A strange unease seized him without warning.
Cold ran along his spine.
He shivered.
Turning his head, he found a dwarf grinning at him from the neighbouring chair, mouth stretched wide in silent delight.
The dwarf’s head was bald and rough, like an imperfectly polished lump of ore.
A thick moustache drooped into a grey beard that spilled in heavy folds across a massive chest.
His body resembled a tree trunk plated in layered leather and steel, his arms thicker than a grown man’s thighs.
The grin carved into his face looked as though it had been hewn from old bark with the very axe hanging at his side.
He glanced towards the innkeeper working the casks, then turned back with the same unwavering grin.
Mest pressed two fingers to his brow.
“Can I help you with something?”
“No thanks,” the dwarf said in a cheerful grindstone voice. “I only want to order a drink.”
“Then you should address him.”
Mest gestured faintly towards Hobb, exhaustion heavy in the motion.
“I know. Still, kind of you to second me so helpfully.”
The dwarf clapped Mest on the shoulder with friendly force—nearly knocking him from the stool—then spoke towards the innkeeper in a cheerfully crackling tone.
“A fine good evening! A mug of beer, if you please—same as the young fellow’s there!”
“At once!” came Hobb’s voice.
The dwarf turned back, beaming at his newfound companion.
“My name’s óbalgúr. But to friends—just Omba.”
“Lucky you.”
“And don’t you go joking about the nickname, mind you,” Omba warned, wagging a sausage-thick finger. “I don’t like that at all.”
Mest again pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a very slow breath.
“What is it—headache?”
The dwarf leaned closer.
“You keep touching your forehead. Haven’t had enough to drink, that’s the trouble,” he declared with grave expertise.
“But fear not—our ale arrives already!”
Hobb set two brimming mugs before them.
“Here you are, good sir. And for you as well, Mest. Yes, yes, I’m coming!” he shouted across the room to a guest waving impatiently. “Back in a moment, gentlemen.”
Snatching up a bottle along with two cups, he hurried away.
“I hear they call you Mest—pleased to meet you!”
Omba puffed out his cheeks.
“And tell me… what is your mest-ery?”
He burst into roaring laughter, flailing his arms in every direction.
Mest let his head fall onto the counter with a hollow thud.
“Ahh, forgive me, but that was truly good,” the dwarf wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes. “What’s this—so drunk already you can’t even hold up your own skull? Not much endurance in you, eh? Heh, heh…”
He snorted into his beer, then took a vast swallow.
“Mmm. Fine flavour—not mere horse-piss. So then, Mest… where’d you crawl out of to find your way into this merry little tavern, if I may ask?
“Elsewhere,” came the muffled reply from the wood of the counter.
“Splendid! A wonder our roads never crossed before, since we came from the same place! But we’ll make up for lost time now,” Omba gurgled with laughter.
“And what brings you here?”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Mest’s voice faded like a dying ember.
“I believe… I shall drink myself insensible.”
He lifted the mug and drained half of it in a single pull.
“Then we are tuned to the same string! Imagine that—I planned the very same thing!”
To prove it, Omba emptied his entire mug in four enormous gulps and slammed it down.
The belch that followed was so cavernous the tavern’s noise faltered for a heartbeat.
Mest was now staring at the ceiling in silent agony.
“Ahh! You see how much we share already?”
Omba pointed meaningfully at the second mug.
“You’re falling behind.”
After a satisfied grin, his lips puckered and he began shifting restlessly on the stool.
“Ho there… pardon me kindly, but I must relocate to another seat.
The necessary one.”
He gave a crooked chuckle.
Rummaging in one of the pouches at his belt, he set a few coins upon the counter.
“You are my guest. I am delighted we have become so well acquainted!”
He clapped Mest on the shoulder again—nearly tearing it loose beneath his shovel-broad hand.
“Do not worry. I shall return!”
A faint groan answered from Mest’s direction.
The dwarf hopped down and trundled towards the door beyond the counter that led to the yard.
Just as it closed behind him, Hobb returned.
“I see you enjoyed yourselves,” he said, scooping up the coins and tucking them into his apron. “A bit of cheer does you good.”
“I think he crawled out from behind the counter,” Mest muttered, pressing his forehead yet again before draining the last of his beer.
“Why he chose me in particular…”
“Oh, don’t be so cold,” Hobb waved with the rag that seemed grown into his hand.
“You’ll soon be back in your gloomy solitude, and who knows how long before you see another soul. At least at times like this you might loosen a little. And on your travels, some company would not hurt you either—if only so you could sleep with both eyes closed now and then, and not turn into an angry hedgehog. Well… more than you already are. You may not wither in body as I do, but in spirit far more. Find someone to keep beside you—at least for a time. Take it as a kind of fatherly advice.”
“So you admit you’re old after all?”
Hobb chuckled softly.
“You see? There’s still some cheer left in you.”
Across the room several guests began waving, and Anne and the boy hurried to the counter, loading plates.
“My friend, it seems many have nothing to eat,” Hobb said. “The children bustle bravely, but I will not leave all the work to them the whole evening. You won’t mind if I help serve a while?”
“Of course not. Even if I am here only a few days, we will have time enough to talk. I would not have them wear themselves out on my account.
I might end up treating Anne again otherwise.”
Hobb smiled.
“Take your mug and make yourself comfortable by the hearth.”
He pointed beyond the end of the counter.
“That is my own place, which is why no one sits there. When we are closed—or quiet—I rest there myself. I carved the chairs with my own hands. Very comfortable. You can lean back like a king upon a throne. I’ll have Anne bring you food and drink in a moment so you don’t starve on me, and while I see to things here you can finally stretch yourself.
Or shall I open a room upstairs? Would you like to lie down?”
“No need, thank you. The fire will do perfectly for now.
To tell the truth… I do not much care for sleep. My dreams are always fair and gentle,
and afterwards it is unpleasant to wake to the cold truth again.
Tell me, Hobb… what day is it here?”
“The third day of Greenrise.”
Mest hummed thoughtfully.
Hobb patted his shoulder.
“I’ll be back soon.”
He hurried to his daughter and the boy, listening attentively as they pointed out the waiting tables, and soon vanished into the whirl of mugs and plates.
Anne glanced towards Mest, warmth shining in her eyes.
“I’ll bring you something to eat in just a moment.”
Mest smiled kindly.
“No hurry. No word of reproach will come from me.
See to the guests first.
In any case, I must somehow drag myself to the hearth.”
For a time he watched his bustling friend and his daughter.
“It’s good to see you again.
If only it were more often…” he murmured.
“But now there will be time.
A few days.
At last.”
He rose with effort, slung his sack over his shoulder along with his sword, and shuffled to the hearth.
With a heavy thud he dropped his belongings to the floor and sank into one of Hobb’s crafted chairs.
He gripped the fur-covered armrests in quiet approval.
Carefully—like a man lowering himself into hot bathwater—he leaned back and sank into the soft warmth.
A deep sigh escaped him.
“It has been long…
When was it last…?”
He gazed into the red tongues of flame dancing in the hearth.
Lifting a hand toward them, he then glanced aside.
From the opposite wall a stag’s mounted head watched him, unmoving.
Its lifeless eyes stared blackly back.
One thick log cracked.
Yellow firelight flared suddenly in Mest’s eyes.
Warmth gathered around the table in a steady, embracing heat.
His hand fell.
He felt the weight of exhaustion—held at bay for an immeasurable time—collapse upon him all at once, spreading across him like a heavy sack and drawing him downward into ever deeper water.
The hall slowly dimmed.
The tavern’s noise dissolved into distant echoes.
Mest’s eyes grew cloudy.
Then they closed.
