Whisper of Waves

55

14 Flamerule, the Year of the Wave (1364 DR)

FIRST QUARTER, INNARLITH

Hrothgar and Vrengarl lived in a basement. It was cheap, the walls leaked, there was moss on one wall, and algae on the floor. It was cold in the summer and colder in the winter, and the sun never shone directly in the one iron-barred window that was so small neither of the cousins could have crawled out it in a fire. Even poor humans wouldn’t be caught dead in the place, but the dwarves felt right at home. Vrengarl had started growing mushrooms in the closet and had harvested the first few to make a pungent broth.

“Here,” Hrothgar said, handing a dented tin cup of the simple soup to Ivar Devorast. “It ain’t much but it’ll warm yer cockles. If you have any cockles.”

Vrengarl chuckled and Devorast smiled, taking the cup. The human put his nose in the little wisps of steam that rose from the broth and smiled again at the hearty aroma. He glanced at Vrengarl and nodded.

“I’d offer you bread, but it went moldy,” Hrothgar said, taking a seat on the rickety old chair. Vrengarl preferred the stool, and the newer, less rickety chair was more likely to hold up a human, so they’d offered it to Devorast.

“You’re pale and sickly,” Vrengarl said to Devorast. “If you’d like some of that bread for the medicinal value, I can fetch it from the trash for you.”

“No,” Devorast said, wrinkling his nose. “No, thank you, Vrengie. The broth is fine.”

Vrengarl nodded and bent over his own broth, slurping loudly. Hrothgar realized that Devorast had called his cousin Vrengie, as he did sometimes, and Vrengarl hadn’t beaten him to a bloody pulp.

“You don’t have a copper to your name, do you?” Hrothgar asked the human.

“I have a copper,” Devorast replied with a shrug.

“Still living in that shack?” asked Hrothgar.

Devorast took a sip of broth and shook his head with his lips pressed tightly together.

“Had to give it up?” asked Vrengarl.

Devorast nodded, then took another sip of broth.

“What in the name of the Soulforger are you still doing in this rat hole of a city, then?” Hrothgar said, his deep voice booming off the close stone walls. “Go home to Cormyr or something. Go find someplace where they appreciate men like you.”

“The story would be the same in Cormyr,” Devorast said. “Still, getting out of the city is an appealing thought.”

“He should come with us,” Vrengarl suggested, looking at Hrothgar.

The dwarf didn’t even have to think about it.

“You should, damn it,” he said.

Devorast raised an eyebrow.

“Some rich bastard’s building a … what is it again?” Hrothgar asked his cousin.

“Vine yard?” Vrengarl replied.

“That’s right,” said Hrothgar, “a vine yard … out of town, in the countryside. He’s hiring a whole crew to build a winery, a barn, all sorts of walls and sheds and whatnot. It’s no fancy ceramic ship or nothin’, and you won’t be no one’s boss, but it’s silver coins at the end of a tenday and fresh air in the meantime. I know how you humans like that fresh air.”

The two dwarves shared a smile while Devorast appeared to be thinking it over.

“Oh, for the love of Clangeddin’s silver codpiece, Ivar,” Hrothgar cursed. “What do you want? A bloody engraved invitation?”

“No,” the human answered finally. “That sounds fine, Hrothgar. I could use the fresh air.”

“Well, you’ll need it after staying with us tonight,” the dwarf replied with a grin.

They sat in silence for a while, finishing Vrengarl’s hearty broth of closet-grown mushrooms. If they made any further plans, they did so without speaking and for themselves only.