The inn patrons have changed since Garvan pulled up a seat for the card game. There's a pair of dwarves up at the bar now. Judging by their grubby skin, they're also employed by the local silver mining guild.

He takes note that they're ignoring the human miners. Garvan is not surprised. Dwarves and humans get along well enough, but dwarves are never exactly friendly in his experience and they are known to be suspicious of strangers. Nevertheless, Dwarves love gold.

The two pretty women are still at the table. They're laughing more freely now, and the motions of their hands as they talk are more relaxed. He notices wedding bands on them both. The wine is low in the bottle

between them. He could talk to them.

The cloaked woman is still at the other table, but thankfully the soldier in the tunic is gone. Her long black hair covers much of her face, but he can see her scowling lips pointed down at the table. He wonders if she's still nursing that same glass of ale.

Maybe he shouldn't risk talking her.

He thinks, 'She was in the company of one of the duke's soldiers, and besides, I haven't been in this city long enough to yet know who is safe.'

He'll need knowledge more than anything.

He decides to start with the dwarves. If nothing else, dwarves live a very long time, so this pair might know a thing or two about the city and its surroundings. If they'll speak to him.

Garvan is a pace away before the dwarf nearest him turns and narrows his large, dark eyes at him. “And what would you be wantin'?" he says in a loud, gruff voice.

'Suspicious creatures', Garvan thinks. It's like he can smell Garvan's intention.

“I-I-" He stammers, "-was just going to offer to buy you a mug."

The dwarf's beard twitches. “What for?!" he shouts. "Because I am so pretty?"

“Ha!" shouts the other dwarf, slapping the bar. “Every time, the nose hair charms them!"

"Oh... Never mind, then," Garvan says.

“No!" says the first dwarf. “By all means, you may buy me a drink. By Bondor's Belt,you can buy this one!" He raises his mug. “I already paid the man, so you may pay me now."

“You want me to pay you a coin?"

“Is that not the same thing at the end of it all?" he asks. His beard is twitching rhythmically. Garvan wonders if this is some sort of silent dwarven laugh.

“It is just that I am new in this city—“

“Oh, that is plain!" says the dwarf, cutting him off.

“Ha!" shouts the other dwarf, again slapping the table.

“I'd like to speak to some men... er, dwarves, of wisdom," Garvan says. “A conversation."

“Oh, well, if a young human wants to chat our ear off, only the top-barrel slog will do," says the dwarf.

"Only the best ale will make listening to that bearable," agrees the other dwarf.

The barkeep approaches. “What will it be?"

'Greedy dwarves', he thinks. They want him to buy the best ale in the house!

The barkeep flashes his broken-toothed smile when Garvan tells him his order.

The dwarves bow and introduce

themselves as Khulmur (the more talkative and abusive of the pair) and Jorum.

Both beards shake rhythmically as the mugs are placed before them.

"So what is it that you want to know?" asks Khulmur. He closes his eyes as he sips from his mug.

“I am new to the city," Garvan says. “What advice do you have for me?"

“A man who pays for advice," says Khulmur. “Not the worst sort of human, I suppose."

"Not the worse sort! Not by any length!" rejoins Jorum.

“Let me start with the question of how you got in here?" says Jorum.

“One does not just walk through the wall gates. Jorum and I, and even those filthy miners you were playing cards with are all a bit more than mere miners within

the guild. We dwarves are specialists. We tell them where to dig and those men you were playing cards with supervise other men, believe it or not," says Khulmur, his eyebrows raised at Garvan.

“I thought I was paying for advice, not to answer questions about my business," Garvan says.

Khulmur's beard shakes rhythmically. Laughing?

"This all circles around to my main ingot of advice," says Khulmur. “Do you know what that is?"

Garvan shakes his head.

“Do not get yourself killed." He sips from his mug and stares at Garvan.

After many seconds of this, Garvan says, “Would it please you to be a trifle more specific?"

“The wheels for starters. As said, the Inner Ring is for nobility. You better be high-born or have legitimate business with them to

walk around in there."

"Or they stick your head on a pike along the wall!" says Jorum.

“The wall of the Outer Wheel, mind you," says Khulmur. "The stench will not do for the nobles. Which brings me to the Outer Ring. That's where most humans in this city live and it's not the sort of place for a stranger with no friends to stay."

"Cut your throat for a copper," says Jorum.

“Take those two, for instance," Khulmur says pointing at the two

young women at the table. “Do not be trying to get into those petticoats or your severed head will be on the wall by sunset. They're wed to men who think they are important, but more importantly, other men think them important."

"Very well, I will not speak to them," Garvan says.

“I did not say that. I said do not try to get into their petticoats. More to the point, do not succeed."

"Success is straight-out," says Jorum.

"Have others... er, succeeded?"

“How should I know?" says Khulmur.

"Well then how would you know that succ-"

“Bandor's sake, I've lived around your people longer than you!" Khulmur scolds. “I know how humans are."

"You fight and die over the tall and skinny ones!" says Jorum.

“Ha! Nonsense!" He slaps the table. "Oh, but that pair likes to talk," says Khulmur. “And they enjoy a compliment or two. That red one likes to hear herself sing.

I saw a boy, might have been a girl, who can tell? I saw a boy tell her she had a fine voice, and she kissed him on his cheek. Boy

got a look that was stupid as an iron ingot. Happy, I suppose."

“Ha! Humans always look as stupid as an ingot!" says Jorum.

The two dwarves clink mugs and drink deep.

"And there is another one to beware of," says Khulmur, wiping his mouth and then pointing at the lone woman in the dark cloak. “That one is always looking for

fools to go with her on some fool errand or another. Wants to strike it rich. Not by digging in the ground as an honest dwarf would, you see. No, she wants to

slay monsters for the duke or some other dangerous foolishness, you can be sure."

"She is an adventurer?" Garvan asks.

"Is that what you humans call them?" asks Khulmur. “To us, it is plain what they are- fools."

The two dwarves clink mugs and drink deep.

"Us dwarves are short in stature, but long in life," says Khulmur, taking another drink. "Humans are on the other end-tall in

stature and short in life. Much more suited to perishing on some fool quest."

“Ha!" Jorum slaps the table. “You will be dead soon anyway!"

Garvan knows that the dwarves can be as blood-thirsty and reckless as any human- particularly when gold is at stake.

The High Mountain Wars are a fine example. He could call the dwarves on this or let it slide.

The decision is up to him and he better choose the course of conversation quickly.