“Well, maybe Sigil’s could—oh no…” The panic in Thane’s voice bloomed into despair as he turned to the smoking crater where Sigil’s had been. Words failed him entirely as he turned to the Restored Tambour, which would need to be restored again before anyone could walk inside, let alone order tea there.
“Is there nowhere to get a cup of tea!?” Thane cried, hands on his head. “Or a coffee!? Anywhere I could heat some water and put some leaves in it!? I just can’t believe… I need… uh…” The Sten’s lament fell silent as he caught Kaitha’s gaze, and he smiled as he remembered himself.
Kaitha studied his eyes as she drew close. They were the same; faceted amber orbs flecked with crimson, like a sunrise.
“Maybe lunch?” Thane ventured.
But by that point, he was within reach. Kaitha seized the braids of his beard and pulled him into a kiss that somehow exceeded every expectation.
Chapter 35
Gorm rolled his eyes and looked away once the kissing started.
He’d watched Thane and Kaitha meet with a grin on his face, wondering what they’d finally say to each other after overcoming dungeons and death and an evil from beyond time. As it turned out, nothing. The Sten just asked the Elf for a date, and then she latched onto his face like a leaping swamp leech. Jynn and Laruna had done pretty much the same thing once Mannon was dead and gone. Now the mages had run off somewhere, and he knew better than to go looking.
Grumbling inwardly about the perpetual indecency of tall folk, the Dwarf turned his attention back to the rescue at hand. Heraldin and Gaist were still tending to Mr. Brunt and his party, though their discussion had oddly turned from relief at finding the Ogre mostly unharmed to concern over his wardrobe.
“You need to get rid of that, Brunt.” Magriss pointed up at the Ogre’s head. “It’s not an accessory. It’s dangerous.”
Brunt rumbled something unintelligible, but also clearly uncooperative.
“It’s beyond dangerous,” said Heraldin.
“He’s taken a shinin’ to it,” said a Scribkin engineer. “He likes it now.”
“Burn what he likes!” snarled Heraldin. “It’s—”
Brunt rumbled again, like a volcano about to evict the local villagers.
“It’s something we should reconsider,” Heraldin finished with considerably less force.
Gorm walked around the Ogre, trying to get a better view of the subject of controversy. His eyes caught the twisted piece of black iron in the Ogre’s ear just as a psychic imperative rolled into his mind.
Hey! Get me down! Brunt’s earring shouted in Gorm’s head.
An iron hook hung from the Ogre’s cauliflower earlobe, with the crossbar of the hook wedged through one of Brunt’s piercings and the sharp crescent of the hook dangling. The ends of the crossbar waved about like iron worms in a futile struggle to wiggle out from Brunt’s flesh.
Gorm squinted up at the protesting jewelry. “Is that—”
“Who else would it be?” Heraldin said, glowering. “How many sentient hooks are there?”
A vision of a criminal mind, or really anything approaching an average one, in Brunt’s body brought a scowl to Gorm’s face. “So is he—?”
“No,” said Heraldin, shaking his head. “Mr. Brunt seems… resistant to Benny’s command.”
This idiot has a mind like a greased slug! Benny Hookhand wailed. The tendrils of iron flexed suddenly, and a palpable sense of exertion filled the air.
Brunt loosed a thunder of short, staccato booms. It took Gorm a moment to realize it was laughter.
A few seconds later, the hook went limp. I can’t get a grip on it. I can’t even tell if he hears me!
Gorm grinned. “Looks like Benny finally met his match.”
“Mr. Flinn did as well, they way they tell it.” Heraldin shrugged. “He still can’t—uh—shouldn’t keep the Hookhand. Benny is a menace.”
“Who’s going to take him away?” Gorm asked.
Anyone! Benny snarled, waving his iron tendrils anew. Someone get me down!
“Tickles!” Brunt’s face, which had been perpetually set into a vacant scowl every time Gorm had seen the Ogre, twitched under the strain of reconfiguring itself into a broad grin.
“Still, I’ve never seen Brunt so happy,” said Magriss thoughtfully.
“It doesn’t matter how he feels,” Heraldin insisted. “You can’t wear a sentient weapon as jewelry!”
“Fashion… forward!” said Mr. Brunt.
“I suppose that’s up to the authorities,” Gorm said with a grin.
“Ah, that’s the trick,” said one of the adventurers with Brunt. “What authorities? The king and queen are dead. There’s no clear line of succession.”
“No line of—gods, it’ll take months to sort out,” Gorm said, again inwardly cursing the senseless tall folk once again. In Dwarven society, every Dwarf knew his place in the line of succession, from a king’s sons down to the lowest beggar on the street. There were constant squabbles over such rankings, of course, but they were handled well in advance of the king’s death. The Dwarven system led to a lot of extra conflict over scenarios that would never come to pass, and it could make family meals very awkward, but it also eliminated any uncertainty in times of transition. “This could mean war among the nobles and houses.”
Someone tapped Gorm on the shoulder. He turned to find Gaist pointing at the Heroes’ Guild field arbitration station near the palace gates. A large cluster of oak folding tables were set up for guild clerks and arbiters to process the mountains of treasure scattered about the palace, but currently the paperwork seemed to be on hold. A large group of people standing around the station were engaged in a heated debate with several statues.
The Stennish walking sculptures were still ambulatory and, now that they had stopped singing in harmony with the universe, were also capable of speaking in Root Elven. Gorm hadn’t understood a word the statues said when he thanked them, but now that some Elves had been located to translate for the sculptures, people seemed to wish they were quiet again.
“It seems like Andarun’s old tenants have something to say about that,” Heraldin said.
