[Koobdooga]

Ibun looked at the man with interest, a certain curiosity growing in his mind. Ciro, or so he said his name was, spoke as if he walked upon the face of one of those compasses he’d seen the Rangers using at times to find their way. North and East! South and East! The fellow dissembled as if he meant to blur his trail as much as possible.

Now there was an interesting consideration. Someone was on his trail, perhaps. That man from the south and east? Or maybe it was Ciro who was the pursuer. Who could tell? The man was a nervous sort, glib talker, but his expression revealed nothing further to consider.

The Dwarf was feeling foolhardy enough, with plenty of mugs beneath his belt, that he pushed away the question Ciro had thrown at him and Fror. Plenty of time to get to where he was from, he had nothing to hide.

‘So,’ Ibun said, drawing out the word. He took a small sip from his ale, peering all the while over the top of it toward Ciro. ‘Let me just get this clear in my drink-fuddled brain. You haven’t been in the North and East for a while. You’re expecting a visit from someone from the South and East. Does that put you in the only two quadrants left as your starting point? Either some point northwest of here or south west?’ A sudden thought struck him. ‘Or way west, or north, or south, or east. It’s all so vague, it makes my poor head swim.’ He took another drink, this one longer.

‘I must say, I do like puzzles. Does the place you started from have a name or is near somewhere with a name? Something like . . . Khazad-dum, perhaps. Where I’ve come from?’