The gnome tsked at the dull edge, hastily wiped her mouth, then propped the axe in a cleft of a log. Selecting a short file of jagged crystal from her belt, she worked on the edge, almost pressing her big nose against the hardy tool as she stroked quickly and methodically. Within a few minutes, she handed the tool to Graysky, who passed it to Strongsea.
"Humph. Never saw a file like that. Can't be much- Whoa!" The bigger barbarian touched a thumb to the edge and cut his flesh. Swearing, he sucked his thumb. Then light dawned. Laying the axe down, he leaped up so fast the gnomes recoiled in fright. Yet Strongsea caught them all in a gigantic bear hug.
"Welcome, brethren!"
Out on the prairie…
Two dwarves, Cappi and Pullor, stopped at an invisible line anchored by distant horsemen. The riders waved "All clear."
Cappi huffed, "I guess we part here. Thank you."
"No bother," said Magichunger. "I like to get out, see what stirs on our border. Though these days our scouts do the job."
Dwarves and men gazed over the prairie. There wasn't much to see. Rolling grass, winter white, marched to the horizon. A pair of vultures soared idly. Behind, the tip of Sanguine Mountain just showed to the tallest men. The barbarians considered that landmark the border of their new country.
The war chief and five fighters accompanied the two dwarves. Laden like donkeys with satchels and weapons, Cappi and Pullor journeyed to the distant Iron Mountains to tell the Sons of Baltar of the promise in the Barren Mountains. Through his message-bearers, Drigor hoped the entire tribe would relocate. The dwarves shook hands, were wished good luck, and stepped off on their thousand mile journey. The barbarians would see them out of sight, but the sudden thrum of thunder underfoot set both teams staring north.
The outriding scout pounded across the prairie on a half-wild horse. Knots lumped her bare arms as she wrestled the horse to a standstill, and jerked her leather-billed cap square. "Tracks!" she shouted. "Many of them! Entering our lands!"
"Show us!" commanded the war chief, and the party trotted after the scampering horse.
A mile on, the rider pointed to crushed grass, a path meandering north. Magichunger stooped, and rolled bruised stalks between his fingers. The trail was only a day old. Without a word, men and dwarves turned north at a trot flanked by the tall rider. Soon the trail wended west into barbarian territory.
Hours on, the rider dismounted, and waited for the war party to catch up. Where the land folded, Magichunger and the rest smelled smoke. Splitting up, they crept forward. Strange voices carried on the wind. Edging to a creek bed, they peered down.
A mix of scruffy soldiers, men and half-orcs, and even two half-ogres, hunkered around a small fire. No one ate, for their haversacks lay flat. They only watched an iron pot boil in hopes of weak tea. Their dirty clothing was mixed, but pale gold predominated in tunics. Weapons lay by every hand.
Magichunger pulled back, consulted with Cappi and Crabbranch, then signaled fighters forward silently. When everyone was posted, Magichunger reared to his feet with bow at full draw.
The hungry soldiers jumped, yelped, grabbed, but the burly barbarian hollered, "Touch them and die! You're ringed by arrows!"
The soldiers cursed, but stayed still. At the war chief's command, they backed with hands on heads against the sand bank. Most shivered, fearing to be shot. A barbarian and dwarf slid into the ravine to toss swords, war axes, spears, and clubs up on the grass. One older man rasped, "We're to be left defenseless on this godsforsaken plain?"
"You're lucky to be alive," Magichunger told them. "You trespass the lands of the Rengarth Barbarians. We claim all territory to the west and kill raiders. For such you look to me: deserters from the empire's army hunting easy prey." The renegades squirmed.
"Yet we value peace and never kill unless provoked," Magichunger continued. "So I suggest you turn for Northreach to find honest work. Follow the Sled by night. Keep your belt knives, and set snares on the way: these hills swarm with rabbits. On your way. To linger is to die."
Grumbling, but relieved to be safe, the soldiers grabbed meager packs, filed along the ravine, mounted to the grass, and stepped off northeast. The barbarians watched them out of sight, the half-ogres disappearing last.
Then the war party laughed with relief. Magichunger said to the dwarves, "You'd best be off afore nightfall."
Agreeing, the dwarves hitched their packs. But Cappi gazed northeast after the departed soldiers. "I wish the lands we must cross were as safe as this corner of the empire has become," he said wistfully.
"Then hop to!" Magichunger chuckled. "Fetch your tribe home and it'll be even safer!"
Everyone laughed and waved as the dwarves marched with the long evening sun shining on their packs.
Where the craggy feet of Sanguine Mountain rived the earth, Hilel and his horse-traders had selected a brushy, steep-sided ravine and blocked the ends with stumps and slash. This makeshift corral contained forty wild and half-tame horses, some brought by Hilel initially, others captured on the prairie.
Sunbright walked the ravine's edge and studied the milling animals as Hilel and his clan cut out individuals with horsehair lariats. The stocky horse-traders in their sleeveless sweaters and canvas vests and leather caps looked much alike, so Sunbright had difficulty telling them apart.
He more watched how they worked. The riders moved with a clever ease that belied skill. Men and women and children of the clan could plunge amidst a hurtling maelstrom of spooked animals to whip a snug noose around a neck while dodging flailing hooves, then somehow jerk the recalcitrant beast out of the herd and pacify it within a few minutes. Such skill bespoke years, generations of practice.
Outside the ravine, Hilel had snubbed a large roan stallion's forehoof against its chest to sling a saddle across its back. Timing just right, he hooked a boot, bounded to the saddle, and hauled the reins to keep his seat and teach the animal a lesson. Nudging, cooing, occasionally swatting, he forced the huge red mount to limp a tight circle.
Lazily, yet watching everywhere, Sunbright paced alongside and called questions: How many times must you mount before he'll accept you? Do horses ever strike when your back is turned? How smart are they? Are they loyal? How far can you ride one in a day? How much can they carry comfortably? What precautions are needed at night to protect them? And dozens more.
Hilel answered questions as he worked, puffing but patient, for his clan owed Sunbright a favor. First, the shaman and dwarves had rescued the entire clan from destruction by orcs early in the winter, then given clear directions for travel northwestward. But the traveling horse-traders had found chaos and danger in every path, for themselves and their beasts, so had returned to beg sanctuary of Sunbright. The shaman had spoken to the joint council, arguing that the riders could scout, haul supplies, run messages, locate herds of livestock, and perform other useful and unique tasks. So the clan camped, and set to culling wild horses from the plains.
Finally the exasperated trader asked, "Why so many questions, my friend? You pester me as if you'd buy the entire herd. Yet I know your people do not ride, but walk-they declaim it often enough-and view horses as nothing but steaks and sweetbreads on the hoof. So why all these questions?"
"No reason, just curious," Sunbright lied. "I admire how well your family rides, and wonder whether it's a skill that can be learned by anyone."