“Well, I’m glad you are here,” Arista replied. “Other than my handmaiden, Bernice, I think you are the only other woman here.”
“It is just that everyone else was sent back home and I feel so out of place, like I’m doing something wrong. Deacon Tomas says I’m not. He says I’m hurt and I need time to recover and that he’ll see to it no one bothers me. He’s been very nice. I think he feels as helpless as everyone else around here. Maybe taking care of me is a battle he feels he can win.”
“I misjudged the deacon,” Arista told her, “and you. Are all farmers’ daughters in Dahlgren so wise?”
“Wise?” Thrace looked embarrassed.
Arista smiled at her. “Where is your family?”
“My father is in the village. They won’t let him in to see me, but the deacon is working on that. I don’t think it matters, as we will be leaving Dahlgren as soon as I can travel, which is another reason I want to get my strength back. I want to get away from here. I want us to find a new place and start fresh. I’ll find a man, get married, have a son, and call him Hickory.”
“Quite the plan, but how are you feeling—really?”
“I still have headaches and to be honest I’m getting a little dizzy right now.”
“Maybe we should head back to your bedroom, then,” Arista said, and they turned around.
“But I am feeling so much better than I was. That’s another reason why I got up. I haven’t been able to thank Esra. I thought he might be in the halls here somewhere.”
“Esra?” Arista asked. “Is he the village doctor?”
“Oh no, Dahlgren’s never had a doctor. Esra is—well, he’s a very smart man. If it hadn’t been for him, both me and my father would be dead by now. He was the one who made the medicine that saved me.”
“He sounds like a great person.”
“Oh, he is. I try to pay him back by helping him eat. He’s very proud, you understand, and he would never ask, so I offer and I can see he appreciates it.”
“Is he too poor to afford food?”
“Oh no, he just doesn’t have any hands.”
“Tur is a myth,” Esrahaddon was saying to the dwarf as Royce and Hadrian arrived at the falls.
“Says you,” Magnus replied.
The wizard and the dwarf sat on the rocky escarpment facing each other, arguing over the roar. The sun, having dropped behind the trees, left the two in shadow, but the crystalline spires atop Avempartha caught the last rays of dying red light.
Esrahaddon sighed. “I’ll never understand what it is about religion that causes otherwise sensible people to believe in fairy tales. Even in the world of religion, Tur is a parable, not a reality. You’re dealing with myths based on legends based on superstitions and taking it literally. That is very undwarf-like. Are you certain you don’t have some human blood in your ancestry?”
“That’s just insulting.” Magnus glared at the wizard. “You deny it, but the proof is right before you. If you had dwarven eyes, you could see the truth in that blade.” Magnus gestured at Royce.
“What’s this all about?” Hadrian asked. “Hello, Magnus, murder anyone lately?”
The dwarf scowled.
“This dwarf insists that Royce’s dagger was made by Kile,” Esrahaddon explained.
“I didn’t say that,” the dwarf snapped. “I said it was a Tur blade. It could have been made by anyone from Tur.”
“What’s Tur?” Hadrian asked.
“A misguided cult of lunatics that worship a fictitious god. They named him Kile, of all things. You’d think they could have at least come up with a better name.”
“I’ve never heard of Kile,” Hadrian said. “Now, I’m not a religious scholar, but if I remember what a little monk once told me, the dwarven god is Drome, the elvish god is Ferrol, and the human god is Maribor. Their sister, the goddess of flora and fauna, is … Muriel, right? And her son, Uberlin, is the god of darkness. So how does this Kile fit in?”
“He’s their father,” Esrahaddon explained.
“Oh right, I forgot about him, but his name isn’t Kile, it’s … Erebus or something, isn’t it? He raped his daughter and his sons killed him, but he’s not really dead? It didn’t make a lot of sense to me.”
Esrahaddon chuckled. “Religion never does.”