Elfsong - Elaine Cunningham [24]
Elaith gritted his teeth and followed. He recognized Vartain's worth: the riddlemaster was brilliant and resourceful, an asset to any quest. Vartain was always thinking, watching, weighing the facts, considering and calculating the odds. When questioned, he shared his observations freely and expressed his opinions honestly, and he never seemed to be wrong about anything. In short, he was a colossal pain.
The elf's irritation shifted focus abruptly when he got to the garden's wall. His amber eyes narrowed at the frivolous scene before him. Two of his highly paid men were digging at a peppergum tree with their daggers. The tree was commonly cultivated in the Northlands for its summer shade and brilliant autumn foliage, and each spring it yielded thick, pliant sap that tasted faintly of peppermint. One of the malingerers, a black-bearded bear of a man named Balindar, had worked for Elaith before and should have known better than to risk his ire. It was the elf's custom to purchase his mercenaries' efforts with generous payment in gold, and to ensure their loyalty with cold steel.
Elaith drew a throwing knife from his sleeve and flicked it at the tree. The blade bit deep into the soft wood, just inches from Balindar's head. The mercenary spun about, a hand on his blade and a startled oath on his lips. His eyes widened at the sight of his employer's cold face. He eased his hand away from his weapon and raised it slowly in a conciliatory gesture. Although more than a handsbreadth taller and a good fifty pounds heavier than the elf, Balindar was clearly not interested in fighting his employer.
"This is your concept of treasure?" Elaith asked in tones of silky menace as he leaped nimbly over the garden wall. "This? A child's treat?"
"Wasn't my idea," Balindar grumbled. The riddlemaster told Mange and me to gather peppergum sap." The other mercenary-a whip-thin archer whose mottled blend of naked scalp and short-cropped brown fuzz gave birth to his apt nickname-bobbed his head in nervous agreement.
His temper near to burning, Elaith rounded on the man behind him. Vartain had just finished his laborious climb over the garden wall. He stood eyeing the distant hills, his hands resting on his paunch in a meditative pose. Something about the man's bulging black eyes, large hooked nose, and bald pate reminded Elaith of a buzzard. Vartain looked over, as if drawn by the heat of the elf's glare.
"The terrain about a league to the northwest suggests the presence of caves," Vartain said mildly, pointing toward the rock-strewn hills beyond the village. "Considering the proximity of potential lairs, prudence demands that we have earplugs available."
Elaith stared at the riddlemaster for a moment waiting for the man to come to the point Vartain, however, seldom explained what seemed obvious to him unless he was asked direct, specific questions. It was the riddlemaster's custom to put forth a fact or two, then allow others the opportunity to work their way to the logical conclusion. The elf was in no mood to appreciate such generosity, and in three quick strides he had the riddlemaster by the throat.
"Save your games for Lady Raventree's parties," Elaith hissed from between clenched teeth. He gave the man a sharp shake. "A straight answer. Now!"
Vartain gurgled and pointed a finger toward the hills in the northwest Elaith glanced, and immediately released the riddlemaster's throat.
On the horizon, several winged, gray creatures were emerging from a rocky outcrop. The avian beasts rose into the sky with the distinctive looping flight of vultures, but the elf's sharp eyes noted the human torsos and the hair streaming behind the heads. They were harpies, monsters whose song was a magical weapon that could charm a listener into immobility, allowing the evil beasts leisure for torture and feasting.
"Harpies attacking from the north!" the elf shouted. "Men, to me!"
The men bolted toward