Even so, when he opened his eyes they went straight to Tarl. His best friend flinched, then turned to meet him eye to eye—and he frowned. But his curiosity over Orlon’s venomous stare quickly evaporated, and he thumbed at the woman, mouthing, "Isn’t she a babe?" Orlon rolled his eyes and they landed on the woman in question, and Tarl’s past misdeeds were forgotten.
Involuntarily, his eyes looked the shapely woman up and down and up, stopped at her firm breast, erect nipples pressing into her tight white shirt. His eyes went wide, jumped to her exquisite face framed in long, wavy blonde-brown hair. There was no denying Tarl’s assertion: She was a babe…beautiful. And he realized something else. She was a potential wealth of knowledge he could tap into to learn about this quest, and other things. All he needed to do was get the ball rolling.
"But…how?" he said softly, eyes dropping to the road before him.
"Excuse me?"
Hearing her lilting voice drew his eyes up to meet, be captured by her wanting brown eyes. He felt the heat of embarrassment crawl up his cheeks, and to his utmost astonishment the answer to his question popped into his mind. All he needed to do was introduce himself and the ball would start rolling just fine. That was all. Just introduce himself…. He tugged his vest straight, ran a hand through his hair and swallowed.
"H-hello," he offered her his hand. "I am Orlon."
"The Pure, I know," she said and gently shook his hand. "I am Sharna of Dwarfton, warrior, wanderer of the world…hunter of men, and self proclaimed guardian of the One!"
Tarl gave her a double-take. She had not even noticed him from the beginning, and the whole time he thought she had, and understandably so in his opinion, she had had eyes—a luscious smile only for Orlon. He shook his head, unable to fathom how she could pick such a naïve man like his best friend over a more worldly, experienced man like himself.
Orlon’s reaction to her introduction came twofold. He, too, gave her a double-take and he blushed at her final proclamation. But the latter reaction faded when the cause for the former took over his mind. She actually mentioned the name of a kingdom in his book. Yet another fact revealed that solidified the Buyer’s claim that the book was true.
"Dwarfton," he breathed.
"Yes," she said, brow knit. "It is the place of my birth. Do you know of it?"
Though his ears heard her question, he was so lost in thought he did not notice it. He had thought this woman could be a wealth of knowledge to tap about this quest, and other things. To learn she came from a kingdom from his book, which likely meant she had a richer wealth of knowledge than he ever dreamed possible, set his mind to reeling…. And when it stopped he thought of other things he would like to know—one specific thing he desperately wished to know about from the moment he laid eyes on the Party Ty the Parson brought with him.
"Do you know that man?" he pointed at the old warrior, who walked at the head of the Party, a pace behind the Parson.
"I do, though not personally," she said. "He is Grash by name, a warrior—hero of many a war and quest dating back many a year, an age, you might say, but most notably as a hero of a war fought not long ago, if generations can be considered not long ago."
"The Dacron Wars," he said absentmindedly.
Astonishment flooded her eyes as she looked at the well dressed Midget. "You—you know of this?" she said.
"Only what I have read in a book," he said with a smile.
Her astonishment was washed away by admiration. "You are a well read man then," she said.
"Oh, I’ve read a book or two in my time," he said with a nonchalant flip of a hand.
Tarl looked at him in utter disbelief. He had never seen Orlon be anything more than nervous, bashful—a babbling fool when confronted by a woman. When…how did Orlon become such a smooth operator in the women department?
"Quite the knowledgeable man you must be," she put words to her opinion of him.
"Of, I don’t know that much really," he laughed softly as he spoke.
"Well, perhaps you know enough to answer something for me."
"I—I’ll try," he said.
"We came to this farm community on Dwarf Road," she said, "yet I look around me and all I see are Midgets. Can you explain this anomaly?"
A deluge of overheard conversations, some quite heated, between farmers and farmers and passersby over that very question filled his mind. There were two basic theories of how the anomaly came to be. The first was simple: The gods had seen fit to make it so, period. The second stated that Dwarves in search of a life beyond the caves and tunnels where Dwarves are normally found settled the farm community and over time naturally grew in stature. In other words, they evolved due to the change in their environment. He puzzled over how to approach the subject, had it! He hoped.
Dramatically lifting a finger, he opened his mouth to reply…
Sharna silenced him with a firm hand on his shoulder, bringing them to a halt.
Tarl stumbled to a stop two steps ahead, looked back questioningly.
Orlon looked at her questioningly, followed her eyes to see those ahead of them had come to a stop. And he questioned why. Then he realized where they were, at the western end to the farm community, and his nape hairs stirred at the memory of what was there…. But by the turn of their heads they were looking north, which made him frown as what raised his fear was located on the south side of the road. He looked to the north and could not believe his eyes.
To the north of the road was a field of calf high grass, a breeze sending ripples along its surface like waves on a lake, and wading through it was a man. He was of average height, dressed in hooded gray robes and carried a staff his height and a foot. By the angle of his trajectory he would walk right up to them.
They waited.
"Who—?" Tarl started but Sharna shushed him.
Several minutes they waited and watched him casually stroll across the field. When he finally reached them his route had been so accurate he stopped directly in front of Ty the Parson. Up close, his staff was quite the eye catcher. Made of tan wood, it consisted of a smooth shaft of no more than an inch in diameter, topped by a perfectly spherical ball, its surface so highly polished it caught yet oddly did not blindingly reflect the sunlight.
"Ho," the man boomed a greeting, reaching up to pull back his hood. The freckly, pimple marked face framed in shoulder length oily brown hair revealed him not to be a man at all. He was at best a teenage boy.
"Ho," Ty the Parson returned the greeting with a twitch of his shoulders—and went into full limb flailing display, saying, "The lawyer seeks truth through endless questions! Bubbles rise to the water’s surface! Where does your journey take you?"
"That way," the boy pointed the way they had come. "Where go you?"
"The muscle-bound brute keeps the scrawny man away from lovely ladies sunbathing on the beach! Friends offer said scrawny man succor as he seeks a way to defeat said muscle-bound brute! Evil, growing ever stronger, seeks to shun all that is good in the world. I, Ty, the Parson, and the Party offer protection to the One as he seeks the instrument needed to defeat said evil." Ty the Parson performed a wild spin to point down the road in the opposite direction, stating flatly, "That way."
The boy looked the way indicated, which nearly corresponded to the way he had come, and back the way he intended to go, and met Ty the Parson eye to eye.
"I, Rae, will journey with you," he said.
"The overly promiscuous couple marvel at their ever growing brood! As our journey to save the world progresses through time and space so grows our number to protect the One, and I, Ty, the Parson say the more the better. Let our journey—"