The Silver Mage - Katharine Kerr [93]
All that night the Dwrgwn came to the treasure chamber in twos and threes, each carrying some sort of vessel or sack. Kov stuffed each thing full of whatever gold or gems first came to hand, but he insisted on wrapping the delicate Horsekin pottery in clothing or bedding. By dawn the marvelous hoard room stretched out empty. With a light basket in his hand, he walked around, checking each corner for dropped treasure, then went to his own chamber to pack up the few things he owned.
All that day the Dwrgwn lay silent in their tunnels. Frightened though he was, Kov slept through most of it. When he woke, Leejak came to him with the news that the Horsekin were making so much noise setting up a camp of their own that they’d never notice any coming from under their feet.
“So now we go north,” Leejak said. “Fast we do go. There be more Dwrgwn up at joining of east-pointing river.”
“Let’s hope they’re still there,” Kov said. “What if the Horsekin found them?”
“We know not that till we do get there. So we do start now.”
As Kov followed him out, he was remembering Mic and Berwynna, whom doubtless he’d never see again. Even if somehow they thought he might be alive, they could never come to look for him now, not with Horsekin camped around the bridge. And even if somehow they could, by dweomer or suchlike, he’d no longer be there to find.
Berwynna always knew when Uncle Mic was brooding about the loss of his cousin. Mic would slip into their tent and lie on his blankets, as limp as a wet rag while he stared at the ceiling. Only one person could cheer him, Salamander, who had a wealth of tricks and tales designed to lighten any heart’s load, even one as heavy and grim as that belonging to a man of the Mountain Folk.
When, therefore, Berwynna looked into their tent and found Mic half asleep in the middle of the day, she ducked out again and went to round up her other uncle. Salamander was sitting in front of his own tent and juggling three small leather balls. When he saw Berwynna, he made them disappear one at a time.
“Good morrow, fair niece.” He stood up and bowed to her. “Come to visit your aged uncle?”
“Always does it gladden my heart to visit you.” Wynni paused to smile at him. “But today there be a need on me to ask you for help.”
“What’s this? Mic brooding again?”
“Just that.”
Salamander flicked a hand over the front of his shirt, produced one of the leather balls, then made it disappear again. “Let’s hope his troubles vanish as easily. Lead on!”
As they walked through the camp, Berwynna saw the usual children and dogs and a few women tending to various errands, but everything lay wrapped in a strange though welcome silence.
“Be somewhat wrong?” she said. “All this quiet!”
“Several parties went off hunting,” Salamander said. “Venison is a nice change from mutton, and we can’t eat every sheep we own, anyway.”
In her tent Mic still lay stretched out on his blankets. When they came in, he sighed for a greeting. They sat down next to him, but he kept his gaze on the ceiling.
“Oh, come now!” Salamander said. “If you sit up, you’ll feel better. This wallowing in guilt isn’t doing you a bit of good.”
“Wallowing, is it?” With an angry snarl Mic sat up to confront him, then laughed a little ruefully when he realized what he’d done. “Well, mayhap you’re right.”
“I’m always right. Now, what tale shall I tell you today?”
Mic considered, rubbing his chin. Berwynna, however, already had her request ready.
“Uncle Salamander, know you the story of the taking of Tanbalapalim?”
“I know a story about it. Now, whether it’s the true story, I cannot know. It happened a long time ago, and the tale passed through the mouths of many a bard before I learned it.”
“You know more than I do, and that’s what matters to me.” Mic leaned forward. “Is it true that refugees from Lin Rej sought shelter there, but they were turned away?”
“In a way.