The Dvergs
The carriage raced through the night.
Fortunately it had stayed quiet so far—not even the cries of wild beasts broke the silence. With the birdsong as her lullaby and her crossbow for a pillow, Erika lay back down. Inside the canvas tent it was not especially cold. Driving the carriage earlier had chilled her, but now the air felt warm enough that dampness gathered along her back.
She drew a few steadying breaths and settled onto the hard wooden floorboards. Lit was at the reins now. Drawing her wolf pelt over herself like a blanket, Erika curled quietly into a tighter ball.
Sleep would not come. Random thoughts crowded in instead, making rest even harder. She told herself she must think of nothing at all—and that very command filled her head with a throng of thoughts. She opened her eyes and looked at Ren sleeping beside her.
When she first saw him she had taken him for a girl. It turned out he simply possessed an androgynous face. She learned he was a man the moment she pressed a blade between his shoulder blades.
No girl would have carried that scent. It was unmistakably male—something difficult to put into words. Perhaps her tongue was simply not equal to the task.
In any case, leaving that aside for now—Ren’s voice was not especially deep either, yet the dense muscle she felt when her hand brushed his skin left no doubt he was a man.
Looking at him now, even his clothes were a man’s cut. Night and forest had kept her from seeing him clearly, and yesterday her attention had fixed more on the worry carved into his features than on his appearance itself.
Ren…
Naudiz had probably forced the signature. That incomprehensible old man would do exactly that. He was as strange as the eternal madman of the old tales.
So now he was Ren Ewaz. The Ewaz Merchant Group kept one iron rule.
Never use your true name.
More precisely, the given name did not matter; the surname had to be buried.
Erika’s own surname was not Ewaz either. Neither was Lit’s, nor the Dverg twins’, nor Naudiz’s.
Ren had never asked what surname he was supposed to hide—and now there was no longer any need to ask.
Cloth was wrapped around one of Ren’s fingers. Ah. Naudiz had already seen to it. Fast work. She had expected him to wait until they arrived, at least.
Erika closed her eyes again—or rather, her lids grew too heavy to keep open. So sleep was finally coming. After a time her breathing evened into a steady rhythm.
Ren’s breathing, by contrast, turned irregular for a moment. He pushed himself up and leaned against the canvas wall of the carriage. Whether because he weighed little or because the frame was well secured, the tent held taut until, startled by the thought of tumbling out, he braced his waist again. He exhaled quietly, then slipped forward so as not to wake Naudiz or Erika.
Voices drifted from up front. As he neared the tent flap the wooden floor grew colder underfoot, and the wind cut a little sharper. He had not even managed to bring a fur coat. The house had burned to the ground, leaving nothing to take, and he had been herded straight into the carriage. What little he had salvaged were a few dried herbs and some books—books from the temple, herbs from the still-intact garden.
“No, listen—back then I told that bitch—”
“Shut it, little brother. That crap is the same every time—”
“Excuse me…?”
He lifted the flap a fraction and peered out. Two dwarves in leather armor twisted around with rough, hostile faces. The one on the left wore a full beard that hung straight down and merged with his sideburns in a thick cascade. The one on the right kept a neat beard unconnected to the sideburns, yet the stretch of bare forehead above it was uncommonly wide.
“What is it—the brat?”
“Night’s for sleeping. Get back inside.”
The moment they recognized him their scowls eased. They faced forward again and spoke with casual indifference, yet one of them was already holding out a warm pelt toward Ren.
He did not retreat at once; he had questions. The dwarf brothers made a show of irritation, waving him off with a backward flick of the hand.
“Hurry up and go back, kid.”
“I wanted to ask something.”
“Tomorrow. We’re busy concentrating.”
“You were just talking.”
The dwarf on the left—Galarr—turned at that. His face tightened into a darker scowl and his voice dropped low enough to sound genuinely menacing.
“Shut your mouth and get inside.”
Ren hesitated, then lowered his head, clutched the pelt, and withdrew. He returned to the place beside Erika where he had been sleeping, spread the pelt across the cold boards so the chill would not bite so hard, and lay down. It felt a little less cold.
…
“…Get up.”
“Nnngh…”
“Get up, you pointy-eared bitch.”
The insult snapped Erika’s eyes open. She sat upright at once. A faint flush colored her otherwise blank face—anger, most likely.
Seeing Lit seated nearby, she let out a quiet sigh, rose, and climbed down from the carriage. Morning light was already strong and clear. The carriage had been halted; a single cabin stood nearby and nothing else.
Erika looked to Naudiz for explanation, but the old man merely sat against a tree and gestured the dwarf brothers toward the cabin.
“…Again?”
“Yeah. Don’t worry—we left the main road and cut sideways.”
The situation was familiar enough that Erika fixed Lit with a flat stare. He only shrugged, telling her to ignore it. She watched the two dwarves head for the cabin, then glanced back at Ren, still half-asleep inside the carriage.
He looked like a child. Yesterday’s haunted expression was gone; now the childish softness showed through clearly.
“…Get up.”
“Right, right…”
Ren pushed himself upright and climbed down. Without Erika’s steadying hand he would have toppled straight over. He dipped his head in brief thanks; she released him without a word.
He was still scanning the clearing when a scream tore out of the cabin. It seemed to mingle a man’s cry with a woman’s. He wanted to sprint over at once, yet Erika and Lit remained motionless, so rushing ahead did not look wise.
“…What’s happening?”
“…Go look for yourself.”
Erika turned her face away as she answered. Her voice was pure ice, every shred of feeling pared away. Ren wondered whether every elf was like this. The priest had never been, yet the cold moments that sometimes surfaced in him had been not so different from Erika’s.
Perhaps, just as dwarves naturally grew beards, this frost was simply bred into elves.
With that thought he started toward the cabin at a light jog, hoping the movement would finish waking him.
“…Someone help—”
“Shut up.”
Inside, a woman’s tear-choked voice mixed with a man’s low growl. Ren wanted to see what was happening, but the glimpse of pale female flesh through a small glass pane and the blood nearby told him enough. He stopped short. Better not to go in.
Another scream cut the air. His heart hammered; his mind went white. In the end he abandoned any desire to know what was unfolding beyond that door. He ran back to the carriage. Erika simply watched him in silence.
A short while later—or perhaps longer—while he leaned against the carriage catching his breath, the two dwarves emerged from the cabin. Erika clicked her tongue at the sight of them; Lit’s expression was no pleasanter.
The dwarves’ faces, however, were bright. Even through the thick beards their small smiles were plain. Galarr’s grin stood out especially. Red liquid the color of blood streaked Palarr’s leather armor and smeared the blade of his axe. Ren understood, more or less, what had occurred.
Galarr carried a leather sack that looked heavily filled. As the brothers approached, Naudiz rose and climbed back into the carriage. No one spoke. Erika only clicked her tongue once more.
The sack they held out contained a fair amount of food—raw meat among it, and well-dried salted cuts as well. Erika sliced a piece of the raw meat and offered it to Ren. Naudiz, Lit, and the dwarf brothers were already stuffing handfuls into their mouths.
Ren took the meat and bit down. The gamey reek was strong, and a bloody tang spread with every chew. He could not simply swallow it; the flesh was tough, resisting his teeth. Still, it was edible—he had eaten venison far more pungent than this. Preferring not to dwell on what the cabin had held, he concentrated on the taste instead and accepted the next piece Erika cut for him.