Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [84]
“Why, not you in particular,” replied the smith, chuckling heartily, “But this is the last night of my journey, and I had a full haunch of mutton left. I have often found that the means to be generous will often result in an opportunity for the same arising!” He threw back his shaggy head and roared with laughter, as if he had just made a great joke.
“And here tonight,” he continued, gesturing expansively, “I have good company, and enough food for us all.”
“Indeed,” observed the bard, “although the good fortune would seem to be our own.”
“Let it be all of ours! Many a night I’ve been on the road, and camped beside a small fire with nought but me asses to keep me company. Oh, and it’s nice enough that they are, but very short on conversation!” Again, the smith convulsed himself with hilarity, and the others could not suppress smiles of amusement.
The mutton stew tasted fabulous after the dry trail fare that had sustained them for a week.
Gavin produced a flask of biting rye whiskey that added a smooth glow to the meal. All of the companions ate like starving wolves, and the smith like a starving bear, but the pot was still only half empty when they could eat no more. In a flourish of generosity, the smith then saw that the hounds had plenty to eat.
They fed the fire with large logs, and built it perhaps higher than caution warranted. Still, no one complained – it just added to the pleasurable atmosphere.
Tristan leaned back against a tree, enjoying the blaze. “It almost feels like we’re home again,” he said, stretching leisurely.
“‘Again’?” asked the smith. “And where is it ye’ve been?”
“Through Myrloch Vale,” replied the bard, “from Caer Corwell.”
“I’ve been to that place, I have,” boasted the smith. “in the service of our king himself, against the northmen on Moray. That would be yer father, I’m thinkin’.” Gavin looked toward the prince.
“Yes, I am Prince of Corwell.”
“And how fares our king?”
“He was… fine, when I left him. He has ordered the gathering of companies from the cantrevs – we have had reports of a great mustering of northmen.”
“Indeed?” Gavin sat up straight. For the first time, a look of concern came over his face, “Perhaps I should not have left my home.” Nervously, the giant smith looked toward the east.
“Myrrdale… Is that on the coast?” The prince could not remember the town.
“No, some twenty miles inland. It should be safe enough, even if war comes to the eastern cantrevs. I doubt the northmen would strike very far inland. And we’ll be there early tomorrow, anyway… No, no, I’ve naught to worry about.” Still, the big smith cast many glances toward the east, and they knew he wished to be home.
“It’s my little girls I’m missin’ the most,” Gavin said, wistfully staring into the flames, “They’re the cutest little mites this side of Myrloch, if I do say so myself. The spittin’ image of their mother, my dear Sharreen.”
“I’d like to meet them,” Robyn said, smiling wistfully at the thought of the man’s love for his family. She wondered if her own father had loved her the same way.
The second flask of rye finally worked its effects upon the companions, and they fell asleep around the fire. For the first time in many days, they did not bother to post a watch, and their camp was not troubled during the night.
They rose early, sharing the smith’s infectious enthusiasm for a new day. The smith strung his donkeys together, and the companions helped him load the heavy crates which had been lying among the trees.
“Iron and coal,” he explained. “The fodder of my forge. Twice a year I journey to Cantrev Thorndyke for supplies.”
“That’s one of the mountain cantrevs, isn’t it?” recalled Tristan.
“Indeed – they mine the best iron in the Moonshaes up there, apart from the dwarves, of course. And what human could buy iron from the dwarves?” The smith chuckled deeply at the thought of the reclusive dwarves selling to humans.
“It’s not that I couldn’t hire me a carter to make the trip instead,” explained the smith, as loudly as if he spoke to a gathering of several hundred. “It’s just that -” His voice