"At least the ponies survived, even if we spent half the day chasing them."
Dzhino laughed at Garzog's comment. Compared to the priests under the mountains, this one laughed more, smiled occassionally and hit considerably less often. "Next time we lose them, I will look after dark. They like standing by trees then."
Dzhino gazed to the city walls, fading pink western sky sihlouting crenellations and scattered towers. His first surface city, after the town they passed after dawn, the walls amid night gave it a closed, forbidding aura.
Garzog's chuckle sounded strangely forced this time. "We cannot wait in darkness, despite your advantage in sight amid it." The hand gestured to sinking points of the crescent of Athlan, horns on a distant spur driving into the desert lands.
Behind them, curses filled the air, as Joachim forced along the pack ponies, still skitish after the attack. Dzhino glanced back, still wary of surface animals. Amid the growing shadows, again something moving amid shadows caught his eye. "I know. You wish to leave be among others before the shadow eats your light." Squinting, the young dyermo motioned to the motion. "Scoff no more, (priest). There is my predak."
Dzhino waited several breaths, keeping his eyes upon the ghost following him. In the past, the dead dwarf's spirit managed to evade others noting it when he took his eyes off it.
A deep hum rumbled from his right. "Yes. I see. Interesting." Garzog looked away. "Give him back his freedom, Dzhino. Our gaze chains him there, which is wrong."
Letting his eyes move aside, he noted from their corner a sudden melting of the shade, back into the growing darkness. "Wrong is this one not seeking the Halls of Judgement."
"Or even being able to leave his corpse. It is not (the return to the earth) he seeks, my friend." Dzhino met his eyes. "There is some connection there to you. There must be, for him to leave his remains behind unprotected."
Biting his lip, the younger dwarf felt worries arise. "Could it be the items I scavenged from his body?"
Now Garzog's face became troubled. "Stealing from the dead is a sin, but not one I would think to trigger such. Unless family heirlooms or some powerful magic is among those or involved in his death." Left hand motioning for silence, he turned to the closed gates to the town, entering a short stretch where lanterns and torches lined the bridge across the town's outer fosse.
Unsure hands on the reins led his pony into an awkward dance instead of Garzog's smooth halt amid the painful light. The dyermo cursed softly, wishing now he'd taken chances above ground years before.
"Stay still, lest you wish eating an arrow, travelers." Creaking wood warned them the threat held no bluff. Not that his pony understood the danger.
"You want me still, you talk to this (curse'd) beast!" Dzhino vented his frustration without thought.
"Perhaps you should have stayed in your cave, then, pumillo!" A lighter voice, off to the side, cut his composure further.
Even in his sheltered life, the young dyermo recognized the voice as one of the wood folk, those with the pointed ears and green blood. "Lyeshi, nothing but hate and derision!"
"Hold your tongue, malchik!" More hiss than grumble, the words stung Dzhino hard. "Travelers waylaid by Korshun vAdz call the gate open!" Now the gravel voice rose to carry. "Forgive our skittish mounts and young friend, for we all bear wounds from the demons of the Shadow's passage!"
Racing heart twisted his perception of the pause following, even as the pony at last stood calmly for him. Hands of candles burned down by that reckoning, broken finally with wood releasing its strain, as the alf lowered his bow, no longer targeting Dzhino's head.
Manners his mother taught him kicked in. "My thanks, good alf. Spacebo!" The pony danced a bit, favoring an injured rear leg, which led to Dzhino landing upon the cobblestones.
Above, few laughed. Only the young or those who knew the pain themselves. "I will meet you after you are inside. How many in your group?
Noting Garzog sagging in the saddle, Dzhino rose slowly, taking over the negotiations. "Myself, the (runepriest) here, and one other still bringing up the pack beasts." Looking back, he noted Joachim's approach. "My friends are Garzog ot Gorya and Joachim ot Choelm."
To Dzhino's surprise, the alf used a rope to slide down outside the wall instead of stairs he assumed to be within. "Garz! Jakin! Ave, commites!" Once feet reached ground, the alf barked orders upwards. "Open those gates fast! And send for the Dux! Tell him they made it finally!"
Deep olive tinted hand appeared to aid the dyermo up. "Sorry. Rough times, with the Shadow approaching. We suffered a few attacks ourselves already." Grasping Dzhino's arm with a gentle grip, the alf lifted him up. "Ave, master dyermo. Any who rides with these two friends cannot be ill-omened."
Looking up into eyes more cat than man, the earthy color glittering a bit, Dzhino found himself liking this alf. "Spasebo. For not laughing."
"Those who laughed the loudest know your pains." Those eyes took in the bandages he wore. "Some younger homani did laugh from arrogance, though. I will speak with them later. Sharply."
Dzhino noted several wounds on that arm, very much like those Garzog and he bore. "No need. The unblooded think they are perfect warriors, until they suffer themselves." A nod towards the crescent of Athalan was all he needed to convey his own fears. "Soon enough, all may taste battle and its bitter fruit."
A warm smile creased the face now. "I like your attitude, dyermo. It is refreshing to meet one of your folk who holds manners above pride." The hand sought an unhurt place on his forearm to grip firmly. "I am Quintus Varus Billenius Orestes. Perhaps we can become friends?"
Dzhino smiled, releived to meet a decent sort of alf who thought before shooting, proving the tales of the elders wrong yet again. "I would be honored." Motions to the side caught his eyes, and the alfs. "That is, if permitted by my first friend."
Inhaling sharply at seeing the predak, the alf's grip released his arm. "Sergie? Ah, I warned you not to return, my friend." Glancing back, he noted a single tear trickling down the alf's face.
"You know this one that haunts me? Garzog said he would need reason to leave his body." He kept his gaze on that face, seeking some clue.
"Sergie Vasilovich. In town they call him Sir Basil. A thief with a sense of honor." Slowly shaking his head, the alf kept his gaze on the ghost. "He returned to the mountains two monsoons ago, to save his family from some attack he was warned of. I tried warning him it was a trap by his enemies."
Two years ago, when all his life began its downward spiral. "Sergei Vasilovich. No family name?"
Billenius turned back to him. "Your people never give a family name to we outside the mountains. Unless you trust us deeply." The pony moved close enough for this one's hand to snag the reins.
Remembering the words of both Garzog and the Starosta before his exile, Dzhino felt anger at that restriction. "Foolish tradition we have." Looking at the alf, teeth bared in hurt over something making a connection at last. "He told you, though?"
Moving now towards the gate, the alf no longer met his eyes. "Yes. We were friends, despite his profession, despite my duty to capture him."
"Tsyepochka." Even though this person was not of the hills, he sensed the honor in him. Honor his own elders lacked. "As am I. He would have been too late. Our mother was already dead by then." He followed silently for a while, as the alf led his pony, and others came out to aid the others rapidly inside. "Dzhino Vasilovich Tsyepochka." A whisper as he reached the alf inside the gate. "Though I prefer the name they called me as a boy."
The alf smiled. "I, as well. Call me Bill."
"Solntsye Chort." Dzhino held out his left hand, the one he used for weapons.
The alf laughed, not at him, but what was said. "Yes, those from the Last Mountains would fear a sun-haired devil. Perhaps we can work that name a bit for you to use safely." Mirth left his face, as the ghost arrived beside them. "Or better we don't. Part of the leaving of a name is to leave no trail for enemies to trace." His own left hand took Dzhino's firmly for a moment, then gestured to a nearby stable. "I have a bit of a reputation for jokes and trouble, my new friend. Let us retire aside a moment to stable your beast, and think up a good story for you to tell others when they press you."
Looking back at his companions, Dzhino felt guilty about how little he told them until now. "Those two deserve the truth."
Billenius chuckled, turning the pony over to a stable hand. "They are my friends as well. As my shift is over in a few fingers of sand, I will help you all work out a solid identity." He walked to the back door. "There is an inn across this alley. Tell them Triconis Medius is meeting you, ask for my table."
Now Dzhino relaxed. One of the few letters his brother snuck past the Starosta over the years mentioned this alf. "Sergei being a bor, that I figured out. Mother practiced that trade, too. But his friend being of the guard, that I never saw coming."
Laughter floated between them. "Oh, I have many friends in strange professions, Dzhino Chort." Walking away softly, he waved Dzhino to the inn. "I shall be down shortly, have Jakin and Garz there with us. I owe them a few tankards of ale. I might even have work for you all, if you need it."
"Any job accepted, as Mat used to say." Looking hard at his brother's shade, Dzhino's eyes narrowed.
"As long as we do so cautiously, unlike a certain rash relative must have." The shade faded at that comment. One their mother often tossed out, staring hard at Sergei, while ruffling Dzhino's hair.
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