Chapter 3

In case you didn't know, the story that young Ori was babbling on about was about was an old wheeze about the ancient dwarven rune master Dvalin.

My mother named me after him, and never had a name been more inaccurately bestowed on a hapless baby dwarf. I'm no wise scholar. In fact, I hardly ever think, if I can help it. Keeps things simple.

Anyway, Dvalin was supposed to have been so wise and powerful that the very sun in the sky was his toy, his lover, his plaything. Something like that. But judging from the dwarf woman's expression, this notion did not amuse. Just as well, because I wouldn't have had the time to indulge her. I had a shipment of dwarven gold to get to Bree, and the remainder of the slaver's caravan to deal with.

Of the six people who had been carrying packs, the two Dunlendings had cleared out. That left me with four ragged-looking dwarves to deal with. Well, Nori had taken his wet-behind-the-ears younger brother under his wing. So, three ragged dwarves.

Riki came up to me, looking anxious. "Dwalin, I'm concerned about one of the oxen. It seems like his right front hock was badly scraped when they got all tangled up during the fight, and the poor thing is favoring it. I'm not sure if he'll make it to Bree unless he rests."

I told Riki to see what he could do about the animals, and then went over to the three dwarves that were left. One had a goofy-looking smile, the second was enormously fat, and the third had the rusting remnants of an axe embedded in his forehead. They all looked a bit warily at me.

"Well, you lot are free to go," I told them.

"What about our pay?" the goofy-looking one asked. He was wearing the oddest headgear I'd ever seen, a squashy felt thing with ear-flaps that he wore half-raised, making it look like a vulture had perched on his noggin. "And the rest of the trip? We're working our way to Bree, where work is easy, the ladies are lovely—"

"And food is plentiful," added the fat one. He had an enormous ginger beard, longer even than Gloin's, braided into a thick semi-circle that hung down over his huge paunch. In his hand, he gripped an enormous soup ladle.

The one with the axe in his head grunted, and babbled a few words in what sounded like ancient Khuzdul.

Vulture Hat pointed at Axe-Head. "Aye. What he said."

"Mind translating that for me?"

"We signed contracts." With this, the one with the hat produced three pieces of paper, and proudly displayed their marks made on the bottom of each—two "x"es and a scribble that looked like an axe dripping blood.

I massaged my forehead. "Right. Wait here."

Things had gone fairly well up until that point: Gold recovered, villains dispatched, and two rescues carried out (if one counted the woman and Nori's naïve younger brother). I just hadn't expected to have a lame draft animal and three extra dwarves that I couldn't get rid of. Of course I knew the drill when these things happen: Commander's Intent. No plan, however good, can be expected to survive contact with the enemy. Stuff happens, and stuff had. My job now was to do whatever I needed to do, to carry out Aunt Nott's intent: Get the gold to Bree.

I wandered over to the blanket where Nori was just slipping the lock pick into his pocket. Ori was talking to the woman, who I was glad to see had put on the heavy robe that had been found for her. However, it wasn't enough to make her any less of a distraction for the men. She was still beautiful, and apparently had a talent for setting people at their ease. Ori was smiling and even Nori looked less shifty than normal. Here was another unexpected problem: How to deal with a woman in our midst?

She looked up. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing. Everything's fine." I turned to Ori. "Let me look at your contract."

Obligingly, he pulled the document out of his pocket and handed it to me. I frowned over it for a while—mostly nonsense clauses, as far as I could tell, but scribbled over with changes and emendations written in the same ink as young Ori's signature. Those bastards must have laughed up their sleeves at his careful alterations, because the odds were, they'd had no intention of honoring anything.

I walked back to the goofy-looking trio, and spoke to Vulture Hat. "Let's see one of those contracts."

As he handed it over, I heard soft, halting footsteps behind me, and the woman said in a bossy tone, "What is this?"

I ignored her and frowned at the two contracts, comparing them. She should have been resting, not swanning around trying to take charge of things. After all, she'd just spent a day or two in a closed wooden box, half-naked and loaded down with irons. I shook my head. But, was she resting? Nooo, here she was, straight-backed, chin high, like a general surveying the troops. Never mind that she still had her hair hanging loose down her back and was wearing a borrowed old robe and a pair of house slippers, she looked regal.

I ignored her some more.

Vulture Hat said, "Begging your pardon, my lady, but we're working our way north by way of Bree. My brother, my cousin and me were hired yesterday. Just to carry loads, you understand. We had no idea you were a prisoner in that there cart."

"And what is your name, my good fellow?" She sounded all sweet and superior. Women. Who can understand them?

He took off his ridiculous hat and actually bowed. "I'm Bofur, my lady, dwarf of all trades, and this is my brother Bombur—" The fat ginger-haired dwarf swept the cooking-ladle across his vast belly and bowed with surprising grace.

Bofur the vulture-hatted then waved a hand at the third dwarf. "And that is my cousin Bifur. He doesn't say too much. The axe in his head, you know."

Bifur grunted, and damned if he didn't wiggle his fingers in the dwarven sign language of iglishmek. All dwarves can do iglishmek. With all the noise and hammering that goes on in most smithies, it's easier to make a sign with the hands than it is to shout. And most dwarves do some smithing, even if it's only to keep in shape, so there's always a hammer clanging on an anvil somewhere within earshot. The gist of his comment was, "Pretty woman."

At that, she laughed like an indulgent queen. I snorted impatiently, and turned my attention back to the contracts, because all these airs and graces were getting us exactly nowhere. Someone had to do the work while they were chewing the fat.

"And you, my lady?" Bofur was still laying on the charm. "Who do we have the honor of addressing?"

"I'm Var," she said, and inclined her head graciously toward each of the three in turn. "A pleasure to meet you, Bofur, Bombur, and Bifur."

Everybody was so damned pleased to meet everybody else. I interrupted the pleasantries. "There's nothing in here that says you need to stay with the caravan after the unexpected demise of your employers."

"Let me see that," quoth the Lady Var, even bossier than before. She snatched the contracts from my hand, and looked them over. She smiled at Bifur, Bofur and Bombur. "I'm sure we can work something out."

"Hey!" I'm a reasonable man, but this was still my operation. Someone appeared to have forgotten that.

She laid one hand gently on my arm and gazed up at me, blue eyes wide. "I'd really appreciate it if you would have a little conversation with me, my lord Dwalin. Is it all right if we sit down on the blanket that Riki was kind enough to find me? I'm feeling a trifle light-headed."

This was said with just a tiny tremble, just a little flutter of weakness, in her voice. The three dwarves who were soon to become part of our group watched her with anxious concern. What could I do? I glared at her, and led her slowly back to the blanket.

"It's Dwalin," I told her. "Not my lord, or any other foolishness. Just Dwalin."

She sat down carefully, and motioned me down beside her. "Fine, but it's always helpful to establish your authority from the beginning. You want to make sure those three will see you as their leader, and nothing does that quicker than a title."

"Yeah. Thanks for that. If I want any more advice, I'll know who to ask." I'd knelt at her side to talk to her, and now I started to get up.

She grabbed my arm and pulled me down again. This time we were nose to nose. She talked fast, her voice low and hard. "Don't be a fool. First off, you still need those three to help carry the goods, and they could be useful in a fight if we run into any bandits—or, Mahal forbid, orcs. And second, how long do you think those poor dwarves would last on their own?"

The truth was, they might have lasted just as long without us as with us—you never know what's going to happen in an ambush. And I wasn't concerned about any of the other goods that were being transported in the caravan, just Aunt Nott's gold.

I searched her face, lovely and heart-shaped and full of concern. Her big blue eyes sparkled with lively intelligence and a fair amount of shrewd calculation. The sleeve of her robe had slid back from her hand, which was still laid on my forearm, and I could see the rawness where the iron shackle had been. She had a point—sometimes things don't turn out as you expect, and, Mahal knew, this woman didn't look like the kind who'd have expected to find herself sold into slavery. But she almost was.

I nodded. "Very well. We'll do it your way. For now."