"What kind of sorcery did you use to get those unreasonable ogres to leave peacefully?"
Captain Ironhill asked Rhode, his beard bristling.
This time, he spoke in Common.
Many dwarves spoke Common, which was also the shared language within the Alliance.
Rhode said casually, "Oh, they wanted that crown, and I happened to have one, so I gave it to them. They were happy and left."
There was no point explaining Ogri'la and all that. The dwarves wouldn't understand anyway.
"So they weren't here to attack our fortress?"
"No. So it really was a misunderstanding between you." Rhode spread his hands.
Seeing that none of the dwarves intended to stop the ogres, he had to admit they really were a straightforward warrior race.
Misunderstanding or not, they must have been fighting for days. Casualties were inevitable in battle, yet that didn't seem to have bred any hatred between them.
Perhaps they all believed a warrior should die on the battlefield and considered it an honor instead.
If humans had been fighting, never mind what had started it, after enough fighting, no one would care about the reason anymore. You killed my people, so I had to kill yours in return. The killing would go on until it became an impossible knot to untangle.
"Then what are you here for?" Captain Ironhill asked again.
Rhode explained his purpose. "I'm here to buy muskets. I sent someone to ask a few days ago, but you said you wouldn't sell any with an enemy at your gates."
"I remember now. A human who looked like a beggar."
"Yes. Now that the ogres have left, about those muskets..."
"Since you're already here, come be our guest! We can talk over drinks!"
Dwarves were always hospitable.
And since this guest had helped them deal