Tivi's Dagger Read online

  “I’ll wager you ten gold pieces that I can make your brother laugh before this journey’s end,” she told me before we retired on the first night, and I agreed to the deal quickly, feeling certain my coin would be safe. At least such endeavors would provide some semblance of sport for Lana while we waited for the rain to cease. Confinement had never suited her and she quickly became irritable after three days standing on her tiptoes and staring out at the sky as if she could will the clouds to disappear with the power of her mind. Only Kel didn’t seem to mind the interruption of our pilgrimage, hunched over the table with his back to my brother, filling his roll of blank parchment with his neat looped writing.

  Three thick oaken barrels sat beside the entrance ladder to catch rainwater; it was certainly the one thing we had no lack of. I was pleased at least to be able to shave, but not so keen to do as Kari did and simply stand naked outside to wash in the freezing rain that poured in an almost constant stream from the cracked guttering on the roof.

  “These mountain people are crazy,” murmured Lana, peering out of the window to catch a glimpse of our guide in all his naked glory. “I would rather wear these same clothes every day and reek for the rest of eternity than do what he’s doing.”

  I stood behind her and stared at Kari as he turned his face to the rainclouds, hair plastered to his face. His prick had shriveled somewhat in the cold but he was still a magnificent sight, almost bursting with life as he wiggled and laughed while Lana jammed her fingers into her mouth and emitted some ear-splitting wolf-whistles. Kari grinned and rubbed a shard of soap about his armpits and scrubbed his pale skin until it was pink, before retreating out of sight to stand with the donkey in the dryness of the stable where he’d presumably left his clothes.

  “You should not be ogling him so,” Brin muttered from his bed. “It’s indecent.”

  Lana chuckled. “Why not? He’s a gorgeous specimen of a man, Brindar, and he does not mind the appreciation. And besides there’s precious little else to look at in this dismal box. Perhaps if you were to remove your clothes, I would stare in another direction.”

  Brin scowled even harder and shifted in his bed so he was facing the wall, thus signaling an end to his participation in that particular conversation. I sighed with momentary pleasure. My brother was ill used to interacting with women and Lana’s casually flirtatious manner was not making his transition into the real world any easier.

  To ease the boredom, I helped Kari with the cooking that night, which meant that I occasionally moved things around as he chopped and hummed and stirred and told me of all his favorite dishes. We snatched a couple of kisses now and then but feared to do more. It was maddening to be so close and yet unable to touch him as I wished. At night I lay on my mattress, wriggling to get comfortable upon the straw that poked through the material and into my back, thinking of our afternoon at the Vanishing Lake until my balls began to ache.

  Even the sound of Kel’s quill scratching across the paper began to grate, until on the morning of our fourth day I could stand the confinement no longer. As my companions slept, I got up and grabbed the shovel that hung on the door and pushed it open.

  “Where are you going?” Brin demanded, his voice groggy with sleep.

  “I go to empty my arse, brother,” I snapped. “Do you wish to accompany me to provide instruction?”

  “You disgust me, Nedim,” he said, and taking that to mean a “no”, I stomped outside and slid down the ladder. Mud splashed around my boots and leathers but they were so far gone by now that I didn’t care anymore. Then I looked around and a huge smile broke across my face. The rain had finally stopped and the clouds were thin and white once more. I was no expert in the weather conditions of Methar but the heat of Lis was born into my bones, and I could almost smell the sun’s efforts to reach through to us.

  Suddenly feeling a lot happier, I crept around behind the solitary tree, dug a small hole, and relieved myself in every possible way, culminating in a fast but satisfying emptying of my balls. It was refreshing to feel the wind around my nether regions and I was whistling to myself as I filled in the hole when I found myself distracted by footsteps, and turned to see the amused face of a blond-haired dwarf.

  “By the Gods!” I exclaimed, hand on heart. “You startled me.”

  “Obviously,” he said, looking down at my unlaced britches with a twitch of his luxurious moustaches. Behind him on the path was a cart drawn by two dappled ponies which whinnied and stomped their hooves on the stones. The contents of the cart lay in sealed barrels and boxes lashed to the vehicle with sturdy rope. Two other dwarves lay idly among the cargo, chewing tobacco and staring at me from under floppy, wide-brimmed hats.

  They did not seem perturbed by the thought of sharing the cabin with us and made themselves at home inside pretty quickly. I tried to help clear away our belongings but it was a vexing task and it was clear that there was not enough room for us all unless we were to share bunks. Brin looked particularly put-upon as he struggled to get his boot back on. “One more night,” he muttered, clearly unhappy. But Lana was overjoyed to see the dwarves and chattered brightly, naming all her dwarven friends in the hope of finding a mutual acquaintance as we shuffled our blankets around to make room for the cabin’s new occupants, who, it transpired, had been trading beyond Methar’s borders in the un-named lands.

  That revelation brought a collective gasp and we froze in our endeavors to gape at them, shocked.

  “The affairs of men mean nothing to us,” said the one with the magnificent moustaches, who had introduced himself somewhat reluctantly as Fiernot. He gestured to the cart outside. “Nor do the affairs of dwarves matter to men. We go where we please, for there is not a language in the world that a bag of coin cannot speak.”

  “But what lies beyond Methar? What do the lands look like?” Kel cried, almost frothing at the mouth with excitement.

  The dwarves looked at each other and shrugged, and the two who had been lazing in the cart left us to go about stabling the ponies, clearly uninterested in idle chatter.

  Fiernot removed his hat, revealing a shiny pate, and gave a theatrical shrug. “They look like any other lands, albeit a good deal flatter than this one. What does it matter? We didn’t go there to sightsee. Some people near the border had interesting things to sell and we traded with them, but ventured no further, for the plains are scarred with the endless battles of men. More importantly, there is not an ale to be had within a hundred-mile of Thar Mati.”

  “But how did you get past the outposts?” Kari asked.

  “See these feet?” Fiernot pointed at his substantial boots which were almost worn through at the toes. “Ah, young one, I jest. It’s a tedious job guarding an outpost and one that’s enlivened greatly with a few bottles of firewater.”

  “Tivi’s warriors would never accept a bribe!” Kari exclaimed, incredulous. I smiled to myself as once again the practice of life came up short against all the theory my lover had learned from his studies. Sighing with pleasure, I took in his wide eyes and animated features — all knowledge and innocence at once, wrapped up in the most gorgeous of packages.

  Fiernot chuckled. “It must be a puzzle to you, then, how the warlords are able to slip by the outposts. It’s easily done if the guards are already unconscious, Tivi’s warriors or no.”

  “Never mind that,” Lana cut in, fishing in her pack for her purse. “I’ve a tobacco pouch that needs filling, and some coin to spend. What have you got?”

  Fiernot scratched the back of his head as his moustaches sprang upwards, revealing crooked teeth stained an unfetching shade of orange. “Now you’re talking!”

  I managed to escape my brother’s watchful gaze for a few moments to purchase a bottle of the firewater Fiernot had spoken of, a rare and strong dwarven alcohol derived from potato and flavored with spices and cinnamon. It was a small act of rebellion, even though I doubted I’d have the chance to drink any of it. But knowing it was in my pack made me feel a little more in contr
ol of my life, as if I was an adult man once more and not a supplicant pilgrim forced to do his brother’s bidding.

  That night the dwarves built a fine bonfire outside the cabin and the air filled with the delicious scent of roasted bird. Kornat, the shortest and sturdiest of the three, made good use of Kari’s supplies on top of his own to produce rice enough for ten as well as an aromatic and spicy gravy to accompany the fowl. As they warmed to our presence, ale appeared in tankards by our sides as if by magic. Even my brother did not object, although he did not partake. We sat on old sacks in a half-circle, warming our boots at the crackling fire as the night sky slowly blanketed the mountains in darkness, punctured only by the light of the stars.

  When the meal was cleared, Lana rubbed her belly contentedly. “That was by far the best feast I’ve ever had! Health to your hands, Kornat. By the Gods, let us have tales to complete this fine evening!”

  The dwarf’s thick beard twitched with apparent mirth and he gulped at his drink. “You know our ways well, Lana of Lis. How about a fine rendition of Unfortunate Almus? Fiernot, the bass.”

  I had some experience of dwarven tale telling in the past but it was always a joy to listen to their gruff melodies. My belly pleasantly full, I sipped at the bitter ale and glanced at Kari, who lay beside me, firelight flickering across his features as he watched the dwarves warm up with an expression that was all rapt expectation. I sighed with pleasure once more at the sight of him as the dwarves cleared their throats and lifted their voices in song.

  Beside Lake Arkan in days of yore lived Unfortunate Almus by the shore,

  His hut had seen far better days, his livestock starved through want of graze

  His soil grew naught but tangling weeds no matter what he spent on seeds

  The village mocked his sad travails to gather coin but he would fail

  To such excuse — investor’s fright, the weather’s bad, the time’s not right…

  Long of beard but short of nous, it’s said that all he did was grouse.

  His neighbors often heard him bitch, “If ills were coin then I’d be rich!”

  One day his father passed and thus, coin came his way but nothing much.

  Enough to start again it’s true, but he could not think of what to do

  But count the gold out every day and hope that luck would come his way.

  One day a passing trader came, light of load and dark of name

  “I am a magic man,” said he. “A simple spell I’ll cast on thee

  No more you’ll hunger, cry and moan, no longer you’ll be skin and bone

  No longer will you need to toil; just plant your coin deep in the soil

  And soon a tree will sprout for each; low boughs will swing within your reach

  Bearing gold instead of leaf; and once you’ve picked yourself a sheaf

  Then rich you’ll be without a care, and fortune the burden that you’ll bear.”

  So morning came and Almus stands out in his field with coin in hands

  The magic man did speak his spell, muttering, gibbering and leaping well

  Tossing herbs and calling the sky; smearing pastes both wet and dry

  Upon the soil and Almus last; the magic spell was truly cast.

  Then Almus did as he was told and in the earth he put his gold.

  Each day he tended his new seeds, yet nothing grew but grass and weeds.

  “Alas!” cried he, “this spell has failed.” He gnashed his teeth and wept and wailed.

  No trees would grow, no crop of gold, but in his heart he was consoled –

  Gold coins still lay beneath the grass so he took a spade in hand at last

  And dug and dug, but once more left sad — the coin was gone, for he’d been had.

  Lana burst into enthusiastic applause which made me jump, so transported was I into the gardens of Unfortunate Almus and his seeds. I joined her, and even Brin managed a feeble clap. “A marvelous story,” I said heartily. “Is it one of Antrocus’ Cautionary Tales?”

  The dwarves preened their beards, obviously proud that we had heard of their most famed philosopher. “Indeed it is,” Fiernot said. “Antrocus warns us against the shame of foolish investments in many of his tales. It is a lesson that takes some tellings to learn, unfortunately. And those who do not learn it at all often find themselves outcast from their clan, which is about the worst thing that can happen to a dwarf.”

  “Fascinating!” Kel cried, springing to his feet. “What an insight into dwarven culture. I must record this tale immediately! Thank you…thank you! I’ve never heard a dwarven tale sung before…simply beautiful! Wait till I get back to the university…” He scampered back up the ladder and into the cabin, muttering to himself in academic rapture.

  “So the accumulation of wealth is the most important aspect of dwarven culture?” Kari asked.

  Fiernot began to pick his teeth with a sliver of bone. “Certainly,” he said. “But don’t think to proselytize, young one. Many have already wearied our ears with tales of Matativi, the Thirteen, and other stray gods of men, none of whom I care to remember. You can have all the love in the world, but when all’s said and done you can neither trade it nor eat it. Trade is the constant that unites; belief only serves to divide.”

  “I do not seek to proselytize,” Kari said. “For there is no point in talking to ears of stone. You may love naught but coin and trade but you are no different from a swooning poet who lives to pen verse about his lover. Our language has many words for love, and all who live experience it whether you acknowledge Matativi’s gifts or not. How can you describe all the colors in the world with one crude word?”

  “I’m confused,” Lana admitted. “I thought Tivi was the bringer of pain, not love.”

  Kari shifted and settled his boots closer to the fire. “Perhaps it will help you to see it thus. Mata’s smile bestows happiness and joy; Tivi’s dagger is the dark side of love. Pain, obsession, unrequited longing…all have their place in the heart and must be endured. If you do not grieve for something’s loss, then you did not love it much to start with. It’s impossible to separate the tangled creepers of the heart into light and dark, for they are one as Matativi is one.”

  Kornat refilled his tankard from a heavy earthenware jug and let out a hearty belch. “Bah! This young one is touched by the silver — I knew it! I tire of this weighty conversation. Where is that firewater, Fiernot? Our mouths will be better occupied by more tales and drink!”

  I expected my brother to chip in with a bit of preaching of his own, but it appeared that he had become bored of the conversation just as Kornat had, and was sleeping soundly.

  Lana lifted her tankard with a grin. “Well then, I’ll continue with my own favorite. I don’t rightly recall the name of the tale itself nor the whole of it, but it’s surely one of Antrocus’s.

  “Waste not your time in such a flurry, for tempting ‘tis to stress and hurry.

  Put down your burden and up your feet, and take a rest so we may eat.

  The fire yet burns, so grab some ales to sup a while, with friends and tales.”

  “To friends and tales!” the dwarves chorused, and to my great relief, there was no more discussion about affairs of the soul. Brin started awake at the noise and hobbled off to bed without another word. I realized that it had been some time since I’d heard my brother preach and was suddenly grateful for the peace his silence brought to my ears. I cracked open the firewater and shared it around and our little party was soon as drunk and raucous as a gathering of ravens at a cider barrel. As I reached for my tankard my hand brushed against Kari’s and he smiled at me. I couldn’t control the silly grin that spread over my face. How happy I was, suddenly! All my troubles seemed a thousand-mile away; this wife who awaited me, the thought of taking over my father’s estate and all the tiresome legalities therein, society balls and feasts to introduce my new bride — why, the whole situation was ridiculous and surely would not come to pass.

  “Lord Nedim Melchion, at your s
ervice.” Light of head, I practiced the introduction I would one day have to make, and began laughing uproariously at how pretentious it all sounded.

  “Now, now, Ned,” Lana chuckled. “You’re getting ahead of yourself. Withdraw your imagination and put the future behind you, so we may have fun in the here and now!”

  Kornat began to lead his companions in a harmonious rendition of “The Randy Merchant” and we sang and drank until my memory began to fade alongside the flames of the fire.

  The next morning, after an extremely uncomfortable sleep top-to-toe with my brother in his bunk, Brin was finally able to get his boot on and I began to prepare for our imminent departure. My head felt somewhat furry on the inside and I tried not to breathe too heavily, lest the aroma of stale firewater and ale permeate the nostrils of my brother. Apparently our dwarven friends had polished off the remaining firewater after we’d retired, and were looking unlikely to continue their journey south for another day or so. The donkey’s tail twitched as Kel strapped the last of our dwindling supplies to its back. “Where is your armor, cousin?” he asked my brother. “Do you wish to wear it, or will I…”

  Brin held up his coin purse and jingled its contents. “I’ve traded it. Coin will be more useful and besides, that armor has been nothing more than a burden both to me and the poor beast. By the Gods, let’s move! I tire of the sight and smell of this cabin.”

  I looked at my brother in astonishment, but he just glared at me before leading the donkey forth.

  Fiernot poked his head out of the door and shouted after us in his gruff voice. “You are not the only dark skins about these parts, Lana of Lis! There are two ahead of you, hanging about a ruined farm beyond Khar Tam and sticking out like the proverbial thumbs with all their shivering complaints about the cold and such! There’s a dragon at Thar Mati too, and plenty lingering to see it who are willing to trade if you’re interested. Very profitable indeed!” He gave a hearty chuckle and slammed the door, no doubt to count the coin he’d fleeced from us — their prices had been truly outrageous, but we’d had little choice but to pay what they asked. But they had entertained us well, and I was grateful for their appearance. It had been a welcome distraction.