“Know him?” I murmured to Jeff.
Jeff shook his head, but Arlis answered. “That’s Helto. He bought the Pig from Elaf a couple of years ago.” He saw our looks and shrugged. “Seen him around town on occasion.”
Wondering why someone so sleek would want a rat hole like the Pig, I watched the taverner make his way to a spot against the back wall.
“His Majesty’s just that way, Helto,” Chadde said as she crossed the taproom to the windows by the hearth. “Caring about a murder done right under his nose.”
As the peacekeeper spoke, the tapster reentered by the same door and slid behind the bar again. He picked up Isa’s cup and refilled it, handing it to her with a nod. But instead of looking at the bawd, he was once more staring at Laurel and Wyln. He picked up another cup—and dropped it with a muffled thump on the floor. He ducked down behind the bar to retrieve it.
“The king sent you out here in search of Menck’s killers?” Helto asked, watching Chadde struggle with a window shutter.
“Yes.” Using her truncheon, Chadde knocked the latch a couple of times, and a large chunk of soot fell out. “But I was coming anyway, seeing as this is where Menck’s body was found.” Opening the shutter, she moved to the last window.
“An insult,” Helto said, his mouth tightening, his eyes staying watchful. “It perturbs me that someone used my tavern as a dumping place, and so I did my own questioning. Unfortunately, no one saw anything—”
Opening the final pair of shutters, Chadde threw them back, illuminating the last dark corner in the taproom. She also illuminated Wyln and Laurel—and the room exploded.
Isa screamed, throwing her cup and splashing ale over the men sitting at the tables in front of her. They and the others throughout the room shouted, some because of their dousing, but most pointing at the large mountain cat and elf suddenly standing in the light. Chairs and tables were knocked over as they jumped up, reaching for their weapons.
“Pox rot it,” Jeff said, shoving me behind him and pulling his sword just in time to knock away another airborne cup. A chair followed and then a lunk dressed as a farmhand rushed at us. “Bloody bones and ashes!” Jeff hit the farmhand with the flat of his blade, shoving him aside.
But more came at us—and each other. Apparently several took the opportunity to settle old scores and fistfights broke out. Two grappling with each other landed on a table and it crashed down under their weight, its legs giving way. There was a piercing shriek as another bawd grabbed a chair and slammed it over a man’s head, who sank down, his eyes crossing. Arlie danced by, his sword flashing against a short staff, and more tables and chairs crashed as folks fought to get out of their way. Thadro and Chadde were back-to-back, Thadro holding his sword while Chadde had her truncheon in one hand and a long dagger in the other. I reached for my own sword, only to remember that it was now guarding the charnel house. Grabbing my knife, I looked up again to see the tapster stand up from behind the bar with a cocked and loaded crossbow that he aimed at Wyln.
“Cyhn!” I shouted and pushed past Jeff to get to Wyln. As I did, the crossbow wavered, then shifted to me, and I froze, staring at the quarrel, its metal tip gleaming in the dim light. I then raised my gaze to the tapster’s. Expressionless, he pulled the release.
“Rabbit, get down!”
I needed no urging. With a yell, I dropped to the floor, my staff falling beside me with a clatter. My yell changed to a grunt, though, as someone landed on top of me. Then Laurel gave a bellowing roar and all noise cut off. I cautiously raised my head and looked around, but could only see legs, broken furniture and my fire and earth spheres floating in front of me. My head was pushed down again.
“Damn it, stay put,” Thadro said.
“Yes, sir,” I muttered, staring at the floor. It was as appealing as the rest of the tavern.
“The disturbance is over, honored commander,” Laurel said. “Isn’t that right, House Master?”
“Yes,” Helto said, his smooth voice sounding strangled.
Thadro hesitated, then slowly rose. After looking about, he held out a hand and helped me to my feet. (It took a little tugging as my tabard had stuck to the floor.) Picking up my staff from the floor, I then did my own scan.
The room was in a shambles—tables and chairs broken, dented cups on the floor along with puddles of ale and strong spirits. The people also were a wreck, with bloodied faces and rising lumps and bruises. But none of that was surprising—it was the aftermath of a tavern brawl, after all. Nor was I surprised that Laurel had Helto pinned to the wall, the mountain cat’s claws to the plump man’s throat. Or that Wyln stood in front of the bar, the crossbow in one slender hand, the other raised as dancing flames formed a cage around the tapster. The tapster stared back at the dark elf, his own hands raised in the air, his face still blank.
What riveted my attention was the quarrel frozen in midflight at eye level. My right eye, to be exact.
I’d faced death before—both on the battlefield and off— and violence aimed at me was nothing new. However, when
I looked back at the tapster, it was like staring down a tunnel. Without conscious thought, I shoved past Thadro, something building in my chest rumbling low and deep as I pushed through the former brawlers. Wyln looked over his shoulder at me, and there was nothing amused about his smile as he stepped aside. Expression did come over the tapster’s face, his eyes growing wide, his mouth opening as he began to flinch away. But I was already reaching into the fiery cage, my hand grabbing his jerkin to drag him through the flames.
“I said, stop!” Thadro spun me around, and everything became normal-paced again. I faced the Lord Commander, ready to snarl back if he started in on me. However, Thadro had other fish to fillet. He looked at Helto, still held against the wall by Laurel’s claws at his throat.
“I could set fire to this place right now for the attempt on the king’s heir’s life. Burn it down with all that you have in it, and leave you nothing but the clothes on your back. And if I choose, I could burn those too.” Thadro gave a nasty smile. “Or I could just let Lieutenant Lord Rabbit loose.”
Helto’s eyes were bulging out, either in fear or because of pressure from Laurel’s claws. “My lords, sirs, in the confusion— He didn’t mean— The cat and elf— It was an accident!”
“Who is he?” Chadde asked, looking at the tapster. “And where’s Jeb?”
“Jeb went back to his village last night as he received word that his father took sick. Bram happened to be looking for work and I hired him.”
“A stranger to the valley wanders by looking for work? And you just happened to have a position available? How convenient,” Chadde marveled. “Though I suppose that shouldn’t be surprising as you happened to come to the valley just as Elaf decided to sell the Pig.”
“Coincidence,” Helto choked. “But surely we can discuss it, Chadde, like civilized people—”
“I’m always willing to be civil,” Chadde said. She looked around the room and jerked a thumb at the door. “Everyone out.”
The patrons and bawds looked at Wyln and his cage of fire. They looked at Laurel, the cat’s claws pressing into Helto’s skin. Then they looked at me. They left quickly, the last one out shutting the door behind him without being asked. Jeff started to go to the door to stand guard, but Thadro stopped him.
“You and Arlis take Bram and lock him in a stable stall to await our escort back to Freston.”
Giving me a worried look, Jeff joined Arlis at the bar and, securing the tapster’s hands with his own belt, they led him from the room. While Chadde and Thadro righted a table and some chairs, I went to where the quarrel still hung midair. It dropped into my outstretched hand, the air around it once more swirling into a sphere. It moved to hover at my shoulder, the other spheres shifting to make room.