Margaret Weis - Elven Star

“You don’t think the dwarves will attack Thillia?”

“Now who’s getting a conscience? What’s it matter to us? If the dwarves don’t attack Thillia, the SeaKings will. And if the SeaKings don’t attack Thillia, Thillia will attack itself. Whatever happens, as I said, it’s good for business.”

Depositing a couple of wooden lord’s crowns on the table, the two left the tavern. Roland walked in front, his hand on the hilt of his bladewood sword. Rega followed a pace or two behind him to guard his back as was their custom. They were a formidable-looking pair and had lived long enough in Griffith to establish the reputation of being tough, quick, and not much given to mercy. Several people eyed them, but no one troubled them. The two and their money arrived safely at the shack they called home.

Rega pulled shut the heavy wooden door and bolted it carefully from the inside. Peering outdoors, she drew dosed the rags that she’d hung over the windows and gave Roland a nod. He lifted a three-legged wooden table and set it against the door. Kicking aside a rag rug lying on the floor, he revealed a trapdoor in the floor and, beneath it, a hole that had been dug in the moss. Roland tossed the money belt into the hole, shut the trapdoor, and arranged the rug and the table over it.

Rega put out a hunk of stale bread and a round of moldy cheese. “Speaking of business, what do you know about this elf, this Paithan Quindiniar?” Roland tore off a piece of bread with strong teeth, forked a bite of cheese into his mouth. “Nothing,” he mumbled, chewing steadily. “He’s an elf, which means he’ll be a wilting lily, except where it comes to you, my charming sister.”

“I’m your charming wife. Don’t forget that.” Rega playfully poked her brother in the hand with one of the wooden blades of her raztar. She hacked off another slice of cheese. “Do you really think it will work?”

“Sure. The guy who told me about it says the scam never fails. You know elves are mad about human women. We introduce ourselves as husband and wife, but our marriage isn’t exactly a passionate one. You’re starved for affection. You flirt with the elf and lead him on and when he lays a hand on your quivering breast, you suddenly remember that you’re a respectable married lady and you scream like a banshee.

“I come to the rescue, threaten to cut off the elf’s pointed … urn … ears. He buys his life by giving us the goods for half price. We sell them to the dwarves at full price, plus a little extra for our ‘trouble’ and we’re set up for the next few seasons.”

“But after that, we’ll need to deal with the Quindiniar family again—”

“And we will. I’ve heard that this female elf who runs the business and the family is a pickle-faced old prude. Baby brother won’t dare tell his sister he tried to break up our ‘happy home.’ And we can make certain he gets us an extra-good price the next time.”

“It sounds easy enough,” admitted Rega. Hooking a wineskin with her hand, she tilted the liquid into her mouth, then shoved it across to her brother.

“Here’s to wedded bliss, my beloved ‘Husband.’ ”

“Here’s to infidelity, my dear ‘Wife.’ ”

The two, laughing, drank.

Drugar left the Jungleflower Tavern but the dwarf did not immediately leave Griffith. Slipping into the shadows cast by a gigantic tentpalm plant, he waited and watched until the man and the woman came outside. Drugar would have liked very much to follow them, but he knew his own limitations. The clumsy-footed dwarves are not made for stealthy sneaking. And, in the human city of Griffith, he couldn’t simply lose himself in a crowd.

He contented himself with eyeing the two carefully as they walked away. Drugar didn’t trust them, but he wouldn’t have trusted Saint Thillia had she appeared before him. He hated having to depend on a middle man and would much rather have dealt with the elves directly. That was impossible, however. The current Lords of Thillia had made an agreement with the Quindiniars that they would not seil their magical, intelligent weapons to the dwarves or the barbaric SeaKings. In return, the Thillians agreed to purchase a guaranteed number of weapons per season.

Such an arrangement suited the elves. And if elven weapons found their way into the hands of SeaKings and dwarves, it certainly wasn’t the fault of the Quindiniars. After all, as Calandra was wont to state testily, how could she be expected to tell a human raztar runner from a legitimate representative of the Lords, of Thillia? All humans looked alike to her. And so did their money. Just before Roland and Rega vanished from Drugar’s sight, the dwarf lifted a black rune-carved stone that hung from a leather thong around his neck. The stone was smooth and rounded, worn down from loving handling, and it was old—older than Drugar’s father, who was one of the oldest living inhabitants on Pryan.

Lifting the stone, Drugar held it up in the air so that, from his viewpoint, the stone appeared to cover Roland and Rega. The dwarf moved the rock in a pattern, muttered words accompanied the tracing of the sigil that copied the rune carved into the stone. When he was finished, he slipped the stone reverently back into the folds of his clothing and spoke aloud to the two, who were Founding a corner and would soon be lost to the dwarf’s sight.

“I did not sing the rune for you because I have a liking for you—either of you. I put the charm of protection on you so that I may be certain of getting the weapons my people need. When the deal is done, I will break the rune. And Drakar take you both.” Spitting on the ground, Drugar plunged into the jungle, tearing and hacking a path through the thick undergrowth.

Calandra Quindiniar had no misconceptions concerning the nature of the two humans with whom she was dealing. She guessed they were smugglers but that was no concern of hers. It was impossible for Calandra to consider any human capable of running a fair and honest business. As far as she was concerned, humans were all smugglers, crooks, and thieves.

It was with some amusement therefore—as much amusement as she ever allowed herself—that Calandra watched Aleatha leave her father’s house and walk across the moss yard toward the carriage. Her sister’s delicate dress was lifted by the winds rustling among the treetops and billowed around her in airy green waves. Elven fashion at the moment dictated long, cinched-in waists; stiff, high collars; straight skirts. The fashion did not suit Aleatha and, therefore, she ignored fashion. Her dress was cut low to show off her splendid shoulders, the bodice softly gathered to cup and highlight beautiful breasts. Falling in soft folds, the layers of filmy fabric enveloped her like a primrose-stitched cloud, accentuating her graceful movements. The fashion had been popular in her mother’s time. Any other woman—like myself, thought Calandra grimly—wearing that dress would have appeared dowdy and out of current style. Aleatha made current style appear dowdy. She had arrived at the carriage house. Her back was turned toward Calandra, but the older sister knew what was going on.

Aleatha would be smiling at the human slave who was handing her into the carriage.

Aleatha’s smile was perfectly ladylike—eyes cast down as was proper, her face almost hidden by her wide-brimmed, rose-trimmed hat-Her sister could never fault her. But Calandra, watching from the upstairs window, was familiar with Aleatha’s tricks. Her eyelids might be lowered, but the purple eyes weren’t and flashed beneath the long black lashes. The full lips would be parted slightly, the tongue moving slowly against the upper lip to keep it continually moist. The human slave was tall and well muscled from hard labor. His chest was bare in the midcycle heat. He was clad in the tight-fitting leather pants humans favored. Calandra saw his smile flash in return, saw him take an inordinate amount of time helping her sister into the carriage, saw her sister manage to brush against the man’s body as she stepped inside. Aleatha’s gloved hand even lingered for a moment on the slave’s! Then she had the brazen nerve to lean slightly out of the carriage, her hat brim uptilted, and wave at Calandra!