Элейн Каннингем - Silver Shadows

The establishment he sought, unaccountably named the Smiling Smithy, was the sort of shabby place that replaced cast-off horseshoes and reattached the broken prongs of pitchforks. The sole proprietor and craftsperson did not exactly meet the expectations suggested by the sign outside her shop. Melissa Miningshaft was a short, squat woman singularly lacking in either physical beauty or social graces. She was half-dwarven, or perhaps a quarter-breed, yet she was nearly as stout and heavily muscled as any full-blooded dwarven smith. Her features brought to mind a dried apple, her graying brown hair was scraped back into a tight bun, and to call the lumpy, ample form that strained the seams of her brown linsey gown “shapeless” would be erring on the side of compassion.

At the moment, the smithy’s thick and sculpted arms were bared to the elbows and glowing red from the warmth of the forge and from the effort of pumping the bellows which fanned and coaxed the blazing fire.

Melissa glanced up when Hasheth entered, scanned him quickly from head to foot, and then harumphed.

“I would like to trade some coin,” he said, placing a leather bag on a stout trestle table that held some of her tongs and hammers.

“Fer what?” she demanded gruffly. “Yer horse throw a shoe?”

Hasheth had expected this response. Melissa was extremely particular about those to whom she sold her finer skills. The dwarf woman was capable of making shrewd, clandestine deals and forging incredibly accurate counterfeit coin molds, but if this were to become widely known, she’d be forced to spend too much time and effort guarding the wealth hidden in the walls and cellars of her humble shop and home.

But Hasheth had credentials of a sort. He pulled his sand-hue sash from its hiding place in his sleeve and placed it beside the bag of coins.

“I wish to trade standard Amn danters for other coins,” he said. “And nothing so common as gulders or moleans. I will pay twice the trade weight for any coin you possess that bears the mark of the Knights of the Shield.”

Melissa let loose a burst of sardonic laughter in much the same way that an irascible dragon might blow forth a puff of smoke. “Yer actually looking for the Knights? Poor sod! I give you three days afore they come looking for you. ”

Actually, Hasheth was rather hoping to make contact before nightfall. “Have you any such coin?”

“A couple,” she admitted, squinting at the young man as she weighed and measured the worth of his personal metal. “But that’ll cost you four times trade weight.”

“I said two; that is more than fair.”

“Fair? That ring on yer little finger’s worth more Amn danters than you could stuff in yonder coin bag, and me living here in this sorry excuse for a shack. You call that fair? Three times trade weight.”

“Two and a half.”

“Done,” she said and spat into the fire. Hasheth was not certain whether this gesture was meant to punctuate the closure of their deal or to show contempt, but he was willing to let it pass.

Melissa pushed past him and disappeared into a back room. She returned promptly and tossed two large gold coins on the table. “Yer in luck. I was gonna melt these down for moleans come morning.”

Hasheth picked up the first coin and examined the markings. It was definitely a Knight’s coin, but he could not place it to any particular individual. The second coin yielded a bit more information.

“These will do. You’ll find slightly more than two and a half times the trade weight in that bag.”

The coin broker dumped Hasheth’s danters onto the table and counted them twice, then nodded. “Good to do business with you, boy, but truth be told, I don’t expect to again. Baby assassin or no, you might as well stuff a fireball in yer pants as travel with them coins in yer pockets. You won’t be coming back.”

“I thank you for your concern,” he said coldly. “I’ll be certain to mention you, should anyone give me trouble about these coins.”

Melissa snorted, for the young man’s threatening retort was no more than bluster, and they both knew it. The smithy had clients who held an interest in protecting her privacy. Anyone who attempted to betray her was likely to become a notch on an assassin’s blade, or to be discovered with large gold coins, very much like the ones Hasheth had slipped into his bag, weighing down his eyelids.

Hasheth left the smithy, reclaimed his horse, and set off at a brisk pace for the stables. He would change to a more suitable mount, and then he would pay a visit to the gentleman whose coin he had purchased.

But first, he had to devise some pretense. It would be fairly easy, as Lord Hhune’s apprentice, to be granted an audience. But first, Hasheth wanted to figure out some way to insinuate himself into the society of the Knights, something that would buy him membership into this exclusive and powerful group.

The Harpers were all fine and well, and they seemed to come up with coin when they required it, but from what Hasheth had observed, most of their agents were not concerned with amassing personal wealth or power. All told, the Knights of the Shield was a society far more suited to his ambitions. Hasheth was determined to find a way in, and he would count the cost—whatever it might be—a bargain.

Nearly two days passed. The forest elves seemed quietly impressed with Kendel Leafbower, for the moon elf had picked up considerable skill at woods lore during his four centuries of life. He walked nearly as silently as a forest elf, and he hunted game for the small group while the others stayed at their camp to guard their moon-elven battle leader.

Jill spent much of the time teasing Ferret, much to the amusement of Arilyn and Foxfire. It quickly became apparent to everyone but Ferret that the dwarf was flirting outrageously with her. As she watched Jill’s avid pursuit of the elf woman, Arilyn was reminded of a question that often occurred to her when she saw a farm dog chasing a horse-drawn cart: what would he do if, by chance, he succeeded in catching it?

She read in Foxfire’s twinkling eyes thoughts similar to her own. And behind the laughter in his eyes lurked the memories of their own times together. This made the course before Arilyn even more difficult, yet it steeled her resolution to follow it. Foxfire was dear to her; she would do what she must for him and the People.

And so, as soon as Arilyn felt strong enough to travel, she announced her intention of returning to Zazesspur.

“It was your idea,” she retorted when Foxfire tried to dissuade her. “You brought up the fact that this Bunlap and his men are a matter for the humans to deal with. Let me find out who holds this hound’s leash, and then let the humans take care of their own problems.”

“I’m going with you,” Ferret declared, her black eyes daring the half-elf to argue.

Arilyn didn’t bother to try. For what she had in mind, two people would be needed. And she was certain Ferret would give her enthusiastic support to the plan Arilyn had in mind.

She was going to bring Soora Thea back to the wild elves.

Jill, however, had already divined her purpose. “Yer not thinkin’ to go back into that pink prison, are you? Yer plannin’ on bringin’ out that sleeping elf woman, aren’t you? You are,” he added with disgust. “I kin see it in yer face. Well, I’m not fer goin’ with you.”

“I wouldn’t ask it of you,” Arilyn said gently. “You spent ten years in that palace. That is enough.”

“You think I’m owing you fer springin’ me outta that trap,” the dwarf continued ranting, as if he hadn’t heard a word she said. “You and this scrawny female can’t fight yer way outta there alone, and you can’t be totin’ that liddle sleeping elf woman back to the forest, jest the two of you. Now, I’m not wantin’ to speak for Kendel, here—”