"Aye, aye, that's one way..." The Dwarf who had spoken chewed on his lip. "But what if they don't?"
Leopold leaned back a little and looked utterly relaxed. "Well, that would be a problem, then. But look at it this way — this Queen is clever. She sends out invitations for hostages. That's all well and good, but the first ones show up at dawn the next day! You don't get that without magic help. So the Godmother here is meddling in this, as well. Maybe more than just her. Hmm?"
"I saw the first one arrive with my own eyes," Siegfried said thoughtfully. "Looked like a Sorceress bringing him, not a Godmother. Actually, if I were making a guess about it, and you were to push me to tell that guess... looked as if it was his mother leaving him to try his luck."
Theyall gave him an odd stare, and he shrugged. "Prince can't have a Sorceress for a mother? Or maybe a sister? The thing is, where there's one like him, there's probably more — if not mothers or sisters, then, well patrons. Friends. Ties, that's the point, ties to magicians, Yes? Bad idea to meddle in the affairs of magicians. Unless you like eating flies."
"Or think that your crown would look better with all your hair burned off." Leopold chuckled. "There you are, not only do we have hostages with fathers with armies, we have hostages with friends and family that can turn you into a newt. That will be enough to make the neighbors pause, I should think."
The Dwarves made thoughtful sounds and contemplated their beer. Siegfried kept eyeing their armor, and thought wistfully that if he only had the tremendous sum it would take to buy a coat of that chain mail, now would be the time to strike a bargain with them.
But he didn't. And there was no use even thinking about it. Gods got armor like that, not mere Heroes like him. Not unless they got a god to give it to them. Granted, his parents were half god but...his grandmother was more likely to send a thunderbolt to kill him than give him armor, and his grandfather was the one trying to set him up to marry his aunt and have that Colorful Doom descend on him. Dwarven chain-mail was no compensation for getting hacked to bits.
Or a King might give him such a thing. Kings could afford it, too.
Maybe if he ended up having to challenge a champion from one of the enemy armies, he could ask for a coat of that mail from the Queen. The good thing about chain mail, of course, was that it didn't have to be made and fitted to you; it was easy enough to have a general size, and just as easy to add some or take some away, so he could just ask for a Dwarven coat and it would turn up the next day. He had made chain mail in the past himself — the Dwarf that had taught him had said it was important for him to learn "the patience of the metal" — but nothing like as fine as this. Sadly, he had outgrown it long ago, and at the point where it had become too small, he hadn't had access to a forge to make the rings to extend it. Nor, truly, the time to do so. With regret, he had bartered it for the breastplate, greaves and arm-guards he had now.
He forced his mind from the beautiful mail with an effort.
Leopold was deep in discussion with the Dwarves, about trade in gems and metals and how all of this might hurt them. Siegfried was surprised at first, but then he noticed something. Leopold was giving the impression of being knowledgeable, but what he was really doing was letting them talk, which they did with great enthusiasm and at great length. Leopold merely waited until they ran out of things to say, then asked a leading question based right out of the last things they had said. That set them off again, and like spirited horses with the bit between their teeth, they galloped on for a few more miles.
Siegfried accomplished much the same thing with his nods and "indeeds" among those people at the Palace. But not nearly as cleverly. Leopold really was getting a lot of information.
Finally the Dwarves were completely relaxed. They called over the serving boy — Leopold looked vaguely disappointed that it was a boy and not a wench — paid the reckoning and got up.
"You're good lads," the chief of them said, as two of his fellows slapped Siegfried and Leopold on the back. "Best of luck in the trials. We'd bet on ye, but Dwarven folk don't bet." Siegfried had been ready for the slap and braced himself for it, but Leopold, like most folk who had never had much close contact with Dwarves, was not prepared for their strength, and nearly went over into his food. The Dwarves knew very well that they could catch the unprepared in this way, and were always hoping for it. This was the essence of Dwarven humor.
So it was Siegfried who gravely thanked them, while Leopold got his breath back. They trundled out, and it wasn't until some moments later that Leopold stopped gasping. Dwarves really were very powerful.
The bird was laughing. Leopold leveled a withering glance at her. That only made her laugh more. "Is your pet laughing at me?" he demanded.
"No, no," Siegfried lied with a straight lace. "She's just singing."
But the bird stopped laughing. "Pet?" the bird said in outrage. She fluttered her wings and hopped with anger. "Oh...just wait. Next time he wants to impress one of those maidens, I'll fly over and drop a p — "
"Don't even think about it, bird," Leopold said, looking straight at her. "I know you must be thinking about dropping something nasty on me. I can tell by your expression. I have many, many feline friends."
The bird actually spluttered.
"Now, both of you, please," Siegfried said, alarmed now. "Leopold, yes, the bird is very clever. Smarter than I am, truth to be told. She has been giving me a great deal of help for some time now, purely because she is kind, so any threat to her, I take quite seriously." He inclined his head to the bird, who was somewhat mollified by that. "My friend, Leopold has done us no harm, and you must admit that you were laughing at his misfortune, which is not fair."
Leopold nodded.
"Now. Let us have peace among ourselves. Leopold, I do not believe you wished us to come here because you are fond of the ale. Or at least, you did not ask me to come here because you are fond of the ale. Yes?"
Leopold gave the bird another sour look. "True enough," he agreed, grudgingly. "I wanted to talk to you away from the hundred-odd pairs of ears back there. Now, besides being a prince of whatever far-off northern place you come from, you are some sort of wandering do-gooder, right?"