Thornhold - Elaine Cunningham [32]
Ebenezer shook his head, honestly enough. The Stone-shaft Clanhold was impressive, yet cozy. Ceremonies, celebrations, and mock battles took place in the great hall, a fine cavern with a smooth, level floor and richly carved walls. Over the centuries, Stoneshaft artisans had carved many a frieze depicting dwarf victories and frolics. Several small tunnels led out of the ball, and stairs carved into the walls wound up to higher levels. Some of these openings led to private family homes, others to the forges and gemworking shops that kept the clan happily employed. Miners they were, of course, and smiths, but clan Stoneshaft was also renowned for the fine, bold wearable art they made of gems and metals. A few dwarves served as merchants, trading the finished goods for materials not easily found. Ebenezer worried about this. His kin were too isolated, too clannish and race-proud to understand that some humans posed more of a risk than others.
“Dying down, it looks like,” offered Frodwinner, nodding toward the other dwarves. The osquip-bashing frenzy was over, but for a few final thumps. Already most of the creatures had been dragged away. Most likely, Ebenezer mused, to be thrown into the river. The swift-moving current would bear them away, and whatever the river denizens didn’t eat would wash ashore in the hydra cove. A lot of mouths to feed there, Ebenezer concluded.
A few minutes more and the cavern was clear. Some of the dwarves cranked up buckets of water from the wells and sluiced the stone floor, sending the last traces of the battle down several small openings in the floor that were covered with finely crafted iron grates.
“Can we get on with this?” demanded Palmara Stone-shaft, fists planted on her ample hips. “Got me a daughter to wed, a son to welcome back. And lookit!” she added, pointing toward the festive board that stood waiting over to one side of the cavern. “The stew’s getting cold, and the ale warm!”
These practical considerations marshaled the wedding guests and sent the priestess scurrying back to the altar. Ebenezer fell back and swept his gray-bearded mother into a fierce hug that had her bellowing in happy protest.
The ceremony was brief, solemn. The celebration that followed was anything but. All of Clan Stoneshaft gathered at tables, telling tall tales and exchanging extravagant insults until the last stew pot was wiped clean and more than half the kegs of wedding ale drained dry. At a sign from Palmara-who as mother of the bride was master of the festivities-a score of musicians leaped onto the tables and set up a merry din with their horns and pipes and drums. The dwarves fell to dancing with a zest and vigor that rivaled their battlefield exploits.
A rare sense of contentment swept Ebenezer as he watched his kin leap and whirl and thunder their way through the intricate patterns of a circle dance. He was glad to be home. The knowledge that he’d be nearly as glad to leave in a tenday or so did nothing to diminish the moment’s pleasure.
But even now his feet got to twitching. He reached for his bag and removed from it pipe and weed before he remembered that Palmara Stoneshaft would have nothing of that in her cavern. Ebenezer had picked up the habit in his travels, and he liked a good pipe now and again. But the Stone-shaft dwarves frowned upon such vices and had made loud complaints about the smoke last time he’d visited. Ebenezer had pointed out-reasonably enough, it seemed to him- that in a clanhold warmed and scented with the smoke of forges and hearth fires, a wisp or two more made no never mind at all. But they couldn’t see it. With a resigned sigh, Ebenezer pocketed his pipe and headed for the nearest river tunnel.
He walked along the river for maybe an hour, puffing contentedly and enjoying the wild rush and gurgle of the water. The river got right riled up, come spring, what with all the melting snow from the Sword Mountains high overhead, but that was the only intrusion of the upper