Crown of Fire - Ed Greenwood [55]
Mirt uttered a satisfied sound, came to a halt, and pointed. – chat fence line, there? That's the eastern paddock of the Wyvern. Come. My belly tells me it's past time for some hot roast dinner."
"Master, we obey," Narm said in gentle mockery. Mirt sighed heavily, rolled his eyes, and waved at them all to follow him. The stout old merchant pushed past a tangle of wild raspberry canes, creating angry crackling and tearing noises. He waded through the canes toward the road, slipped on a muddy patch of bank-and fell with a heavy splash into the ditch.
For a long, breathless moment, silence descended. – Shandril smothered giggles, not very successfully.
Delg cut his own way through the canes with a few cleft swings of his axe, and then launched himself into an exaggerated pratfall down the bank, coming to rest so I hat one boot just crashed down into the edge of the water with a splash. The spray drenched Mirt's face, which had just arisen from the muddy waters wearing a dark expression.
"Unusual maneuver," the dwarf remarked cheerfully, "but I can see its virtues now, O Great Warrior.
It'll certainly lull any waiting foes into false overconfidence and allow us to make a grand entrance while they're still rolling about on the ground, laughing helplessly One muddy paw lashed out from the water, enfolded the dwarfs boot in a loving grip, and pulled.
Delg's mirth was cut suddenly and damply short, leaving only bubbles to mark its passing.
"I hope you don't expect us to join you," said Shandril carefully, reaching a hand down to him. Mirt waved it away, spitting muddy water considerately off to one side.
"Nay, nay, lass-if ye gave me yer hand, ye'd end up in the wet here beside me, instead o' getting me out of it. Nay, me an' the intrepid Delg here'll just wallow about for a bit, and then join ye on the far bank.
If ye don't feel up to leaping the ditch, any of ye, just step on my shoulderhere-and find yer way across … blast it!"
Shandril did giggle then, but made use of his offer. Full darkness had fallen by the time they all reached the road beyond. Mirt and Delg dripped their way to the front and rear of the hand, respectively, and both set off in grim silence for their goal.
The farms and woodlots of Cormyr stretched out before them in the gloom, and stars winked overhead.
Selune had not yet risen, and the four travelers went over the hill under the cloak of night Before them, at the bottom of the slope, two bright pole-lamps flickered on the right-hand side of the road. The lamps flanked a stout gate that led off the road into a high-fenced yard. Up out of the dark shadows of this enclosure rose several large, dark buildings. The nearest one was a rambling place: they could see part of it by the light of another, dimmer lamp on a post near the door.
From a leaning spar that jutted above the closed gate, a rusty shield hung down on a chain. On the shield, the words “Strike to enter" were painted. Under this sign slumped the body of someone filthy, dressed in a very tattered collection of rags, and sitting up against one of the gateposts.
In heavy silence, Mirt went alertly forward, his sword drawn. The figure did not move. As they drew nearer, they heard faint snoring. Nonetheless, Mirt warily faced the fat, unmoving, ragtag figure, and lie rapped the shieldgong with the pommel of his raised, ready sword.
The snores broke off abruptly, just as a small wooden window squealed open in the gate above. A face looked out at them. "Travelers?" came a gravelly, not unfriendly voice.
"Aye," Mirt replied. "Two men, one women, and a hedwarf, on foot. We're armed but come in peace, and prepared to pay well for a warm meal and a good bed-if they're as good at the Wyvern as I remember." “Well met!" The voice was less wary. "Welcome to The Wanton Wyvern then. I'll open the gate." The window closed, and