“Still trying to get new money for old hides, Djer Highboots?” another said in a more friendly tone.
Auron heard Djer lift himself in the seat, and he could picture the dwarf taking off his hat. “Afternoon, my men, afternoon. I see the manner of the men of Irr-on-Slackwater is as welcoming as always. Why the spear, Gule the Younger?”
“A dragon’s been tracked on this road, north of three-arch bridge. Drakossozh himself seeks the beast. Oddly enough, he seeks you, too. Seems his armor took fire in battle with a dragon.”
“Ahh, a beautiful bit of workmanship. I remember it. Well, well, well, if it were any other time, I’d wait a month for him, but I have a Caravan to meet.”
“The thane has bade us give you food, fuel, and fodder while you wait for him. You’re the only dwarf hereabouts.”
“And whose fault is that? The thane himself and his ‘men’s money for men’s goods’ decrees; your priests railing against dwarves bringing in liquor and wine, and that dryhole wizard’s emblem on the lintel of every shop meaning I’ll get my head knocked in if I darken the doorstep. The great Chartered Company’d have a crafts-dwarf in your village, if only you’d patronize them. You’re getting as bad as the barbarians. I’ve been up north since the snow melted, and what do I have to show for it? Six ponies’ load.”
“Dwarves never tire of blaming others for their troubles,” the slow voice said, as though it were speaking words of a foreign tongue.
“Ach,” Djer said. “You go about your business, and let me do mine.”
“You’ll wait here for the Dragonblade, if you want the thane’s goodwill.”
“The thane will let me pass, if he wants the goodwill of the Diadems. I’m driving on.”
Auron felt the cart lurch into motion. Djer set his horses to a trot, and the bouncing stopped only after an hour’s hard travel. A panel behind the driver’s seat slid open, and for the first time, Auron saw a weapon, a stout mace, taken from a box beneath the little window.
“Trouble?” Auron said. “Did they ride after you?”
“Not from behind. Ahead. Take a peek.”
Auron looked over Djer’s shoulder. He saw a line of dirty-clothed men, interspersed with gangly boys, trudging in a tight line up the road. A man walking his horse led them. The leader carried a shield and sword, but the men had only clubs, staves, and hoes. Auron had seen a column like it before, farther north along the road.
“Beeyah, dwarf! Off the road,” the leader shouted in Parl. He halted his file with a sweep of his shield. “There’s good men afoot, and some riding dwarf bastard isn’t going to push us off.”
Djer said nothing, but clucked his tongue and shifted his horse to give them room to pass. He snapped the panel shut, cutting off Auron’s view.
“There’s room to share the road,” Djer said. “Space for both of us.”
“Go to the other side. That side’s upwind of us.”
Auron felt the cart lurch to a halt, setting the hung tools inside swinging on their hooks.
“This is as far as I go,” Djer said. “If you wish to pass upwind, you go to the other side and do so. I’ll not move.”
There was a quiet pause.
“Take my advice, dwarf. Keep heading south, and don’t come back. Your kind aren’t much liked up here. We don’t care for dwarvish settlers. This is man-ground.”
“That’ll be news to my cousins in the mountains. They were here before Hypat laid the first paving stone.”
“Don’t answer back to an officer, dwarf,” an unfamiliar voice yelled in Parl.
“Let’s tip his cart!” another shouted.
“Beeyah! Beeyah!” voices chorused.
Auron heard stamping feet, and Djer shouting. The cart heaved, spilling Auron and the goods inside everywhere. He crashed to the side of the cart under a rain of tools.
“Away from those ponies!” Djer shouted. “I’ll kneecap you, you filthy dogs!”
Auron heard laughter and fading footfalls.
“Barbarians,” Auron heard Djer mutter. “Are you well, drake?”