Dragon Kiss- Chapter 1

Dwarves are known to be cranky. Tired, injured and hungry ones can be outright mean. Roland was in sight of the towers of Pinewall. After walking for 5 days, being hit in the head by a bottle of elderberry wine, and losing his food to teenage bandits, he was in no mood for the mule’s stubbornness. He pulled on the rope and pushed her from the rear. A logging cart rumbled past towards Pinewall, clouding him and the gathering dwarf children in dust. The mule, called No Luck, didn’t budge.

“Kill the mule, we’re hungry,” a boy yelled with a laugh.

“Do you want me to move her for you?” shouted a girl.

Sweat trickled through the dust on his tan skin. His rust colored hair and beard, both braided and pulled into ponytails, hung against his black leather robe, which was pulled tight by a silver belt with a buckle shaped like a tree. Roland made a fist, his lip raised in a growl. He went forward, as if to punch No Luck, but spat on her face instead. she flicked her tail and yawned.

“I speak mule language,” a boy said. His hair was shaved except for one black braid and he wore a wool robe dyed red. “She wants to die because you stink so bad.”

The children darted like mice as Roland rushed them, his hands out like claws. He caught the boy by his braid and yanked him down while catching another by his arm. Taking both by the ears he knocked them into each other and bent down, as if he might say something, but he screamed instead. He screamed for the mule, for his hunger, for his unwanted journey. He took a deep breath and screamed again for his lack of sleep and his lost home. He looked as if he might scream again, but he stood, gave each boy a squeeze on the shoulder, and pushed them away. One ran behind a thicket of raspberries. The boy in the red tunic stayed and started to snort like a pig. Roland chuckled, and the boy skipped down the road towards Pinewall. When Roland turned back, a pudgy dwarf riding sideways on a donkey was staring at him.

“I’m guessing you’re the Estate Lord. I’ve been keeping my ears and eyes open for you” the dwarf said.

Roland walked slowly towards him. The dwarf wore a brown tunic decorated with black embroidered flowers, and his braids glimmered with silver beads.

“I’m guessing you’re a merchant who wants to sell me everything I need for my new home.”

“Ahhh, a true Estate Lord then. Yes, yes. My name is Ertok, and not only do I have what you need, I have more. You’ll need slaves, and the new slave tax is very expensive.”

The road to Pinewall was surrounded by a sparse forest of tall pines and berry bushes. Smoke drifted with the scent of fat from the camps of poor and travelling dwarves living outside the town. Roland put his hand up to quiet the merchant, scanned the forest, and walked closer.

“I have slaves that must be moved,” Ertok started. “One’s been on the stand three times, and no one wants him. He’s older. See, see, I’m honest. But you’ll need him where you’re going. He can read. I make money from him by having him read things for people, so he’s not worthless.”

Ertok smiled and folded his hands on his lap, still sitting on the donkey. Roland met his eyes. They did not match his smile.

“What’s your deal then?” Roland said.

“Simple, simple. You buy what you need from me, everything, and I’ll give you that slave’s title. And I have a she-dwarf. She can cook, of course.”

While slavery was legal, only two dwarf towns allowed slaves to be sold, and female slaves of any race were prohibited throughout the Allegiant Clans. Officials blamed the disappearing she-dwarfs on loose morals and the decay of society, while dragons, wizards, and fairies also took the blame.

“Trade me your donkey for my mule, and we have a deal.”

Mud crusted No Luck’s white hair and blood stained her rear right leg. Ertok ran his hand along the mule’s protruding ribs and inspected her crusted eyes and an open sore that oozed on her neck.

“You’ll kill my donkey in a week if you treat it like this animal. No wonder. No wonder.”

“No wonder what? Hold your tongue dwarf. The bandits took my donkey stallion and my two breeding mares and left me with this. I’ve worked a miracle to get her this far and I’ll kill you now if you don’t believe me. I even named her. ”

Roland grabbed his bags, placed them on his new donkey, and climbed on.

“I’ll find you. The mule’s name is No Luck,” he said, and without looking back, rode into Pinewall.

Nestled on a forested plain just east of the Tooth Hills, Pinewall started as a simple garrison for a mining expedition. As the Allegiant Clans formed it was taken over by the Clan King’s soldiers and fortified as a border post and, when trade and families came, it grew into a town. The wall was made from granite blocks but some sections were still timber palisade made from the straight pines of the forest, and the pounding of stone masons attested to the continued improvement of the wall. There were only two gates leading in, the large Sun Gate in the south wall and the smaller Moon Gate to the north, and these were connected by the half mile long Arrow Street, which ran through the center of Pinewall. The Sun Gate was circular and had curved sunrays of pink granite around the edges. Low walls inside the gate formed a wide alley that led to the tariff booth and two garrisoned towers.

Roland rode through the Sun Gate and hopped off the donkey. A dwarf with silver cord braided in his beard and wearing an indigo robe sat outside the tariff booth, a small stone building, drinking from a pewter stein as two carts and a wagon waited to be searched. A guard leaned against the wagon, yawning. Several dwarves napped in the shadows of the square towers, and the afternoon sun reflected off the soldier’s helmet that stood on top, causing Roland to look up. Pigeons landed on the tower then flew away as the soldier motioned him towards the tariff booth from behind a chest high wall. Roland nodded to the soldier and walked to the booth.

“Estate Lord Roland,” he said as he approached the dwarf in the indigo robe. The dwarf brushed a fly away from his gray hair and took a long, slow drink. Ale dripped from the corners and trickled down his beard. He slammed the stein on the bench and licked his lips.

“I thought you had to own an estate to be an Estate Lord. Times have changed. I’m just a Tax Noble, but I do own a number of streets here in Pinewall. Maybe that is enough to be an Estate Lord now. Soldier, what do you think?”

The soldier leaning against the wagon nodded in agreement and said ‘yes sir’ twice with a laugh. The Tax Noble stood and went into the booth, returning with a large coin imprinted with a badger head on it.

“Take this Roland, I mean, Estate Lord Roland, of course. It places you under the protection of Pinewall. Go to the Silver Moon Inn at the Moon gate and they’ll give you food and a room for as long as you’re here, as long as it’s not too long. You’ll be fetched tonight to meet with the Governor, so don’t stray. I’m Risit the Tax Noble. Use my name if they give you trouble.”

Risit grabbed the empty stein on the bench and went back into the booth, returning with a full one. He sat down and drank as if there was no one in front of him, let alone the ever increasing line of merchants in their wagons waiting to be inspected. Roland saw the row of steins inside, and he realized how thirsty he was. He pulled on the donkey’s mane and headed past the napping dwarves and into the market square.

Steam swirled from pots of stew and the scent of manure hung in the air with the dust. Butchers lazily swung rags at flies that buzzed between the mutton and pork hanging on wooden tripods and a group of tethered donkeys. Carrots, squash and onions were spread out on tan blankets around the partially cobbled square. Three dwarves sat on stools near the center of the square, each with a set of scales at their feet and, like Risit, wore indigo robes, looked just as apathetic, but they did not have any steins to drink from and appeared common but clean. Thatched shops, built wall to wall, covered the north, east and west sides of the square in hodgepodge rows. Grain, cloth, metal goods, and anything else the common dwarf needed could most likely be found here, while some of the shops were covered in hay and made into places to eat, drink, sleep or birth a foal.

The shopkeepers and sellers in the square were known as Market Merchants, and each displayed a metal token with a badger’s head imprint and a number somewhere around their goods. Both dwarves and she-dwarves took an equal part in the selling. All wore the colorful robes and dresses of the local clans as well as the dirt and smells of the market.

Roland meandered to a busty she-dwarf with a tray of ceramic steins. He pulled a coin from a small pouch on his belt, and she handed him a drink of dandelion wine, which he drank in three large gulps. As he handed the stein back he felt a tug on his robe. The boy in the red tunic stood behind him. He snorted like a pig, and Roland brushed him away like a lazy butcher with a rag.

“I’m Wilkin,” the boy said as he tugged on his robe again. “I can show you where the inn is.”

“How the do you know my business, boy?”

“I’m a pigeon boy. They only gave me one token today,” Wilken said as he touched a small badger token with a hole in it that hung around his neck. “You’ll need a pigeon if you want meat with your stew. No rabbit or chickens with the workers there right now. There’s most likely pigeons on the Arrow Road this time of day. I’ll take you, and most likely get you a pigeon on the way. “

Roland didn’t know if the boy had answered his question or not, but he was talking of food and the inn, so he just said “What the hell,” and followed. Wilkin led him into a wide alley on the north side of the square where empty wagons lined the sides and children played around the wheels and made daring jumps in and out of the seats. The alley opened up to become the Arrow Road, and an ambling stream of dwarves funneled in and out. A she-dwarf with two long braids and a basket of eggs stopped in front of Roland, her face wrinkling into a scowl under her yellow bonnet as she watched him. Roland and Wilkin had to move around her. He noticed three dwarves staring at him, whispering through bearded frowns. Roland did his best to ignore them and focused instead on the strange town before him.

If a dwarf just looked to the west, he would be forgiven for thinking he was in a rolling farmland that stretched for miles. On this side of the road, dwarves built their homes under earthen mounds, with sloping entry ways leading into stone rooms and tunnels. Even on the plains the dwarves were a ground dwelling people, and the forests were dotted with these ancient settlements. On top of the mounds vegetables and herbs grew while chickens ranged free. Dirt paths led through the mounds and in the distance tree groves obscured the wall. To the east, ravines seemed to empty into the Arrow Road as cobbled pathways twisted between high walls of rock and adobe. These were the homes of the mountain clans, built like those on the high ridges around their mines, and made wall to wall, two to three floors high, with small square windows. Potted gardens grew on many of the flat roofs that sloped slightly to allow water to run off through channels in the stone railings.

Pigeons landed on a roof railing above the road. Wilkin reached up under his robe as if he might pee, but instead brought out a sling already fitted with a smooth rock. In his left hand he held a stale chunk of bread and he started to grind it into bits, while he raised his right arm out with the sling. He made some clicking noises and threw the bread bits out. The pigeons flew down and the dwarves on the road moved out of the way. In a quick motion he spun the sling and released it underhand. Pigeons flapped away wildly as Wilkin pounced on the one that struggled in the dirt. He broke its neck, looped the token around the bird, and gave Roland a toothy grin as the afternoon sun highlighted the dirt on his face and shaved head. A passing dwarf congratulated him on the kill.

“That’s dinner then. Now, let’s find the cook,” Roland said as he started walking.

Wilkin skipped ahead and stopped like a dog until Roland almost caught up, then bounded down the road again. The Moon Gate lay straight ahead. Unadorned, it was a simple arch that allowed one rider through at a time between low walls that extended from the gate to a guard station. The wall on this side of Pinewall marked the vague northern boundary of the Allegiant Clans. On the right side of the gate a stable jutted out with a roofed, open area. Next to this were twelve stalls lined up in four rows.

Wilkin was talking to a dwarf at the stable, and as Roland approached, the dwarf hurried out to meet him with his palms held to the sky, the traditional dwarven greeting.

“Good to meet you. Welcome to Pinewall, Estate Lord. What an honor to have you. I’m Tober, the stable keeper. I have a stall for your donkey, and he will get the best care here. I’ll even sleep outside the door to protect it.”

Tober wore a black robe with a dagger tucked into a rope belt. Unbraided hair waved down to his shoulders under a brown bandanna, and his black beard was short and crudely cut. Roland raised his palms up then dropped them in fatigue.

“Well Tober, you’re the first dwarf to properly greet me since I’ve arrived. Even the merchant couldn’t raise a palm for me.”

Roland grabbed the saddle bag and flung it over his shoulder. Tober guided the donkey to a stall, which Roland scanned, and gave a nod. Tober latched the half-door after the donkey went in and picked up a piece of charcoal from the ground. He drew a line on the door frame where dark smudges accented the wood grain.

“I draw my lines at noon time, so if you only want one night pick him up before then. For an extra coin I’ll graze him in a meadow at dawn.”

Roland nodded in agreement and raised his palms, then motioned for Wilkin to lead the way beside the wall. Vines grew through gaps between the logs. It was still made from timber in this section of town, but the stone blocks that sat along the road were a sign of the new wall to come. To their right the stone and adobe homes blended in to each other, although each door was unique. They passed an elaborate, oak carved door. The next was an orange and green rug tacked to the door frame. They came to one made from loose planks. Wilkin pushed on it gently, and smiled as he held the door for Roland to walk in.

Smoke wafted through the dim, herb scented room from a fireplace on the far end where a cauldron steamed over coals. Roland’s eyes adjusted to the dark immediately, as is normal for all dwarves. A large table surrounded by benches, made from the same planks as the door, sat in the middle of the room and furs lay against the walls. Two quarry workers eating at the table looked up at them but went back to eating their stew, while those asleep on the furs continued to snore. Along the wall in front of the door stood a counter with chipped bowls and steins, and a she-dwarf with blonde braids walked from behind it to Wilkin.

“Here Ma,” said Wilkin as he handed her the pigeon. She kissed his dirty head near the braid. Roland stared at her long lashes, full lips, and well-proportioned body that filled her blue and green dress.

“Since your staying for free I might charge you for the look,” she said, and walked over to the fire where she put the bird in a small pot filled with water and placed it on the coals by the cauldron. Roland continued to stare as she walked back and one of the quarry workers touched her. She slapped him, and he went back to eating with a laugh. She placed the token that had been on the pigeon in a small chest behind the counter.

“I prepared one room up and one room down, so take your pick. I’ll send Wilkin to fetch you when the bird’s ready.”

“What’s your name?” Roland asked.

“Wilkin’s Ma.”

“You’re young for a ma. Anyway, I don’t have time to have my clothes washed, but I’ll have the boy bring them to you so you can dust them, maybe get some stains out. It’s been a long road. I’ll have a wash basin, just bring it with the stew when the birds ready. I’ll go down, as long as it’s dry.”

Wilkin’s Ma flashed either a smile or a snarl, Roland couldn’t tell. She pointed to the other end of the counter before grabbing the chest and walking out. The place where she pointed had a ladder that came out of a hole in the ground and went through an opening in the ceiling. Roland walked over and threw his saddlebags to the floor ten feet below and followed down the ladder. The floor was covered by rugs, and a mattress made from sewn hides and stuffed with straw dominated the room. Two small tables sat next to mattress with blankets folded on them. The walls were plastered, but rocks stuck out here and there. Roland took off his clothes and passed them to Wilkin. He grabbed a blanket, and with a sigh and a smile laid down. He didn’t know how long he had slept for, only that the screaming woke him up.