"Alright, I understand who you are now. But," he shifted his piercing gaze back to the girl, "this young lady hasn't bothered to tell us her name yet?"

  "She's also a refugee," Fendi Firshield hastily interjected. "She escaped with us from Crivi—"

  The captain cut him off without ceremony. "I'm addressing her, Master Dwarf. Kindly hold your tongue."

  "..." Caroline Tobias felt Benjamin's scrutiny becoming increasingly unbearable. "Yes, I'm a refugee."

  "Speak up, kitten. I can't hear you."

  "I! AM! A! REFUGEE!" The girl enunciated each word with deliberate force.

  The knights erupted into a chorus of knowing laughter. "That's more like it," Captain Benjamin sneered. "Cats and women are the same - they need to be trained before they listen to you. Orcss," he commanded the knight at his side, "inspect their cargo."

  Walin attempted to redirect the conversation. "How fares the war? On our journey here, we heard rumors that the Godmans are laying siege to the city."

  "They've been at it for over a month now," the captain replied with undisguised contempt. "They advance only through overwhelming numbers. If I had the same amount of men, I would have driven them back home a long time ago."

  "But until they breach the walls, their efforts remain futile," Jim observed. "In such circumstances, excess numbers become more liability than advantage."

  "That's right," Benjamin conceded with a wolfish grin. "We're engaged in a war of attrition. Our granaries are well-stocked—enough to survive winter. At worst, with proper rationing, we could endure another year. But those southern dogs lack staying power—they simply don't possess such resources. The Godmans' supply caravans from Crivi suffer significant losses en route. Once the fighting intensity diminishes, we'll dispatch guerrilla units to harass their supply lines. The mere challenge of managing daily waste disposal already taxes their ingenuity; disease will inevitably spread among their ranks. One way or another, they're destined for defeat."

  "Captain Benjamin." The knight called Orcss lifted the canvas covering one wagon. "It's all timber, and premium quality by the feel of it."

  "You possess a discerning touch, Sir Knight," Jim remarked with calculated joviality. "Prime oak, every piece, with some select fir mixed in."

  The captain straightened, his posture suddenly suspicious. "Expensive wood doesn't look like refugee equipment, does it?"

  Walin Barklo Vaslov and Jim Harad exchanged a lightning-quick glance. "Being refugees is merely our secondary status," the elder dwarf explained with practiced smoothness. "We were originally timber merchants from Crivi—the traditional occupation for most dwarves, as you likely know—excepting those who use ancestral treasures to establish banks and brothels, naturally. This lumber," he gestured toward the neatly stacked, rectangular-cut timber, "was rescued from the very jaws of the inferno. A moment's delay would have seen it reduced to ash alongside our warehouse."

  "I've heard a little about the defense of Crividsylvan," the captain acknowledged, shaking his head solemnly. "A single spark can consume an entire forest. A city built of wood must inevitably meet a woody end... And what of this?" His gaze shifted pointedly toward the second wagon. "Has the timber trade grown so unprofitable that you've diversified into stonework?"

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  An enormous pale-yellow boulder dominated the wagon bed, its surface threaded with complex, strikingly vibrant veins that immediately drew the eye. "I only claimed that Jim and I were timber merchants," Walin clarified, his smile never reaching his eyes. "This gentleman is our resident stone merchant."

  In the span of a heartbeat, Fendi Firshield found himself transformed into a stone merchant. (We never rehearsed this part!) he thought indignantly. "Indeed, Sir Knight. I am, regrettably, the most impoverished stone merchant in all of Crivi. Amid the ravages of war, this solitary treasure is all that remains of my livelihood."

  "What manner of stone is this?"

  "As you can see..." (Time to make something up.) Fendi cast a reproachful glance at Walin and Jim. "This is Dragonglass."

  "Dragonglass?" The captain studied the stone with newfound interest. "I was under the impression it manifested as a translucent, pale-blue crystal."

  "Your understanding is partially correct, Sir Knight. However, what you describe is fully processed Dragonglass," Fendi explained, approaching the stone with theatrical gravity. "This specimen should properly be termed 'Raw Dragonglass'—essentially a semi-refined product. This raw material requires processing under temperatures rivaling molten lava to transform into the pale-blue Dragonglass of common knowledge." (I'm astonished at my capacity for fabrication,) he marveled privately.

  Captain Benjamin's eyes widened appreciably. "I had no knowledge of such processes. I've never encountered human forging methods requiring such extraordinary temperatures."

  "Naturally not," Walin Barklo Vaslov interjected with unmistakable pride. "It represents one of the specialized crafts exclusive to dwarven artisans."

  "And where do you intend to transport this cargo?" Orcss inquired as he replaced the canvas covering. "Surely you require established buyers for merchandise of this caliber?"

  Jim Harad offered a noncommittal shrug. "Sales would be optimal, certainly, but we're not desperate. Regarding our destination, after considerable deliberation, we've tentatively settled on Duviliel as a temporary refuge."

  "Duviliel lies beyond the mountain range," the captain pointed out, gesturing behind him with his thumb. "You want to drag all this stuff, plus a woman, over the Kulen Mountains? That's impossible." Benjamin shook his head definitively. "Without an escort of at least five fully-armed adult humans, you wouldn't reach even the mountain's lower slopes."

  "Yet it remains our sole viable option," Walin countered, his tone suffused with calculated melancholy. "Westward lie Cynthia's fishing hamlets, but reaching them similarly demands traversing the Kulen Mountains—less perilous than the Duviliel route, perhaps, but even upon arrival, extended stay proves impractical without westward seafaring. As for eastward," he offered a smile tinged with bitter resignation, "that would lead us to Cynthia proper. And I doubt Cynthia would demonstrate such magnanimity as to welcome refugees during a siege, would you?"

  "Indeed, our priorities must favor efficient resource allocation..." Benjamin admitted haltingly. "Naturally, this doesn't indicate hostility toward dwarves specifically. Numerous dwarven mercenaries have answered our call to arms, prepared to repel the southern invaders."

  "Regrettably, we constitute a 'refugee contingent,' not the vaunted Gambril Oathsworn. Moreover, we travel with this genteel lady, whose delicate constitution causes her to faint at the merest glimpse of blood."

  "This girl is not a problem..." one knight positioned on the left edge of the encirclement suggested with a predatory smile. "If you hand her over to us..."

  A piercing infant's wail suddenly echoed through the forest.

  "Damn it, that damn baby again," Walin muttered through clenched teeth. Caroline Tobias startled briefly before mechanically retrieving the infant from her back sling and cradling it protectively. (This situation grows increasingly complex,) Fendi Firshield thought as his gaze darted anxiously between the captain and the knight to their left.

  "Well, well!" the captain exclaimed with exaggerated surprise. "You're hiding a baby too?!" His mocking laughter filled the clearing. "So tell me, which among you plays the kidnapper?"

  "...It's mine."