Slipping to the nearest window, I stared out at the sea. Gulls kited silently on the robust winds. Hands braced on the deep casement, I let my eyes close as nature flowed in around me. The wind soothed, the gulls’ cries eased, and the taste of salt on my lips calmed. Reflecting on my fondness for Pasil, I flipped back through memories as if they were pages in a book. Throughout all of them, I was the one mooning over him, and he, well, he was brotherly. There was affection, yes, but not of the same kind I seemed to feel for him. That kiss…it had been sloppy as most drunken kisses were, but I had felt a flicker of emotion burst to life. The next morning, sobered, Pasil had awkwardly laughed the kiss off. I had as well, for what else could I do but join him in saying it was the pissy ale that had muddled our horny minds? I’d felt more, obviously, though looking backon it, he had never, not once, gazed at me as he did at Teryn. Realizing that you had acted a bowled-over twit was painful. I hoped the king would free me from this dinner I had allowed Pasil and Teryn to talk me into with a return to the Glotte. A place to hide while licking my wounds sounded—
“Outrider Vahorn, the king will see you now,” I heard, the call jarring me from wallowing in a muddy puddle of self-pity like the mighty red stags do during the mating season.
Wiping at my damp cheeks, I inhaled the sea and then turned to the guard.
“Thank you,” I replied, my voice thick, and entered the king’s solar. One face I knew well and four I had never laid eyes on before latched onto me as I entered. Aelir sat at the long table, bowed with food and drink, no crown, hair neatly combed. Four dwarves—could I never be freed from them?—stared at me openly. The door closed silently behind me. I dropped to one knee as one fitting my station would before the ruler of Melowynn.
“Your Majesty, you called me back from the Glotte,” I said, my sight locked on the plush blue rug I knelt on.
“Beiro, rise. You made excellent time. I have to wonder if Hasulett is not gifted with magical wings to propel him with such haste.”
“He has always been blessed with great speed and stamina, Your Majesty.”
“I recall well. Come, sit down and eat. You must be hungry. We have things to discuss.” Aelir waved a hand at the buffet that the dwarves were already availing themselves of with no sign of shyness. I took an empty seat across from a female dwarf with keen gray eyes and the largest, rounded breasts I had ever seen. Her corseted leather armor surely had to be strained holding the big orbs, as did her back. How her huge tits did not fall out into her kidney pie was a mystery.
Aelir waited for me to fill a plate with fresh vegetables, cheese, fruit, and a large chunk of soft white bread that was only found at the king’s table. Most others ate coarser breads made from oats, barley, or rye. The butter I smeared on the hunk of bread was soft, and the smell of honey added to it reached my nose. The king did like his sweets.
The dwarves ate and drank, regarding me with deep curiosity. One in particular chewed loudly as he studied me like a morsel at the end of his knife. He was a broad-shouldered dwarf with a wide nose, piercing blue eyes, and a long black beard streaked with silver, decorated with small braids. A wild flow of black-and-silver hair grew out of his head to lie on his shoulders, untamed and possibly uncombed. While he was no larger than the others of his kind here, he felt more substantial in some way. I would not call him handsome, not like we fine-featured elves, but he was intriguing. His eyebrows were sleeker than most dwarves I had met, the right one bisected by an old white scar that added a dangerous air. Not that he needed any such thing. He was quite imposing, even though his head reached my chest. I had no doubt he could tie me into knots if he wished.
The others were a set of twin men, or so I felt them to be. It was hard to see under their scraggy brown eyebrows and short beards, but their eyes were the same: light blue and wide as if they were surprised. The female with the amazing breasts was a pretty thing overall. Short yellow hair shaved to her head showed off a mass of inked markings on her skull. Dwarven symbols in dark blue that appeared to be letters. I could barely read elvish so had no clue about the letters of the stone people.
I saw no signs of weapons on them, but they would have been given over before they had been allowed into Avolire. They looked rough like scouts themselves, or perhaps bandits. My father’s people had that look about them as well. They, andthese dwarves, all had an aura of explosiveness. Like an ill-cooked potion that detonated with the slightest jar. All wore leather armor that was well-seasoned—the hides old but well-oiled—so they were not beggars, for good leather did not come cheaply.
The black-bearded one laid down his turkey leg to speak to me. “I ain’t never seen an elf with ginger root hair before. You sure you ain’t got a little dwarf in you?”
“The way he’s been staring at you, Asdren, I think he’dloveto have a little dwarf in him!” the female announced around a mouthful of her pie. The possible twins roared in merriment, bits of pie crust falling from their mouths to their beards. My face flamed red. The king sat in his seat, listening intently, a glass of untouched wine in front of him.
His ebony shirt and trousers matched the terribly sad cast of his eyes. I could not read elves, or any other race, like I could beasts, but I did not have to in this case. His sadness was evident for all to witness.
“One with a prick as long as his beard!” Twin One barked out.
“Fuck, I would love to have that as well!” the female parried smoothly.
“Word at the last pub was you had three like that, Smuta!” Twin Two tossed out over the fine food and wine. My mouth fell open in shock. Even a mongrel bandit bastard like me had better manners than these four. They were not emissaries from the dwarven court. That much was certain.
“Aye, one was your father,” Smuta fired back. The twin choked on his pie. The other twin threw down his fork before pushing to his feet.
Asdren, he of the black beard and sky eyes, slapped a palm to the table. Silence fell.
“This is the table of the king of Melowynn, not the common room of the nearest brothel. Sit down, Narub.” The twin sat. “Dulgar, Smuta, watch your tongues or I’ll cleave them off with the bread knife. Apologies, Your Majesty, these sucking pups tend to forget how to comport themselves in esteemed company.”
“I have been enjoying the interplay,” Aelir said, forcing a smile that did not reach his melancholy eyes. “This is one of the finest outriders on our exploratory committee, Beiro Vahorn, who possesses remarkable druidic skills in tracking as well as beast speech. He will be joining you on this quest, for I have the utmost faith in his discretion and his trailing expertise has no rival.” The dwarves grunted and nodded as they continued to eat. “Beiro, this is Asdren Grimmane, the leader of the Sable Legion.” Aelir motioned to the four dwarves stuffing meat into their faces at an alarming rate. I blinked at the announcement. So they were mercenaries? Why, by Danubia’s warm grace, were four sellswords seated at the king’s personal table in his favored solar? Asdren, the leader, sat back from his plate, his keen sapphire eyes latching onto me as if I were the next course of his meal.
“Vahorn,” he mused, eyes narrowing as he studied me. “I know a Kagon Vahorn, leads the Ruby Ghosts.”
Damn. “That is my father.” The four dwarves gaped. “I was taken from his custody as a young child to live with my grandmother. Whatever he did, I never took part in anything that goes against the crown’s laws.” Yes, he did stop by the farm on occasion, usually to steal what few coins my grandmother had managed to pocket or steal and then smack me around as he railed at me for being a disappointment, but those visits were few and far between.
“Huh.” Asdren tapped his rather wide nose as he thought. The others seemed to have a newfound respect for me, for they no longer gazed at me as if I were a simpleton who—
“I seen Kagon a time or two,” Smuta said, dabbing at her mouth with a cloth napkin that she pulled from within her deep cleavage. “He don’t look nothing like this little bird.”
Bird?!I made a sound of high insult. I was no bird!
“True, his hair ain’t ginger root red. Tell me, Chirp,” Asdren said, leaning up to place thick, hairy forearms crisscrossed with old white scars on the glossy table. “Your da, he ain’t the most respectable of elves. What leads me to think that you ain’t just like him, your sunrise hair aside?”
“I am not a thing like my father, or anyone else in my family. I’m a member of King Aelir’s esteemed exploratory committee, a practicing druid with a classification of four, and a member of the scouts council of Celear. Also, my name is Beiro, not Chirp!”
“Oo, he’s got high color now, don’t he?” Smuta guffawed while reaching for a bun from a linen-lined basket. “Makes him even more akin to the red warblers that sing so pretty but fly off at the first sign of a cat!”
