"I used my feet," her son answered and pushed his stool back to demonstrate. "I put the bow on my feet and pulled the string with my hands. I missed the first shot too."
Salah chuckled but still looked dubious. "You would have me believe that my son is a mighty warrior now?"
"The mightiest warriors fight with their heads before the first blow is struck," the barbarian said. "I think in that, your son is a better fighter than most would give him credit for. With a few years of proper training, he might well be one of the greatest ever to be produced by the GoldHoard and AnvilForged clans."
He turned to Brahgen but the young dwarf had been dragged away from their conversation by a group of young women already trying to gain his attention by listening and hoping for more stories from him.
"I suppose this is one of those times when a mother must stop doting over her son," Salah muttered. "I had hoped he would want to spend more time with me, but I should have known that the young women of the city would be on his mind as well."
"I would say he's had the attention of his mother all his life," Skharr told her as heaping piles of steaming food and massive barrels of mead and ale were served. "And the attention of the womenfolk is a little foreign to him."
She laughed. "Well, I suppose I should leave him to it. Especially if I have a desire for grandchildren."
That was a little more than he cared to know about Brahgen's family and he raised a flagon full of ale quickly to his lips. Thankfully, she was requested to speak to a few others of the clan, likely on important business that had nothing to do with him.
A heaping plate of smoked sausages, salted pork, potatoes, and what looked like rice but was thick, yellow, and smeared with butter was placed before him, and he could smell the spices that had been sprinkled over it. They made him think of home. Dwarves had a taste for spices and the tolerance for those that would have humans who weren't used to them shitting blood.
But DeathEaters had mingled with dwarves for many a generation, and he most certainly had a taste for them too.
When he realized that a few of the dwarves were watching him, he guessed that they expected him to react violently to the heat of the food. He grinned as he took a bite of one of the sausages. The familiar heat filled his mouth and made his cheeks feel flushed, but he took another bite eagerly. Of all the things he didn't miss about home, food was not one of them. He was a decent cook in his own right but far from the skill of those who did so more often.
There was a taste of home in the richly spiced food, and he raised his flagon to those who were watching him before he washed his mouthful down with ale. They cheered and drank as well.
After he had finished the first plate, Skharr leaned back in his seat and took a long sip of the ale to cool his tongue. More plates were brought, this time with a heavy cauldron of stew poured over thick cuts of salted pork belly and spiced rolls of deboned chicken thighs wrapped around roasted asparagus and carrots.
The barbarian glanced at Brahgen and immediately noticed that while a few young female dwarves had gathered around him, his attention was drawn to one seated across the table from him. The young woman wasn't quite a dwarf, he decided. Perhaps there was dwarf blood in her but she was slim and taller than most of the dwarves at a little over five feet tall.
Most notably, she had no hair on her head, an oddity that didn't do anything to detract from her beauty.
She noticed him staring, grinned, and motioned for him to join them.
He circled the table and approached her as she stood, and they moved aside to where they could talk.
"You're no dwarf," Skharr stated.
"It is a good thing barbarians can see the obvious," she said with a soft laugh as her warm auburn gaze drifted across the revelers. "I suppose I should state that you are not a dwarf either. Would that be polite of me?"
He laughed. "You do have some dwarf blood in you."
"My mother was of the GoldHoard clan and she married a human. I was the result, although she passed when I was merely three years of age. My father is a traveling merchant who could not raise me on his own and brought me here to live among my kin. He visits regularly and pays coin to ensure that I want for nothing. I have been here twenty-three years, learning the merchant trade from Salah GoldHoard and the art of combat from the warriors among the clan."
She looked a little younger than twenty-six, although he put that down to her lack of hair.
"I spent time in my youth with the dwarves of the AnvilForged clan myself," Skharr commented. "It was a long time ago, granted."
She laughed. "How old are you?"
"Older than most humans ever live to see, even in decrepit old age. DeathEaters have lives that match even dwarves in longevity. Have you a taste for menfolk?"
Her eyes narrowed and she studied him closely. "I do, but you are…a little too large for me, I think."
He cleared his throat. "I did not mean for me, but…my companion." He tilted his head subtly toward Brahgen so she would look without being obvious about it.
"He is about my size," she noted after a brief scrutiny. "But what makes you think he's interested in me? I am not quite…well, what a dwarf would be looking for."
"Neither would he be if we’re honest," he replied. "And I have it on good authority that an untraditional beauty such as yours would be more appealing to him."
She grinned. "Well, I suppose we can see about that."
He nodded. "Wait here, then, while I have a word with him."
Chapter Twenty-Four
"I do not talk shit, I promise," Brahgen stated and laughed. "I was on the godsbedammed ship when the kraken attacked. I could see it bend the wood at the stern and pull chunks of the hull out before my very eyes."
"But krakens are myths."
"No, but they are not large enough to sink a ship. In fact, my cousin out near the water says they cook the little ones over a fire for food."
He had begun to understand something of the difficulties that surrounded Skharr. People who didn't travel much in the world only knew about the rest of it through myths and legends. These were mostly the type they generally disbelieved as being the construct of an overly active imagination and a need to embellish by the bards who spread the stories.
Captain Thatch had been right in saying that a few lies were needed to make his stories a little more believable. He was fairly certain that there were still those who didn't quite believe the story the barbarian had told them, although none would be so brazen as to say as much to his face.
And it had been an entertaining story too, the kind he didn't see much among dwarves and hadn't heard much of from the barbarian himself.
The young women around him began to argue over how large they thought krakens were and ignored him for a moment as he looked at where Skharr was seated.
He frowned when he realized he had stood, walked to the other side of the table, and was talking to another of the young dwarves he had seen and even felt a little drawn to. He had tried to think about what story he might tell that would gain her attention.
Of course, he should have known that all he needed to do was walk around and talk to her. The warrior was likely to make some kind of lesson over it after he and she had finished a night of vigorous fucking. The sheer size difference between the two would be interesting. She was barely five feet tall and her bald head barely reached his chest.