Dreams and Shadows - By C. Robert Cargill Page 0,115

entire yard behind the house was lit as if by flickering daylight.

In the doorway stood a diminutive, stocky man, covered neck to toe in a leather apron and goat-fur leggings. His skin itself was like the apron—leathery, cauterized, cracked by constant exposure to the heat. He smoked a cigarette lazily, peering suspiciously at the visitors before stabbing out his smoke on a timber beside him. He frowned, furrowing his brow.

“Colby,” said the dwarf.

“Mimring,” said Colby.

“You shouldn’t have brought him here,” he said in a gruff, gravel-hewn voice. “Not in his condition.”

“And what condition would that be?” asked Colby.

“Fucked.” He waved the two over. “Come on in.”

Inside the temperature was almost unbearable, a sweltering stream of heat pouring out of a raging furnace. Colby felt as if the sweat would sizzle from his brow, but Ewan was entirely at home, and didn’t so much as glisten. Instead, he scratched the scruff of his chin, grimacing at the sandpaper he found there. He looked down at his hand, sure that he’d taken off a layer or two of skin, but he hadn’t.

The oddest thing about Mimring wasn’t his size; his thick, calloused skin; or his hobbies, it was that he spoke in a slow Texas drawl. While hundreds of years old and hailing originally from Germany, he’d spent the last century in and around these parts. He had grown to love it, becoming not only acquainted with the culture, but one with it, so much so that he’d become a stereotype. He took a deep breath, putting both hands on his hips, nodding with puckered displeasure.

“Whelp,” he said with a sigh. “You’re in for some rough times there, son. Y’all got yourselves in a heap o’ trouble.”

“Word travels fast,” said Colby.

“I reckon it does when you’re the guy everyone comes to for a good weapon.”

Colby narrowed his gaze. Mimring shrugged.

“Who else were they gonna git? I’m the best smith on the plateau.”

“That’s why we’re here.”

“Well, I told the other ones that I weren’t gettin’ involved.”

“Is that true?” asked Colby. “You’re gonna sit this one out?”

Mimring spit onto the dirt floor and made a clicking noise with his tongue, thinking long and hard as he stared at Colby. “Naw,” he said, drawing the syllable to its inevitable, but protracted conclusion. “Redcaps are good for business, but bad customers. The fewer there are around, the happier I’ll be.”

“In other words, you like them less than you like me.”

“That and them redcaps wouldn’t owe me a big favor if I made ’em up somethin’ special.” He paused. “You will.”

“You got something in mind or is this more of a blank check sort of thing?”

Mimring nodded. “Blank check.”

Colby traded looks with Mimring for a moment. Mimring stood like a statue, not so much as a piece of dirt or sweat moving on him. Then Colby nodded. “I’ll take that deal.”

“Good. I’ve a feeling it’s the only one you’re gonna git in this town ’bout now.”

“A sorcerer is a good thing to have in your pocket, I suppose.”

Mimring shrugged. “Yeah, you scare the shit outta me, son. And frankly, as much trouble as you are, I’d much rather have you in my debt than be the guy that wouldn’t help you when you came a callin’. Now, what’ya need?”

“A sword,” said Ewan.

“Will you be needin’ just the one?”

Colby nodded. “Yeah.”

“Sized for you or him?”

“Him,” said Colby.

“You sure you won’t be wantin’ a pike instead? I can make a pike that’ll take the head clean off an eight-point buck at ten paces.”

“A pike?” asked Colby.

“Yeah, a pike.” He looked at Ewan.

Colby looked over at Ewan, not understanding at all what Mimring was getting at, and watched as Ewan fiddled with a blacksmithing tool he’d found hanging on the wall. He looked him up and down, noting the red cap atop his head. Colby returned his gaze to Mimring, shaking his head. “No, he won’t need a pike.”

“I think he’ll find it more comfortable in his condition.”

“His condi . . . what the hell are you getting at?”

Mimring looked up at Ewan, who wasn’t paying attention at all. “Son? Son?” He cleared his throat and spoke louder. “Son!” Ewan looked up and immediately put the tool back where he’d found it. “Would you mind stepping outside for a moment? I need to have a word with your boy here.”

Ewan nodded, meandering hesitantly outside, leaving the two alone.

“You don’t see what’s goin’ on?” asked Mimring.

“No, what is going on?”

“And here I’d heard you were the smart one, what with you