The porter shrieked, dropped his load, and rolled frantically aside. This inspired another burst of laughter-merry and wild but without malice.
An involuntary smile curved Elaith's lips as he re shy;membered this game. The eagle's partner, a young elf probably not much past his second century, tossed a second piece of meat toward his feathered steed. The bird deftly caught it and tossed back its head to let the treat slide down its gullet. The half-orc sent a glare at the mischievous elf and scurried off.
Three more elves stepped from the crowd and fell into conversation with their brother. They were Moon elves, like Elaith: tall and slender and as finely honed as daggers. All of them had silvery hair and eyes the color of precious stones: amber, jade, topaz. Their speech held the accents of faraway Evermeet, and their tunics bore an almost-forgotten insignia.
Elaith's brow furrowed with consternation. Eagle Riders, here on the mainland? These youth were among the most fierce defenders of the elven island. Why were they here?
The young leader noticed his scrutiny. He frowned in concentration for a moment, then his face lit up like a sunrise.
He came toward Elaith, his left palm held out and level in the manner of one elven lord greeting another. "This is an honor, Lord Craulnober! My father served under your command in the Palace Guard, when I was nearly as young-although, gods grant, not quite as silly-as these humans!" He grinned and dipped into a bow. "Garelith Leafbower, at your command."
These words, and the respect with which they were delivered, touched memories that Elaith had thought long forgotten. He acknowledged the greeting with scant courtesy. "Many years have passed since I left the island," he said dismissively, but his irritation with these youth remained, and he could not help adding, "What of you? Has Evermeet no need for her Eagle Riders?"
The young elf laughed. "None that I have heard! The island is as it ever was. Beautiful, inviolate-and boring beyond endurance! These lads and I were hungry for a bit of excitement."
"Which you expect to find as caravan guards."
"Honorable work," the elf said with a shrug, then he grinned again. "There is, at least, adventure in it! We are going to Silverymoon, are we not? I have heard tales of this wondrous city and of the lady mage who rules it."
Garelith's fellow Riders clustered near, their gem-colored eyes alight with curiosity and high spirits. Elaith's irritation melted as he parried their questions and enjoyed the melodious flow of the Elvish language.
A tall, thick-bodied shadow fell upon them. Garelith's animated face fell at once into the calm, inscrutable mask that elves showed to outsiders. "Captain Rhep," he said in formal tones, inclining his head in the small, gracious gesture an elven warrior used to acknowledge, but not reward, an unwanted interruption.
Rhep shouldered past the Eagle Riders and planted his booted feet nearly toe to toe with Elaith's. He was a big man, a half head taller than the elf, and nearly as broad and thick as a bugbear-nearly as hairy, for that matter. Dark brown hair fell in thick waves from beneath Rhep's leather helm. His upper lip and chin were furred with massive, ill-trimmed whiskers. His features were coarse and his nose so broad and flat that it hinted at orcish ancestry in the not-too-distant past. Rhep wore leather armor on his huge frame and a confident sneer on his face. Elaith imagined that the two of them gave the appearance of a catapult and a stiletto standing side by side. The human, no doubt, was fool enough to think himself the better weapon.
"You mighta bought yourself a place on this caravan, elf, but these guards report to me," Rhep snarled.
"Really. Since when does Ilzimmer hire Eagle Riders?" Elaith inquired with a faint smile.
The big man snarled. "I work for Gundwynd," he said, nodding toward the small, gray-bearded man who bustled about securing cargo.
This was a lie, and Elaith knew it well. Rhep was a soldier for the Ilzimmer clan, but both he and the lords of that noble house took great pains to conceal this fact. This might, after all, lead into too close an inquiry into why a family of gem merchants had need for a merce shy;nary army.
"I work for Lord Gundwynd," Rhep repeated, "and so do you, for as long as you ride with this caravan. A shame it is, that Gundwynd has fallen so low to be accepting the likes of you!"
Garelith stepped forward, his green eyes snapping at this insult. "Watch your tongue, human! This was the captain of the King's guard."
The man sneered. "Well, that makes him long out of a job, don't it? That elf king die on your watch, Craulnober?"
"Hardly," Elaith returned mildly, refusing to be baited by this oaf. "King Zaor's death occurred less than fifty years ago. I was well established in Waterdeep at this time and long before your ancestors started having carnal knowledge of goblinkin."
Dark, dull red suffused the big man's face. He un shy;hooked the mace on his belt and began to raise it for the attack.
Elaith ducked under the weapon and stepped in close, a knife gleaming in each hand. The tip of one slender blade pressed up under the man's chin, and the other stood poised at the opening of his ear.
Rhep looked to the caravan guards for support. All four elves had long slender knives in hand, but their watchful eyes were on Rhep rather than his attacker.
"Treacherous scum," he spat. "You'll be paid in your own coin soon enough!"
"Perhaps you should explain that comment," Elaith said pleasantly. But just so that there was no mistaking this order for a suggestion-and because he simply felt like doing it-he gave the knife at the man's ear a little flick, cutting a small notch in the lobe.
Rhep bleated like a gelded ram. "Didn't mean noth shy;ing," he muttered. "Bad coin has a way of circling back, is all."
The elf was not certain whether this was a platitude or an evasion, but the dispute was beginning to draw attention, and Elaith was not willing to jeopardize his place on this caravan over a worthless, orc-spawned cur. He lowered his blades and stepped back, giving the man a small, ironic bow-an insult entirely lost on the clod. Rhep stomped off, muttering imprecations.
The elf watched him go, then turned to the Eagle Riders. "Watch him," he said in a low voice. "I know that man. Trouble follows close on his heels."
"He seems a buffoon," remarked Garelith, "but I will defer to your judgment. You know the clouds that gather around this particular mountain, and I trust you'll warn us of a coming storm."
This led to the next, more difficult warning Elaith felt obligated to deliver. "That will not be possible. You would do well not to be seen with me."
All four of the Eagle Riders looked puzzled. "Why?" demanded the one with eyes the color of topaz.
Elaith's smile held a self-mocking edge. "You will learn soon enough."
Before the young elves could press him, Elaith turned and walked away. Their exuberant adulation appalled him. At this moment, he would welcome almost any other company, so long as they regarded him with a proper, familiar mixture of fear and respect.
"Stones!" exclaimed a deep, gruff voice, with a vehe shy;mence that turned the word into a curse.
"A dwarf," muttered Elaith wearily. How could this day possibly get any worse?
"You mean to tell me we have to fly out west?" demanded the dwarf.
"A winged horse," said a persuasive female voice. "You're always saying there's nothing on four legs you can't ride."
Elaith whirled toward the familiar voice, and his scowl deepened. He knew of that woman-Bronwyn was a merchant with a refreshingly devious streak. Though he was interested in making her acquaintance, this was hardly the time. He was even less pleased to learn that she had acquired a dwarven traveling companion.
This dwarf was a particularly squat, square fellow. An abundance of auburn curls rioted about his broad shoulders, and a long red beard spilled over his chest. His upper lip had been shaved, and his blue eyes were stormy. A horseshoe hung on a thong about his neck. The dwarf fingered his horseshoe as if laying claim to Bronwyn's words concerning his riding abilities.