The Fifth Ward: Friendly Fire by Dale Lucas

Author:Dale Lucas
Language: eng
Format: azw3, mobi, epub, pdf
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Torval’s home smelled like a country kitchen, and a mouthwatering one at that. Clearly the family had been working all day to get the Fhryst meal prepared. The fruit of their collective labor was laid out on the short trestle table that their family kept for dining, and the moment Rem stepped through the door, his eyes danced eagerly over the offerings. There was fresh-baked barley bread, salted fish, a pot of mutton stew, part of a wheel of cheese, a pitcher of milk for the children, a larger pitcher—of beer or cider, Rem could not tell which—for the grown-ups, hearth-roasted carrots, onions, and parsnips, a crock of fresh soft butter, and a bowl of dried apple shavings, which, Rem had learned, were a common dwarven table condiment, Torval’s people often using those dried, wrinkled old apple pieces to flavor everything from stews to porridge to the butter on their bread. A warm fire licked at a new beech log beyond the hearth, and flickering candles lined the dinner table.

Lokki charged, and Rem bent down so Lokki could leap onto him. In seconds the boy clung to his shoulders like a peddler’s pack, nearly strangling Rem with his strong little arms round Rem’s throat. Rem knew the drill well; Torval’s youngest loved his visits and took great delight in wrestling with him, bodily, until he could force Rem to the floor, climb atop him, and declare the challenged giant slain. Ammi would try to scold and dissuade little Lokki, but it never worked. Truth be told, Rem loved it. He liked the familiarity, the fun, the playfulness. Gods knew he got little enough of that in his daily endeavors.

“There he is!” Lokki cried as he climbed Rem as though he were an ambulatory tree. “The giant Mokhenrog, back for more abuse at the hands of the dwarven hero Lokki, Son of Torval!”

Without warning the dwarf boy scurried higher, planting one leg over Rem’s shoulder, then wrapping his arms round Rem’s head. Suddenly Rem was blind.

“For the sake of all the gods, Lokki!” Ammi said, exasperated. “Let poor Rem go! He’s barely through the door!”

“Aye, that!” Torval barked. “He’s dainty as a daffodil, that one. One wrong move from you, little hooligan, and you’re like to crush him.”

“Your support is overwhelming,” Rem said, still unable to see. “But what if the giant had simply grown tired of always losing the battle, eh?”

“Oh no,” Lokki said, a delicious expectancy in his voice. “You can’t do that. This is the way the story goes—the dwarven hero fights Mokhenrog and cuts him down to size.”

“Well,” Rem countered, “what if I’m a different giant?”

“I say you’re Mokhenrog!” Lokki insisted.

Rem gave a roar, tore Lokki from his shoulders, and brought him carefully down to the floor with mock fury. When he laid Lokki down, he started tickling the boy, who giggled uncontrollably.

“The giant’s loose!” Lokki giggled. Rem pulled the young dwarf—barely the size of a human toddler—up off the floor and gave him a few

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