Fistandantilus Reborn - Douglas Niles [29]
But he was frustrated now, because he preferred it when the living was easy.
If only he could reach Pax Tharkas before it started to snow. Now, as the wind penetrated his cloak, whipping his mane of lush black hair forward, he began to doubt that this would be possible. There was a strong hint, a taste and a smell in the air, that suggested he would be caught in a blizzard if he tarried outside for too much longer.
The waft of campfire smoke, carried from a side gully by the bitter wind, reached his nostrils at sunset of his first day in the gorge. Knowing he had at least another day or two to ride before reaching the great fortress, he decided to seek out the fire builder and, with any luck, receive an offer of warmth and hospitality-perhaps even including food-that would see him through the long night.
The gully leading toward the source of the smoke ascended steeply from the road, and the palomino skittered nervously as it tried to negotiate the grade. With a muffled curse, Kelryn slid from the saddle, took the reins in his hand, and started upward on foot. He discerned a narrow trail, but he was more concerned with the damage to his once fine boots. Weeks on the trail had taken their toll in scuffs, scrapes, and even one long gouge along the side of the leather footwear.
As he pushed higher up the gully, the curve of the ravine wall took the road out of sight below him, and he began to wonder if he had imagined the scent of smoke. And even if he hadn’t, would someone who camped in such a remote location be welcoming, or even tolerant, of an intruder?
He had no answer to these questions, but he knew he would find out soon as another bend of the steeply climbing trail brought him in sight of a shadowy cave mouth. He could see a faint glow of crimson from within; this was clearly the source of the fire and the smoke. Scrambling up another few steps, he reached a flat swath of gravel before the mouth of the cave. His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, but he didn’t draw the weapon as he stared warily into the depths, wondering about the nature of the fire builder within.
“Hullo!” he called, trying to keep his voice cheerful. “Anyone here?”
A stocky, hunched figure moved from the wall of the cave to stand and face him. Silhouetted by the fire as it was, Kelryn quickly determined by the bowed legs and the barrel-sized torso that the cave’s occupant was a dwarf.
“Who’s there?” demanded the fellow suspiciously. Kelryn was startled to realize that, despite the backlighting, he could see the dwarf’s eyes: two spots of milky white illumination, gleaming at him with uncanny brightness.
“A traveler-a poor horseman,” he replied in the smoothest, friendliest tones he could muster. “I only hope to share the warmth of your fire.”
With a snort, the dwarf turned his back and sat in the shadows of the cave’s interior.
Kelryn waited a beat, wondering if the fellow would make more of a reply. When no sound, no sign of invitation or refusal was forthcoming, he cleared his throat. The horse’s breath steamed at his ear, and the fire within the cave crackled atop a heap of embers that looked very warm indeed.
Finally the man determined that he would take charge of the situation.
He moved forward slowly, tethering the horse in the entrance of the rocky shelter where it would be protected from the worst of the icy wind. Then he stepped inside, bowing to pass underneath a low mantel of flinty granite. Within, he found that the rocky ceiling rose high, giving him plenty of room to stand. The cave was a fine shelter, he observed, seeing that it even offered a natural flue near the back, where the smoke from the fire crept along the wall and then wafted upward, to be lost in the frigid night-and occasionally carried down to the road by a lucky gust of wind.
Kelryn noted idly that the stone around the flue was soot-stained and shiny black. He suspected that it had served as a fireplace for a long time and wondered if perhaps this dwarf had made the cave a more or less permanent home.
Advancing