dwarves. “We’re looking for clothes for me, and a dagger for the lady,” the half-elf said.
The dwarf looked pointedly at Tanis’s ill-fitting garb. “Thinking of leaving the traveling minstrel revue, then, are you?”
Kitiara bristled; Tanis put a restraining hand on her arm and signaled her to overlook the jibe. The surest way to annoy hill dwarves—or Flint Fireforge, at least—was to pretend to ignore their griping.
“Do you trade with Plainsmen?” the half-elf asked.
“I trade with everybody,” the dwarf said grumpily, “and they all try to take advantage of me. Plainsmen, gnomes, even other dwarves. You’d think I was an infernal nabob, the way they try to cheat me.”
“I’m looking for a pair of leather breeches and a leather shirt,” Tanis interjected.
“With fringe, I suppose,” the dwarf complained. “Everybody wants fringe. Damned frippery. What use on Ansalon is fringe, I ask you?”
Tanis smiled gently while Kitiara steamed, her brows knit over smoldering eyes. “Fringe would be fine,” Tanis said, “but it’s not necessary”—the half-elf paused significantly—
“if
you don’t have it.”
The dwarf rose to the bait. “ ’Course I have it! What kind o’ cheap outfit you think I’m runnin’ here, half-elf?”
Kitiara pulled her arm away from the half-elf and pointed at the dwarf. Her voice crackled. “Listen, old dwarf, do you want us to spend our steel elsewhere?”
The dwarf slowly swiveled to glare down at Kitiara from the back of the wagon. His eyes were the same green as his breeches and shirt. “The name’s Sonnus Ironmill, not ‘old dwarf,’ young lady. You the hoyden lookin’ for a dagger?”
Looking over Kitiara’s head, the dwarf addressedthe crowd in general. “A sword ain’t enough for this minx; noooo, she needs a dagger, too. How about a mace and pike as well?” He looked down at his fuming customer. “What kind o’ folks you hang around with, anyway? Or”—he leaned over and whispered—“do things get a mite touchy at the ladies’ quilting parties now and then?”
Tanis bent toward Kitiara. “He’s enjoying this,” he whispered.
Kitiara looked from Tanis to Sonnus Ironmill and frowned. “I’m looking for a dagger,” she finally said. “I lost my old one in some quicksand.”
The dwarf did a double take. “Eh? Quicksand?” Then he caught himself and recovered his grousing tone. “You’ll want lots of jewels and pearl inlay and the like, no doubt. Damned unnecessary. Decoration can throw off the entire balance of a weapon.”
“Listen,” she snapped, “do you have a dagger to sell me or not?”
“ ’Course I have a dagger!” the dwarf said, stomping over to a trunk, opening it, and tossing a folded bundle of leather at the half-elf. “Got scabbards, too, but I can see by the sheath showing from under that short skirt of yours that you don’t need one of those.”
Tanis caught the bundle of leather; it was a full suit in the style of the Plainsmen—fawn-soft deerhide the color of polished oak, fringed along the back yoke. Someone had embroidered the hem with beads. “May I try it on in your shack?” the half-elf asked, pointing at the turtlelike contraption at the front of the wagon.
“ ’Course. Were you planning to take your clothes off right here in publ … Hey! Did you say ‘shack’?” The dwarf pulled up short. As Tanis leaped onto the wagon, the half-elf took the full force of a vile stare from Sonnus Ironmill. Tanis merely shrugged andheaded for the dwarf’s quarters. The dwarf snatched a tray of daggers, plucked off a nest of silk scarves that had fallen over on the tray, and turned back toward Kitiara. “ ‘Shack,’ he calls it,” Ironmill groused under his breath. “Price o’ leathers just doubled for that.”
As Tanis changed into the garb in the dimness of the cramped interior, he heard a new, piping voice mingle with Sonnus Ironmill’s complaining tones.
“Nice daggers,
The dwarf looked pointedly at Tanis’s ill-fitting garb. “Thinking of leaving the traveling minstrel revue, then, are you?”
Kitiara bristled; Tanis put a restraining hand on her arm and signaled her to overlook the jibe. The surest way to annoy hill dwarves—or Flint Fireforge, at least—was to pretend to ignore their griping.
“Do you trade with Plainsmen?” the half-elf asked.
“I trade with everybody,” the dwarf said grumpily, “and they all try to take advantage of me. Plainsmen, gnomes, even other dwarves. You’d think I was an infernal nabob, the way they try to cheat me.”
“I’m looking for a pair of leather breeches and a leather shirt,” Tanis interjected.
“With fringe, I suppose,” the dwarf complained. “Everybody wants fringe. Damned frippery. What use on Ansalon is fringe, I ask you?”
Tanis smiled gently while Kitiara steamed, her brows knit over smoldering eyes. “Fringe would be fine,” Tanis said, “but it’s not necessary”—the half-elf paused significantly—
“if
you don’t have it.”
The dwarf rose to the bait. “ ’Course I have it! What kind o’ cheap outfit you think I’m runnin’ here, half-elf?”
Kitiara pulled her arm away from the half-elf and pointed at the dwarf. Her voice crackled. “Listen, old dwarf, do you want us to spend our steel elsewhere?”
The dwarf slowly swiveled to glare down at Kitiara from the back of the wagon. His eyes were the same green as his breeches and shirt. “The name’s Sonnus Ironmill, not ‘old dwarf,’ young lady. You the hoyden lookin’ for a dagger?”
Looking over Kitiara’s head, the dwarf addressedthe crowd in general. “A sword ain’t enough for this minx; noooo, she needs a dagger, too. How about a mace and pike as well?” He looked down at his fuming customer. “What kind o’ folks you hang around with, anyway? Or”—he leaned over and whispered—“do things get a mite touchy at the ladies’ quilting parties now and then?”
Tanis bent toward Kitiara. “He’s enjoying this,” he whispered.
Kitiara looked from Tanis to Sonnus Ironmill and frowned. “I’m looking for a dagger,” she finally said. “I lost my old one in some quicksand.”
The dwarf did a double take. “Eh? Quicksand?” Then he caught himself and recovered his grousing tone. “You’ll want lots of jewels and pearl inlay and the like, no doubt. Damned unnecessary. Decoration can throw off the entire balance of a weapon.”
“Listen,” she snapped, “do you have a dagger to sell me or not?”
“ ’Course I have a dagger!” the dwarf said, stomping over to a trunk, opening it, and tossing a folded bundle of leather at the half-elf. “Got scabbards, too, but I can see by the sheath showing from under that short skirt of yours that you don’t need one of those.”
Tanis caught the bundle of leather; it was a full suit in the style of the Plainsmen—fawn-soft deerhide the color of polished oak, fringed along the back yoke. Someone had embroidered the hem with beads. “May I try it on in your shack?” the half-elf asked, pointing at the turtlelike contraption at the front of the wagon.
“ ’Course. Were you planning to take your clothes off right here in publ … Hey! Did you say ‘shack’?” The dwarf pulled up short. As Tanis leaped onto the wagon, the half-elf took the full force of a vile stare from Sonnus Ironmill. Tanis merely shrugged andheaded for the dwarf’s quarters. The dwarf snatched a tray of daggers, plucked off a nest of silk scarves that had fallen over on the tray, and turned back toward Kitiara. “ ‘Shack,’ he calls it,” Ironmill groused under his breath. “Price o’ leathers just doubled for that.”
As Tanis changed into the garb in the dimness of the cramped interior, he heard a new, piping voice mingle with Sonnus Ironmill’s complaining tones.
“Nice daggers,
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