Douglas Clark - Saving Solace

"You! I remember you from that encounter in town," Bitterleaf said after a moment, studying Gerard. "I don't normally have anything to do with sheriffs and knights."

"Ex-knights," said Vercleese dryly, drawing a sharp look from Bitterleaf, which warned him to keep out of the conversation.

Gerard recalled with a twinge of shame how the Knights of Solamnia had failed the elven nation. If the knights had lived up to their responsibilities, the elves might not have lost their rightful lands. If Bitterleaf made no distinction between present and former knights, he had cause to despise Gerard and Vercleese, no matter that the ties between them and the knighthood were severed.

"To you, however, I owe a personal debt," Bitterleaf said, addressing Gerard and sounding reluctant to admit the fact. "Speak your piece, and to the best of my ability I will answer."

Gerard steeled himself, feeling he had but one chance with this elf and he had best make the most of it. "I wanted to meet with you and ask, what do you know about Sheriff Joyner's murder?"

Bitterleaf spat. "That Sheriff Joyner was a fool. He thought he could play Samuval like a piece on a game board. But that was none of my business. Most humans are fools." He stared meaningfully at Gerard, making Gerard flush. "Humans, however, are not my concern, or should I say the least of my concerns. I scarcely knew Sheriff Joyner and know nothing of how he died."

Whispers and tension rippled through the other elves as Bitterleaf spoke, as though their antagonism toward Gerard and Vercleese were being held barely in check by the elf leader.

"Do you know anything about the accident at the temple?" Gerard asked.

Bitterleaf barked with harsh laughter. "I don't care a fig about anything involving human religions, which have no real understanding of the holiness of nature and the true aspect of the gods."

"Would that belief lead you to murder a human?" Gerard asked evenly, doing his best to ignore the arrowheads pointed at his heart.

"No," Bitterleaf spat again. "Not as a matter of principle, anyway. For other reasons, however… perhaps." He shrugged.

"What about the rumors that elves steal from farms and the folk around Solace?"

"We steal when we have to," Bitterleaf said between clenched teeth. "We kill when we have to as well. I don't pretend otherwise."

"But we pay when we're able," one of the elves offered angrily.

Bitterleaf looked askance at the speaker. Gerard was sure there would be retribution later for his talking out of turn.

"If you are innocent of any wrongdoing," said Gerard, "then you won't mind showing me your knife."

Out of the corner of his eye, Gerard saw Vercleese staring at him, disbelieving his audacity.

"My knife? Why?" Bitterleaf, too, stared at him, with barely restrained fury. With one sudden, swift movement he whipped the knife out of the sheath at his belt and raised it up to press against Gerard's throat. "Here it is," he said, abruptly reversing his grip and offering the weapon to Gerard, hilt first. Gingerly, Gerard accepted it and examined the unusual curved shape of the blade.

Bitterleaf erupted into another smooth motion, producing a similarly curved sword from its scabbard strapped on his back. "And here's my sword, too, human!" he said. "And my bow and arrows, and the dagger I keep in my boot." With each new item he mentioned, another weapon landed at Gerard's feet. Bitterleaf shook with fury, waiting for Gerard's reaction.

The other elves chuckled scornfully among themselves.

Meeting Bitterleaf's eyes, Gerard picked up the sword and peered at the sweep of the blade. He liked the heft of the weapon. Whoever had forged the sword knew his craft.

"Satisfied, human?" Bitterleaf demanded, grabbing the sword from him as if Gerard's mere touch might contaminate it.

"Yes. Thank you, Kirrit Bitterleaf."

The elf captain scooped up his other weapons and made them disappear to their respective places about his person as swiftly as he had produced them. "Now we are even," Bitterleaf said. "You helped me once, and I have returned the favor. Next time we meet, we start out anew, with no debts to be repaid."

He backed slowly into the darkness, whirled, and vanished without a sound.

Gerard looked around, but the other elves had disappeared the same way. He and Vercleese were alone in the clearing, staring at each other and shivering in the predawn chill.

So did you find what you were looking for?" Vercleese asked as he and Gerard rode back toward town the next morning.

Gerard, half asleep in the saddle after a long, exhausting night, roused himself. "Hmm? What's that?"

"I said, was that worthwhile?" Vercleese said, sounding irritable. "Did you learn anything?'

Gerard frowned, forcing his fuzzy mind to focus. "Maybe. I don't know. I'll have to think on it."

"That sounds vague enough," Vercleese grumbled under his breath.

The horses picked their way down the steep slope of the mountain. The refreshing, pine-scented breeze soon gave way to the oppressive heat of the lower levels, making it even more difficult for Gerard to stay awake. He swayed and rocked in the saddle, giving Thunderbolt his rein.

There had been little sleep after the visit from the elves. The night seemed too full of eyes, too full of arrows eager to sate their points in human blood. Gerard wasn't sure how much of a distinction the elves made between Knights of Solamnia, past as well as current, who had failed to live up to their duty to help restore elves' land, and Samuval, himself a former dark knight, who had seized the majority of that land and displaced its occupants.

Pine trees gave way to aspen and birch as the men descended. The upper leaves of the trees rustled listlessly at ground level, where the day had already grown hot and still. Gerard and Vercleese reached Solace Stream at last, turning toward Solace and passing Jutlin Wykirk's mill. The mill wheel turning indolently, but the place had a strangely deserted look.

By the time they reached town, many of the stalls were already closed in the marketplace, attesting to the lateness of the hour. Discarded cabbage leaves, onion skins, and carrot tops littered the ground. They rode on past Stephen's Grocery, where a large, flatbed farm wagon stood being loaded with enormous crates and boxes marked with such contents as horse feed and flaxseed. Three men were hoisting the boxes onto the wagon. One was Stephen; the second was probably his helper in the store, Gerard thought; the third was Jutlin Wykirk.

"So that's why the mill looked deserted this morning," Vercleese commented. "He's in town picking up supplies."

Gerard's gaze started to drift disinterestedly past the miller, then snapped back. There was something about the man's face… what was it? Gerard was prodded by some buried memory. Somewhere else he had seen that face, perhaps? At last he shrugged. If it were important, it would come to him in time.

The crates and boxes were evidently heavy, for the three men strained under their weight, barely acknowledging Gerard and Vercleese with nods as they worked.

Gerard and Vercleese stopped at the communal well near the town square. Vercleese slid from the saddle and gratefully splashed cooling water over his face. Nearby, the brutal hammering of the smith rang out in the still air.

"I'll be right back," Gerard said, turning toward the smith's shop.

Vercleese grunted and splashed more water on his face.

Gerard stepped into the dim interior of the smithy, where the heat assaulted him. Torren Soljack looked up from his hammering. "Is there something wrong with your sword?" he asked, challengingly.

"No," Gerard said, mopping his brow and wondering how the smith could stand the heat of the forge added to the already sweltering summer day. "It's an excellent weapon, most satisfactory. I wanted to come by and tell you as much."