Silver Shadows - Elaine Cunningham [109]
In the suddenly silent room, Kendel swiveled to face his accuser. "Not so, sir," he said evenly. "If there is any quarrel to be had with the elven people, you would do better to seek it among the Forest Folk. Surely you can see by my hair and my skin that I am not one of them."
"Well now, I don't know about that," another of the mercenaries put in. "I seen a red-headed elf among the raiders. Word has it he cut his mark onto our captain's face. For all we know, you might even be him."
"That is not possible. I have not left Port Kir for many months," the elf protested. I've worked the docks since early spring. There are men here who can vouch for me!" Kendel looked around the room, seeking confirmation.
There was none. Even some of the men who lifted alongside him day after day sat in stolid silence, their eyes averted.
But the elf's words elicited a burst of raucous laughter from the mercenaries. "Hear that, boys?" one of them hooted. "He works the docks, if you please! If any of you ever laid eyes on a more unlikely dockhand, I'd surely like to hear tell of it!"
By now it was clear to Kendel what path this confrontation would take. He had played this scene before, albeit upon different stages. A farm, a palace, a counting-house, a tavern-it was all much the same in the end.
The elf's gaze remained calm and even, but his fingers closed around the grip of his dagger. If he struck first, and struck fast and hard, there was a good chance he could to work his way to the door.
A good chance-that was more than he usually had. He would escape, and then he would rebuild, as he had so many times before.
"I beared tell there was elven slaves working that farm, against what passes fer law in this land," observed a gruff voice from behind the counter. "If you boys was smart, you might not be so quick to claim fighting to keep 'em there."
The mercenaries exchanged startled glances. There came the screech of wood dragging across wood, and a dwarf with a dun-colored beard popped into view and affixed the men with an accusing glare. The mercenaries exploded into laughter.
"A dwarf! And here was me, thinking we was hearing the voice of the gods!" hooted one of the men.
"He's a bit short for a god," noted another man, grinning widely when his dubious witticism inspired a new burst of mirth.
"Mind your affairs, dwarf, and let us tend ours," growled the largest man among them. The dwarf shrugged and lifted both hands in a careless gesture of agreement; then he hopped down off the keg and disappeared. The mercenary lashed out with one foot, kicking the stool out from under the elf
Agile Kendel was on his feet at once, his dagger bright and ready in his hand. His attacker reached over his shoulder, drew a broadsword from his shoulder sheath, and closed in.
Fortunately for the elf, the crowds put his attackers at a disadvantage. There was little room for the swordsman to maneuver, and Kendel was able to parry the first of several thrusts. But only the first few. With the ease of frequent practice, the patrons pushed the tables and chairs against the walls to clear an impromptu arena. Many of the others, especially those who still bore the scars of the last brawl, made hastily for the exit.
Kendel soon found himself faced with five men and an open field. The bar was to his back, and the mercenaries surrounded him in a semicircle. Swords drawn and confident leers twisting their faces, they began to close in.
A tremendous crash ripped through the ominous silence of the tavern. The dwarven barkeep exploded through the wooden wall under the bar counter, head leading and held down like that of a ramming goat. It occurred to Kendel suddenly how the large hole in the wall of the wine cellar had come to be.
Bellowing a cry to his god of battle, the dwarf barreled straight toward