand as your nerve," he added, "someone here might point your way."
Mixed reactions broke out in the greeting house. Someone laughed aloud, and that laughter spread, laced with grunts of disdain. Others shook their heads in disagreement, shouting in outrage at some young girl taking the thänæ's place.
Wynn felt small compared to Hammer-Stag's hulking stature as her mind raced for some way out of all this. Hammer-Stag raised his large hands in a gesture to quell the crowd.
"Of course, you must win the audience along the way," he continued, pointing to a large tankard resting before one soot-covered listener. "At any need, take your fill, if you dare … if the mug's owner finds your tale worthy so far. That is the way of a telling."
Wynn's stomach tightened, and a bit of the tram ride's nausea returned.
Even a stout human male would find dwarven spirits hard to bear. Would she give more offense if she didn't stop to drink? What if she accidentally sipped wood alcohol? Playing this game—this unknown custom—without knowing all the rules grew more daunting by the moment.
"Oh, dead deities!" she whimpered—another crass phrase picked up from Leesil.
But she was sick of all the hoops she'd been forced to jump through in the past year. Her guild superiors had looked at her with Hammer-Stag's same arrogant expression every time they dangled a carrot before her. Always one more proof of loyalty, obedience, propriety, always one more requirement, one more game.
Amid panic came anger.
She wasn't leaving here without learning of the Iron-Braids—and of the friends she'd lost in returning home.
"Wynn?" Chane whispered. "Do something."
"I am! I'm trying to think!"
"No more low-life nonsense!" Chane hissed, reaching for Wynn. "We find directions elsewhere."
She grabbed his wrist before he got a grip, but her attention remained fixed on the blustering dwarf.
"I can do a tale justice only in my own language," she stated clearly.
Hammer-Stag frowned as Chane's eyes widened. The dwarf scratched his beard thoughtfully and then called out to the crowd, "Skíal trânid âns Numanaks?"
More grumbling rose among the listeners. Chane heard "chourdál" uttered more than once.
"Done!" barked Hammer-Stag, and nodded assent to Wynn.
"No!" Chane whispered, but Wynn pushed him off.
"If my tale is enough," she went on, "will you also tell me more of the white woman, the silver dog, and the elf who isn't an elf?"
Surprise spread across Hammer-Stag's broad face. Then it was gone. A wry smile took its place, and Chane shook his head. Wynn had just upped the stakes before her tale had even begun.
Rumblings sharpened around the room, but she stood her ground.
Chane was at a loss. Would pulling her out of here start an outright brawl?
Hammer-Stag slowly began to laugh. His guffaws grew until it seemed tears welled in his eyes. Others began to chuckle as well.
"By the Eternals," he barely got out. "This must be some tale. Agreed, O mighty little one!"
Hammer-Stag stepped down and, with a wide sweep of his hand, ushered Wynn to take the platform. Shoving his way onto a bench at the nearest table, he dropped down, grabbed a mug, and clacked it once on the table with a shout.
"To the telling!"
Chane saw too many eyes locked on Wynn amid stony, disgruntled expressions filled with doubt. At more chuckling around the room, Hammer-Stag slapped his table.
"Silence!" he shouted. "And respect!"
The room went instantly quiet.
Wynn stepped up amid the crowd and turned slowly about. Shade trotted closer as well, perhaps unwilling to let her get too far away. All Chane could do was fight the wild urge to throw Wynn over his shoulder and haul her out of this detestable place.
Why had they ever come in here? What was she thinking? He could not believe she would succeed at what amounted to street-level theater. Wynn was a guild sage, the highest of scholars, yet she had made a bargain upon her word. He could not break that any more than she would herself.