The main hall of the Sva Kihlek barracks was the grandest chamber Zsaaj Veshkar had ever seen in his life. Beautiful steel shields engraved with the Sharpwing clan insignia --two draconic wings, each enclosing a long, slender dragon figure, with a red gemstone between them-- and with Vasara's coat of arms --two dragon heads overlooking a shield clad in black wings and blue and gold mantling and displaying a lone castle enshrouded in black night-- hanged from the sturdy stone walls, columns adorned with winding dragon tails rose to a high, vaulted ceiling decorated with exquisite gold and silver ornaments, elegant bookshelves lined parts of the walls, a heavily ornate gold and blue carpet was neatly placed in the middle of the room, and a single, vast chandelier made of solid gold hanged from the cupola and cast amber light across the entire room. Even the stone doors were adorned finely.
At the center of the carpet stood an oak table which must have been unimaginably expensive, Zsaaj thought from the skillful craftsmanship it showed and from the fact that the wood had obviously been imported from the forest K'zirmyjg to the south. Behind the table from Zsaaj's position stood seven men, all clad in the finest draconic armor and wearing faces proud with decades' worth of experience. The young dragonborn immediately recognized Alek Alioth, the head of the military forces of the kingdom of Vasara, as the one standing at the center. The man's face was still young for someone occupying such a position: the eyes were vigorous, the face was marked only by scars of war, the posture was impeccable. That Alek, a human, had risen so quickly to the highest military rank of the dragonborn spoke loudly of his great intelligence and dexterity. Some said he spoke directly with Bahamut, though most did not believe such things and some even claimed the god had forsaken the world of mortals after the great war which had ended the ancient dragonborn empire of Arkhosia.
At Alek's sides stood a dragonborn and a dwarf, and next to them were an eladrin, a shifter, a deva and another dragonborn. Zsaaj knew none of them, but their uniforms betrayed high ranks. He bowed his head as a sign of respect before looking at Alek.
"Do you know why you have been brought here, young paladin?" the human asked in slightly accented draconic.
"No, sir," Zsaaj admitted.
"You passed your final exam with honors. I am proud to bestow upon you the title of Honorable Paladin of Vasara. Godspeed, Zsaaj Sharpwing."
"Thank you, sir." This was the best news the dragonborn could have hoped to hear. It was what he had worked so hard for during seven long and tough years; it was the beginning of the realization of his sole objective in life.
"Zsaaj, you have skill rarely seen in an apprentice. If you continue the path you have begun walking, soon enough your actions will echo far and wide." A smile was visible upon his countenance, the smile of someone who was proud, satisfied, content. Even Alek's hard features seemed to soften.
Thankful, Zsaaj bowed his head again before leaving the vast chamber. He made for his quarters with his head high and a gleam of vigor in his crimson eyes. He could hardly be happier; this was the single moment he had so long dreamt of. A fire burned inside him, a warm, fortifying fire. He had turned all his dreams true through hard, diligent, honest work. He passed stone hallways lined with more shields, though lesser in size and ornateness than the ones in the main hall. Between each pair of shields was either a small carpet hung from the wall or a lit candle rising from the floor, and a simple blue carpet ran across each hall, muffling his proud footsteps. The government of Sva Kihlek clearly made no attempt to hide the grandeur and glory the dragonborn still retained despite the great blunder than had been the ancient war between Arkhosia and Bael Turath.
Billy Yin, a halfling friend of Zsaaj's, was sitting on the paladin's bed and examining a metallic object, probably one he had stolen that morning from somewhere Zsaaj didn't want to know about. "Get down," the dragonborn hissed as soon as he saw him, "before you get us both into trouble! Has anybody seen you?" He was too happy to get angry, but he also knew when to be cautious.
Billy's friendship with Zsaaj had started as strangely as any event in which the halfling was involved and had continued in this vein for the six years it had lasted. Billy was a thief, yet his life story, or perhaps the way he told it, had stirred something in Zsaaj six years ago and made him decide not to give the little man away to the authorities. How Billy had arrived at Vasara and learned draconic was not clear, but it --and Billy's induction into thievery-- had had a lot to do with his father's absolute lack of skill at bakery, the only thing he claimed to know how to do; Billy had been forced to steal food from others in order to survive, since his father barely sold a single loaf of bread a week, and had then found that he liked the thrill of a thief's life. Over time, he and Zsaaj had grown fond of each other, living in the latter's quarters under the agreement that Billy would not touch Zsaaj's things and Zsaaj, in return, would not betray him to the guards. Reluctantly, the dragonborn had watched as the city filled with ads and pamphlets showing crude drawings of Billy and offering ever-greater rewards for his capture; the halfling rogue had become the most wanted criminal in Sva Kihlek in only half a decade, and Zsaaj had become increasingly nervous about the whole issue. Only Billy's impressive skill at slipping away from the authorities comforted him, and Billy paid his friendship and loyalty by bringing him books --stolen, of course, but Zsaaj truly believed they would one day be returned-- from the library. In this way, Zsaaj made up for not being able to leave the barracks for days on end due to his training. Eventually he learned to speak dwarven, then elven, then giant and finally goblin, all from reading foreign-language books he had never seen in his own hometown of Veditoa Qumado to the far north.
"Nah," the thief responded in his usual carefree tone of voice, "i've been in here all day. What's up?"
"You were right," the dragonborn answered, light shining both in his eyes and in his voice as he walked inside and closed the door. "They summoned me to pronounce me paladin."
The halfling jumped on the bed. "Yay! So what now? Will they let you stay here or will they send you away?"
"Get down!" As the little man did so, the dragonborn examined his plate armor. His father, a respected --but by no means famous-- blacksmith, had forged it for him upon his departure for Vasara's capital to become a paladin. Along with the armor had come a shield, a bastard sword and a flail, all beautifully crafted and engraved with Zsaaj's family name. "I suppose so, but i intend to visit my father in Veditoa Qumado. It has been seven years, you know."
"Today?" Billy asked, raising his left eyebrow.
"Unlikely. But as soon as possible. I must ask for permission to leave."
A light knock on the heavy stone door startled both of them. It was not very common for a paladin in training to receive visits. Wondering who it was, Zsaaj opened the door and found Alek himself standing there.
"Sir! I did not expect to see you." In the back of his mind, he desperately hoped Billy was not in sight. The halfling, as it turned out, had hidden under Zsaaj's bed unseen.
"May i come in?" Alek asked politely, his voice always a firm, noble one.
"By all means, sir," Zsaaj answered, stepping back inside and allowing the human to enter the bedroom. Alek sat on the bed, and Zsaaj took the chair which stood before the desk he used to read and write things. He met Alek's gaze, waiting for the man to speak.
"The reason for my visit is a somewhat pressing matter," the respected warrior explained. "An urgent letter has arrived from Nidavellier. Being that the dwarf king trusts Vasara fully and knows of its fine military tradition, he has summoned a dragonborn warrior to his chambers; apparently, some sort of trouble has stirred in dwarven lands. Do you know whom i have chosen for such a task?"
Zsaaj figured it must be himself; otherwise, why would Alek have come personally to his quarters and told him this? "Me, sir?" His voice was hopeful, eager. He longed to bring honor to his family, his clan and his kingdom through great actions.
"Indeed." His superior's voice betrayed satisfaction, fuelling the dragonborn's joy. His heart raced; he had always longed to visit the great dwarven kingdom under the mountains south of Vasara. "You will prepare and leave as soon as possible. The dwarf king has requested that our warrior be sent immediately. May the grace of Io accompany you, and may you bring great honor to your kind and clan." As the man stood up, Zsaaj heard a bump against his bed. He cursed Billy in his mind. "Did you hear that?" Alek inquired, his face suddenly becoming serious.
"Hear what, sir?" Zsaaj asked innocently, desperately hoping Alek would not press the matter.
"Hmm. Maybe it was nothing. Fare you well, then. I have great faith in you, Zsaaj." The human stood, walked out of the room and closed the door behind him.
"You idiot, you almost gave yourself away!" the paladin snapped, battling to control his voice and avoid shouting. "Get out of there!" Billy did so in silence for once, sensing that he had just ruined his friend's previously perfect mood. Disappointed for not being able to return to his hometown in the north, the dragonborn began packing some clothes and got dressed in his armor. As he sheathed his weapons, Billy packed his own things quietly, earning a curious stare from his friend which then became a sort of grin. "Are you coming?"
"You seriously don't know the answer to that?"
Zsaaj quickly wrote a letter to his father communicating him his achievement and apologizing for not being able to return home as soon as he had hoped to. After they had both finished, Billy hid between the dragonborn's armor's backplate and his shield, which he always carried on his back when he was not using it. Zsaaj then left the room, locked the door and dropped the letter off with the courier.
The lower level of the barracks had wider hallways and larger columns. These were less adorned than those in upper floors, and so were the walls, though they were still magnificent. The vast foyer sported a shiny marble floor and thick stone columns carved with simple ornaments honoring the god Io and with vertical lines which went up all the way to the vault, which itself was adorned expensively in comparison to anything Zsaaj had seen outside of Sva Kihlek but not nearly as much as the vaults in higher levels of the fortress. Tall windows allowed golden, almost horizontal sunlight into the building, illuminating desks and tables with the color of fire. It was early spring in the far-northern dragonborn kingdom, and another six-month cycle of constant daylight was just beginning.
As numerous dragonborn, a few of them known to Zsaaj, made their ways across the entrance and out of the building or into the corridors which led to the various sections of the barracks, sending echoes down the foyer with every step, the young paladin marched outside, passing the colossal twenty-foot-tall statue of Alek which stood a few dozen meters from the outer doorway on the way. Before exiting the building, he turned and looked back inside for several seconds. Then he finally walked out into the frozen plains on which most of Vasara stood.
Outside it was cold, as always at those latitudes, though not nearly as much as Zsaaj, a northerner even for a dragonborn, was accustomed to. Even now, in early spring, small patches of grass dotted the cobbled streets of the town square, something never seen in Zsaaj's hometown. It was just after noon when the paladin walked out of the barracks and looked around for a caravan he could join. The entire city was drenched in orange and yellow and red, the feeble sun rising from behind the mountains after half a year of absence. Entire walls of some of Sva Kihlek's imposing central buildings were covered with "wanted" signs, each offering a hefty reward for Billy's head. It was fortunate that the halfling fit, even if uncomfortably, between Zsaaj's plate and shield; though dragonborn were usually reserved people, more than one would surely go out of their way to try to acquire such a tempting sum as was being offered if they saw the halfling walking in the streets. Zsaaj hastened his search.
Sva Kihlek was enormous. Like all other cities in Vasara, it was made entirely of dark stone, since Vasara had no woodlands and the closest source of wood, K'zirmyjg Forest, was hundreds of kilometers to the south. The entire kingdom was a land of continuous white and grey dotted with colorful individuals and banners and, in summertime, quite a bit of green.
Zsaaj finally spotted someone setting up a horse-drawn wagon near a butchery. He approached the owner of the wagon, a male dragonborn of the Sharpwing clan like most of Vasara's population. The traveller was well built, strong, resistant; his eyes were dark, deep and serious, giving him a concentrated look. He was tying a couple of bags which smelled strongly of meat, probably bought only moments ago at the butchery. The bags also smelled of salt, telling Zsaaj that this man's journey would probably be a long one.
"Good afternoon," he greeted the man cordially. "I see you are about to leave town. Where to, if i may ask?"
"East," the man replied in a slightly less educated voice. "All the way to the coast. I must bring more fish for Rhogar there." He waved vaguely in a direction Zsaaj didn't quite catch.
The paladin assumed Rhogar was a fish vendor and this person was his provider; at any rate, he did not care to find out whether he was right in making this assumption. "I gather you will not pass through Skypeak, then, will you?" he inquired, slightly disappointed. Zsaaj was eager to fulfill the dwarf king's wishes to see him and therefore slightly impatient.
"I just might. Why?"
The answer came as a surprise -- the town of Skypeak lay about a hundred miles to the southeast, well out of the traveller's route, which would take him almost two hundred and fifty miles eastward. "I am heading there but lack a means of transportation," he explained. "May i come along with you? Having no money on myself at the moment, i would have no way to repay you, i'm afraid."
The traveller thought about it for a while, taking a good look at the paladin. "Sure, i suppose," he allowed eventually, likely upon figuring Zsaaj would be able to protect him should the need arise. Not that any dragonborn-ruled territory had many criminals of any sort, but wild animals did constitute a frequent threat to unprepared travellers. "I could use the company. And do not worry about repaying me; it's a pleasure to help a dragonborn in need."
"May you find Bahamut's grace always for your kindness." He helped the traveller finish loading up his wagon. "My name is Zsaaj. What is yours?"
"Bharash, fisherman and trader. Say, you must be a paladin, since you talk like that. Nice to meet you."
Once the wagon had been steadfastly tied to Bharash's young, vigorous horses, the two dragonborn climbed onto it. As they did, a halfling leg stuck out from under Zsaaj's shield and an uncomfortable grunt came from the same direction.
"Er, you are aware that your shield has grown legs, aren't you?" Bharash started, his voice somewhat confused and startled.
Embarrassed, Zsaaj pulled Billy out and grabbed him by one leg. "This is my friend. Do you mind if he comes along?"
"Not really," the fisherman shrugged. "Hello, halfling." It was a good thing that he was in a fine mood.
"Hello!" Billy acknowledged in a bright voice despite the fact that he was hanging upside-down from Zsaaj's firm grasp on his ankle. "I just woke up. It's really comfortable in there, believe it or not."
"Really?!" Bharash cried, slightly astonished. Zsaaj merely shook his head and rolled his eyes.
"Yep," Billy confirmed. "So are we going anywhere?"
"Your friend and i were just talking about the possibility of driving to Skypeak, as a matter of fact. I still can't believe it's comfortable in there, by the way."
"It's not," Zsaaj intervened gruffly. Neither of the others said anything.
They left town about two hours after Zsaaj had walked up to Bharash and drove across the harsh, flat plains of Vasara. The snow was slowly beginning to melt under the rising sun, though the air was still cold with winter's cruel bite. Dragonborn were naturally resistant to this sort of weather thanks to their thick scales, but Billy complained throughout the journey that his hands and feet were freezing and that at that rate eventually even his mouth would freeze shut, an idea Zsaaj did not find displeasing. Small shrubs were starting to thaw, and a few blades of grass rose defiantly from the blazing white, once more a reminder of life's resilience and determination even in the most unforgiving conditions imaginable -- it was only farther north, closer to where Zsaaj had been born, that not even high summer was free of snow and the silence of barely inhabited land. Pulled by two strong horses, the wagon sped across the wasteland, the occasional cracking sound of brittle grass blades breaking under its wheels drowned by the constant noise of Bharash's things bumping against each other with the movement. The pounding of hooves was here turned into the soft sound of steps on deep snow. Throughout their journey, the mountains under which the dwarves lived marked the horizon to their right while in every other direction all was relatively flat and clear, broken only by black rocks rising up like spires amidst the misty air. The sky was dark blue to the north and bluish yellow to the south, where the sun was. Visibility was good, and the party travelled onward at a roughly constant speed of about thirty kilometers per hour, two straight lines forming at the wake of the wagon's wheels.
Skypeak was a small dragonborn town which bordered Nidavellier and, as such, contained a dwarf population almost as large as its dragonborn population. Other races were also more common than in larger, more central vasaran cities, though by far the most common were those two. Located on top of a small rock promontory at the base of the dwarven mountains and reachable only by air or across a narrow natural bridge connecting it with a neighboring promontory with gentler slopes, it was little more than a couple of inns and businesses enclosed in a fortified stone wall, a military outpost of olden times turned village. Vasara had long been at peace with Nidavellier, and generations after generations of dragonborn and dwarven kings and queens had cordially acknowledged each other as friends. Skypeak was, therefore, the easiest way into the ragged terrain Nidavellier consisted almost entirely of. That was why Zsaaj was headed there.
About halfway towards the village, one of the wagon's wheels passed over a large, sharp stone and broke in two. The unstabilized vehicle skidded on the snow and sent the horses into a frenzy, each attempting to run in a different direction but finding itself linked to the other horse via the wagon. "Gah, bad luck," Bharash grumbled, getting down to look at the damage. "Split the wheel in two, that rock did."
"Do you have a spare?" Zsaaj asked, worrying they might be delayed for a long time as he joined the trader. The snow felt soft under his feet, indicating that it was still deep, though not so deep that riding became impossible.
"No," Bharash answered grimly.
"No matter," Billy interrupted, cheerful as ever. "We'll fix it."
"With what?"
"Er..." Billy looked around.
"We can break off two planks from the wagon," Zsaaj proposed, "and use them to keep the two halves of the wheel together. Do you have nails?"
"Think i do," Bharash muttered between his teeth, turning to the back of the wagon to fetch them. "Let's do that. And we might as well eat before we take leave again." He found the nails and a hammer and showed them to his two companions as they began preparing a meal.
Though crude, Zsaaj's idea appeared to be all they could do. At any rate, it worked and soon the three travellers were on their way, their stomachs full and their spirits again high. But the axle, deprived of the sturdy support provided by unbroken wheels, split in two at the first small bump, forcing them to stop once more. As before, Bharash emerged from the driver's seat and examined the problem.
"Help me unload your belongings," Zsaaj ordered the fisherman, who complied as Billy helped with what he could. When everything lay on the snowy plains, the two dragonborn untied the horses, calmed them down so they would not run away, and turned the wagon over. Zsaaj, who was gradually growing desperate, placed his sword, sheathed, over the wooden shaft that was the axle, and Billy cut a few dozen centimeters of the rope they used for the horses and tied a strong knot to keep the two halves of the shaft and his companion's sword joined in a line as straight as possible. "That'll hold until we arrive at Skypeak," the halfling announced. "We should be able to find someone to repair it there."
Bharash thanked him and also commended him on how well he spoke draconic despite the foreign accent, and once again they were on their way. Soon the outer wall of Skypeak was visible ahead. The mountains now rose imposingly just beyond the town, indicating the boundary between the two great kingdoms. Although it was now near midnight, the sun had barely moved vertically, instead describing a low semicircle in the sky.
"I'll ask in that tavern," Zsaaj announced, pointing at a modest two-story building with a large sign at the front which read "The Weary Traveller". A common name for taverns in small towns, especially ones near kingdom boundaries, it did not particularly catch the paladin's attention, but it was the first open building the party had come upon in Skypeak. Zsaaj walked inside, the night's silence turning into drunken noise and the sound of plates and glassware as he did, and asked out loud for someone who might be able to repair a broken axle.
His question was heard by several people, but only one of them, a half-elf, was sober enough to answer coherently. "There's a workshop about three blocks from here in that direction--" he pointed "--and two blocks towards the right afterwards, but it's surely closed by now. Everything is closed at this hour. You'll need to wait until the morning."
"Thank you," the dragonborn replied, exiting the tavern. "There's a workshop nearby, but we'll have to wait until tomorrow," he told his travel companions. "Should we spend the night here?"
The other two agreed. They parked the horses and wagon inside the tavern's small, worn-down stable, walked into the Weary Traveller and paid for three meals, three rooms and permission to leave their animals and vehicle in the stable for the night. Bharash paid for all of it, which cost two gold coins. As the two dragonborn ate their rations, Billy excused himself and walked off to the far corner of the building.
Billy had spotted a gnome sitting in a corner of the tavern as he had walked in. He knew these beings usually showed interest in the sort of thing other people rarely did and were always willing to engage in just the sort of shady business he was an expert at. What Zsaaj had thought were Billy's clothes were actually as many weapons as the halfling had been able to fit into his bag that morning, when he and the dragonborn had packed their belongings. Of course, all those weapons were of fine dragonborn craftsmanship and had been stolen during Billy's frequent adventures outside the Sva Kihlek barracks. So much time had passed since he had acquired them that he could no longer remember the individual story behind each of the items, which was a shame because he would have been able to squeeze more money out of them if he had been able to tell exciting tales of peril and risk to the buyer. Still, he had made it his duty to sell as many as he could before he entered dwarven soil, since he had heard of the dwarves' colossal pride and their unwillingness to accept any foreign smith's work as high-quality work.
He approached the gnome in a manner way more carefree than such creatures usually warranted and, as soon as he had the gnome's attention, lowered his backpack and opened it, revealing the shiny blades of the weapons inside it.
"Sit," the gnome commanded in common, gesturing towards the empty chair opposite him at his table. Billy did as told and placed the stolen weapons, one by one, on the table.
"All of these are of the finest quality when it comes to dragonborn weapons," he told the hooded little man, who remained silent and inexpressive. "They were acquired legally, of course," he added quickly.
"I am no fool, mister," the gnome replied simply in his mischievous-sounding voice, "but i care not for the origin of the weapons. What do you have?"
"What you see," Billy answered in his best merchant voice. "Nothing more, nothing less."
"How much?" the gnome asked dryly.
"Well," Billy said, keeping his voice down, "it depends on what you want, doesn't it? I'm not about to sell an axe at the same price as a bow."
The gnome considered this for a while and eventually took a shortsword in his hands. He examined it thoroughly, which Billy let him do, knowing the item was in perfect condition. After that he set it aside and did the same with a wolfskin sling. "I think i take these," he said crudely, setting the two weapons aside.
"I'll let you have both for twenty-five gold coins," the halfling said all businesslike, a great grin upon his countenance.
"What?!" the gnome cried. "Twenty. No more."
Billy's grin became bigger. He liked this game. "Okay, sir, you can have them for twenty-three. That's my final offer, so you'd better take it."
"Hmm. Twenty-two and five silver coins." The gnome placed a pouch on the table and poured a pile of coins over the table gently enough for the neighbors not to hear the sound of money inside.
"Done," the halfling said, putting his other weapons away and taking some of the money. "Now, if you don't mind, i'll count the money. It's nothing personal, it's just that i've been ripped off before." This was actually not true; Billy was usually the one ripping other people off, as was the case just now -- the weapons he had just sold were not worth more than fifteen gold coins together. Nevertheless, he was always careful when dealing with races which had a less-than-excellent reputation. After he was satisfied with the amount he had taken, he stood up from the table and took his hat off as a sign of respect. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you, sir." He walked back to the table where his companions were devouring a pair of dry steaks. Zsaaj shook his head as Billy gobbled up his meal in less than two minutes, after which the three went to sleep.
It was around ten in the morning when Zsaaj woke up and got dressed. Leaving his small but comfortable room, which contained a single straw bed on one side, a small stone stool on the other and a clean window to look at the white nothingness outside through, he saw Bharash's room's door swing open and Bharash step out. "Good morning," he said, proceeding to knock on Billy's door. The halfling was still fast asleep and did not hear a thing, so Zsaaj knocked harder and called Billy's name. This did wake the halfling. He rubbed his eyes, lazily got up, opened the door only slightly and looked at the two dragonborn through half-open eyes.
"Is it already time to go?" he asked, yawning.
"Yes," replied the paladin firmly. "It will be midday soon, and we must be on our way."
"Bah, i can't tell what time it is when the sun is up even at midnight..." Billy complained.
"Come on, you know better than that. You have lived farther north for six years."
"Seven," the halfling corrected, "only you weren't graced by my presence until one had passed."
Zsaaj rolled his eyes as the halfling stepped out of the room and the three travellers walked out of the tavern, thanking the innkeeper on the way. They made for the stable and found the horses eager to go. After tying the impatient beasts to the wagon, the party drove three blocks in the direction they had been told and then two blocks to the right. Just as the half-elf had told them, there stood a small workshop. Seeing it open, they descended from the vehicle and walked inside. A dwarf greeted them and asked them what they needed.
"We broke a wheel and an axle," Zsaaj said, well aware of how silly that must have sounded to the dwarf.
Indeed, the repairman was somewhat shocked. "Well, what did you do to that poor wagon?!" he asked in draconic; his accent, which was very slight, told the two dragonborn that the dwarf had lived in Vasara for a long time, perhaps since childhood or even since birth. "Anyway," the repairman continued, "i'll probably need a whole day. I have a few more orders. Not the smoothest terrain out there, as you obviously already know." The travellers nodded politely.
"My friend and i must part," Zsaaj told Bharash. "I am sorry we cannot stay longer, but we must attend an important summons. It has been a pleasure. May Bahamut watch over you."
"Thank you," Bharash replied kindly as the paladin recovered his sword from under the carriage, which the dwarf had already brought inside the shop.
"Hey, wait a minute," the dwarf said suddenly as Billy and Zsaaj turned to go. His voice was sharp, not quite as kind as it had been up to that point. "I know you from somewhere," he told the halfling as he pointed at him. "You're that bloke on the 'wanted' signs."
This was the worst thing that could have happened to Billy and Zsaaj. Not only were they now at risk of not arriving on time to the king's chambers, but Billy faced the possibility of being imprisoned and the dragonborn's integrity, as well as the reputation of his clan and family, were also at stake. Zsaaj shook his head and tore the sign down from the wall behind him.
"Are you sure he looks like the portrait on the sign? This one has a beard, after all," he offered, pointing at the picture and noting that Billy had shaved before parting. It was a terrible start, but it was all he could think of; after all, he could never lie, since he valued honesty above all other virtues. He sensed the apparently infinite difficulty that would be involved in convincing the dwarf --and later the town guards-- that it would be better to let the halfling go free than to lock him up in a dark dungeon and preferred not to have to deal with that problem.
"Yes," chipped in Billy in his usual merry voice, this time too merry not to exasperate Zsaaj given the circumstances, "and, besides, that guy has spent seven years bottled up in a barrel in the capital. Me live like that? No way!"
Zsaaj thought it would have been better if the halfling had not opened his mouth; at any rate, the dwarf did not look convinced. What was more, Bharash's expression seemed to reveal agreement with the repairman, although the trader said nothing; Zsaaj never knew whether the fisherman's silence was out of camaraderie for having travelled together or simply because the man did not care for those matters and wanted to be on his way.
"No," the dwarf said in a gruff voice, "i still think you're the one in the picture. I'm calling the guards."
"Look again," Zsaaj urged. "Look closely. Do you really believe they are the same person?"
"Yes," the dwarf replied without bothering to take another look.
"All halflings look alike..." the dragonborn said as a last resort. He was clearly desperate.
"Come on!" Billy protested. "You can't possibly be that stupid. This guy looks nothing like me!" He gestured at the torn paper. He, at least, was free to lie and deceive.
Surprisingly, the dwarf dropped the case. He may have been afraid to lend any truth to the halfling's insult, or perhaps he did not want to waste any more time when before him stood an impatient customer who was not first in line; whatever the reason, he let the pair of adventurers leave the small building freely. Bharash stayed behind.
Zsaaj was not happy. Cursing in his mind, he led the way to the northern wall and walked through the gate. The two companions crossed the natural bridge and then descended southwards, passing the village on their way to the mountains. From then on it was sharp, rugged terrain; they were in Nidavellier, kingdom of the dwarves, but not even this cheered Zsaaj up at this point.
The mountains around them towered majestically, all of them glistening like gold in the yellow sunlight -- it would be long before the snow melted enough for only their peaks to remain white, so Billy and Zsaaj had to walk on snow, which slowed them down and made the journey more tiring for the latter, who carried heavy armor and equipment and was not used to walking such distances. The contrast between the yellowish white of the snow and the swallowing black of the rock the mountains were made of was striking.
They followed the commercial road southeast, since it was the safest route and also the easiest -- while it would have been no problem for the young thief to climb mountains, Zsaaj was not about to do it with his armor and weapons on. The road was wide and allowed the travellers to walk on it relatively comfortably despite its constant upwards slope. The snow was still deep enough to feel soft under each silent step, lending the scene an aura of stillness only broken by Billy's incessant chattering. The mountainous terrain provided the additional problem of not being able to see very far in any direction, something which never happened in Vasara and therefore unsettled Zsaaj; the road's neverending winding did not help at all. Even sticking to the road proved to be a difficult task -- the vast amount of snow which had accumulated during the long northern winter completely hid some parts of it from view, forcing the travellers to walk carefully lest they would get lost.
About at the time he began to tire, however, Zsaaj thought he could hear hooves behind him. Not knowing whether it was truly a horse or merely wishful thinking, he turned and saw a small chariot moving in the same direction as them. Shouting and waving, he managed to get the rider's attention; the rider, another dragonborn, stopped, and Zsaaj asked him whether they could travel along. After a warm greeting and a nod, the three proceeded rather more comfortably towards Hoftz-Kunn, the capital of Nidavellier.
It was known that Hoftz-Kunn, like most other dwarven cities, lay beneath the mountains. Some claimed that it extended far beyond the entrance and even joined with other towns in the kingdom, though Zsaaj had always thought this last rumor to be an exaggeration. Still, he was eager to see the fabled city and judge the truthfulness --or lack thereof-- in the stories he had heard.
As it turned out, a small part of the city stood just outside a vast entrance into one of the mountains. The entrance was adorned with some of the most ornate craftsmanship the halfling and the dragonborn had ever seen, true to dwarven tradition. Zsaaj was able to read the enormous davek runes carved into the roughly parabolic frame which lined the entrance to the main part of the city. "Herein lies Hoftz-Kunn, magnificent capital of the sons of Moradin," he read, translating to draconic for Billy's benefit, but the halfling knew not whether his friend was reading something or merely speaking in the same strange way he always did.
Before they ventured into the perpetual darkness of inner Hoftz-Kunn, they knew they would need to eat. Plenty.
Zsaaj thanked the trader while Billy found a tavern near the center of the exterior portion of Hoftz-Kunn. Zsaaj ordered two standard meals, but Billy quickly paid the taverner to turn them into full banquets. Those were some thirty times as expensive as standard meals, but they were well worth it when one could pay for them. Zsaaj did not believe they could, however, since he was unaware of Billy's deals with the gnome back in Skypeak. He directed a long, scrutinizing stare at the halfling, who merely shrugged and produced a small bag which was loaded with coins.
"Where in the name of all that is good did you get that?!" Zsaaj demanded, sensing he was about to lose his mind but admitting he was grateful for the enlarged meal he was about to get. He spoke draconic so the others in the tavern would not understand their conversation, yet, this being the capital of a large kingdom adjacent to Vasara, he doubted they were completely safe in that respect.
"I got it honestly, really!" Billy cried. "See, i--"
"I don't want to know," Zsaaj interrupted, taking his plate and walking to the table they had been assigned. Billy joined him, and in silence --Zsaaj's silence anyway-- they ate, the air thick with the smell of liquor and with the sound of drunken laughter and a myriad different conversations superposed on one another.
As they finished, the paladin noticed that it was getting dark. At these slightly lower latitudes, the sun did set at night, although nights lasted about four hours in summer and about twenty in winter.
He had Billy pay for two rooms and immediately went upstairs to his, eager not to hear the halfling any longer. But before he could enter the room he was stopped by a dwarf wearing rather expensive clothing -- the sort only those who attended the king's court wore.
"Good evening," the dwarf said in perfect dwarven, revealing he had received a good education as a child and probably came from a rich family, in line with Zsaaj's previous assumptions about him. The paladin replied in kind. Somehow the dwarf knew who he was. "The king expects you as soon as possible."
"I know, i--"
"Early tomorrow you must present yourself at the royal chambers. Actually, i'll take you there. Meet me outside this tavern. Remember, be there early."
"I shall," Zsaaj replied. "Good night."
"'Night."
At the center of the carpet stood an oak table which must have been unimaginably expensive, Zsaaj thought from the skillful craftsmanship it showed and from the fact that the wood had obviously been imported from the forest K'zirmyjg to the south. Behind the table from Zsaaj's position stood seven men, all clad in the finest draconic armor and wearing faces proud with decades' worth of experience. The young dragonborn immediately recognized Alek Alioth, the head of the military forces of the kingdom of Vasara, as the one standing at the center. The man's face was still young for someone occupying such a position: the eyes were vigorous, the face was marked only by scars of war, the posture was impeccable. That Alek, a human, had risen so quickly to the highest military rank of the dragonborn spoke loudly of his great intelligence and dexterity. Some said he spoke directly with Bahamut, though most did not believe such things and some even claimed the god had forsaken the world of mortals after the great war which had ended the ancient dragonborn empire of Arkhosia.
At Alek's sides stood a dragonborn and a dwarf, and next to them were an eladrin, a shifter, a deva and another dragonborn. Zsaaj knew none of them, but their uniforms betrayed high ranks. He bowed his head as a sign of respect before looking at Alek.
"Do you know why you have been brought here, young paladin?" the human asked in slightly accented draconic.
"No, sir," Zsaaj admitted.
"You passed your final exam with honors. I am proud to bestow upon you the title of Honorable Paladin of Vasara. Godspeed, Zsaaj Sharpwing."
"Thank you, sir." This was the best news the dragonborn could have hoped to hear. It was what he had worked so hard for during seven long and tough years; it was the beginning of the realization of his sole objective in life.
"Zsaaj, you have skill rarely seen in an apprentice. If you continue the path you have begun walking, soon enough your actions will echo far and wide." A smile was visible upon his countenance, the smile of someone who was proud, satisfied, content. Even Alek's hard features seemed to soften.
Thankful, Zsaaj bowed his head again before leaving the vast chamber. He made for his quarters with his head high and a gleam of vigor in his crimson eyes. He could hardly be happier; this was the single moment he had so long dreamt of. A fire burned inside him, a warm, fortifying fire. He had turned all his dreams true through hard, diligent, honest work. He passed stone hallways lined with more shields, though lesser in size and ornateness than the ones in the main hall. Between each pair of shields was either a small carpet hung from the wall or a lit candle rising from the floor, and a simple blue carpet ran across each hall, muffling his proud footsteps. The government of Sva Kihlek clearly made no attempt to hide the grandeur and glory the dragonborn still retained despite the great blunder than had been the ancient war between Arkhosia and Bael Turath.
Billy Yin, a halfling friend of Zsaaj's, was sitting on the paladin's bed and examining a metallic object, probably one he had stolen that morning from somewhere Zsaaj didn't want to know about. "Get down," the dragonborn hissed as soon as he saw him, "before you get us both into trouble! Has anybody seen you?" He was too happy to get angry, but he also knew when to be cautious.
Billy's friendship with Zsaaj had started as strangely as any event in which the halfling was involved and had continued in this vein for the six years it had lasted. Billy was a thief, yet his life story, or perhaps the way he told it, had stirred something in Zsaaj six years ago and made him decide not to give the little man away to the authorities. How Billy had arrived at Vasara and learned draconic was not clear, but it --and Billy's induction into thievery-- had had a lot to do with his father's absolute lack of skill at bakery, the only thing he claimed to know how to do; Billy had been forced to steal food from others in order to survive, since his father barely sold a single loaf of bread a week, and had then found that he liked the thrill of a thief's life. Over time, he and Zsaaj had grown fond of each other, living in the latter's quarters under the agreement that Billy would not touch Zsaaj's things and Zsaaj, in return, would not betray him to the guards. Reluctantly, the dragonborn had watched as the city filled with ads and pamphlets showing crude drawings of Billy and offering ever-greater rewards for his capture; the halfling rogue had become the most wanted criminal in Sva Kihlek in only half a decade, and Zsaaj had become increasingly nervous about the whole issue. Only Billy's impressive skill at slipping away from the authorities comforted him, and Billy paid his friendship and loyalty by bringing him books --stolen, of course, but Zsaaj truly believed they would one day be returned-- from the library. In this way, Zsaaj made up for not being able to leave the barracks for days on end due to his training. Eventually he learned to speak dwarven, then elven, then giant and finally goblin, all from reading foreign-language books he had never seen in his own hometown of Veditoa Qumado to the far north.
"Nah," the thief responded in his usual carefree tone of voice, "i've been in here all day. What's up?"
"You were right," the dragonborn answered, light shining both in his eyes and in his voice as he walked inside and closed the door. "They summoned me to pronounce me paladin."
The halfling jumped on the bed. "Yay! So what now? Will they let you stay here or will they send you away?"
"Get down!" As the little man did so, the dragonborn examined his plate armor. His father, a respected --but by no means famous-- blacksmith, had forged it for him upon his departure for Vasara's capital to become a paladin. Along with the armor had come a shield, a bastard sword and a flail, all beautifully crafted and engraved with Zsaaj's family name. "I suppose so, but i intend to visit my father in Veditoa Qumado. It has been seven years, you know."
"Today?" Billy asked, raising his left eyebrow.
"Unlikely. But as soon as possible. I must ask for permission to leave."
A light knock on the heavy stone door startled both of them. It was not very common for a paladin in training to receive visits. Wondering who it was, Zsaaj opened the door and found Alek himself standing there.
"Sir! I did not expect to see you." In the back of his mind, he desperately hoped Billy was not in sight. The halfling, as it turned out, had hidden under Zsaaj's bed unseen.
"May i come in?" Alek asked politely, his voice always a firm, noble one.
"By all means, sir," Zsaaj answered, stepping back inside and allowing the human to enter the bedroom. Alek sat on the bed, and Zsaaj took the chair which stood before the desk he used to read and write things. He met Alek's gaze, waiting for the man to speak.
"The reason for my visit is a somewhat pressing matter," the respected warrior explained. "An urgent letter has arrived from Nidavellier. Being that the dwarf king trusts Vasara fully and knows of its fine military tradition, he has summoned a dragonborn warrior to his chambers; apparently, some sort of trouble has stirred in dwarven lands. Do you know whom i have chosen for such a task?"
Zsaaj figured it must be himself; otherwise, why would Alek have come personally to his quarters and told him this? "Me, sir?" His voice was hopeful, eager. He longed to bring honor to his family, his clan and his kingdom through great actions.
"Indeed." His superior's voice betrayed satisfaction, fuelling the dragonborn's joy. His heart raced; he had always longed to visit the great dwarven kingdom under the mountains south of Vasara. "You will prepare and leave as soon as possible. The dwarf king has requested that our warrior be sent immediately. May the grace of Io accompany you, and may you bring great honor to your kind and clan." As the man stood up, Zsaaj heard a bump against his bed. He cursed Billy in his mind. "Did you hear that?" Alek inquired, his face suddenly becoming serious.
"Hear what, sir?" Zsaaj asked innocently, desperately hoping Alek would not press the matter.
"Hmm. Maybe it was nothing. Fare you well, then. I have great faith in you, Zsaaj." The human stood, walked out of the room and closed the door behind him.
"You idiot, you almost gave yourself away!" the paladin snapped, battling to control his voice and avoid shouting. "Get out of there!" Billy did so in silence for once, sensing that he had just ruined his friend's previously perfect mood. Disappointed for not being able to return to his hometown in the north, the dragonborn began packing some clothes and got dressed in his armor. As he sheathed his weapons, Billy packed his own things quietly, earning a curious stare from his friend which then became a sort of grin. "Are you coming?"
"You seriously don't know the answer to that?"
* * *
Zsaaj quickly wrote a letter to his father communicating him his achievement and apologizing for not being able to return home as soon as he had hoped to. After they had both finished, Billy hid between the dragonborn's armor's backplate and his shield, which he always carried on his back when he was not using it. Zsaaj then left the room, locked the door and dropped the letter off with the courier.
The lower level of the barracks had wider hallways and larger columns. These were less adorned than those in upper floors, and so were the walls, though they were still magnificent. The vast foyer sported a shiny marble floor and thick stone columns carved with simple ornaments honoring the god Io and with vertical lines which went up all the way to the vault, which itself was adorned expensively in comparison to anything Zsaaj had seen outside of Sva Kihlek but not nearly as much as the vaults in higher levels of the fortress. Tall windows allowed golden, almost horizontal sunlight into the building, illuminating desks and tables with the color of fire. It was early spring in the far-northern dragonborn kingdom, and another six-month cycle of constant daylight was just beginning.
As numerous dragonborn, a few of them known to Zsaaj, made their ways across the entrance and out of the building or into the corridors which led to the various sections of the barracks, sending echoes down the foyer with every step, the young paladin marched outside, passing the colossal twenty-foot-tall statue of Alek which stood a few dozen meters from the outer doorway on the way. Before exiting the building, he turned and looked back inside for several seconds. Then he finally walked out into the frozen plains on which most of Vasara stood.
* * *
Outside it was cold, as always at those latitudes, though not nearly as much as Zsaaj, a northerner even for a dragonborn, was accustomed to. Even now, in early spring, small patches of grass dotted the cobbled streets of the town square, something never seen in Zsaaj's hometown. It was just after noon when the paladin walked out of the barracks and looked around for a caravan he could join. The entire city was drenched in orange and yellow and red, the feeble sun rising from behind the mountains after half a year of absence. Entire walls of some of Sva Kihlek's imposing central buildings were covered with "wanted" signs, each offering a hefty reward for Billy's head. It was fortunate that the halfling fit, even if uncomfortably, between Zsaaj's plate and shield; though dragonborn were usually reserved people, more than one would surely go out of their way to try to acquire such a tempting sum as was being offered if they saw the halfling walking in the streets. Zsaaj hastened his search.
Sva Kihlek was enormous. Like all other cities in Vasara, it was made entirely of dark stone, since Vasara had no woodlands and the closest source of wood, K'zirmyjg Forest, was hundreds of kilometers to the south. The entire kingdom was a land of continuous white and grey dotted with colorful individuals and banners and, in summertime, quite a bit of green.
Zsaaj finally spotted someone setting up a horse-drawn wagon near a butchery. He approached the owner of the wagon, a male dragonborn of the Sharpwing clan like most of Vasara's population. The traveller was well built, strong, resistant; his eyes were dark, deep and serious, giving him a concentrated look. He was tying a couple of bags which smelled strongly of meat, probably bought only moments ago at the butchery. The bags also smelled of salt, telling Zsaaj that this man's journey would probably be a long one.
"Good afternoon," he greeted the man cordially. "I see you are about to leave town. Where to, if i may ask?"
"East," the man replied in a slightly less educated voice. "All the way to the coast. I must bring more fish for Rhogar there." He waved vaguely in a direction Zsaaj didn't quite catch.
The paladin assumed Rhogar was a fish vendor and this person was his provider; at any rate, he did not care to find out whether he was right in making this assumption. "I gather you will not pass through Skypeak, then, will you?" he inquired, slightly disappointed. Zsaaj was eager to fulfill the dwarf king's wishes to see him and therefore slightly impatient.
"I just might. Why?"
The answer came as a surprise -- the town of Skypeak lay about a hundred miles to the southeast, well out of the traveller's route, which would take him almost two hundred and fifty miles eastward. "I am heading there but lack a means of transportation," he explained. "May i come along with you? Having no money on myself at the moment, i would have no way to repay you, i'm afraid."
The traveller thought about it for a while, taking a good look at the paladin. "Sure, i suppose," he allowed eventually, likely upon figuring Zsaaj would be able to protect him should the need arise. Not that any dragonborn-ruled territory had many criminals of any sort, but wild animals did constitute a frequent threat to unprepared travellers. "I could use the company. And do not worry about repaying me; it's a pleasure to help a dragonborn in need."
"May you find Bahamut's grace always for your kindness." He helped the traveller finish loading up his wagon. "My name is Zsaaj. What is yours?"
"Bharash, fisherman and trader. Say, you must be a paladin, since you talk like that. Nice to meet you."
Once the wagon had been steadfastly tied to Bharash's young, vigorous horses, the two dragonborn climbed onto it. As they did, a halfling leg stuck out from under Zsaaj's shield and an uncomfortable grunt came from the same direction.
"Er, you are aware that your shield has grown legs, aren't you?" Bharash started, his voice somewhat confused and startled.
Embarrassed, Zsaaj pulled Billy out and grabbed him by one leg. "This is my friend. Do you mind if he comes along?"
"Not really," the fisherman shrugged. "Hello, halfling." It was a good thing that he was in a fine mood.
"Hello!" Billy acknowledged in a bright voice despite the fact that he was hanging upside-down from Zsaaj's firm grasp on his ankle. "I just woke up. It's really comfortable in there, believe it or not."
"Really?!" Bharash cried, slightly astonished. Zsaaj merely shook his head and rolled his eyes.
"Yep," Billy confirmed. "So are we going anywhere?"
"Your friend and i were just talking about the possibility of driving to Skypeak, as a matter of fact. I still can't believe it's comfortable in there, by the way."
"It's not," Zsaaj intervened gruffly. Neither of the others said anything.
They left town about two hours after Zsaaj had walked up to Bharash and drove across the harsh, flat plains of Vasara. The snow was slowly beginning to melt under the rising sun, though the air was still cold with winter's cruel bite. Dragonborn were naturally resistant to this sort of weather thanks to their thick scales, but Billy complained throughout the journey that his hands and feet were freezing and that at that rate eventually even his mouth would freeze shut, an idea Zsaaj did not find displeasing. Small shrubs were starting to thaw, and a few blades of grass rose defiantly from the blazing white, once more a reminder of life's resilience and determination even in the most unforgiving conditions imaginable -- it was only farther north, closer to where Zsaaj had been born, that not even high summer was free of snow and the silence of barely inhabited land. Pulled by two strong horses, the wagon sped across the wasteland, the occasional cracking sound of brittle grass blades breaking under its wheels drowned by the constant noise of Bharash's things bumping against each other with the movement. The pounding of hooves was here turned into the soft sound of steps on deep snow. Throughout their journey, the mountains under which the dwarves lived marked the horizon to their right while in every other direction all was relatively flat and clear, broken only by black rocks rising up like spires amidst the misty air. The sky was dark blue to the north and bluish yellow to the south, where the sun was. Visibility was good, and the party travelled onward at a roughly constant speed of about thirty kilometers per hour, two straight lines forming at the wake of the wagon's wheels.
Skypeak was a small dragonborn town which bordered Nidavellier and, as such, contained a dwarf population almost as large as its dragonborn population. Other races were also more common than in larger, more central vasaran cities, though by far the most common were those two. Located on top of a small rock promontory at the base of the dwarven mountains and reachable only by air or across a narrow natural bridge connecting it with a neighboring promontory with gentler slopes, it was little more than a couple of inns and businesses enclosed in a fortified stone wall, a military outpost of olden times turned village. Vasara had long been at peace with Nidavellier, and generations after generations of dragonborn and dwarven kings and queens had cordially acknowledged each other as friends. Skypeak was, therefore, the easiest way into the ragged terrain Nidavellier consisted almost entirely of. That was why Zsaaj was headed there.
About halfway towards the village, one of the wagon's wheels passed over a large, sharp stone and broke in two. The unstabilized vehicle skidded on the snow and sent the horses into a frenzy, each attempting to run in a different direction but finding itself linked to the other horse via the wagon. "Gah, bad luck," Bharash grumbled, getting down to look at the damage. "Split the wheel in two, that rock did."
"Do you have a spare?" Zsaaj asked, worrying they might be delayed for a long time as he joined the trader. The snow felt soft under his feet, indicating that it was still deep, though not so deep that riding became impossible.
"No," Bharash answered grimly.
"No matter," Billy interrupted, cheerful as ever. "We'll fix it."
"With what?"
"Er..." Billy looked around.
"We can break off two planks from the wagon," Zsaaj proposed, "and use them to keep the two halves of the wheel together. Do you have nails?"
"Think i do," Bharash muttered between his teeth, turning to the back of the wagon to fetch them. "Let's do that. And we might as well eat before we take leave again." He found the nails and a hammer and showed them to his two companions as they began preparing a meal.
Though crude, Zsaaj's idea appeared to be all they could do. At any rate, it worked and soon the three travellers were on their way, their stomachs full and their spirits again high. But the axle, deprived of the sturdy support provided by unbroken wheels, split in two at the first small bump, forcing them to stop once more. As before, Bharash emerged from the driver's seat and examined the problem.
"Help me unload your belongings," Zsaaj ordered the fisherman, who complied as Billy helped with what he could. When everything lay on the snowy plains, the two dragonborn untied the horses, calmed them down so they would not run away, and turned the wagon over. Zsaaj, who was gradually growing desperate, placed his sword, sheathed, over the wooden shaft that was the axle, and Billy cut a few dozen centimeters of the rope they used for the horses and tied a strong knot to keep the two halves of the shaft and his companion's sword joined in a line as straight as possible. "That'll hold until we arrive at Skypeak," the halfling announced. "We should be able to find someone to repair it there."
Bharash thanked him and also commended him on how well he spoke draconic despite the foreign accent, and once again they were on their way. Soon the outer wall of Skypeak was visible ahead. The mountains now rose imposingly just beyond the town, indicating the boundary between the two great kingdoms. Although it was now near midnight, the sun had barely moved vertically, instead describing a low semicircle in the sky.
* * *
"I'll ask in that tavern," Zsaaj announced, pointing at a modest two-story building with a large sign at the front which read "The Weary Traveller". A common name for taverns in small towns, especially ones near kingdom boundaries, it did not particularly catch the paladin's attention, but it was the first open building the party had come upon in Skypeak. Zsaaj walked inside, the night's silence turning into drunken noise and the sound of plates and glassware as he did, and asked out loud for someone who might be able to repair a broken axle.
His question was heard by several people, but only one of them, a half-elf, was sober enough to answer coherently. "There's a workshop about three blocks from here in that direction--" he pointed "--and two blocks towards the right afterwards, but it's surely closed by now. Everything is closed at this hour. You'll need to wait until the morning."
"Thank you," the dragonborn replied, exiting the tavern. "There's a workshop nearby, but we'll have to wait until tomorrow," he told his travel companions. "Should we spend the night here?"
The other two agreed. They parked the horses and wagon inside the tavern's small, worn-down stable, walked into the Weary Traveller and paid for three meals, three rooms and permission to leave their animals and vehicle in the stable for the night. Bharash paid for all of it, which cost two gold coins. As the two dragonborn ate their rations, Billy excused himself and walked off to the far corner of the building.
Billy had spotted a gnome sitting in a corner of the tavern as he had walked in. He knew these beings usually showed interest in the sort of thing other people rarely did and were always willing to engage in just the sort of shady business he was an expert at. What Zsaaj had thought were Billy's clothes were actually as many weapons as the halfling had been able to fit into his bag that morning, when he and the dragonborn had packed their belongings. Of course, all those weapons were of fine dragonborn craftsmanship and had been stolen during Billy's frequent adventures outside the Sva Kihlek barracks. So much time had passed since he had acquired them that he could no longer remember the individual story behind each of the items, which was a shame because he would have been able to squeeze more money out of them if he had been able to tell exciting tales of peril and risk to the buyer. Still, he had made it his duty to sell as many as he could before he entered dwarven soil, since he had heard of the dwarves' colossal pride and their unwillingness to accept any foreign smith's work as high-quality work.
He approached the gnome in a manner way more carefree than such creatures usually warranted and, as soon as he had the gnome's attention, lowered his backpack and opened it, revealing the shiny blades of the weapons inside it.
"Sit," the gnome commanded in common, gesturing towards the empty chair opposite him at his table. Billy did as told and placed the stolen weapons, one by one, on the table.
"All of these are of the finest quality when it comes to dragonborn weapons," he told the hooded little man, who remained silent and inexpressive. "They were acquired legally, of course," he added quickly.
"I am no fool, mister," the gnome replied simply in his mischievous-sounding voice, "but i care not for the origin of the weapons. What do you have?"
"What you see," Billy answered in his best merchant voice. "Nothing more, nothing less."
"How much?" the gnome asked dryly.
"Well," Billy said, keeping his voice down, "it depends on what you want, doesn't it? I'm not about to sell an axe at the same price as a bow."
The gnome considered this for a while and eventually took a shortsword in his hands. He examined it thoroughly, which Billy let him do, knowing the item was in perfect condition. After that he set it aside and did the same with a wolfskin sling. "I think i take these," he said crudely, setting the two weapons aside.
"I'll let you have both for twenty-five gold coins," the halfling said all businesslike, a great grin upon his countenance.
"What?!" the gnome cried. "Twenty. No more."
Billy's grin became bigger. He liked this game. "Okay, sir, you can have them for twenty-three. That's my final offer, so you'd better take it."
"Hmm. Twenty-two and five silver coins." The gnome placed a pouch on the table and poured a pile of coins over the table gently enough for the neighbors not to hear the sound of money inside.
"Done," the halfling said, putting his other weapons away and taking some of the money. "Now, if you don't mind, i'll count the money. It's nothing personal, it's just that i've been ripped off before." This was actually not true; Billy was usually the one ripping other people off, as was the case just now -- the weapons he had just sold were not worth more than fifteen gold coins together. Nevertheless, he was always careful when dealing with races which had a less-than-excellent reputation. After he was satisfied with the amount he had taken, he stood up from the table and took his hat off as a sign of respect. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you, sir." He walked back to the table where his companions were devouring a pair of dry steaks. Zsaaj shook his head as Billy gobbled up his meal in less than two minutes, after which the three went to sleep.
* * *
It was around ten in the morning when Zsaaj woke up and got dressed. Leaving his small but comfortable room, which contained a single straw bed on one side, a small stone stool on the other and a clean window to look at the white nothingness outside through, he saw Bharash's room's door swing open and Bharash step out. "Good morning," he said, proceeding to knock on Billy's door. The halfling was still fast asleep and did not hear a thing, so Zsaaj knocked harder and called Billy's name. This did wake the halfling. He rubbed his eyes, lazily got up, opened the door only slightly and looked at the two dragonborn through half-open eyes.
"Is it already time to go?" he asked, yawning.
"Yes," replied the paladin firmly. "It will be midday soon, and we must be on our way."
"Bah, i can't tell what time it is when the sun is up even at midnight..." Billy complained.
"Come on, you know better than that. You have lived farther north for six years."
"Seven," the halfling corrected, "only you weren't graced by my presence until one had passed."
Zsaaj rolled his eyes as the halfling stepped out of the room and the three travellers walked out of the tavern, thanking the innkeeper on the way. They made for the stable and found the horses eager to go. After tying the impatient beasts to the wagon, the party drove three blocks in the direction they had been told and then two blocks to the right. Just as the half-elf had told them, there stood a small workshop. Seeing it open, they descended from the vehicle and walked inside. A dwarf greeted them and asked them what they needed.
"We broke a wheel and an axle," Zsaaj said, well aware of how silly that must have sounded to the dwarf.
Indeed, the repairman was somewhat shocked. "Well, what did you do to that poor wagon?!" he asked in draconic; his accent, which was very slight, told the two dragonborn that the dwarf had lived in Vasara for a long time, perhaps since childhood or even since birth. "Anyway," the repairman continued, "i'll probably need a whole day. I have a few more orders. Not the smoothest terrain out there, as you obviously already know." The travellers nodded politely.
"My friend and i must part," Zsaaj told Bharash. "I am sorry we cannot stay longer, but we must attend an important summons. It has been a pleasure. May Bahamut watch over you."
"Thank you," Bharash replied kindly as the paladin recovered his sword from under the carriage, which the dwarf had already brought inside the shop.
"Hey, wait a minute," the dwarf said suddenly as Billy and Zsaaj turned to go. His voice was sharp, not quite as kind as it had been up to that point. "I know you from somewhere," he told the halfling as he pointed at him. "You're that bloke on the 'wanted' signs."
This was the worst thing that could have happened to Billy and Zsaaj. Not only were they now at risk of not arriving on time to the king's chambers, but Billy faced the possibility of being imprisoned and the dragonborn's integrity, as well as the reputation of his clan and family, were also at stake. Zsaaj shook his head and tore the sign down from the wall behind him.
"Are you sure he looks like the portrait on the sign? This one has a beard, after all," he offered, pointing at the picture and noting that Billy had shaved before parting. It was a terrible start, but it was all he could think of; after all, he could never lie, since he valued honesty above all other virtues. He sensed the apparently infinite difficulty that would be involved in convincing the dwarf --and later the town guards-- that it would be better to let the halfling go free than to lock him up in a dark dungeon and preferred not to have to deal with that problem.
"Yes," chipped in Billy in his usual merry voice, this time too merry not to exasperate Zsaaj given the circumstances, "and, besides, that guy has spent seven years bottled up in a barrel in the capital. Me live like that? No way!"
Zsaaj thought it would have been better if the halfling had not opened his mouth; at any rate, the dwarf did not look convinced. What was more, Bharash's expression seemed to reveal agreement with the repairman, although the trader said nothing; Zsaaj never knew whether the fisherman's silence was out of camaraderie for having travelled together or simply because the man did not care for those matters and wanted to be on his way.
"No," the dwarf said in a gruff voice, "i still think you're the one in the picture. I'm calling the guards."
"Look again," Zsaaj urged. "Look closely. Do you really believe they are the same person?"
"Yes," the dwarf replied without bothering to take another look.
"All halflings look alike..." the dragonborn said as a last resort. He was clearly desperate.
"Come on!" Billy protested. "You can't possibly be that stupid. This guy looks nothing like me!" He gestured at the torn paper. He, at least, was free to lie and deceive.
Surprisingly, the dwarf dropped the case. He may have been afraid to lend any truth to the halfling's insult, or perhaps he did not want to waste any more time when before him stood an impatient customer who was not first in line; whatever the reason, he let the pair of adventurers leave the small building freely. Bharash stayed behind.
Zsaaj was not happy. Cursing in his mind, he led the way to the northern wall and walked through the gate. The two companions crossed the natural bridge and then descended southwards, passing the village on their way to the mountains. From then on it was sharp, rugged terrain; they were in Nidavellier, kingdom of the dwarves, but not even this cheered Zsaaj up at this point.
The mountains around them towered majestically, all of them glistening like gold in the yellow sunlight -- it would be long before the snow melted enough for only their peaks to remain white, so Billy and Zsaaj had to walk on snow, which slowed them down and made the journey more tiring for the latter, who carried heavy armor and equipment and was not used to walking such distances. The contrast between the yellowish white of the snow and the swallowing black of the rock the mountains were made of was striking.
They followed the commercial road southeast, since it was the safest route and also the easiest -- while it would have been no problem for the young thief to climb mountains, Zsaaj was not about to do it with his armor and weapons on. The road was wide and allowed the travellers to walk on it relatively comfortably despite its constant upwards slope. The snow was still deep enough to feel soft under each silent step, lending the scene an aura of stillness only broken by Billy's incessant chattering. The mountainous terrain provided the additional problem of not being able to see very far in any direction, something which never happened in Vasara and therefore unsettled Zsaaj; the road's neverending winding did not help at all. Even sticking to the road proved to be a difficult task -- the vast amount of snow which had accumulated during the long northern winter completely hid some parts of it from view, forcing the travellers to walk carefully lest they would get lost.
About at the time he began to tire, however, Zsaaj thought he could hear hooves behind him. Not knowing whether it was truly a horse or merely wishful thinking, he turned and saw a small chariot moving in the same direction as them. Shouting and waving, he managed to get the rider's attention; the rider, another dragonborn, stopped, and Zsaaj asked him whether they could travel along. After a warm greeting and a nod, the three proceeded rather more comfortably towards Hoftz-Kunn, the capital of Nidavellier.
It was known that Hoftz-Kunn, like most other dwarven cities, lay beneath the mountains. Some claimed that it extended far beyond the entrance and even joined with other towns in the kingdom, though Zsaaj had always thought this last rumor to be an exaggeration. Still, he was eager to see the fabled city and judge the truthfulness --or lack thereof-- in the stories he had heard.
As it turned out, a small part of the city stood just outside a vast entrance into one of the mountains. The entrance was adorned with some of the most ornate craftsmanship the halfling and the dragonborn had ever seen, true to dwarven tradition. Zsaaj was able to read the enormous davek runes carved into the roughly parabolic frame which lined the entrance to the main part of the city. "Herein lies Hoftz-Kunn, magnificent capital of the sons of Moradin," he read, translating to draconic for Billy's benefit, but the halfling knew not whether his friend was reading something or merely speaking in the same strange way he always did.
Before they ventured into the perpetual darkness of inner Hoftz-Kunn, they knew they would need to eat. Plenty.
Zsaaj thanked the trader while Billy found a tavern near the center of the exterior portion of Hoftz-Kunn. Zsaaj ordered two standard meals, but Billy quickly paid the taverner to turn them into full banquets. Those were some thirty times as expensive as standard meals, but they were well worth it when one could pay for them. Zsaaj did not believe they could, however, since he was unaware of Billy's deals with the gnome back in Skypeak. He directed a long, scrutinizing stare at the halfling, who merely shrugged and produced a small bag which was loaded with coins.
"Where in the name of all that is good did you get that?!" Zsaaj demanded, sensing he was about to lose his mind but admitting he was grateful for the enlarged meal he was about to get. He spoke draconic so the others in the tavern would not understand their conversation, yet, this being the capital of a large kingdom adjacent to Vasara, he doubted they were completely safe in that respect.
"I got it honestly, really!" Billy cried. "See, i--"
"I don't want to know," Zsaaj interrupted, taking his plate and walking to the table they had been assigned. Billy joined him, and in silence --Zsaaj's silence anyway-- they ate, the air thick with the smell of liquor and with the sound of drunken laughter and a myriad different conversations superposed on one another.
As they finished, the paladin noticed that it was getting dark. At these slightly lower latitudes, the sun did set at night, although nights lasted about four hours in summer and about twenty in winter.
He had Billy pay for two rooms and immediately went upstairs to his, eager not to hear the halfling any longer. But before he could enter the room he was stopped by a dwarf wearing rather expensive clothing -- the sort only those who attended the king's court wore.
"Good evening," the dwarf said in perfect dwarven, revealing he had received a good education as a child and probably came from a rich family, in line with Zsaaj's previous assumptions about him. The paladin replied in kind. Somehow the dwarf knew who he was. "The king expects you as soon as possible."
"I know, i--"
"Early tomorrow you must present yourself at the royal chambers. Actually, i'll take you there. Meet me outside this tavern. Remember, be there early."
"I shall," Zsaaj replied. "Good night."
"'Night."
