by Casey Odell
Claire shifted her gaze to Aeron. She was grateful that he was there to lighten the mood. She held her mug up and they both looked at Farron, waiting for him to do the same.
“Yeah, yeah,” he caved.
They clanged their mugs together and drank.
“Besides,” Farron continued, “there’s no guarantee that they even went to Alexos. There are several small towns in the outlying region.”
“Yeah, I guess.” She was just anxious to find someone, anyone that she knew. She wanted to see a familiar face. Someone she could connect her past to. The present felt all too much like a dream. Mother was a tough broad and it would take a greater enemy than the centaurs to bring her down. Her mind wouldn’t let her believe anything else.
“Something’s bound to turn up sooner or later,” Farron said.
It must be his version of being nice. At least he tried. She took another sip of the sour drink. She had always preferred the sweeter wines and liquors. The bitter ales seemed to be a man thing.
“Do you dance, my lady?” Aeron asked.
Claire looked up to the couples that danced to the lively music. She didn’t recognize the dance.
“Why not,” she shrugged. Most of the people in the tavern would be too drunk to notice if she messed up. She undid her belt and set her dagger on the table along with Aeron’s things.
Aeron bowed, offered his arm, and led her to the little dance floor. A few women eyed her maliciously, but they’d already had their chance.
“Go easy on me, mon lainí. I am afraid I am not too familiar with this sort of dance.” He stopped on the edge of the dance floor in an empty area.
“Me either.”
“Shall I teach you how to dance like a lady then? After all, you are a lady now.”
“I suppose you shall.” She stuck her chin up in the air and held her hand out for him to take it.
Aeron grabbed her hand, pulled her close and put his other hand on her waist. “Try to follow my lead for now.” He stepped back slowly, then to the side. She followed his steps as he formed a small square. “I will have to teach you all sorts of things now that you are a lady. Sword fighting may have to go.”
“No!” she cried. “I need to learn that!”
“Yes, yes.” He laughed and repeated his steps, slowly increasing the speed. “Not bad. You have not stepped on my foot once.”
“I have danced before.”
Aeron turned. The sudden move caught her off guard and she stumbled. The elf caught her, his hands gripping her shoulders tight before they resumed their dance. She looked up to find a smirk plastered on his face. He did that on purpose.
“I must apologize for my partner,” he said. “I am afraid he does not emote very well.”
“I haven’t noticed.”
“He means well, though. I think.” He added the last part tentatively. He glanced up past her head. “It looks like we have some company.” He turned and she peered around his shoulder.
Three men approached the table Farron sat at, two of them wearing the light armor she’d seen earlier in the day when they passed through the town gate. Their heads bare and faces grim, it didn’t look like any official business. Which could mean trouble.
Claire sighed. And they’d been doing so well. Although they’ve been getting strange looks all evening, no one had taken that first step. But all that could change, and usually did in her experience, when you got an ounce of alcohol in them. Only this time, she couldn’t seek the town guard for help like she or her mother used to. Not when they were a part of the problem.
The two guards stepped up behind Farron while the other leaned over the table in front of him. The elf seemed to remain calm, raising his mug to take a swig of ale.
Aeron and Claire stopped dancing, both turning their attention to the other elf. They remained standing on the dance floor while other couples danced around them, seemingly oblivious to the growing problem. So far at least. Aeron’s hand squeezed her shoulder, but he didn’t move otherwise. His jaw clenched tight as he stared at his partner.
“Should we go?” Claire asked quietly.
He shook his head. “No. I think I would only make it worse.”
With dark features and normal clothing, the man that leaned in closer over the table didn’t look all too threatening. No weapons were visible at least. The same couldn’t be said about the guards. Each wore a sword around their waists, and each more than likely had some sort of combat training. How much and what rank they were was hard to tell. All she knew was that this could get ugly, and fast.
Her hands went to her waist instinctively, but it was bare. The dagger lay on the table between all of them, along with Aeron’s arms. Farron’s back was bare, but at least he was in close reach, not exactly safer, but at least it was something.
Claire watched as Farron set the mug down on the table with slow and precise movements. His mask set into place as he looked up at the man, emotionless and cold. That’s when she knew they were definitely in trouble.
The guards behind him grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him forward across the tabletop, pinning the elf down in place.
Aeron’s hand on her arm halted her steps. The music stopped abruptly, leaving the room quiet except for the hushed whispers spreading through the crowd as they turned toward the commotion.
A hand slammed down on Aeron’s shoulder, but the elf barely paid it any mind, his attention still on his partner.
“You might want to remove that, kind sir,” Aeron said, his voice composed but low, lacking any hint of his usual amusement.
Farron remained still on the table, trapped under the two guards with his arms behind his back. His cold eyes returned Aeron’s look. They were calm, but were planning something. She could tell. Or at least she hoped they were. She just wished she would be included in on it. Were they reading each other’s minds? Could elves do that? Although handy, she’d be afraid to see what was in Aeron’s head.
Now there was a scary thought. She shivered. One scary situation at a time.
When she looked back at Farron, his eyes met hers. Hard to read and a little unnerving, they didn’t leave her face. Was he trying to tell her something? Why did they seem a little sad? Perhaps he was embarrassed to be caught unaware. But she had a feeling that wasn’t quite it. There was a struggle behind those icy blues, but she wasn’t quite sure over what.
Thick fingers wrapped around her arm, breaking her concentration. She looked up into a burly red beard, the face behind it as thick as the hand gripping her. The rest of the body matched. Round and big, but strong. Very strong.
She swallowed as she glanced around. They were outnumbered. Three on Farron, two behind Aeron, and one really big one for her. They were really overcompensating, for her sake anyway. Did they really need to send the bear after her?
“You will leave my lady out of this,” Aeron said, turning his eyes on the beast of a man.
“I’d think we’d be doin’ her a favor,” barked the man behind him, his hand still on the elf’s shoulder. With hair a dusty blonde and a rather attractive face marred by pock marks, the man didn’t look any more threatening than his friend across the room. But his eyes spoke a different truth. They wanted trouble, and there was no talking him out of it. Any of them.
Nevertheless, it wouldn’t stop her from trying. “Please,” she said. “We don’t want any trouble. We’re just passing through; we’ll be out of your town tomorrow--”
“Hush girl,” the bear man bellowed, his voice gruff. His hand tightened around her arm, and then he yanked her away from Aeron, pulling her out of his reach.
Claire whirled around to smack, punch and kick at him, but her efforts were in vain. He barely budged. This really wasn’t fair. What would happen to her if they beat the elves? Would they just let her go? Somehow she doubted it. She knew all too well what a band of men like them would do to a lone woman.
The crowd grew painfully quiet, all eyes were on them. No one made a move to stop
any of it. No one probably would either. They were afraid, or at least didn’t want to get involved. And she couldn’t blame them, much to her distress.
Aeron looked at Farron again and said, “Ahgis threik non.”
There was a slight pause before both elves sprang into action. Aeron spun around, grabbed pock mark’s hand and twisted it up and around in a way that brought the man to his knees. The second man sprung for the elf, fist drawn back. Aeron ducked under it to bring his own fist up to meet the skinny man’s stomach, causing him to keel over.
Many of the patrons left, running for the door. A few raised their mugs and cheered while the rest gasped and shouted. For a moment, a few of them looked like they were going to join in. She was glad they didn’t.
A loud crash brought her attention back to Farron. Somehow he had managed to wriggle out of the guards’ hold. He grabbed his mug and struck the dark-haired man across the table in the face with it. The impact sent the man stumbling backwards, his hands covering his face as red dripped between his fingers. One of the guards latched onto Farron’s back, trying his best to wrestle his arms back behind him while the other guard drew a fist back. But before the guard could land the hit, the elf kicked both his legs out, using the other guard as balance, and kicked the man in the stomach. The guard stumbled back and doubled over. The elf then wrenched the other guard’s arm out and around, breaking his hold, then twisted it behind his back, making the guard cringe. Farron pushed the guard down on the table, pinning him down like he was before.
Stunned, Claire was motionless. He made it look so easy, it was a little frightening.
The room grew quit again. The excitement over a little too quick, for their tastes anyway it seemed.
Aeron knelt above the fair-haired man with the pock marks, his knee pressed down on his back to pin him face down on the floor. The rest of the men hung back, now a little more hesitant to fight than before it seemed. And after that display, she really couldn’t blame them. Her fears could be put to rest. Or could they? Just who were the dangerous ones here?
“Let her go,” Farron said, his voice dripping with ice. He looked at the man behind her, his eyes weren’t much friendlier.
She wasn’t sure if she should be relieved, or to turn tail and run away with the bear man.
“And if I don’t?” asked the gruff voice behind her. The big man took a step back and positioned her in front of him more.
Claire’s eyes went up involuntarily. What a man. Big, certainly. Brave, most definitely not.
Farron drew a knife from the guard’s belt, and in a flash threw it in her direction. Her heart stopped for a second, her breath along with it, only returning when the man shouted out behind her. He let go of her so suddenly, she staggered forward. When she turned around she saw the small blade lodged into the man’s shoulder. Blood trickled down his arm as he grabbed for it, eyes wide.
“You bastard!” The big man’s scream filled the room.
The door to the tavern burst open then and a stream of armed guards poured in.
Claire froze. Not again. There had to be twenty of them, at least. Against those numbers, even the elves, nimble and fast as they were, didn’t stand a chance. She backed up a few steps towards Aeron, her eyes never leaving the guards. These ones were different though. They wore helmets made of bronze, their light armor sparked in the low light, made of a copper-like metal instead of leather like the two before.
And, instead of coming for them, the new shiny guards grabbed hold of their attackers, hauling them up to their feet. Even the town guards. They pulled the men off to the side to leave the center of the room clear.
It was then that he entered. A wave of whispers swept through the crowd.
Dressed in burgundy and beige finery, the man was striking. He strode into the room, barely glancing around at his surroundings as he removed a pair of black leather gloves. He stopped in front of Claire and bowed. He reeked of high class and status. Black boots stretched up to his knees with light tan slacks tucked into them. A formfitting jacket of deep maroon hung open over a beige vest and shirt. Gold detail trimmed every visible hem. He looked young with long hair the color of rich mahogany pulled loosely back in a low ponytail.
“Forgive me, I hope I am not interrupting anything.” The man glanced at the two elves.
Farron remained by the table, Aeron stepped up close behind Claire.
“Just having a little evening fun,” Aeron said, amusement back in full force. “And to whom do we owe the pleasure?”
“My name is Brennus Errolle, General of the King’s special forces.” Grey eyes peered out above high cheekbones, a stunning contrast to the dark brown of his hair.
“G-good evening,” she stammered and forced herself to do a curtsy-- a little clumsy, but it would have to do. She was still a little shaken.
“I am sorry,” he paused and motioned around him with a hand, “for this. I truly hope no one has been harmed. I will see that they are punished, especially our guards. I’m sure their captain would love to hear of this.” An apologetic smile crossed his lips, and although nice to look at, it was a tad bit troubling.
With just a snap of the General’s fingers, his guards dragged their attackers from the tavern, leaving only a few of the shiny ones to stand by the entrance. The General then looked at the musicians and circled a finger up in the air and a light musical tune filled the room again. He motioned to a few of his men standing at the edge of the area and instructed them to put it back together like it was before the fight.
As they did, the bar patrons resumed their evening, the maidens taking drink orders by the dozen. The tension in the room didn’t ease, however. Many of the men in the crowd cast uneasy glances at the General and his guards. But at least things are peaceful again. For now anyway.
The General motioned toward the table where Farron stood and followed Claire and Aeron over to it.
“I have heard strange rumors in the city today, I never thought that they would be true,” the General said, laying his gloves on the table next to their arms. The man looked out of place in such humble surroundings.
“Thank you for your help,” Claire said.
“It is the least I could do. I am deeply embarrassed by the actions of our people. But you must understand, we have not seen,” he paused, “your kind, in quite some time.”
Aeron nodded. “Yes, I had hoped for peace, but did not expect it.”
“Given the past, there are those that would suspect that you meant harm, and although I’d hate to think like them, I have to wonder the same thing. Do you?”
Farron crossed his arms, but remained quiet.
Aeron said, “Of course not!” before adding one of his wide smiles. “Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Aeron, this little lady here,” he placed his hands on her shoulders, “is Miss Claire DuBonte, daughter to the great Lord Derryl Heyn DuBonte.”
Claire fought to control her face. Where did he pull that one from? That certainly wasn’t her father’s name that they’d agreed upon earlier. But it was now, she supposed. She did another slight curtsy.
“And that irritable one is Farron, guard extraordinaire.”
“It’s a pleasure.” The General took her hand and kissed it, a light brush of the lips. “You may call me Bren.”
Claire’s cheeks burned madly. He really was quite handsome.
“And what brings you to Lendon? It’s quite unusual for a lady to be traveling with two elves.”
“We are simply the hired help,” Aeron replied before she could.
“Hired help?”
“The best that money could buy,” she confirmed and straightened her back. She had to appear more confident. She was no longer Claire Tanith the barmaid; she was now Lady Claire DuBonte. “You can’t expect a lady to travel alone in these turbulent times.”
“They’re your guards then?”
“What else would they be?” She shrugged her shoulders.
The General glanced down at the weap
onry resting on the table. “I see. And to where would your destination be?”
They hadn’t discussed that little detail. She glanced around the room in a hurry. A notice hung on the far wall that announced some sort of tournament in Rodem. “To Rodem.” She’d only ever seen the city on a map before, long ago.
“Rodem?” He cocked an eyebrow. “And what would a lady like you want to do in Rodem?”
“To see the tournament, of course.” She wondered what kind of city it was judging by his reaction.
The General laughed. “The Strongman competition?”
“My lady has peculiar tastes,” Aeron said.
“Indeed she does.” The General looked around the tavern with a curious eye. “Even the lodging is unusual for a lady.”
“That would be my guard’s doing.” She glanced at Farron. He just shrugged. “He thought it best to be more discreet while traveling.”
“I don’t think your plan worked,” Bren said.
“Indeed it didn’t.” She crossed her arms, growing impatient with the General. She wished he would stop prodding with questions. And she hoped he bought their story. It could be trouble if he didn’t.
“Please allow me to make up for this little indiscretion by accepting my invitation to a ball in honor of Prince Philip’s birthday. I think your presence could be just the exotic fare it needs.” He looked between the two elves. “Besides, with a pardon from the King, you shouldn’t face any more of these little… scuffles.”
Claire’s attention was piqued. She’d never been to a ball before, only to a few local dances here and there, let alone one in honor of royalty, and to King Harold’s son no less. She turned to look up at Aeron, excitement in her eyes. Her hands gripped the front of his shirt.
“I suppose we could make an appearance.” He looked down at her and then up to the General. “Besides, it could be a good opportunity to establish foreign relations.”
Claire turned back to the General. “I would love to go, but we don’t really have anything formal to wear.” Embarrassment took her. A lady should always travel with fine clothing, right?