My Master and His Master (1)

Mountains stretched endlessly ahead, behind me, and to either side.

I happened to be standing near the summit of one of them.

It was a view that could only be called breathtaking.

"Hey, elf. You sure do keep up. I always figured elves were more delicate creatures."

The one speaking up in admiration was a dwarf I'd hired as a guide in the Roadland Kingdom.

He was carrying all our luggage, while I had Win riding in a pack frame strapped to my back.

Any ordinary elf would probably have given up if they had to cross such rugged mountains in that state.

"Is that so? But this little one is still lighter than iron ore, and the mountains are cooler than a forge."

Normally, the winds sweeping through these mountains would rob us of our body heat, but the wind spirit was considerate of us and kept them to no more than a gentle breeze.

I was physically stronger than the average elf, too, having grown accustomed to using my body to wield swords and hammers.

"Is that so, is that so? Then that's fine. We've still got several more mountains to cross, after all. I won't have to leave Azvaldo's guest behind. Still, that little fella's quite the big shot, ain't he?"

The dwarf guide snorted and quickened his pace.

As he had pointed out, Win was fast asleep on the pack frame.

Since Win was being carried along mountain paths and over rocky ground where the footing was unstable, it would have been only natural for Win to be frightened.

And yet Win spent some time admiring the scenery and getting excited, chatting with the wind spirit and laughing, then took a nap once that grew tiresome. Win was living quite the cushy life—or, if anything, was remarkably thick-skinned.

Still, if that was because Win trusted me, I couldn't very well take offense.

...After deciding to go to the dwarven nation, the first thing I did was look for a dwarf guide.

I was confident I could reach an elven settlement in a forest without getting lost, even if I had never seen that forest before, but finding the dwarven nation, hidden somewhere in those vast mountains—probably underground—would have been impossible with only a general idea of its location.

So I turned to the Smiths' Guild and made contact with a dwarf who came to the Roadland Kingdom for trade.

Normally, neither elves nor humans would be allowed to enter the dwarven nation.

However, apparently, there were special exceptions: people granted permission by an important figure from the dwarven nation, or those who possessed an advanced smith's license recognized by the smithing association of a major nation—or, more precisely, by the dwarves belonging to it—could enter after all.

The claim that smithing skill was what mattered most in the dwarven nation was apparently the unvarnished truth.

And Azvaldo, my damn dwarf master, was a smith skilled enough to take part in the competition to choose the next king. Apparently, that made him an important figure in the dwarven nation, and his letter was treated as one of the entry permits.

In other words, I had two entry permits for two people: one was my own advanced smith's license, and the other was Azvaldo's letter.

Yes—one for Win and one for me.

Considering that both permits had come from Azvaldo, I couldn't help laughing a little. It was almost as if that damn dwarf master had seen right through my current situation.

He had probably prepared them just in case, though.

Naturally, even though I had entry permits, the dwarf guide looked extremely displeased at the thought of taking an elf into his country.

I personally liked dwarves, but elves and dwarves hated each other as races, so I couldn't really blame him.

Still, even if the dwarf in front of me disliked me, I didn't dislike him, so it didn't bother me.

The entry permits I had on hand at least gave me a reason to start a conversation.

Once I had a chance to talk, the rest was easy.

I more or less dragged the reluctant dwarf guide to a tavern, and, over cup after cup, I shared my feelings.

I told him how much my damn dwarf master had looked after me, how indebted I was to him, and how much I wanted to help.

I told him how happy receiving the letter had made me.

As the empty cups piled up, so did my feelings, until the dwarf guide finally said, as though giving up,

"Ah, all right. I get it, I get it. I can still drink plenty, but I've had my fill of your stories about your master. From here on out, just keep the drinks coming and that'll do. If an elf can keep up on the mountain trails, I'll take you along. That's all there is to it."

He accepted my request.

That night, Win wrinkled his nose at the smell of alcohol on me, but I figured the effort had paid off.

Even with a guide, the route to the dwarven nation was extremely treacherous.

The narrow cliffside paths through the rocky mountains were perilous, and any cliffs we couldn't avoid had to be scaled.

Even for a seasoned traveler like me, I wouldn't have been able to make it across this route while carrying Win if the earth spirit hadn't lent us its strength to create footholds.

Even so, I couldn't help finding it entertaining to watch a short, powerfully built dwarf nimbly scale cliffs and squeeze along narrow paths.

It was a strange contrast—the gap between the dwarf's build and agility was incredible.

The dwarf guide was kind to us in his own way, and especially considerate toward Win.

Whenever I pointed that out, though, he would either act embarrassed or get angry.

But thanks to that, neither Win nor I fell ill during the arduous journey. After a little over two weeks of hiking through the mountains, we arrived safely at the dwarven nation.