by G.C. Dillon
The Dwarf tugged steadily at the halter of the grey mule.
Still the draft animal refused to move along the muddy road.
Rain fell heavily from the night sky.
"Come on now, Shearaigh. We've been out in worst storms
than this." With one final heave by the Dwarf, the
mule brayed loudly and began to move. The Dwarf fell backward
into the mud. He swore steadily, condemning the beast to
the various misfortunes inflicted by a multitude of demi-gods.
Slowly he rose, and followed his mount toward the inn. Wisely
the animal strode toward the dry confines of the stables.
A stable hand, a horse blanket shielding him from the downpour,
took the mule's bit and began to rub behind its right ear.
The hand looked up as he approached.
The Dwarf saw the shocked look on the young man's face.
He was used to that, used to people staring at the disfiguring
scar around his eyes. It began above his right eyebrow and
ran across his face and cheek, ending below his left eye.
Normally he did not wear his eye patch, but, knowing he
would be in the company of others, he had arraigned the
rhinestone-speckled leather band about his maimed socket.
That was the reason he was known as Dallan the Blind in
many places on Odessa. Dallan the Ugly to some.
He handed the stable boy a few pence. "Take care of
her well, lad. Brush her down before turning her into the
stall." From the mule's back, he took his saddlebags
and a long pendulum-shaped bundle.
"Aye," replied the boy, who was taller than Dallan.
###
A stout man met him near the main door of the inn. The
man had a hawk nose and a balding forehead. He wore a great
burgundy waistcoat and an enormous, white apron. He was
bellowing instructions to the staff who hurried past him,
trays loaded with bell-shaped glasses of wine and frothy
steins of beer or ale. "Git a spring into yer steeps,
my lovely loafers. Or it won't be me-self or the kindly
Dora you'll answer to, but himself when he returns. Ahh
- may I help you, mi fine fellow?"
"This is an inn? I'd like to stay the night. I already
gave my jackass to the boy out there."
"Travis? Pytre? Matters not a wit. Both are a fine
help about the Black Dragon. Will ye be wanting a room?"
"If there are any available," the Dwarf replied
curtly.
The man began to rub his chin. "Now, let me see. I
might be able to move a guest to the root cellar to make
a vacancy." Dallan stared at the man dumbfounded. Was
he daft? Suddenly he slapped the Dwarf heartily on the back.
"'Course we got room. You move along into the hall
and I'll have yer bags taken up. Now come to the desk when
ye've supped yer fill of Dora's victuals and I'll put yer
name in the ledger. Or will ye be makin' yer mark yerself?"
"I can write," the Dwarf said, reaching down
to pick up an ash chest amongst his belongings, and place
it under his arm.
"Course ye can. Course ye can. Go enjoy yerself on
this lovely night."
"Lovely night!" Dallan scowled. "It is a
deluge out there. Lovely night, indeed.'
Passing a massive clock, the Dwarf entered the hall. It
was crowded with many patrons. They were mostly human, but
Dallan saw a few halflings and, he thought, an elegantly
dressed Elf sitting by the hearth. The Dwarf found an empty
chair by the door. He placed his chest on the floor between
his feet. He called out an order to the shapely blonde woman
carrying a tray of empty mugs. She brought him a tankard
of black brew.
"Care for the stew? It's the finest in all Talos."
He nodded. The Dwarf could easily overhear the conversations
of those around him. Three men sat at a nearby table. Each
had a huge stein before them. They sipped from it as they
talked.
"I've heard it cry out last night."
"Harry, you had too many cups is all." Dallan
smiled quietly at the banter he heard.
"No, I heard it in the hills. It chilled my blood
and my bones," said Harry. The kitchen maiden quickly
returned with a tureen.
"It won't come near." Dallan tasted his meal,
and was surprised by the favor. He had expected a loose
turnip floating in a thin broth, but this was a tasty brown
potage of carrots, scallions, pommes de terra, and thick
medallions of mutton.
"It might. With Strange away." The conversation
continued.
"Aye. The Blood Avenger save us," Harry said,
making a sign to ward off evil.
"The Blood Avenger?" Dallan questioned the serving
woman as she cleared empty plates from nearby tables.
"A local folk legend, sirrah. Will you have more of
the bock?" she asked.
"I will."
"Krystin, another round," called one of the men
at the table.
"You wait your turn!" Krystin called back, a
coy smile spreading across her comely face.
###
Turning the large key in the lock, Dallan opened the door
to his room. His eyes accustomed to the stygian Dwarf caverns,
he lit only the stub of a candle. That officious, rotund
man was true to his word, grumbled the Dwarf, as he examined
his saddle bags. He pulled aside his leather jerkin and
mail helm and laid them on the bed's straw mattress. Then
he lifted a long battle-axe. He unwrapped the oilcloth to
reveal great double-headed blades. There was not a nick,
dint or warp; the Dwarf had honed its edge to a fearsome
sharpness. An octagonal gem served as counter weight at
the base of the shaft. Its amber face bore the rune of Endurance.
"Kiarashre," he whispered. Then he made
his way about the room, getting ready to sleep.
Dallan made his way to the bed, and arraigned himself upon
it. There was two feet between his feet and the foot of
the bed. "Humph," he mumbled before blowing out
the candle's meager flame. Soon the snores of the Dwarf
could be heard echoing about the small room. Slowly an unearthly
glow formed at the window. It took form once inside the
room. It dressed in the tattered remains of the clothing
of the dead. Its hair was spectral white and eyes glowed
crimson. It floated across the room toward Dallan's belongings.
It hovered above the wooden chest. The lib stood open, revealing
sapphires, opals, amethysts, and other precious jewels.
The spirit reached out a withered hand for the gems. Suddenly
a throwing axe struck the lid, sealing the chest. The wraith's
taloned claw sprang back. "Knew you couldn't resist
my life stone horde!" The Banshee turned its blood
red eyes on the Dwarf. The haunter's ghostly face was without
a nose or ears, and its pale skin was nearly translucent.
A lipless maw opened to release a screeching moan.
The Banshee tried to flee. Runic wards carved upon crystals
stopped it. These were strung at the corners of the window,
allowing entry, but not egress. Dallan advanced on the phantasm,
speaking words not of any Dwarvish tongue. "s'Ber
vam nisesti roz." The Banshee screeched loudly.
Louder. Louder. Dallan continued chanting, "Nisesti
roz, s'Ber vam nisesti roz. Roz akompf." The Banshee
began to grow more and more transparent and frayed. It looked
like the grey smoke rising from an extinguished candle.
Wisps of the creature were drawn into the axe-blade as a
leaf is drawn down a raging river. The weapon began to glow
as more and more of the specter was drawn into it -- an
avalanche into a maelstrom. The Dwarf had to squint his
eye at the blinding rays. Then, like a spring running dry,
the Banshee evaporated completely, leaving an empty and
silent space in the room.
The door burst open. "What is going on in here?!"
A large man stood in the doorway. The giant was nearly seven
feet tall and a massive sword hung from his side. The Dwarf
marveled at it; the skull-splitter had to weigh over a stone.
This must be Karl Strange, Dallan thought. The man was clad
in a traveling cloak, a wide brimmed hat, still dripping
water from tonight's showers, and mud streaked, knee-length
riding boots.
"Oh," said Dallan. "I had problems opening
the shutters on the windows."
Strange's eyes narrowed. He studied the room. His gaze
lingered on the great axe, the small treasure chest and
the sparkling crystals by the windows. "We will speak
of this tomorrow," he said softly.
"I look forward to a big, fine breakfast. And an even
finer discussion. I have many things on which I wish to
parley." Dallan smiled. Strange closed the door. Dallan
heard a bolt shut as well, securing the room.
The Dwarf smiled. He placed Kiarashre down on the
ground. Dallan placed a life stone down beside it. He thought
he heard the Banshee inside mewing contentedly.
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