Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [2]
Tristan strode to the dog’s side, and knelt on the muddy grass, his eyes level with the dog’s. He thought of his hounds. Already they were fierce and loyal hunters – but with a dog such as this to lead them, they would be the finest pack of dogs in the Isles! Tristan slowly took the great head in his hands. The shaggy tail flickered slightly, swaying from side to side.
The prince stared into the moorhound’s eyes and whispered, “We shall be the greatest hunters on Gwynneth – no, on all the Moonshaes! Even the Firbolgs of the Highlands will tremble in fear at your cry.
“Your name will be Canthus.” The dog regarded the prince keenly, brown eyes shining. His mouth opened slightly as he panted, and Tristan noted teeth the size of his little finger.
A number of onlookers had gathered to observe the prince, and Tristan felt a quick rush of pride as he realized that they looked with equal admiration upon his dog. A pair of savage, yellow-bearded northmen stood behind Pawldo, jabbering in their strange tongue full of yerg and url sounds. Several fisherffolk, a woodsman, and two young boys also watched. A crimson cloak, among the plain garb of the villagers, marked a young Calishite trader, staring in wonderment.
Tristan tried to conceal his eagerness as he stood and turned back to Pawldo, but his palms were sweating. He must have this dog! Trying to look disinterested, he opened the bidding. “He is indeed a fine animal. I’ll give you ten gold for him!”
With a wail of anguish, Pawldo staggered backward. “The sea swelled over the bows,” he cried in his high, squeaking voice. “Bold sailors grew pale with fear, and would have retreated, but I pressed on! I knew, I told myself, of a prince who would sacrifice his kingdom for such a dog – a prince who would reward well the steadfastness of an erstwhile friend… who would -”
“Hold!” cried Tristan, raising his hand and looking the halfling in the eye while trying to keep from laughing. “You shall have twenty, but no m -”
“Twenty!” The halfling’s voice squealed in outrage. He turned to the listeners and threw out his hands, a picture of wounded innocence. The two northmen chuckled at his posturing.
“The sails hung in tatters from the beam! We nearly capsized a dozen times. Waves the size of mountains smashed us… and he offers me twenty gold!” Pawldo turned back to the prince, whose smile was growing thin. “Why a dog like this, to one who knew such creatures, would fetch a hundred gold in an instant – in any civilized port in the world!”
The halfling smiled disarmingly. “Still, we are friends, and so I would remain. He is yours… For eighty gold!” Pawldo bowed with a flourish to the gasps of the growing crowd. Never had a dog been sold for half of that asking price!
“You overestimate the size of my purse,” retorted the prince, knowing full well that the price was going to stretch the limits of his allowance. Ruefully, Tristan groped for a bargaining strategy, but his purse felt very vulnerable. Pawldo knew him too well; the prince could not resist such a magnificent dog.
“I can offer you forty, but that is all I -”
“Forty gold,” pronounced Pawldo, still playing the crowd. “A respectable sum, for a dog. If we talked of a normal dog, I would say yes in an instant.”
“Fifty,” declared the prince, starting to get annoyed at the high cost of doing business with Pawldo.
“Sold!”
“Well done! Bravo!”
The praise was accompanied by hearty handclapping and a delighted, feminine laugh.
“Thank you, my dear Lady Robyn,” acknowledged Pawldo, with a theatrical bow.
“And you – I’m surprised you got that crooked halfling down from a hundred,” Robyn said to Tristan. The young woman’s black hair gleamed in the sunlight, and her green eyes sparkled. Unlike most of the young ladies at the festival, she was clad in practical garb – green leggings and a cape the color of bright rust. Yet her beauty outshone that of the most daintily dressed maidens.
The prince returned Robyn’s bright smile, pleased to encounter her. The festival would be even more fun if he could enjoy