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. "I love talk about strange places, about
heroes and battle and magic. I could listen to it all day, if I hadn't
my work to do." She raised a well-scrubbed hand awkwardly. "I
am Elga, called Elga the Washer," she half-muttered.
He nodded courteously over the hand. "And I am Tumber." He
paused for effect. "Called Tumber the Mighty." He made the
impression he wanted, and smiled on her. "If you will dine with
me, I will give you tales of battle and glory, magic and monsters,
journeys and shipwrecks, all of which I have seen with my own
eyes." It was quite true. Tumber could read, and had seen and
memorized the best tales.
Elga didn't care whether he was a real hero or not. "Tell me
everything. I want to hear it all. I wish I could see it all," she added
without bitterness. Her eyes shone more brightly than the
highlights in her auburn hair.
While Tumber spoke, a slender woman in her forties moved
gracefully to the bar. She wore a shawl and carried a small satchel
at her waist. "Am I too late for a meal?" Her voice was clear and
cultured.
Otik, who had been judging her by the simplicity and travel
stains of her clothes, said hastily, "No, lady. There are potatoes,
and venison, and cider, and-"
"It smells lovely." She smiled. "And do call me Hil-lae, which
is my name."
Tika stared in awe at the woman's hair. It flowed nearly to her
waist and was jet black with a single gray streak to one side
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