Downfall

"And our beds aren't dwarf-sized," she continued. "This room was intended for children, and its former occupant was released yesterday afternoon. A youngster fully recovered from the pox." Her eyes twinkled with an inner light, and she almost smiled. "A good lad. We burned the sheets, cleaned, and…"

"Ha!" Rig let out a clipped laugh when he finally noticed the pastel blue paint on the walls and the crude chalk drawings-a string of frogs and bunnies circling the room at waist-level.

The sun was setting outside. The pale orange light slipped beneath the gap in the shutters and stretched toward an upended crate on which sat a one-eyed rag doll with scraggly yarn hair. Nearby were cornhusk soldiers and colorful wooden blocks. There was another bed in the room, empty and even smaller, covered with a quilt dotted with pink and yellow kittens. He laughed again. "Wait'll Fiona sees this. She'll be greatly amused. ‘Course she'll probably have to visit the Knights, too, while she's here."

"The Knights won-in case you're interested," the dwarf added. Her foot tapped a little louder and she made a harumphing sound. "What few goblins weren't killed were driven…"

"Must be keeping your healers busy. All these patients. Probably exhausted with all the conjuring and magical muttering."

He didn't see the dwarf ball her hands and set them on her wide hips. However, he couldn't miss the sound of the kettle steaming again. "We don't have healers, sir, not the kind who use magic. None of those gifted folks are within a couple hundred miles of here. Not that we need them. We know how to take good care of people. Very good care. A lot of the nearby villages bring their sick here. We've men who make strong poultices from herbs and…"

"Ah, so that's what's responsible for that remarkable fragrance."

"…that work just as well as any magic. Probably better."

Rig made a sound in his throat that could have passed for agreement.

"Your friend is receiving excellent care. Just wish we knew what to do about that thing on his leg. Might try to cut it out tomorrow."

"It's a dragon scale," Rig volunteered, as he held his breath and bent over the bed again. "And you may as well leave it alone." The patient moaned and twitched as if in the throes of a fever, his fingers clawing at the sheets now. The mariner retreated to join the dwarf. "I didn't expect to find him. Fiona heard he was in the area, but you never know. We were close by and she wanted to track him down, so I came along. She's stabling the horses now, and then she'll be…"

"… not coming in here," the dwarf finished evenly. "Visiting hours have been over for more than an hour, and our doors are closed-to the healthy. Spotted you slipping in a side entrance, and I came by to chase you out. Visiting hours start again tomorrow at midmorning. Sign says that quite clearly. If you'd bothered to read it. You and…"

"Fiona."

"… can come back tomorrow." She backed into the hall and pointed to a far door. "Your friend might be better then."

"Ma'am, I've never considered Dhamon Grimwulf my friend." Rig politely nodded and walked past her, his boot heels clicking rhythmically against the tile floor.

When the footsteps faded to nothing, a shadow slid out from under the smaller bed and glided toward Dhamon. "Thought that man would never leave," the stranger whispered in a breathy voice that sounded like a hot breeze over sand. "Standin' in that doorway and just lookin' at you, not sayin' nothin' worthwhile, and then that stumpy woman came by. Pigs! Where were his manners? Didn't even bring you any flowers or sweets."

The figure was slight, draped in a hooded gray cloak so dark it looked like a piece of the night sky come to ground. From inside the hood came a sharp intake of breath. "Och, but that stench is strong."

Dhamon stopped his twitching act, opened his eyes, and gave his visitor a slight smile. "One gets used to it."

A thin-fingered hand reached up and disappeared inside the hood, muffling a gagging sound. "I could never get used to that," came the muted reply. "Good thing it's you layin' there, Dhamon Grimwulf, and not me. Phew!"

"Mai?" Dhamon ventured, changing the subject.

"He and the little man are in town. They'll be makin' their rounds tonight. Like me. Just as we planned." Then the figure dropped a small leather pouch into one of Dhamon's boots and glided silently out into the hall.

* * * * * * *

Shortly before midnight, Dhamon rose and stretched and rubbed the backs of his calves, which were achingly sore from resting against the too-small bed's footboard. He crept to the doorway, listening for noises.

Nothing worth worrying over, he determined. Just the faint hiss of his own breath and an occasional moan from patients in other rooms. No one was about. It seemed even the caregivers had finally gone to bed.