Chapter 6

A monstrous roar vibrated through the valleys, shaking small stones from the cliffs above. The stones fell like rain, bouncing off the heads and shoulders of the dwarves. The convoy halted and every dwarf stared into the dark twisting valley ahead. Hidden around the corner was an unkept man with frenzied eyes. Around his neck rested a curled bronze horn. The man's yellow and crooked teeth bit deep into his hand, saliva oozed out from his throat and dribbled down his fingers, eventually dripping onto the dry earth below. It seemed as if he was dining on the most succulent steak, rather than an unwashed and filthy hand. 

The deranged man waited excitedly, gleefully listening out for the sound of frantic footsteps and chaotic shout. After several seconds he frowned. His mind seemed unable to fathom any other sequence of events other than the dwarves running away in fright. He glanced at the bronze horn. A ring of spit around the narrowest section confirmed that he had indeed blown it. He wondered if perhaps he should blow it again. Yes, that seemed a good idea, he would blow the horn again, this time with all his strength! 

A soft whooshing noise drifted into the man's ears. He lifted his head to think about what it might be. Then his thinking halted. The fletched shaft of an arrow sank was embedded deep into the side of his head. Grey matter oozed out from the fracture, combining with blood to form a grey-ish red river running down his neck. The man stumbled forwards, his body no longer governed by his now pulverized brain. His knees landed clumsily on the earth and his momentum dragged his upper body forwards. With a thud he came to lay face-first in the dirt. His mouth was fixed in a permanent open o of confusion. 

Kilard lowered his crossbow. He gestured to the dwarves behind him and the convoy began to move once more, The dwarves spat on the corpse as they passed, laughing cruelly and cursing the man's ancestors back to the 7th generation. 

The winged stranger had not lied. Without his warning the dwarves would've walked headfirst into an ambush. Kilard knew that he owed the winged man a great favor. Dwarves were not ones to take favors lightly. The winged man had saved the lives of himself and the entire convoy, Kilard would not hesitate to risk his life if the winged man requested it. 

Kilard remembered the winged man's parting words, "Tread carefully Kilard, son of Idgard. You shall see my sincerity with your own eyes. I will wait for you at the valley's end, I hope that there we may speak further." 

Although he did not know what the winged man's goal was, he felt firmly in his chest that he would not bring them any harm. The wind stirred up by the passing carriage's tickled Kilard's bald head as he stood still in the center of the path. No one complained as they detoured around him. The interaction between Kilard and the winged man was still fresh in their minds, their respect for the old dwarf had grown even fiercer, bordering on worship. 

Kilard stepped onto a wagon as it passed, knocking thrice on the door, each knock separated by precisely 3 and a half heart beats. Behind the door a dwarf could be heard unlocking a series of mechanisms. Then with a mechanical hiss the door swung open and Kilard stepped into the carriage. The door shut swiftly behind him. 

The seemingly simple wagons were in fact prime examples of clever dwarven engineering. Each one was plated with nearly an inch of iron cladding. If not for the unfortunate matter of the added weight, Kilard would've liked to have added several more layers until the wagon became a moving fortress. 

In the carriage an extremely old dwarf rested on a soft pillow, he had lived through 172 years and seen the rise and fall of dozens of human kings and queens. The typical boisterous dwarven temperament had faded from the elder dwarf. He exuded a quiet sense of tranquility and the corners of his lips seemed to be permanently lifted into a gentle smile. 

The elder dwarf was first to speak, "So that winged pup spoke the truth?" 

Kilard nodded solemnly, "Yes, I killed the horn-blower myself."

He paused for a moment and then continued, "And the scouts reported several human sightings on the other path. The faces of the bandits match those of the vanished merchant group." 

The elder dwarf sighed lightly and shook his head, the gentle smile never leaving his lips, "Greed, such an ugly emotion." 

Looking directly into Kilard's eyes the elder dwarf spoke slowly, "The pup said that he would meet us at the valley's end. I believe that he wishes to obtain something from us, perhaps goods perhaps knowledge." 

The elder dwarf's eyes were like whirlpools sucking Kilard in, his usual fearless aura faltered in front of the dwarf's unwavering stare, "Then-what, I-" He thumped his chest with his fist, forcing himself to speak clearly, "What would you have me to elder Lingon?" 

Elder Lingon looked at the nervous dwarf and reminisced the days where he had stood in those same shoes. Then he patted Kilard's hand twice and said cheerfully, "Well you should give him whatever he wants of course! He doesn't strike me as human coin-grubber, I doubt he has any interest in the weapons we're carrying." 

Stroking his chin, which was completely and utterly hidden beneath a beard that was so long it would've caught underneath his feet had he not been sat down, elder Lingon thought aloud, "No he won't want weapons, that'd be much too dull. So what is it that the pup seeks? Perhaps he covets the pendant, no, no, no, he doesn't seem like one caught up in all that magical mumbo-jumbo." 

Kilard stood helplessly as the elder dwarf engaged in a fast-paced conversation where he was both the speaker and the replier. Points would be raised and then swiftly shut down, often involving insults and long ancient curse words that could only be heard from the lips of extremely old dwarves. 

After a quarter of an hour of intense debate, the elder dwarf grumbled reluctantly, "Too much mystery, not enough information! You must wake me when we get to the valley's end, I wish to see this pup with my own eyes!" 

Kilard suppressed his urge to chuckle and said seriously, "Of course elder Lingon, the journey should take no more than 3 moons." 

The elder dwarf nodded contently, "Very good, very good. Thank you Kilard, please close your door on the way out, I wish to sleep." 

Kilard grunted affirmatively and turned to open the door. His movements froze suddenly as he saw the intricate array of bolts, locks and unknown mechanisms that had sprung back into a locked state. The dwarves had a natural affinity with metals and forgery. Kilard was a master blacksmith, renowned for his expertise in all manner of weapons, but when faced with the locks and mechanisms designed by an elder dwarf he was as helpless as a child.

Elder Lingon slapped his forehead, "Silly me, silly me!" 

Kilard watched the elder dwarf shuffle across the floor on his cushion. Then in a blur of rapid hand movements the locks and mechanisms fell open one by one, seemingly as if they had been waiting eagerly to do so the entire time. 

Blocked by the elder dwarf's broad robe, Kilard couldn't see the mischievous and pleased expression on Lingon's face. How could a wise and cunning elder dwarf forget to undo the locks and mechanisms he had set? Teasing his younger kin was one of elder Lingon's greatest joys, he made sure never to waste an opportunity to demonstrate his prowess.