"Instead, she grabbed me and raced through the mountains. She carried me to a six-towered castle trapped upon a great snow plain, the very place my companions and I had been searching for. She was the guardian of the treasure we sought.
"Even wounded, Chap came for me, and finally closed upon us once we reached the castle doors. I spoke to the white woman again. She did not understand me but held off from tearing me apart as she had the elves … only because of the sound of my words and that I spoke to her.
"She was mad, driven insane by isolation. She led Chap and me inside her castle, the first to enter it in … well, who knows how long. All because I kept speaking to her, and she listened."
Wynn turned a full circle, her hands held open.
"She was destined to destroy all who came near the treasure, but I alone gained her secrets. Though helpless, I was strong enough of heart and wise enough to best her. Not by ax or sword or feats of might, but by my voice, my words … my telling … given in charity to her."
Wynn fell silent, pulled her robe and cloak closed around herself, and bowed her head.
Chane stood rooted to the floor.
He had never seen this side of Wynn. Her sense of drama, of the moment, was surprising if not perfect. It took several breaths for others to realize she had finished, and then the rumble began. One dwarf shouted out in Numanese, "No, that cannot be the end! What happened after? Did you find the treasure?"
Wynn raised her head with the hint of a smile.
"That is another story … another telling … for another time." She turned her large brown eyes upon Hammer-Stag, adding, "And for some other fair trade."
At first, Hammer-Stag simply gazed at her, his expression unreadable. Then he slowly shook his head. He began rumbling with laughter, and suddenly he slapped the table, making the nearest mugs jump and shudder.
"By the Eternals, fair trade indeed! You will sit with me, little one!"
Wynn's gaze wandered to Chane.
He could not help wondering if the dwarves believed a single word of her tale. Elven assassins and ancient white undeads? But it did not seem to matter. Several raised their mugs high as she joined Hammer-Stag and took a seat. Shade trotted after her, and Chane reluctantly followed, settling beside her at the table.
Another dwarf remained sitting with Hammer-Stag, younger and wearing a cleanly oiled leather hauberk. His mass of brown hair was pulled back with a leather thong, and his slightly darker beard was trimmed and groomed. He observed Wynn, but did not speak.
Hammer-Stag gestured to his companion.
"My kinsman, Carrow," he said simply. He gathered a pitcher and mugs from the table, shoving one down to Chane.
Chane did not touch it. Then Hammer-Stag slapped a hand over his heart.
"I am Fiáh'our," he claimed, as if only the sound of his name was needed for anyone to recognize him.
"Hammer-Stag?" Wynn interjected.
He pondered her translation. "Yes!" he agreed. "Hammer-Stag of the family of Loam, Meerschaum clan of the Tumbling-Ridge tribe. And who are you, girl, and your young man?"
"He is not my …" Wynn began through clenched teeth, and then fidgeted. "My name is Wynn Hygeorht, of the Calm Seatt branch of the Guild of Sagecraft. This is Chane Andraso, a scholar I met in the Farlands, a region of the eastern continent."
Chane frowned. Her words were now slurring, and her eyes appeared overly bright. Amid the tale, he had lost track of how much ale she had sampled.
"I see," said Hammer-Stag, raising thick eyebrows. He glanced down at Shade, who flattened her ears but did not growl. "A fine tale," he went on. "And well told."
"So, why is a thänæ telling tales in this poor neighborhood, in the middle of the night?" Wynn blurted out.
Chane's eyes widened, as did Carrow's, but Hammer-Stag did not appear insulted.
"Tales must be told … a telling is the way … most especially if one is honored among the living," he said. "How else will they be retold, molded over years by the many, and hopefully stand the test of time? That is the only way to become one of the honored dead, to be reborn among the people. So was it with all of the Eternals, whose tales belong to all of the people, no matter where they live."
Chane frowned. Wynn had mentioned that the dwarves believed their "saints" lived on in this world, watching over them. To claim that their Eternals—their patron saints—still lived seemed strange.
Hammer-Stag waved his hand, brushing off Wynn's question. "Now, what is it you wish to learn from me?"
Wynn had made that clear from the start, and Chane said, "The location of the Iron-Braid family."
Carrow winced visibly at that family name.
"Ah, yes." Hammer-Stag's expression turned thoughtful, almost sad. "Continue down Limestone Mainway, and turn in at the fifth tunnel to the north. You'll find a smithy a short way down; you cannot miss it. But only two Iron-Braids remain among us—Skirra Yêarclág Jäyne a'Duwânláh, the daughter, and her mother, Meránge."
The long dwarven title jumbled in Chane's head, but he knew from Wynn that Yêarclág meant "Iron-Braid," based on some respected ancestor in their direct family line.
Wynn tettered on the bench. "Why are … you … sad … when you speak of them?"
Her speech slurred and faltered more and more.
"The fifth side street on the right," Hammer-Stag repeated softly, glancing at Carrow in apparent concern.
"And what of my … com … panions?" Wynn said, struggling to pronounce the words, and her eyes turned glassy with threatening tears. "Magiere and Leesil … Chap. … where are they?"
Hammer-Stag shook his head. "I do not know, Wynn of the Hygeorhts. After they aided me in my own audacity, I asked about their journey. But they preferred to keep to themselves. They headed north, perhaps to one of the Northlander coastal towns."
Chane watched a tear roll down Wynn's cheek as she closed her eyes. She looked broken, as if something she sought, desperately needed, had turned into only a figment. She was drunk, and he feared she might crumple onto the table.
Wynn looked up at Hammer-Stag, and Chane saw desperation in her face.
"But they are alive?" she whispered.
Hammer-Stag leaned in upon her with a toothy grin. "There is slyness in those three. And yes, O mighty little one, I would barter my honor that they are still alive!"
Chane rose up. "We thank you for your assistance."
"A little thing," Hammer-Stag said absently, and then laughed, poking Wynn in the shoulder. "And I had the better of the barter!"
Under that one-fingered push, Wynn nearly toppled over. Hammer-Stag quickly grabbed her before Chane could, and studied Wynn with something akin to affection.
"The ale could not be helped—it is part of the telling," he said. "You gave us much enjoyment tonight. A dark tale it was, but a fresh one we have never heard!"
"Dark?" she whispered. "Not compared to others I know."
That was enough for Chane. He grabbed Wynn under the arms and hoisted her up. She struggled until he breathed in her ear, "Let us go … and find the Iron-Braids."
What he intended was to take her straight to find lodging, but first he had to get her out the door.
"Yes, to the Iron-Braids!" she said loudly, struggling to stand on her own. She looked down at Hammer-Stag. "Good-bye, thänæ … and thank you."
Before the parting dragged on, Chane turned her toward the exit, and Shade followed after. But as he steered Wynn between the tables, her story would not leave his thoughts… .