here?” the gnome asked the new arrivals in a none-too-friendly voice.
“I can tell you’re not very pleased to see us,” Arnkh laughed as he took a seat.
Mumr and Marmot followed their companion’s example, although Marmot had to take a chair from the next table, where the goat-men were sitting. The Doralissians looked the warrior over dourly, but they didn’t bother him, deciding that it wasn’t worth risking their horns and beards for anything as petty as a chair.
“He’s not pleased to see anyone today,” Deler replied for the gnome.
“Have they pulled that tooth out?” Lamplighter asked.
“Listen, Mumr,” Hallas said irritably, “go tootle your whistle and leave me alone.”
“Oo-oo-ooh, things are really bad,” said Lamplighter, shaking his head with disappointment.
“Why hasn’t it been pulled out?” asked Arnkh, joining in the conversation.
“I changed my mind!” the gnome suddenly exploded. “I’m allowed to change my mind, aren’t I?”
“All right, Hallas, all right,” Arnkh said good-naturedly, trying to calm the gnome down. “So you changed your mind. What’s all the shouting about?”
The serving wench brought beer for us and the fiery mixture for Hallas. She took the order from the three Wild Hearts who had just joined us and went away again.
“So how do you come to be here?” I asked Marmot, who was feeding his ling.
“Arnkh dragged us out for a walk round the city. It’s a lousy little town. And we dropped in here to wet our whistles.”
“And did you see anything interesting in the city?” Kli-Kli asked, sniffing cautiously at the beer he had been served: It was obviously not much to his liking. “Hallas, why aren’t you drinking?”
“And you?” the gnome snarled back, staring at his booze as if there was a dead snake floating in it.
“I’m sniffing it!” Kli-Kli retorted. “That’s quite enough for me!”
“Me, too.”
“Well now, the krudr smells even worse than the goats,” Lamplighter chuckled.
“Well, how do you like the race of gnomes?” Deler asked with a cunning grin as he took a sip of dark beer. “Afraid of having a tooth pulled on, so they order a brew of fire and they’re afraid to drink that, too.”
“Who’s afraid, hathead? On the Field of Sorna we weren’t afraid to break your horns for you, and you think we’re afraid to drink this water? Watch!”
Hallas poured the liquid down his throat in a single gulp, without pausing for breath. I shuddered. One drop of the explosive mixture that the gnome had ordered would have been enough to fell a h’san’kor.
Our bearded friend drank, grunted, banged his mug down on the table, focused his wandering eyes together on a single point, and flared his nostrils as he tried to figure out what he was feeling. We all gazed at him in genuine admiration.
“That’s dis…,” the gnome said, scorching us all with the indescribable aroma of that repulsive mixture. “That’s dis … disgusting, may the Nameless One take me!”
“Are you alive?” Deler asked, squinting warily at his friend.
“No, I’m already in the light! The only time I’ve ever felt this good was when you dragged my butt off that Crayfish Duke’s scaffold! We-ench! Another three mugs of the same brew!”
“Well then?” Marmot asked after a pause. “Shall we drink to Tomcat?”
“May the earth be a feather mattress to him, and the grass his blanket!” said Lamplighter, raising his mug.
“May he walk in the light,” said Hallas.
“A good winter to him,” said Eel.
We drank in silence, without clinking glasses.
That’s the way it goes: Some are already in the light, and some are still alive. Tomcat had been left behind in the ground beside the old ravine in Hargan’s Wasteland, the first to die of those who had set out to escort me to Hrad Spein. I hoped very much that the Wild Hearts’ scout would also be the last one to die during our journey.
Time passed imperceptibly, people came and
“I can tell you’re not very pleased to see us,” Arnkh laughed as he took a seat.
Mumr and Marmot followed their companion’s example, although Marmot had to take a chair from the next table, where the goat-men were sitting. The Doralissians looked the warrior over dourly, but they didn’t bother him, deciding that it wasn’t worth risking their horns and beards for anything as petty as a chair.
“He’s not pleased to see anyone today,” Deler replied for the gnome.
“Have they pulled that tooth out?” Lamplighter asked.
“Listen, Mumr,” Hallas said irritably, “go tootle your whistle and leave me alone.”
“Oo-oo-ooh, things are really bad,” said Lamplighter, shaking his head with disappointment.
“Why hasn’t it been pulled out?” asked Arnkh, joining in the conversation.
“I changed my mind!” the gnome suddenly exploded. “I’m allowed to change my mind, aren’t I?”
“All right, Hallas, all right,” Arnkh said good-naturedly, trying to calm the gnome down. “So you changed your mind. What’s all the shouting about?”
The serving wench brought beer for us and the fiery mixture for Hallas. She took the order from the three Wild Hearts who had just joined us and went away again.
“So how do you come to be here?” I asked Marmot, who was feeding his ling.
“Arnkh dragged us out for a walk round the city. It’s a lousy little town. And we dropped in here to wet our whistles.”
“And did you see anything interesting in the city?” Kli-Kli asked, sniffing cautiously at the beer he had been served: It was obviously not much to his liking. “Hallas, why aren’t you drinking?”
“And you?” the gnome snarled back, staring at his booze as if there was a dead snake floating in it.
“I’m sniffing it!” Kli-Kli retorted. “That’s quite enough for me!”
“Me, too.”
“Well now, the krudr smells even worse than the goats,” Lamplighter chuckled.
“Well, how do you like the race of gnomes?” Deler asked with a cunning grin as he took a sip of dark beer. “Afraid of having a tooth pulled on, so they order a brew of fire and they’re afraid to drink that, too.”
“Who’s afraid, hathead? On the Field of Sorna we weren’t afraid to break your horns for you, and you think we’re afraid to drink this water? Watch!”
Hallas poured the liquid down his throat in a single gulp, without pausing for breath. I shuddered. One drop of the explosive mixture that the gnome had ordered would have been enough to fell a h’san’kor.
Our bearded friend drank, grunted, banged his mug down on the table, focused his wandering eyes together on a single point, and flared his nostrils as he tried to figure out what he was feeling. We all gazed at him in genuine admiration.
“That’s dis…,” the gnome said, scorching us all with the indescribable aroma of that repulsive mixture. “That’s dis … disgusting, may the Nameless One take me!”
“Are you alive?” Deler asked, squinting warily at his friend.
“No, I’m already in the light! The only time I’ve ever felt this good was when you dragged my butt off that Crayfish Duke’s scaffold! We-ench! Another three mugs of the same brew!”
“Well then?” Marmot asked after a pause. “Shall we drink to Tomcat?”
“May the earth be a feather mattress to him, and the grass his blanket!” said Lamplighter, raising his mug.
“May he walk in the light,” said Hallas.
“A good winter to him,” said Eel.
We drank in silence, without clinking glasses.
That’s the way it goes: Some are already in the light, and some are still alive. Tomcat had been left behind in the ground beside the old ravine in Hargan’s Wasteland, the first to die of those who had set out to escort me to Hrad Spein. I hoped very much that the Wild Hearts’ scout would also be the last one to die during our journey.
Time passed imperceptibly, people came and
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