Chapter 6

The next day we had almost reached the South Downs in Cardolan, not too far from Bree, when we were attacked by bandits.

Things had gotten so peaceful, I'd almost forgotten what fighting was like—for days there'd been nothing to trouble us on our journey. The ox had recovered nicely, the road was reasonably smooth. We all got along.

Well, most of us got along. Var gave me the cold shoulder. Not that I minded. Hell, I expected that, having gotten caught watching her while she bathed. What I didn't expect that morning was for Bombur, the cook, to ride up by my side for a chat.

I didn't mind him. He was fairly self-effacing, cooked well, and stayed out of my way. He was even good in a fight. I looked at his earnest face. "What's on your mind?"

"Nothing. Well, not nothing," he corrected himself. He had a soft, nervous way of talking. "I mean, just wanted to say that you shouldn't get discouraged. Don't pay too much attention to what Bofur says sometimes. About women not liking — well, about women only liking the young, handsome dwarves."

"No?" I asked as discouragingly as possible. I had a bad feeling about where this conversation was going, and I really didn't want to talk about it.

Bombur's face got red, but he plowed onward. He spread his arms wide. "I mean, look at me. I'm married, and we've got twelve young ones. Well, thirteen, if you count…But the thing is, you just can't tell, with women. And I think Var likes you. You just have to be yourself. Be nice to her."

"So do you want me to be nice, or to be myself?"

Bombur must have realized that this was a hopeless conversation, because he stammered out a few more encouraging words before fading back to join his brother and his cousin. I guess he meant well, but after that, I felt gloomier than ever.

So it was something of a relief when about mid-afternoon a handful of tough-looking desperadoes burst out of the underbrush near a stand of trees, riding hell-for-leather toward us waving their weapons and shouting. They didn't take us by surprise, though. We reacted quickly enough.

I dropped my reins, grabbed both axes out of their holsters, and sank my heels into my pony, Harley. She leapt forward like the brave little nag that she was, even though she wasn't trained in warfare. The bandits veered away from my charge, only to meet Nori's knives and Riki's sword. Dori turned out to have a wicked way with bolos—a weapon made of three iron spheres, each dangling at the end of a metal link chain, that he whipped around his head and then threw at his attacker. Ori, bless the lad, did some damage with his slingshot.

Bofur, Bifur and Bombur produced a motley collection of tools, which they wielded to surprisingly deadly effect. Seriously, I'd have guessed that Bifur's boar-spear and Bofur's pickaxe would make dangerous weapons, but a cooking-ladle? Bombur accounted for several dented heads with that thing. I was impressed.

The strangest thing was that the so-called bandits didn't seem to be interested in the cart, which was where the gold was. Instead, they made directly for Var.

She had a dagger in her hand (one I'd given her the day before, not that it had earned me more than a nod of thanks), but her mule had decided not to join in the martial spirit of the moment. The beast had its ears flat back against its head, jibbing and backing away from the noise and commotion, tossing its head every time she sawed at the reins.

Dori and Ori were closest to her, but weren't able to keep all of the bandits off. One of them had circled round behind them. I saw him reach for Var out of the corner of my eye, just as I was dealing with an ugly rascal trying to stick a sword in my chest. I had half-turned in my saddle, shouting for someone to help her, when Ugly slipped under my guard and managed to nick me in the ribs with his weapon.

I finished him as quickly as I could, and then wheeled Harley around. The bandit had flung one arm around Var's shoulders. I was too late to keep him from dragging her off her mule, so I rode up alongside and gave him a solid punch to the temple with my spring-loaded knuckledusters. He sagged forward, unconscious, and I grabbed Var's waist and pulled her onto my saddle.

The fight was over after that, so we set up camp and took stock of the situation. The dwarves had come through safely enough, although Dori and Ori both had wounds that Riki was attending to. Everybody else seemed to be in good spirits. I felt a little giddy myself.

I walked over to Var, who was building a fire under Bofur's supervision. The beautiful dwarf woman had a few questions to answer. Like, why were the bandits after her? And what exactly was her story, after all? If she would be attracting troublemakers, we had a right to know what kind of trouble we were facing because of her.

Var stopped stacking twigs and gave me a cool stare. "I suppose I should thank you."

I nodded. Then I frowned. There was a big patch of blood on the shoulder and sleeve of her shirt. "Are you all right? You're bleeding." I reached out to pluck at her bloody clothing. The sudden movement made me a little dizzy, but it passed. I probably just needed a drink or something to steady me. Busy day.

She ducked away from my hand, and stared at her shoulder in surprise. "What? I'm not hurt."

"Let me see your shoulder," I said. I took a step closer, but the ground seemed suddenly unsteady beneath my feet. "If you're injured—"

"Oh! It's not me who's injured," Var gasped, staring at me. "Your whole side is covered with blood."

"I'm fine," I protested. Suddenly the ground rushed up to meet me. Luckily, something soft broke my fall.

"Ugh! You big fool," Var said, from far away.

Then I must have passed out.

When I came to, I was lying on my back on a bedroll, a short distance from the fire. Bombur, Bifur and Bofur were cooking supper and Riki was tending the animals. Nori was leaning against a boulder sharpening one of his knives. Dori was nagging Ori about something. The rest were sitting, resting or sleeping.

Var was kneeling over me. Her fingers were prodding at my side, which hurt like fire. "Ouch," I said.

"Hold still. I still haven't managed to tie the knot in this bandage." She bent her head, biting her lower lip as she worked. "There really wasn't enough material to go around your chest, but we have to hold the pad on somehow. There."

"Stop tickling me."

"Don't be a baby. I'm not hurting you," she said heartlessly. Her hands roamed over my ribs, tugging at the bandage she'd wound around me, smoothing it flat. Then her fingers stroked over my chest, tracing the outlines of old scars, moving down toward my waist. My bare skin tingled where she touched it.

Mahal, I was naked to the waist. And Var was looking at me and touching me. I drew in a breath. "Where's my shirt?"

"It was all bloody," Var said absently, staring down at my chest. My beard wasn't long enough to cover everything, so she was getting a good view all the way down to my navel. She was drawing little circles with her fingertips on my puckered skin. It was hard to take a deep breath. "You've got a lot of scars. Here, and here. And here."

I barely suppressed a groan. Her touch burned me, it made me ache, it turned my bones to water, and I couldn't let it show. A dwarf woman can have any man she wants—she chooses the lucky dwarf who will become her husband. There are a lot fewer women, so they can have their choice of the men, if they want one. However, for the men, it's a different story. Male dwarves far outnumber the women. We work, or dig in the mines, or fight in wars. Some men settle down together, and that's fine for them. I hadn't married, and probably never would—not the type to appeal to the feminine taste, I guess. It wasn't my choice. But that didn't mean I felt no desire. She was cruel, to tease me like this.

I glared at her. "All right, you've made your point. I said I was sorry about…yesterday. No disrespect intended. You don't have to keep doing this to me."

She withdrew her hands and gaped at me in amazement. Then her face turned bright red. "I wasn't trying to make a point," she said, biting off each word with the precision that comes from pure indignation. "I was just…" Her voice trailed off, and her eyes kind of darted around.

Just what? I wanted to ask. If she wasn't getting back at me for having watched her a little while she was bathing, why was she petting and stroking me like that? I kept my mouth shut. Maybe I didn't want to know why.

She cleared her throat. "Well, just so you know, I didn't mean any disrespect either. But you were injured. That sword-cut you took made you lose a lot of blood, and I was worried about you. That's all."

"Oh." Hell, maybe I'd overreacted a little bit there. "Well, I'm okay. Don't worry about me."

Var actually smiled at me. "But I do. And I'm glad you were there today. You saved me."

Relieved, I smiled back. I found her hand and squeezed it lightly. "I'll always protect you, if I can, Var."

She took a quick breath in, and gave me a funny, startled kind of look. Then she squeezed my hand in return. "Thanks, Dwalin."