16 - Bravery doesn’t depend on height, part 1
(this fragment of my story is dated approximately 1 year prior to current Bar-en-Acharn's doings and adventures)
The ashes of the campfire were cold. Nevertheless, the camp looked like quite recent thing. Kor was no great expert on tracking, but could read that at least dozen persons were here. And according to the carelessness and mess it seemed like the half-orcs.
Kor spitted on ground. So they returned. Their employer needed another message. But more important, Kor needed a message about the employer.
Nevermind. He finished his contemplating and clenched his fingers around Urcarag’s hilt.
It was easy to find the careless bastards. The tracks lead to the old ruins of Pembar. Though mostly destroyed, were still reflecting its former glamour and glory. The white stone shone afar, the golden inlays on the plaster was not all covered by ivy and moss.
Now presence of the half-men was spoiling it. But amendment was a matter of minutes. The sword and spear sang again, deadly and without remorse.
Plusheila pointed to the crumbling towers.
Were they admiring the elf-craft or learning from it? Kor had lip-read her.
“I wish,” he shrugged.
Alas, half-orcs bore no written mark of their dependency on anyone.
The late afternoon was suggesting them to start looking for a place to camp. They could just settle anywhere in near and far vicinity, because their several days’ effort of exterminating all threats has made the surrounding landscape safe.
But Plusheila pointed south. Isn’t there an elf-settlement, where we’ve been before? Echad…
Kor nodded and accepted her idea. They both had the mood to spend next night in some company.
The road went straight and the camp was supposed only one hour of serene trot. Sunset was to be expected only after three more hours.
After some time on the road, Plusheila, who accidentally was ahead a few horse-lengths, raised hand and gestured Kor to stop.
Voices.
Kor heard it too. But it was a different language and tone than expected here. They slowly went the to direction of the noise. The sparse trees were offering good hiding but were hindering the view same way.
Suddenly the voices turned to singing. Surprised, Kor recognized familiar song he heard long, long before:
“Oi ye, youngly sturdy oak
stands on mountain side
Still my axe will bring it down
with a single smite.
Maybe second, maybe third,
fourth or fifth smite rather,
It will surely bring it down
like booze did my father.”
Plusheila looked at Kor. Dwarves!
“We don’t need to worry.”
The pair came out of hiding among the trees and directed their way to the voices, purposely aloud so they could be clearly spotted and recognized.
More than dozen of small sturdy wagons were slowly bumping on the road, pulled by ponies. A large crowd of armed dwarves with were walking by them. Their fully packed backpacks looked mostly like they’d burst.
“By Durin’s chestplate! Isn’t this the fake dwarf from Gondamon? I told ya already, you’re transparent from first moment – much too tall and your beard isn’t worth mentioning!“
Kor focused his eyes on the speaker and his lips widened smiling.
“And isn’t it the shortest and chattiest khuzd in whole Eriador?“
He dismounted from Brownie and stepped forward to greet.
“Thálfi, what a surprise.”
Thálfi embraced him with iron clinch. But immediately looked around, looking for Kor’s inseparable companion.
“It is nice to see you, Kor, but you understand that my eyes are more pleased to sight this lovely maid.” Thálfi bowed before Plusheila and then embraced her too. She blushed and then hit Thálfi with fist on his chest in a friendly poke.
Then he turned to his company. The caravan had already stopped, the crowd began to gather.
“Lads, aye, if you don’t know yet the hero of Gondamon, you have the opportunity to meet him in flesh now. This is Kortheod, the bane of goblins.”
At first moment, Kor wanted to bring down those overstated words, but then he rather stayed silent and just greeted the dwarves with a nod.
“So, you truly started the expedition I have heard of?”
“Aye, friend.“
Two important looking fellows made their way through the crowd and stood before them.
“Kor, please meet Bósi and Brogur,” he pointed to them, respectively.
“At your service, and your families,” followed Kor good manners.
Brogur measured him with his one eye and stated: “Well, I say you look like a fighter.”
Bósi, a bit taller than the other one, reached hand in men’s common.
“My pleasure, Kortheod. And you, my lady. If you are in no rush, please let us share a mug of beer at the campfire. We were deciding to stop for the night in a short while.”
So the pair spent the evening not among elves but in dwarf company. They spoke, sang and drank.
Of course, many topics were discussed.
“I cannot speak much of my current mission,” said Kor. “Only you can be sure now that paths around should be clear of enemies.”
“Ooh, a mysterious man,” smirked Bróin, Brogur’s son. Kor returned him grin.
“Well, our task is obvious, though difficult. We come to reclaim what once belonged to our kin,” added Bróin.
Bósi knew that even though their caravan consists of about hundred experienced soldiers and craftsmen, every support is good.
“Join us, Kortheod. At least for a while. I bet you never saw the Doors of Durin,” he tried.
Kor wasn’t thinking long. Once you are friend with the dwarves, their hospitality is fantastic.
“Gladly. I am looking forward for such a sight.”
