"You owe him," Laerin cut in. "You put your hands where they didn't belong."

"Your self-righteous arse does the same thing whenever it's given half a chance!"

"Fine, then. Shall I tell the boy how Garavin's prying into your own past was rewarded, when we first came here?"

For whatever reason, that shut the man up. He stood, glared at Laerin, and unsheathed a short sword from his belt. He tossed it at the half-elf, who caught it easily, this time by the hilt.

"My thanks. Now." He offered the weapon to Kall, wiping his bloodied hand on his breeches.

Cautiously, Kall placed the priceless sword lengthwise between them. He grasped the hilt of the offered blade and raised it with one hand.

"When you are older," Laerin said, "you will be as tall and as broad as I am. My father was of your blood—thick in the chest and arms. People will think you're a brawler, but you'll be able to wield that"—he pointed a toe at the sword lying in the dirt—"with grace and ease."

Kall nodded, then noticed Garavin silhouetted in the hut's doorway.

"Laerin is correct about yer abilities," said the dwarf. He came forward, lifting Kall's sword from the dirt. "Ye should be taking care of such a precious thing." His eyes closed briefly, as if he were absorbing some invisible resonance from the blade. "It will serve ye more than well. . . but not today," he said, addressing the last part to Laerin.

The half-elf nodded solemnly. Then he bowed briefly to the dwarf, winked at Kall, and left them.

Kall watched him move gracefully around the camp, giving instructions, until he realized Garavin still held his sword. Awkwardly, he took the blade, letting it rest beside him.

"I'm afraid we must put off our talk a bit longer, lad," Garavin said, his brow furrowing apologetically.

Kall nodded, though he couldn't imagine what the two of them had to discuss. Just before the dwarf disappeared inside the hut, Kall said, "I'm not staying here."

Garavin paused and gave a nod. "Then it looks to be a very short conversation."

CHAPTER SEVEN

Forest of Mir, Calimshan

13 Eleasias, the Year of the Sword (1365 DR)

Garavin's diggers worked in shifts of six, with two torch-bearers standing nearby to offer additional light and water when needed. Every few candles the shift would change, but the resting group would stay together in its own cluster, eating, talking, and occasionally shooting glances Kall's way. He ignored them, preferring to spend the time resting and watching.

As night fell, Morgan brought out tin buckets filled with tallow and arranged them in circles throughout the camp. When lit, the bucket candles gave off a peaceful glow like grazing fireflies. The evening meal came next: seasoned bread chunks and ham sliced off the bone by the same man who had served breakfast. The diggers, drawn by the smell of food, gathered again in the clearing, and Garavin joined them, the great dog Borl trailing behind him.

The dwarf chewed a short-stem pipe and had a book wedged beneath one arm. He bypassed the food line, instead heading for one of the few trees in the bowl-shaped clearing.

Large silver-sheened leaves hung around a trunk that looked as if it had been split, long ago, by weight or perhaps by a lightning strike. One half had died, but the other portion thrived. Garavin sat in the space between the living and the dead halves. With his dark, weathered skin, he looked almost a part of the tree, a face staring out of the bark. He smoked, read, and watched the activities of the camp, while the mastiff slept at his feet.

Kall ate with Laerin and Morgan again, listening to them discuss the day's progress, but his eyes kept straying to Garavin. Finally, Laerin nudged him.

"Go," he said simply.

The dwarf did not look up from his book as Kall approached, and Kall wondered if he'd fallen asleep. Then a plume of smoke rose from Garavin's pipe, and his eyes followed. He nodded at the withered bit of stump, and Kall sat.

"Well? What do ye think of my diggers, Kall?"

It wasn't the question Kall had expected, so he said the first thing that came to mind. "They're not like you."

Garavin smiled. "Well, let's suppose ye and I were to mark a map of Faer?n with the birthplaces and travels of all those lads and lasses ye saw today. Ye'd still be about it when winter came, and it would take a lifetime and more to walk in their footsteps."