Standing above him, a burly man in chain mail laughed, his thick red beard and mustache dancing in the wavering light. "I'll answer no scoundrel's questions. You're under arrest." A second soldier wrenched back the curtains from across the room's window, adding thin dawn light to the scene. The red-bearded man grabbed Delbridge by the upper arm and yanked him from under the feather tick and out of bed.
"What are you talking about?" Delbridge squealed, trying to slip from the man's strong fingers. "I'm a guest of Lord Curston's! He'll be most displeased by your rude treatment of me. I demand to see him at once!"
The sergeant maintained his hold but said nothing.
Delbridge knew he'd had too much to drink the night before, but he'd been in his room the whole time and could not possibly have caused any trouble.
"Perhaps you need a little incentive," hinted Delbridge, reaching toward the table for a small stack of coins, but the guard jerked Delbridge's arm behind his back.
"Don't try any of yer magic on me, cur." The armored guard dragged Delbridge from his sleeping chamber on the second floor, down a narrow flight of stairs, and out the east entrance to the keep. Two more guards holding pikes joined them as they crossed the bailey, headed for an archway bearing the sign, "Gaol."
Delbridge laughed a bit hysterically. "Can't you see? You've confused me with someone else, an easy mistake with all of the strangers about for audience day." He tried slipping his arms from the hands of his captors. "If you'll just let me go now, I'll forget about this indignity."
Instead, the hands tightened. Delbridge instinctively dragged his heels as they crossed the threshold and entered the dark, chilly, foul-smelling recesses of the jail. Tugging the ring latch of a heavy wooden door, the red-haired guard swung it open, its hinges creaking. Sobbing his innocence to an unknown crime, Delbridge was thrust through the door and thrown to his knees in a dank, lightless cell; the door clanged shut behind the departing guards.
Rusty iron hinges echoed in the darkness.
Chapter 9
The young woman's slight frame was draped in a dark blue cloak of the finest weave. A silk scarf the color of cornflowers completely surrounded her face, crossed under her chin, and flowed over her shoulders to her waist. Her features were nearly perfect, her full lips unusually red against the pale, angular planes of her face.
"If I didn't know better, Master Fireforge," she said in her deep, even voice, "I might think you were trying to avoid me." Her sea-green eyes, as wide as two steel pieces, took in his downcast ones.
Flint dragged his eyes up, his cheeks blushing crimson. "Certainly not… Oh, Great Reorx," he swore, "I can't lie to save my soul. I was avoiding you, but not for the reasons you think."
Tanis noticed that pedestrians on the bridgewalk were stopping to stare at the exotic-looking woman and the flustered dwarf. "Let's talk in here," he said quickly, pushing Flint and Tasslehoff ahead of him through the door to his home. The woman followed, her carriage regal. Tanis's breath caught in his throat at her beauty; she reminded him of waves lapping at the shore.
Inside Tanis's house in the trees, Flint collapsed dejectedly into the bent-willow rocker Tanis had placed near the cold hearth just for him. He held his shaggy head in his hands. "I don't know where to begin…"
"You could start by introducing us," Tasslehoff sang. Without waiting, he propped his hoopak up in a corner and thrust his delicate hand forward. "Tasslehoff Burr-foot, at your service." The woman looked at his hand as if unsure what to do, then clasped it awkwardly.
Just then Tanis came forward with four glasses and a dusty bottle of mulled ale he had been saving. He smiled at the woman and said, "Tanis Half-Elven."
She regarded his fine facial features, the slightly slanted eyes, and the suggestion of a tip to the ears beneath his thick reddish brown hair. "I thought you looked too rugged to be full elf, yet too beautiful to be human…" she mused.
It was Tanis's turn to blush. "All we know is your given name from Flint," he said hastily. "Selana, isn't it?" He offered her one of the glasses. She extended a slim, almost translucent hand to accept it, which shook slightly as Tanis poured the pale-colored ale into the vessel.
"Yes, I am called Selana." She took a hasty gulp of the ale, coughing as she swallowed. Tasslehoff clapped her on the back. "I thought it was water," she gasped.
"Water?" The kender slapped his knee as he laughed. "Why, only an ogre would drink water that looked like swamp juice."
"Tasslehoff." Tanis spoke the warning low in his throat after he saw Selana's flustered expression. She took another slow swallow of the ale. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she did not cough again. Chin set determinedly, she addressed Flint in the rocker.
"Flint Fireforge, I am here for my bracelet. I am not such a fool that I can't see something is amiss. Were you unable to make it? Perhaps you will tell me now."
Flint shook his head. "No, I made it, all right, and a beautiful bracelet it was-is," he corrected himself hastily, rubbing his face in distress as he tried to think of the best way to explain the situation.
Tasslehoff dropped to the floor to sit cross-legged at her booted feet. "Look, this whole thing is my fault. Well, not entirely my fault. It was just a silly bit of strange fortune that the bracelet found its way onto my wrist in the first place. Of course I knew how much the bracelet meant to Flint, after he got so mad when he lost it the first time, that I knew he'd be furious and frantic when he discovered he'd been careless enough to lose it a second time."
"That's enough!" Flint roared at the kender. "I don't need your brand of help." The dwarf proceeded to piece together the events of the last several days, from the crafting of the bracelet, through its "pocketing" by Tasslehoff, to the robbery of the tinker's wagon.
"We were on our way to find this thieving bard and get your bracelet back, when we, uh, met you outside. I'm as sorry as I've ever been about anything," said Flint, hanging his head. "And even though I'd like to throttle this kender," the dwarf said through gritted teeth, his eyes narrow as slits, "this whole blasted mess is still my responsibility. I'd gladly return your money if I could, but I've already spent it on supplies," he admitted sheepishly.
"I don't want the money," the young woman said. "It's the bracelet I need, and I insist that you retrieve it immediately."
Her imperious tone made Flint flush further in embarrassment, but it only annoyed the half-elf. "Certainly the bracelet should not have been mislaid," Tanis said stiffly, "but it wouldn't hurt you to show some patience and understanding. Flint told you he was trying to get it back."
"You know, Flint, I've been thinking," the kender interjected. "It's a good thing I came along when I did. Reorx alone knows who could have picked it up from where you'd carelessly left it, if I hadn't taken steps to keep it safe."
"Carelessly left it?" Flint barked, jumping to his feet. "That bracelet was safely in my display box! And you weren't taking steps to do anything but steal it, you thieving little-"
"-thief!" Tas cried indignantly, his fists clenched as he faced off against the sputtering dwarf. "I am sick to death of taking the blame for other people's carelessness. Listen, you old-ouch, Tanis!" Tasslehoff glared at the half-elf, who had wedged himself between them and was pinching the muscle on the kender's right shoulder.