Chapters Three

Kili rode out from Erebor in the cold, crisp air of early morning with a small group of three plain-clothes guards, one old miner, and an extra pony. The guards were Skirfir, along with Var and Vit, two brothers originally from the Iron Hills who were a pair of wicked whirlwinds with their hillfolk maces. Kili, of course, rode with his bow and sword.

The miner, of course, was his old friend Bofur, along for the ride since he was always ready for sampling the winter ales in town. He also knew Duf the Ravenspeaker well, and he had an uncanny knack for uncovering details from people who'd had a bit more drink than they should.

"We get a run of good weather and it's like ants leaving the anthill," Bofur said, commenting on the string of travelers on the road. "Seems we aren't the only ones making a run into Dale."

Kili agreed. There were easily two or three hundred Erebor dwarves spread out along the way, most of them on foot now that the road had been cleared.

"All the better for us," he said. "Easier to blend in and find Duf without attracting too much attention."

"Any idea what's wrong with him?" Bofur asked.

"No idea," Kili said. "The ravens just report that they can't find him, and we don't actually have enough Ravenspeakers to just let one vanish."

"Speaking of ravens," Bofur said, nodding his head to the south.

Kili looked up. There was indeed a raven circling inbound. Slowing his pony, Kili dropped back from the others to give the bird space. He raised his hand to the sky, and moments later Corax was on his arm, flapping and unsettled.

"Hello, Corax," Kili spoke softly. "What's the fuss? Easy now." Kili stopped the pony completely, hoping the bird would settle. His escort halted as well, and Kili saw Skirfir turn in his saddle, bow at rest, but an arrow nocked and ready. The lad's sharp eyes roved the area.

Corax ruffled himself several times, then eyed Kili. "No one to talk in Dale."

"Yes, I know," Kili said. "We're going there to look for him."

Corax shook his tail and then stood on one foot to scratch his ear. He eyed Kili and then rubbed his impressive beak back and forth on the metal buckle of Kili's gauntlet as if sharpening his beak.

"Are you telling me to sharpen my sword?" Kili asked, half amused. "Or am I just a convenient scratching post?"

Corax looked at him quizzically and Kili wondered if the birds could laugh.

"Men with blood in the streets," the raven said. "Much squawking. Men with blood."

This got Kili's attention. "With swords?" he asked. "Bright sticks?" He offered the term many ravens used.

"Just blood. Men with blood."

"Fighting? Fists and heads?"

Corax bobbed. "Strike and peck. Blood."

"Thank you." He considered the information. "Happening now? Right now?"

Corax ruffled. "In the night. Ravens roost on rooftops. Men strike and peck in the night."

"But it's quiet now?"

"Quiet now, yes. Quiet now."

Kili relaxed a bit. Strike and peck in the night probably meant a bar brawl with fists and knives that had spilled into the streets. The heavy snow that had Erebor shut tight was worse in Dale. At least the vast interior of Erebor allowed for normal activity. The men of Dale would be confined to their homes and even a trip to the pub would require going out in the weather. In Kili's experience, men's tempers were too often on edge when confined that way, especially when drunk. Intoxicated dwarves might get unruly, sing outrageous songs and start a food fight. Drunk men more often turned mean, cruel, and even murderous.

"Thank you, Corax," he said. He looked back toward Erebor. "Might you deliver a message for me?"

Corax was still, attentive.

"Fly to ravenhill. Look for King-but-Not-King. For Fjalar. Tell him two bells. Two. Understand?"

"Two bells."

"Yes."

With that, Corax looked toward the mountain, cocked his head, and took off.

Kili watched him go. He wished he could see Fjalar's face when the bird descended to him, wished he could see the lad get the coded message and run for his father's chamber.

And he wished he could see his brother's quiet pride when he accepted his son's report and thanked him for his duty.

But he could not. He'd ask about it later. Fjalar would be happy to tell him all about it.

He clucked to his pony and rode up, passing Skirfir who turned and followed.

"Heads up, lads," he said, once the others were in earshot. "Ravens report brawling in the streets last night. Best be on our toes. Could be riding into a fight."

"When was that ever untrue..." Bofur grumbled.

As it turned out, it was old Dwalin who sat with Fjalar during his first watch on Ravenhill. Other Ravenspeakers were stationed on the western terrace, on the snowy heights, and on the northern spur. But Ravenhill was the most secure and well guarded, and the best place for the new apprentice as well as for the old master. Time was catching up with Dwalin, and the frailty of age was taking its toll. He sat, bundled in extra warm boots and cloak, and leaned on his gnarled staff.

"Keep an eye out," Dwalin instructed. "Yours are sharper than mine."

Fjalar nodded. "Yes, sir." He was much on his best behavior, standing straight and still as he could. Problem was, there were ravens everywhere in the morning hours. His uncle had explained that this was normal bird behavior, but Fjalar found it confusing. How was he supposed to tell a raven who wanted to hunt from one that wanted to speak?

But when he saw one approaching straight in at speed, he couldn't contain his excitement.

"Mr. Dwalin! I think that one's incoming. Right there!"

"Steady now," Dwalin coached. "Present your arm to him."

Fjalar did, bracing himself again, expression worried. Ravens were so much heavier than they looked.

Dale had thrown open its gates for the visitors traveling down from Erebor. Kili knew they did it for profit, but it helped that they were genuinely friendly and welcoming about it.

Bofur played up his role, joking with the guards and elbowing a rather shocked young Skirfir when he hinted at visiting the part of town where the alehouses provided ancillary services.

"It's known as the Red Silk Quarter," he said, leaning toward the lad.

Kili rolled his eyes. It was the kind of banter expected from rough and tumble miners, but Skirfir looked scandalized.

"There's one place called the Tie Down, I think they say," Bofur was telling them as they rode past the city gate. "Kind of a kinky reference, if you ask me. But they do a half and half kind of business. For men and dwarves alike, you know."

"Stick to the pubs, Bofur," Kili told him, shaking his head. "You're looking for Duf, not a lady friend."

"How do you know Duf wasn't after a lady friend?" Bofur asked.

Kili looked at him with a lowered head, locking eyes with his old friend. They were talking about Dori's nephew, a gem who hadn't fallen far from his uncle's trove.

"All right, I get your point," Bofur said. "Never mind. Maybe the Bricklayer. Good pub, that one. Up on Brewer's Lane. And just in time for lunch."

"Good choice," Kili agreed, riding up beside Skirfir to have a word. "Keep your head, lad, and don't let Bofur's chatter distract you. He's the best there is at getting people to say things they don't mean to say. Look around as much as you can. I'll meet you in the market square at thirteen bells."

"Got it," Skirfir nodded.

With that, Bofur and Skirf headed for the pubs, while Kili, with the two Hill brothers and the extra pony, rode for the King's embassy.

The gatehouse guards had not recognized Erebor's prince riding in plain clothes.

The staff at the embassy, of course, knew him on sight, regardless of his dress. He left the brothers with the ponies and let himself be shown into a comfortable meeting room. He gratefully accepted a flagon of the best winter ale with a plate of bread, salted pork, and exquisite cheeses, with assurances that the same would be sent out to his companions.

"Well met, Prince Kili," young King Bard joined him, greeting him with hand over heart. He was the new King, Bain's grandson and named after the very Bard (long dead now) that Kili had once met in Laketown.

"At your service," Kili bowed. "My thanks for your hospitality."

"I hear congratulations are in order—you are betrothed of our Lady Nÿr!" He poured himself ale and refreshed Kili's flagon. The Dale men seemed to consider Nÿr "theirs" as she'd grown up in town.

Kili nodded. "About time, according to my brother."

"I hope the words I spoke last time we met did not find offense," Bard looked concerned. He'd spilled the beans about Nÿr's long past friendship with a Dale man.

Kili shook his head. "Heard all about it. And I'm sure your grandfather told you all about the story with me and the elf. He was there, after all. So who am I to judge?" He grinned, shrugged, and raised his flagon.

Young Bard laughed and raised his flagon in kind. "Indeed, I know the story well. Mind you, it's considered a state secret." He drank.

"My thanks for that." Kili widened his eyes as if to say he could do without the gossip it would cause if known.

"So what brings Erebor's prince into our snowy little town?"

Kili took another swallow of young Bard's fine ale and considered the lad. "I hear you had trouble on the streets last night," he said.

Young Bard nodded. "Smugglers. They're holed up in the ale district, but I'd just as soon they moved on."

"Smugglers..." Kili set his ale down. This was news. "Where from?"

Young Bard nodded. "Group of dwarves…seven or eight, including two lasses. One wagon, couple ponies. Came down from the Withered Heath about two storms ago. They've been rough, but nothing we can't handle. They have coin, they pay their bills. Said they'd been headed for the Mountain, but now that they're snowed in, didn't see a reason to go the extra miles in this weather."

Kili thought about this. He'd had a report from the ravens about that time, of a single wagon with two dwarves. The other five or six had apparently stayed out of sight.

"What are they selling?" he asked.

Young Bard frowned. "You know, I don't think any of us have quite figured that out."

Kili pondered that. Seven or eight dwarves, two lasses, one wagon, couple ponies, no apparent goods.

To him, that didn't add up and he was about to say so when an officer of the Dale constabulary entered the room.

"My lord," he spoke in urgent tones to young King Bard. "Riot in the streets. Red Silk Quarter."

"Again?" Bard rose, looking exasperated. "Want to join me?" he asked Kili.

"Wouldn't miss it," Kili replied.

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Thanks for reading! Mysterious dwarves in Dale...what could go wrong? ;P Shout out to Jessie152 for her continued support...and thanks to Lady Elainee and Phoenix Asphodel for posting reviews-they all have stories of their own on FFIC...check them out! Hand on heart to all of you, and feel free to post a review or just say hi! -Summer