Her comrades, save Caitlyn, were all asleep when she called them into her room.

After she gave the whole story, Sienna was quick to speak up. “Hold on. The trouble is in Humboldt. Does this Osterly place have an enemy on their doorstep?”

“I won’t be chasing around with a mob,” Fawnlum said resolutely, “hoping to catch up to an enemy who flees. In Osterly, the wicked have made their presence known.”

“So you want to trust the rumors of dwarves you’ve never met, to go where you can have the trouble all to yourself,” Sienna sighed. “Are you that badly drunk?”

“I’m that fully sober,” Fawnlum countered. “But it doesn’t do any good!” she huffed.

Everybody looked more closely at her. “And it’s for a senseless reason!” she added.

“Don’t speak cryptically,” Halrick prompted. “What happened?”

She told them how she had left the bar, and gone to the magistrate’s office, to ask for approval to go to East Osterly. Certainly, she had come calling at a late hour; but when duty calls, the brave must answer.

And he had discourteously told her, there were enough mercenaries in East Osterly, and he would not give her his stamp of approval. Fighters, he had said, were needed in the north.

“Did you not show him your passport?” Sienna asked, suddenly on the verge of offense.

Fawnlum sulked a little as she explained. “He said it was his decision in these lands, not a king who sits far away.”

“So did you get the stamp to go north instead?”

“No. I thanked him for his time, and walked out.”

“Why didn’t you just take his seal and stamp it yourself?” Dreighton asked.

“I won’t lay a hand on an officer. I’ve been taught better than that.”

“Bah! Viognia always gave you pointers in diplomacy,” Sienna snapped. “Diplomacy only works when you’re dealing with mutual respect. That’s why we’ve never lost a conversation at the end of a blade. Tip-toeing around doesn’t get things done.”

“She got things done, when she gave me the document with her name on it. I won’t bring shame to the faith she placed in me,” Fawnlum countered.

“And if she did use force,” Halrick added, “the magistrate would just send word to the powers of Osterly, and have the permission cancelled.”

“Well!” Sienna happily surmised, “nothing for it, but to go north.”

“Not yet,” Fawnlum firmly said. “I made the good acquaintance today, of a senior member of this city’s wizards. I think he can help.”

“Many magic-users do carry a good bit of clout,” Dreighton said.

“But maybe that’s not the best clout to use,” Halrick added.

Fawnlum looked at her senior brother-in-arms, and he elaborated.

“Hammermound, East Osterly and Henbrace have a close trade relationship with Humboldt; but they have a closer relationship with each other. They need each other.”

“So?” Fawnlum asked.

“So, you wouldn’t want to do anything to upset that relationship, like a wizard throwing his weight around, and abusing the powers he enjoys in this city.”

“Oh.”

“However,” Halrick added, “the other party in this case, is dwarves. They can be stubborn and demanding.”

“How does that help?”

“You’ll see,” he said, with a roguish smile.

<*> <*> <*>

The Gold Pewter was still well-packed, when a new pair of tall strangers – Halrick and Sienna – walked in. Looking around the room, as others were sizing them up, they started making their way to the bar.

Suddenly, Halrick deviated his path.

“You! Dwarf!” he bellowed, as he strode up to their table.

So great was his outburst, the place fell silent, and everyone stared.

Even the dwarves looked up at his brazen approach, the one with the wild shock of red hair and thick beard regarding him.

“I see by the seal on your hammer, you’re akin to the Hammerfist Clan,” the Coastal declared.

The dwarf moodily replied, “Might be that I am. What’s it to ye, human?”

“My grandfather fought beside your clan in the battles of Clovemoar.”

The dwarves – except for Hammerfist – looked at each other, searching their memories about that campaign.

Halrick kept his performance going. “He lost a bet which he should have won! I’m here to restore the family honor!”

He tossed a small bag on the table. It landed with the distinct jingle of gold.

“Twenty-up! First round’s on me, if the night’s not too far along for you.”

The dwarf spilled the bag over a little, examining a couple of the coins that gleamed in the tavern’s lights. And a crafty, calculating light came into his sharp eyes.

He looked over at his leader, and the black-beard gave a nod.

“Ha-ha! Make room for’im, boys,” Hammerfist said, with a wave of his arm. “The girl, too.”

“Barkeep!” Halrick shouted at the front. “Two glasses of Shinor Sons! Each!”

A serving of the famous and potent whiskey appeared, before Halrick and Sienna were even seated.

The leader at the head of the table spoke up. “And what are yer names, young sir, and young miss?”

“Halrick Bearkin, warrior of Diergon, of the Coast of Storms.”

“Sienna Bluddjore, warrior of Diergon, of the Coast of Storms.”

“Well, Bluntwerk Hammerfist be me name, Master Bearkin,” the red-beard said, with a creasing grin, “and ye don’t know what ye’re in for!”

<*> <*> <*>

Fawnlum arrived back at the bar well past midnight, as Halrick had instructed, to find it a very different place than when she had left.

From outside, she heard the singing, making enough racket to bring the house down.

As she entered, she beheld the dwarves, their spirits much lifted, with a drink in each hand, and shouting a raucous song. A collapsed Halrick sat slumped forward across the table, dead to the world, while Sienna, holding her own mug, rocked side-by-side the bearded warriors, lending her own voice to the tumult.

“A sword and a hammer,

Come ‘round yer banner,

A battle for kin, and king.

Stomp in the mud,

From enemies’ blood,

And so, in glory ye sing.

Hasten to ground,

Lest the tunnel be found!

Yer home and hearth will be fine.

Fifty-score, of goblins and more,

Will never cross the line.

A sword for yer lord!

Take the whole hoard.

Run ‘em out of yer way.

Battered and down,

Rest we’ve not found,

There’s still one more to slay.

Mouth of the mine,

We held the line,

Our grave of enemies’ bones.

A fight makes it right,

From dawn until night,

‘Til the gods will carry ye home.

A sword and a hammer,

Come round yer banner,

A battle for kin, and king.

Stomp in the mud,

From enemies’ blood,

And so, in glory ye sing.”

Sienna noticed Fawnlum, and tamped her flagon down, as she hurriedly waved for silence.

“Gentlemen! This – !”

She bungled her attempt to stand up, managing to clatter her chair out from under her, and started to drop after it.

But she caught herself, and sprang back up, salvaging her composure and clapping Fawnlum on the shoulder.

“This is the one I’ve been tellin’ you about.

“Fawnlum Lichner, warrior of the Coast.” Her voice rose as she named each title. “Bloodline of Vongilor. Daughter of Brajon and Saraty Raijum. Defender of the court of King Dregor.”

Then she fairly shouted in conclusion, “Dragon-Smasher!”

The dwarves all raised their drinks. “Hey-hey!”

“Fawnlum,” she said, her breath blistering with alcohol, “let me present Banacheck Ironvein.”

The black-haired dwarf gave a nod. “Hail.”

“The victor, Bluntwerk Hammerfist!”

The dwarves gave another cheer, as the red-bearded dwarf raised his drink. A pile of gold coins sat in front of him, alongside a pyramid of empty glasses.

“Guilwar Gessengulp.”

He was a hearty-looking soul, lounging in his chair with a smile and nod, as if Fawnlum was an old friend.

She smiled, and nodded back in return.

“Gritcomb Adapack.”

She could swear, the brown-haired dwarf had particles of fine dust floating around him, like a miniature cloud.

“Firgristle Rockhall.”

His look was civil enough, but she could tell he was more the quiet type. A firm-looking crossbow rested against his chair.

“I didn’t want to say anything,…” Sienna nodded toward her unconscious comrade. “But Halrick’s drunk.”

“Well, pick him up. We have to get going.”

“Ah! That’s the other thing I wanted to talk to you about,” Sienna said excitedly, her manner becoming more sober. “We have to go to East Osterly.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s where the dwarves are going.”

Fawnlum stared at her blankly.

“Before he passed out,” she explained, “Halrick made a bet with good Master Hammerfist here, that he’d collect more bounties.” She lowered her brow and muttered conspiratorially, “Personally, I think he’s just mad about losing.”

She waved a hand, “But, anyway! They’re goin’ to East Osterly to do their fightin’, so we gotta go, too.”

“Hah!” Bluntwerk said, as he took a swig of his drink.

“We’re not going to East Osterly.”

The table became quiet, and Bluntwerk’s eyes focused, narrowed, on her.

“Don’t say that!” Sienna pleaded. “Do you want to betray an oath of your brother in arms?”

More than one dwarf grunted in agreement.

Fawnlum held her hands up helplessly. “I wouldn’t dream of it. But the magistrate said I can’t take my party there. He says they’ve got enough bounty hunters already.”

Bluntwerk pounded his mug down as he stood up. “Bah! Ye humans an’ yer parchment-pushers! So short-lived, and ye make more trouble than a burrowing git-flea!”

“Banacheck!” he snapped, “I’m takin’ her to that clutthead, an’ gettin’ this sorted out!”

Banacheck sat quietly, offering no argument. He did, however, look at Fawnlum from under his bushy eyebrows, the corner of his mouth lifting with the slightest of clever grins, keeping it smothered behind his mug.

She just minutely bowed her head in departure, and hurried after her newly-appointed champion, his warhammer over his shoulder, as he stomped out of the bar.

Sienna turned to Banacheck as she retook her seat. “Master Ironvein, we wouldn’t want to cause a rift between neighbors. Are we endangering the trade, if Bluntwerk approaches that lack-wit with such a heavy hand?”

The seasoned dwarf let his eyes shift toward her easily, unhurriedly, as he let his next swallow slide down his gullet. “When everyone’s trade needs run deep enough, Missy, ye can lay yer ‘heavy hand’ wherever ye please, an’ the other party will just have to like it.”

She nodded. “Care for another round? Halrick’s buying.”