"They came all that way, just to end up here—to dig?" Kall asked in disbelief.

"Not by intent," Garavin said. "They came because they had nowhere else to go—much like ye, which is why I thought we should be talking."

"I have a home," Kall said. "I never wanted to end up here."

"I understand, and I can send ye back to Amn quick enough," said Garavin, "but that way leads to a quick death, or am I mistaken?"

Kall shook his head. "But I will go back someday," he said, meeting Garavin's eyes.

"I do not doubt ye," Garavin said, acknowledging the vow solemnly. "What I mean to do is offer ye a course for the intervening time. My diggers have been following a generally westward path since Nightal last," he said. "Out work in Mir and the surrounding area will take a pair of years, perhaps more, but once we reach the Shining Sea, I intend to run north for a bit. I could offer ye a place with us now, and give ye the option of leaving us when ye choose. Understand, I'm not in the habit of making this gesture to everyone. I need to keep a certain number of diggers in the company at a time. If I have too many, food will run short. Too few and we're weak on defense. But this way, ye could remain near the place ye're most wanting to be, and learn my trade in the meantime."

"I already know how to dig," Kall said, but he listened.

"This is different," Garavin said. "The first tenday will break yer back. Ye'll hate it, curse it. . . and me, come to think. The second tenday ye won't be able to keep yer eyes open, so ye won't have time to be thinking or cursing about anything—not the past, nor the future beyond putting one boot in front of the other. After that, as ye adjust, ye'll be having nothing but time. That is precious time—to consider yer place in the world and what ye intend to do with it."

Kall didn't need to consider either of those things. He pictured Balram, secure in his father's house, as night fell in the Forest of Mir. He replaced the image with one of himself, plunging his father's sword deep into the guard captain, feeling whatever magic the blade contained slide out, into his enemy. His father would be free—Aazen would be free—and Kall's life could return to what it once had been. Nothing else mattered.

"Why do you dig?" Kall looked at the dwarf, and a glint of green winking from a gap in his beard drew Kall's eyes downward. "What is that?" he asked.

Garavin lifted the object—a pendant—by its chain. Kall recognized the components first: smooth carnelian worked into the shape of a mountain; nestled within it, a faceted emerald shone like a doorway.

"Dugmaren Brightmantle is why I dig," Garavin said. He pointed to the swaying pendant. "Dumathoin guides the shovel."

"Dumathoin." Kall touched the seam, the joining of emerald to mountain, and felt the scratch of electricity run through his fingers.

"I serve the gleam in the eye and the keeper of secrets," Garavin continued, "because in addition to having an awful curiosity, I've dug far enough into the earth to uncover things that should—and shouldn't—be made known to greater Toril. Dumathoin helps me with the sorting out of which is which."

"You hunt knowledge," Kall said, remembering what Garavin had told him in the forest.

"Yes—and secrets. I can find them, and I can keep them. Ye should remember that, if ever ye're needing someone to talk to." He puffed unconcernedly on his pipe as Kall looked away. "If ye do stay, Laerin could teach ye things—they all could, I'm knowing that. But first ye'd learn to dig. That rule never changes."

The sound of raucous laughter at some unheard jest drifted out to them from the camp.

"They're gods, then," Kall said, listening to the forest stir with nighttime sounds. "Dugmaren and Dumathoin."

"Of the dwarf folk," Garavin nodded. "Most of my band is of Dugmaren's mind. They are discoverers—explorers. Dwarf or human, they fit nowhere else, so Dugmaren takes them all."

"Why should a dwarf care what happens to me?" Kall said without thinking, and felt heat rush up his neck. He plunged on. "I don't want to be an explorer. I've got nothing to offer Dugmaren."

"Ye have two hands, and an active mind, as I've already noted," Garavin said. "Even if Dugmaren wasn't interested, I'd still take ye."

Kall refused to meet the dwarf's eyes. "Why?"

"Because at one time or another, we all get trapped in the place ye are now." Garavin leaned forward, his grave face filling Kall's vision. "Do ye know what we do about it?"

Kall started to shake his head, but stopped when he saw Garavin's eyes twinkling with humor. He caught on and said, in perfect unison with the dwarf, "We dig ourselves out." Kall snorted—not quite a laugh, but something lighter than what had been in his mind. His voice only shook slightly when he said, "I'm going to need a large shovel."