"Don't look at me that way," the elf reprimanded in a teasing voice. "I don't like it out here either."
Moonmaid snorted as if in derision. Rhynn laughed, then grew somber as the mare, wearied by even that much effort, drooped her head almost to the cobblestones. Why did horses have to age so much faster than elves?
Rhynn had been one of the esteemed Riders of Mistledale for several decades. The bond these expertly trained soldiers shared with their white mounts was close; each Rider raised the horse from a foal, and no one else was permitted to ride the beast, save in emergencies, for the rest of the horse's life. When the animal was too old for further service, the beast received a final, bittersweet gift from its master. Tomorrow or next week-at any rate far too soon for Rhynn-it would be time for her to put an end to her mare's life, to kill with kindness and spare the beast the pains of old age. Then there would be a new foal, milky white, to train and love and eventually slay. Rhynn had been paired with many mounts in her time as a Rider. But that did not make the final ritual any easier.
Without warning, Moonmaid started violently, yanking on the bit and prancing. "Whoa, girl. Calm down," Rhynn soothed, her gentle hands comforting the mare somewhat. Moonmaid still trembled, and Rhynn glanced about to see what had so spooked the animal.
From a short distance away, a familiar figure gazed at her. "I'm sorry, Rhynn," came a honey-sweet, soft voice. "I didn't mean to startle Moonmaid."
"Don't worry, Jander. She's getting old and easy to surprise. And you have a knack for sneaking up on people." The latter was full of mock accusation, but Rhynn smiled warmly at Jander Sunstar, revealing her true feelings for her friend.
The gold elf was tall as the People went, and his bronze skin was complemented by shoulder-length, wheat-gold hair. He wore a cape carelessly fastened about his throat. It billowed open in the icy breeze, offering little protection from the chill night. His face was a white oval in the moonlight, but Rhynn could still distinguish his sweet smile. He seemed more than usually pleased to see her.
"I thought for certain you were going to be at the bardic competition tonight," Jander said.
Rhynn shrugged, making her leather armor creak. "So did I," she confessed. "But this one," she added, patting Moonmaid, "took a tumble a couple of days ago and isn't fit for anything other than a stationary patrol. Besides, Captain Theorn's volunteered for this duty for the past five years so that I could enjoy the music. It's time someone else took a turn."
Jander glanced around, his smile turning wry. "Oh, yes," he agreed mockingly, surveying the peaceful little cottages and farmsteads that comprised Mistledale. "One must protect the innocent in so criminal an environment."
Rhynn, however, didn't laugh. "Normally this patrol is nothing more than a gesture, but this year.. " Her voice grew hard, and she unconsciously sat up straighter in the saddle. "You're a warrior by trade, Jander, so I suppose I can tell you. We found bodies this afternoon-two farmers and their child, hardly more than an infant. Their throats had been ripped out"
Jander's expression was difficult to read in the moonlight, and he turned his face away quickly. "Knifed?"
"No. It looked like they'd been savaged."
"Perhaps a wolf?"
Rhynn frowned, and her voice sharpened. "You're an elf. You ought to know better than that. Wolves are generally shy creatures, hunting to feed and protect their young. They don't even attack the livestock around here unless the winter is unusually harsh. It's not winter, not yet, and that girl wasn't slain for her flesh."
Jander laid a gentle hand on her arm. "That must have been a terrible thing to discover. I'm so sorry."
Rhynn shook her head slowly. "We deal with drunken brawls, lost children, and stray sheep around here, Jander, not murderers. I'm just not used to it, that's all."
There was an awkward silence for a moment, then Jander cleared his throat. "Changing the subject a bit, I am glad I ran into you. I… I won't be seeing you after tonight. I'm leaving Mistledale."
Rhynn's beautiful face fell. "Oh, Jander, why?" Her eyes brightened with sudden hope. "Are you going back to Ever-meet?"
Before she had met Jander, Rhynn had known of Ever-meet, the land of the fair forests, the realm of magic, the true, paradisiacal home of all elves. It lay far to the west, a secluded island where only the People were welcomed. The evil dark elves-known as the drow-and elves of mixed blood were not permitted to tread those blessed shores. When Rhynn had learned that her friend had been born there, she was a little in awe of him. Jander had intimated that he was unable to return to the island for some reason. Now she hoped that, somehow, whatever ban that had been imposed upon him had been lifted.
But apparently such was not the case. Jander shook his head sadly. "No, not there. I would have liked to have had one last drink with you, First Lieutenant Rhynn Oriandis. I must content myself with a farewell here." His hand gripped her arm tightly. "I thank you for your friendship. I will never forget you. Sweet water and light laughter."
Without another word, he turned and strode off toward the Black Boar Inn, his cloak billowing about him. Rhynn opened her mouth to call after him, then closed it. Jander was obviously distressed about leaving, and she had no desire to embarrass him by prolonging the farewell. She herself was grieved to hear of his departure. She would miss the gold elf, with his wonderful tales, gentle humor, and sweet smile. Rhynn sighed, shifted in the saddle, and resumed her patrol.
The time passed with little to break the monotony. Many dalesmen passed through the gates, calling out greetings. Rhynn stopped those she didn't recognize, searched them, and politely confiscated all weapons. No one protested; they knew their arms would be returned to them when they left the little village.
An hour or so after Jander's visit, Rhynn caught sight of a familiar figure clad in black leather armor walking toward her. Again, Moonmaid started, stepping about nervously, and again Rhynn gently calmed the mare. "There, there, girl," she said softly, her attention focused on the approaching man.
"Lieutenant Rhynn, I relieve you of your duty. From this moment, your orders are to enjoy yourself at the bardic competition." Captain Theorn planted his big hands on his hips and grinned up at her, teeth gleaming whitely in the dim light.
"But, Theorn … why? And where's your mount?" His smile faltered. "Either Moonmaid's lameness is catching, or else they need to replace some cobbles on the streets. Snow Lady sprained a leg." As Rhynn opened her mouth to voice further concern, Theorn added reassuringly, "She'll be fine in the morning. I thought since this was a stationary patrol I'd do it on foot. Now, you go on ahead to the Black Boar."
Rhynn's delicate blue brows drew together in a puzzled frown. "Theorn, we went over all this three days ago." "Are you telling me you don't want to go?" "Certainly I want to go, but fair's fair, and-" "That's an order, Lieutenant." Theorn's booming voice, normally so jovial, had gone suddenly cold.
Rhynn whipped her hand up into a salute. "Aye, Captain," she replied in a coolly efficient tone. Theorn's words stung her, but she obeyed. Rhynn "the Fair" was nothing if not an obedient soldier.
Jander sat at the bar with an untouched ale in front of him. His thoughts went back to Rhynn's grisly discoveries. Wolves, he had suggested. The elf snorted derisively to himself. Would to all the gods he was something as clean, as simple, as a wolf. Turning his attention to the crowded room, he surveyed the merry scene before him with sad silver eyes.
The Black Boar was lit dimly enough to be cozy, but not so dark as to be threatening. Smoky oil lamps hung from the rafters, and the fire at the end of the large taproom burned cheerfully. This was the stage area, such as it was. At the moment a slender wild elf was performing there on a hammered dulcimer. Delicate fingers flew as the musician used a small wooden spoon to coax melodies from the instrument's metal strings.
A black cat also watched the performer from his perch on the mantlepiece above the fire. This was Indigo, so named because his pelt was so black as to be almost blue; he was the tavern'
s mascot. He had, as always, hissed angrily at Jander when the gold elf had entered; now Jander reached out and calmed the animal's mind with a mental touch.
Beaming patrons, seated at ten tables and at the bar, listened attentively and applauded with gusto as the bard finished and took his bow. It was time for a break, and the wild elf and some of the other performers took the opportunity to wet their throats before the competition resumed. Jander continued to peruse the crowd.
Few of the patrons would pose a threat. There were a couple of possible brawlers, but they were weaponless save for their eating knives. Most of the crowd consisted of local farmers and musicians. Jander regarded the old man seated to his right at the bar. Too frail to be a warrior. The man had an air of quiet assurance about him, though. He could be a wizard, the elf decided.
"Uncle Pogg!" came a shrill youthful voice as a boy burst into the inn. Some heads turned, and a few people regarded the interloper curiously.
"Trevys!" cried the heavyset barkeep, his thick brown eyebrows drawn together in a puzzled frown. "What in the name of-come here, lad!"
Breathlessly the shaggy-haired boy hastened to his uncle's side.
"Uncle, we found a Rider's horse, and Papa said I was to come here and tell you. He thinks we'd better get her back to her master, and-"
"Yes, yes. We can do that in the morning. Didn't your father remember that the competition was tonight?" Pogg sighed heavily, rolling his eyes. "No, Shomar wouldn't remember such things."
"But the Rider-"
"In the morning, Trevys. It's dark outside now, and I'm very, very busy."
The elderly man sitting next to Jander had watched the scene with amusement. Now he broke in. "Your uncle is right, Trevys. Here's something to take your mind off your troubles." He waved the slim, soft fingers of his right hand, and three glowing balls appeared over the boy's head. Trevys gasped, reaching hesitantly for the radiant orbs.
“Toss them up gently, and they'll float like snowflakes," the mage said, smiling. Enchanted by the lovely magical conjurations, Trevys obediently wandered into an unoccupied corner, bouncing the balls in front of him.
"Ah, to be so young and so easily amused," sighed Jander. The mage turned toward him, and the gold elf gazed deeply into the old man's pale blue eyes. "What is your name, good wizard?"
The man blinked, trying to tear his eyes away from Jander's intense gaze. "Pakar," he murmured at last, surrendering to the silent command the elf was issuing.
Jander took silent assessment of the man's powers. He's a strong magician, he noted to himself, but not quite strong enough to resist me. Aloud the elf said, "And I am Jander Sunstar. Should I need your skills someday, learned Pakar, I hope I may be able to call upon them."
Pakar stared, captivated. "Certainly."
The gold elf smiled. "Aluise, another drink for my friend," he told the barmaid as she approached the bar to refill several mugs. The girl wasn't beautiful, but she had a full, shapely figure and impish, laughing eyes. A pert, tilted-up nose added to the impression of mischief. She winked amiably at Jander as he placed the coins on the bar and turned his attention back toward the stage.
The present performer was well worth his attention. His voice was sweet and pure, and the intricately carved harp cradled against his shoulder marked him as a bard of consequence. One, thought Jander, who had obviously traveled a long way. The bright yellow tunic, echoing the pale blond of his hair, and the rose hue of his breeches clearly marked the young man as an outsider. Folk in Mistledale dressed more soberly, especially at this time of year.
Jander's eyes narrowed. The singer wore something draped around his neck on a leather thong. It hung down into his tunic, out of sight, but the garment's top buttons were undone. The bard reached for a lower note on the harp, moving forward slightly to pluck the strings, and an object fastened on the end of the leather thong swung into view. Jander saw the object for only an instant before it disappeared back into the folds of the singer's clothing, but that was long enough.
It was a wooden disc, with no decorations marring its simple beauty, painted a rosy shade of pink. Jander knew the symbol well. That would explain the singer's clothes, too, hues of yellow and rose-
A painful, ironic joy rose in Jander's heart. The bard was a priest of Lathander Morninglord, the god that Jander had once followed. He wished desperately that the young priest had chosen someplace, anyplace, else to pass the evening. His presence at the inn would definitely cause a problem.
"For once I managed to sneak up on you," came Rhynn's teasing voice. Jander whipped around, startled, as she slipped into the empty seat on his left. Still clad in her black leather armor, sword at her side, she presented an odd picture as she laughed brightly at the gold elf's obvious surprise.
"Rhynn! What are you doing here? You're guarding the gate tonight!"
"Well, that's a wonderful way to greet a friend," she snapped, genuinely hurt. "I thought you'd be-"
"You can't stay here."
Rhynn crossed her arms over her chest. "Damned if I'll take orders from a civilian! This is a public house, and the only one who can order me out of here is Pogg. Besides, you owe me a drink, remember?"
"Will ye be takin' him up on the offer, Lieutenant?" Aluise queried, ever ready to pick up on a cue.
"Aye, Aluise, I'll have a glass of wine," the Rider decided, then added archly, "It's so nice to linger over a good wine, don't you agree?"
"Oh, aye. And what'll ye be drinkin', Master Jander?"
"Nothing, thank you," the gold elf replied. Aluise nodded and, armed with refilled mugs, turned to deliver them to their proper destinations.
Rhynn frowned, and Jander's heart began to sink. Did she suspect?
"That's right. You never do drink with me, do you? Something's going on," she said slowly, her indigo eyes searching Jander's face. "You're sorry to say good-bye when I'm on patrol, but when Theorn relieves me of duty and I show up here, you don't want to see me. What's happening, Jander? I'm not a fool."
He had to get her out of here, and swiftly, too. "Rhynn, please, trust me when I say leave here right now."
"One last drink, and I'll be on my way," Rhynn agreed. She smiled impishly. "I'll have it out of you by the time I'm done."
" 'Scuse me," came a small voice at her elbow. Rhynn glanced down to see Trevys peering up at her. The three glowing balls trailed languidly behind him in the air. "My Uncle Pogg said you was a Rider." Rhynn nodded. "We found a white horse. Papa says it's a Rider's mount. Might you be able to take her to her owner?"
"You must be mistaken," Rhynn replied. "All the Riders would have been notified if one of ours had gone missing."
The boy looked distressed. "Please, miss. She's pure white, with a black leather saddle on, and-"
"A black leather saddle? Take me to her," said Khynn, rising at once.
As she passed Jander, the gold elf hissed in her ear. "Please, just take the boy and go!"
Rhynn spun around, an angry retort on her lips, but Jander was gone. Thoroughly baffled, she grasped Trevys's small hand firmly and wound her way through the press of people.
She had almost reached the door when, abruptly, it banged open. Indigo yowled, his fur standing up, and dove for the shadows. Reacting instinctively, Rhynn pushed Trevys behind her and reached for the sword buckled on her hip. Trevys needed no further urging and fled like a young hare for the bar and Uncle Pogg.
From behind, a hand closed on Rhynn's upper arm with a cold, steely grip. "Stay quiet and pray they don't notice you." She didn't need to see the man holding her to know it was Jander. He pulled her backward toward a shadowy corner of the taproom.
A young man entered. He was a beautiful youth, with a full, thick head of copper-colored hair and a high, pale brow. Sensuous lips curved in a grin that housed a world of malice. The cut of his clothing bespoke wealth, although his shirt and breeches had seen better days and appeared rather antiquated in style.
Following him were two young women, a blond and a
brunette, both human. They were as beautiful as he was handsome, but, as with the youth, an air of malevolence hung about them like a poisonous perfume. The two entered without the stranger's flamboyance and purposefully moved toward the back of the room. Keeping his eyes fixed on the crowd, which had grown silent and tense, the stranger shrugged out of his cloak, tossing the garment carelessly toward one of the wooden pegs in the wall. It caught, held, and swung slowly like a hanged man for a few seconds.
There were rust-colored patches on the fine linen shirt, and a few spots that were still freshly scarlet with newer blood. Again the Rider reached reflexively for her blade, and again, the gold elf prevented the movement with a painful pressure.
Gasps arose. Jander heard the grating sounds of benches being hastily kicked back and the frustrated yelps of those who, too late, remembered they had handed their weapons over to the Riders upon entering Mistledale. The elf glanced toward the bard and the mage.
The cleric of Lathander, fear and determination mingled on his face, had placed his harp down and was slowly starting to his feet. Pakar had flung his cloak aside and now rose to defend himself against one of the brutally beautiful women.
Jander narrowed his eyes and concentrated on sending the mage a mental command. If he could control him, prevent him from attacking, he might save his life. All right, Pakar, Jander thought, it's time for you to-
Jander's concentration shattered as Rhynn tried to squirm out of his grasp. He was distracted only for an instant, but it sufficed. Ignoring the unformed command from the gold elf, Pakar stuck his hands out, thumbs together. Flame erupted from his fingertips to singe his assailant, filling the inn with the scent of charred flesh. The fair-haired intruder yowled in pain, but she did not slow her attack. Delicate hands with inhumanly sharp nails ripped bloody furrows across Pakar's face and throat. The mage cried out and toppled to the floor, sending two of the chairs crashing down beside him.
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