Now, with his good hand, Maldred was tracing patterns in the dirt. His wounded arm was wrapped close to his chest to keep it immobile. The kobold intently watched the big man, thinking the symbols mystical and part of some spell. He tried to copy the patterns, then grew bored when he couldn't fathom them and instead busied himself by passing out wooden plates.
After Fetch finished waiting on them, and after he wolfed down his own meager share of the cooked rabbit, he recovered the last jug of distilled spirits from the wagon and placed it next to Dhamon. In a great show he withdrew the old man pipe from its pouch, tamped tobacco into the bowl, and lit it with his finger in an effort to demonstrate to all that he'd truly perfected the fire enchantment.
After that, the kobold paced in front of them, clicking his pointed teeth on the stem and gently thwacking his hoopak on the ground while he waited for a magical request. When none came, he took a deep puff on the pipe, blew a smoke ring into the air, and broke the silence. "At least I didn't lose my weapon in that quake, like Maldred and Riki did. Didn't have to take one of them dwar-ven axes like Mai," he stated. "At least Dhamon's pretty sword stayed in his belt. So we had some good fortune after all. My ‘old man' didn't get a scratch on him. And we got all these rough gems…" He frowned when he saw Maldred glaring at him. "Oops. Well, I'm sure you'll find another sword just as big and heavy and sharp," he said quickly. "And we'll get some more daggers for Riki.
In Bloten." When he figured out that nobody was appeased, the kobold finished with his pipe, carefully replacing it in the pouch, and then he excused himself to patrol the grounds around their camp-just to make sure no dwarves were tracking them.
"I'm still a little sore," Maldred quietly admitted to Dhamon after a long silence. "And a little weak. But I guess I should just be happy I'm alive."
"Ah, Mai," Riki said. She slid closer, cringing when Dhamon wrinkled his nose at her. "Mai, don't you worry. You're too mean to die."
Maldred rubbed the muscles of his injured arm and was barely able to make a fist. He frowned. "Had never been hurt like that going into the valley before. But then I'd never stayed as long, or had an earthquake to contend with on top of the dwarves. Never came away with as much, either."
"Are we going back?" There was hope in the half-elf's voice. "I mean, if we need all these gems to buy Dhamon his sword-which we shouldn't ‘cause nothin' in the world should be that expensive, maybe we could take a big old wagon back just for us and…"
He shook his head. "Not for a while, Riki. The dwarves will double their patrols. Maybe in a few months, perhaps right before winter sets in. Or maybe we'll wait until just after the first snow. They wouldn't expect anything then."
Her eyes gleamed merrily.
"At least I'm on the mend," he continued. "And thankful to feel at least something in my fingers. I know a good healer in Bloten who will finish the job. Have him take a look at the two of you also."
"Doubt you'll need him, Mai. Riki's right, you're too mean to be down so long," Dhamon joked. His words were slurred, heavy with the alcohol he'd been drinking. An empty jug lay on its side at his feet. He awkwardly moved the new jug to between his thighs, his finger playing around the lip. "Besides, being hurt like this is a good excuse to take it easy for a while."
Rikali slid over to sit between them, tugged Dhamon's jug away and took a long pull from it, then coughed and sputtered. She handed it back and studied her fingernails. Sighing, she reached up and draped an arm across each of the men's shoulders. "I figure we're two days from Bloten, maybe less. I wonder if there're grand shops to visit. Maybe Dhamon can't buy his sword with all of that on the wagon. And if he can't, we can keep all of that for ourselves, right?"
Maldred disregarded her. He glanced at a battle-axe that lay within reach, the firelight dancing off its blade, which held his attention. Finally, he looked away into the darkness and said, "Riki, we'll have a grand time in Bloten celebrating our good fortune. And we'll get you some new knives. And we'll get Dhamon his sword, too."
"I want to buy some more clothes. And perfume. And… Mai, did I ever tell you about this grand house I want built? On an island far… did you hear something?" Quick as a cat, she glided away from the men and peered off into the darkness on the far side of the camp. The fire cast tendrils of light toward the rocks and scrub grass, and the grass moved lazily to an almost imperceptible breeze.
Dhamon struggled to his feet, fighting to keep his balance. His hand fumbled for the sword at his waist, his fingers were thick from the alcohol. He favored his right side, and reached for a cane Fetch had fashioned from a tree branch. Maldred was a little slower to rise, hefting the battle-axe in his good hand.
"Did you hear it? Dhamon? Mai? It's Fetch. He's…"
