Chapter One
“Modrad,” a muffled voice called
out.
The dwarf thought it was a dream,
but the pain felt real enough. Putting a hand to his head, Modrad rolled onto
his back, letting out a groan. He felt the unforgiving wood beneath him, the
noticeable discomfort still no match for the throbbing inside his skull. Modrad
lifted his eyelids, but the intruding light of a nearby lantern forced them
closed again.
“Modrad!” The visitor put fist to
door this time.
His eyes shot open but not because
of the banging. Something moved up through his throat, demanding to be
released. Modrad quickly turned over and got to his knees. The dwarf vomited,
the contents spattering the floor. Modrad never did make it to bed after
arriving home from the tavern. That much had become certain.
A dwarf rarely needed incentive to
drink, but the prior day’s events begged to be washed away, so Modrad had taken
on that challenge with a vengeance. Somewhat relieved, he managed to get his
feet under him, though he stood with a clear lack of confidence. Another bout
of door pounding ensued.
“Enough already,” Modrad rumbled.
Brushing past a clothes line, he
made his way to the front of the house. Modrad grabbed a lantern, which hung
along one of the walls, and opened the door. A male, one old enough to be his
father, stared back at him.
“Onoir Lightfoot?”
“I know,” Onoir said. “It’s been too
long.”
Modrad gasped. “Not long enough if
you ask me.” He turned his back to Onoir and walked toward the fireplace.
“May I come in?”
“You might as well,” Modrad replied,
snatching a stool and taking a seat. “You’ll only wake everyone by staying out
there, and I have enough problems to deal with.”
Onoir entered, gently closing the
door behind him, the elder’s face becoming more apparent in the light. Heavy
wrinkles weighed the skin beneath his beady, blue eyes, and Onoir’s once
youthful beard, shaven only at the chin, had turned a whitish gray. He even
required a wooden staff to help him walk.
“Why are you here?”
“I have news.” Onoir temporarily
looked away, apparently spotting the puddle in the far corner of the room. “Not
feeling well?” He glanced back at Modrad.
“You’re very observant,” Modrad
said, meeting his gaze.
“I anticipated this.” He pulled a
small flask from his sack and held it out. “Take it.”
“As tempting as it is, the last
thing I need is more ale.”
“Does this look like ale?”
Modrad squinted, taking hold of the
bottle to get a better view. “Honey.”
Onoir nodded.
“This should help.” Modrad hesitated to spit out the words, especially
when they were aimed at a hill dwarf. “Thank you.”
“Some honey tea will do you good. Allow me.”
Onoir found a mug and other utensils on the fireplace mantle. Using
a ladle, he scooped hot water from the massive fire pot and dropped some honey
into the cup. He placed the tea at Modrad’s feet.
“Give it a few minutes to cool,” Onoir said.
“You said you have news.”
Onoir bobbed his head. “Yes. It travels fast around these parts.”
He paused. “The council has already voted.”
Modrad’s muscles tensed. “How do you know?”
“I still have connections here, even after the death of your
father.”
Though Modrad didn’t like to think about his father, and would
rather forget him altogether, Onoir had always been a trusted confidant. He
would never admit it when growing up, or even now for that matter, but Modrad
often had more faith in Onoir than his own flesh and blood.
“I gather the news isn’t good if you’re paying me a visit.”
“I’m
afraid not,” Onoir said, shaking his head. “They’ll summon you first thing in
the morning.”
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