Fawnlum took the time to sight-see a little more, and got lost down more than one street.

The night was full on, when she finally found the Gold Pewter.  Instead of a mild and mannerly place to reflect the more refined side of such a prosperous town, this was a rougher and louder establishment.  Although not a squalid hole for cutthroats, it still attracted a wide manner of toughs.

The first fool who laid eyes upon her, had the look of another mercenary, and the manner of a pre-pubescent oaf.  His attempt to put his arm around her was as slovenly as his suggestion for company for the night.

After she dropped him with one punch, she saw measuring eyes directed at her.  She let her own eyes do the talking, as she made her way to the bar.

“What’ll it be?”

The barkeep appeared as if by magic.  He was a younger sort, like Lucas.

“What have you got?”

After a couple of hours, and several different concoctions, she knew what to ask for.  Some of the brews were gifts from the gods; for a couple others, she was tempted to strangle Letton – for that was the young barkeeper’s name – for serving them to her.

Three other bartenders, one burly-armed veteran and another couple her age, worked the other end.  She could see over the tops of many heads and watched them toil.  Their instinct for knowing where to step up and serve was admirable.

Then she noticed that nearly all the men in this place were traveling fighters.

Some got more respect and a wider berth than others, obviously carrying a bit of a reputation.  Young women in fanciful dresses were quicker to sit on the favorites’ laps, than in those of the younger stalwarts.  Words of challenge and bravado burst out, with the armed bouncers working hard to keep the peace.

Fawnlum could not believe Jorain would come in here himself.  Maybe he thought she belonged in such company.  But she had not gotten that kind of judgmental impression from him.

One young sod – well-armed, but not well with his drink – made a show of himself, standing and waving around an orc’s ear for all to see, offering it to whoever wanted it.

And then she noticed five dwarves, sitting all by themselves in the near center of the room.  She had known they were there, but had paid them no mind.  They had been quiet, moody from the looks of it, and minding their own business.

The ear-waver called out, “Anyone?  The cost of a drink?”

She saw such severe looks directed at the sell-sword from the bearded folk, their scowls would strip 20 years’ worth of varnish off the bar she was leaning on.

“Oi, Letton!”

He came over, and glanced at her half-full glass.

She leaned in close and asked above the noise, “What can you tell me about those dwarves?  They look ready to cut that loudmouth to pieces.”

“Oh,” he said.  “Well, mu’um.  They’re from Hammermound, many miles to the east.  The dark-haired leader there, his name’s Banacheck.  They’re back from traveling into Humboldt.  Trade business, you know.  There’s so much fighting in Humboldt, some o’ the hired fighters are making gold by the bag-full.

“The dwarves are angry, because no one’s lookin’ closer to home.”

She leaned in a little closer, eyes focusing on him intently.

“East of here and across the Yule-drop River,” he went on, “sits a city called East Osterly.  It’s a big place, with lots of trade and farming.  They’ve got an great old forest to their north, and fields of farms north of that.  They send a life-load of crops and meat into Humboldt each year.

“But this year’s different.  There’s a big, dark cloud hanging over East Osterly.  But it ain’t a storm-cloud.”  His voice became more hesitant, with superstitious glances left and right, like he might anger some haunting spirit.  “It’s unnatural, is what it is.  It just hangs there, blocking out the sun.

“It’s become a cursed land, sitting under that cloud’s shadow.  And in farms bordering the Windsaeve Forest, people are disappearin’.  Tri-cleorps come in the cover of that darkness, and take’em.  The darkness takes’em.”

“Tri-cleorps?”

“Three-eye’d monsters.  They live underground.  They’re like a small kind of ogre.”

“Oh.  Like an orc.”

“They’re no orc!” he said with exaggeration.  “You don’t want to be out at night when they’re about.

“It’s all going to swallow East Osterly.  This town might just destroy the bridge, to protect ourselves.”

“You sound scared.”

“I’ve heard it from enough people.”

“And the dwarves?”

“Well, there I know it with a bit of truth.”  He rested one elbow on the bar, relaxing a bit.  “Hammermound dwarves are a tough bunch.  My grandfather knew Banacheck, even.  He and his boys say, the fighting in Humboldt is not the real danger.”  He leaned closer, his voice dropping again.  “They’re sayin’, the cloud and the tri-cleorps are omens of a greater evil.  When that evil shows itself, blood will flow out of the ground like rivers; all light and life in the land will smother out; and death will be the only deliverance.  They told me this day, I should get myself to another place far away.”

Fawnlum studied the dwarves a little more closely.

“They’re leavin’ in the morning to go to East Osterly, and join the fightin’ themselves.  Though, between you and me, they’d rather pass on the gold, and be down in their tunnels to fight the tri-cleorps from below.”

“Pass on the gold?”

“They collect bounties like mercenaries, even though they’re neighbors.  It’s part of Osterly’s agreement with Hammermound.”

Letton looked at her, as if a touch of the odd was upon her.  She knew her face must look strange, smiling at such grave news.

She did not care.

“So why are they going to fight on the surface to begin with?”

“Their ruler, King Steelcinder, wants them there to watch for the coming threat.”

Maybe it was the promise of a greater battle, or just the chance to see what was over the next horizon, but Fawnlum’s inner compass was suddenly beckoning her.

Leaving a handsome tip, she practically ran out of the bar.