Temple of the Dragonslayer (7 page)

Catriona nodded. “My thanks, good sir.”

The tavern keeper burst out laughing. “Good sir, is it? It’s been a long time since this pesthole has seen such courtly manners! Do you fancy yourself a knight? You’re certainly dressed for the part!” The tavern keeper laughed again, his merriment spreading to the others seated at the bar.

But Catriona was far from amused. Quick as lightning, she drew her short sword and pressed the tip against the roll of flab beneath the tavern keeper’s stubbly chin.

“Do not make fun of Knighthood,” she said in a low voice. “You are not worthy to so much as speak the word.”

She hesitated, then removed her sword point from the tavern keeper’s neck.

“For that matter, neither am I.” Catriona sheathed her sword in a single smooth motion. The tavern keeper’s face was pale, and a tiny trickle of blood ran down his neck where the sword had barely pierced his flesh.

Catriona and Davyn moved down the bar toward the dwarf. But just as Davyn was about to say something to the Theiwar, the man on his right—the one with blond hair—turned around and said, “Did I hear right? Are the two of you seeking a guide?”

The man had a friendly smile, but there was something calculating in his gaze. He brushed his blond hair back over his ears—his pointed ears—and Davyn realized that he wasn’t a man at all, but rather an elf.

Before Catriona could answer, Oddvar turned and spoke in his soft, whispery voice. “I believe they intended to speak with me.”

The elf turned to look at Oddvar. His smile remained in place, but his voice took on a skeptical tone. “I mean no offense, friend, but you are a Theiwar, are you not? Unless I am mistaken, your people live in underground caverns and rarely venture into the light of day.”

“Not all Theiwar are the same,” Oddvar said, his voice slightly louder now. “Are all elves?”

The elf’s smile didn’t falter. “As I said, I meant no offense. But I can see that even in here, where there is little light, you wear your hood up to protect your sensitive eyes.”

“So?” Oddvar challenged.

“So these two seek a guide to lead them through the land to the north. There’s forest up there and the woods are hardly the sort of place your people frequent. While I, on the other hand, am Kagonesti, and my people have a deep affinity for the forest and the creatures that live there.”

Oddvar frowned. “Are not Kagonesti elves generally dark-haired and possessed of brown skin?”

The elf’s smile almost fell away, but he managed to maintain his good cheer, if barely.

“I am half Kagonesti and half Silvanesti. It is my Silvanesti heritage that gives me my lighter colored skin and blond hair. But in all the ways that truly matter, in here—” the elf tapped his breastbone—“I am completely Kagonesti.”

“So you are a
half-breed.”
Oddvar said this last word with a sneer.

That was it for the elf’s smile. “Have a care, dwarf. Up to this point I have been civil to you. It would be a shame if our conversation were suddenly to become less than pleasant.”

Oddvar’s large eyes glittered with anger, and his left hand disappeared beneath the counter, to grab his weapon, no doubt.

“Hold, both of you,” Catriona said. “There is no need for this. We shall decide which of you to hire—if either.”

The elf turned to face Catriona, his smile restored. “Of course, my lady. My name is Elidor, and I am entirely at your service.”

Oddvar snorted but said nothing.

“That matter can be decided quite simply,” Catriona said. “Which of you has had more experience traveling through the lands to the north?”

Davyn decided he’d better say something. “More to the point, do either of you know the way to the Temple of the Holy Orders of the Stars?”

Oddvar opened his mouth to answer, but Elidor jumped in before the dwarf could speak.

“I not only know the route to the temple, I have been there,” the elf said. He looked at Davyn. “It is a beautiful place—tall glass spires, crystalline domes. The courtyard is paved with multicolored tiled mosaics and filled with an assortment of amazing foliage. It is a divine place in every sense of the word.”

Catriona was nodding to herself, and Davyn knew he had to do something fast before Catriona gave Elidor the job.

But just as Davyn was about to say something, he heard Nearra scream.

Sindri had grown bored with the dead cat—thank the gods—and had turned his attention to a strange-looking mold growing on the side of a building when Nearra saw the minotaur stalking down the street toward them.

She wasn’t certain the minotaur had seen them yet, but she was sure that it was the same one they’d encountered earlier—he had a black coat of fur, wore a leather kilt, and carried an axe sheathed on his back. And there was no mistaking that furrowed brow or those angry eyes.

Nearra bent down close to Sindri’s ear and whispered, “Don’t look, but the minotaur that was chasing you earlier is—” but that was all she got out before Sindri turned and headed straight for the man-bull.

When she first met the kender, Nearra thought his almost total lack of fear was charming. But now she could see that it could quickly become annoying—if not downright deadly.

“Sindri, stop!” she called.

“Why? I took care of him once before, and I can do so again.” He frowned. “I’m just not sure how I did it.” He shrugged. “Oh, well. I’m bound to remember sooner or later.”

For Sindri’s sake, Nearra sincerely hoped it would be sooner.

“Halt, minotaur, or I’ll be forced to cast another spell on you!” Sindri planted his feet on the street muck and raised his arms in what Nearra assumed was meant to be an intimidating wizardly pose. Unfortunately, the kender looked more like a child stretching to see how high he could reach.

Still, the minotaur stopped. He fixed Sindri with a hate-filled glare, but he did not take another step toward the kender.

“I have been searching all afternoon for you,” the minotaur said in a low, rumbling voice. “You have insulted me, and I have come to reclaim my honor.”

Sindri blinked several times, clearly puzzled. “I don’t understand. You got your money back, didn’t you? Or rather, I left you the substitute I conjured. Did the purse contain fewer coins than the original?”

“No money was missing,” the minotaur said.

“Well, there you go.” The kender lowered his arms. “It’s all settled, then.”

Now it was the minotaur’s turn to look confused. “No, it isn’t! There is still the matter of my honor!”

“You keep using that word: honor. What precisely does it mean to you?”

The minotaur stared at Sindri for a long moment before answering. “You mean you truly do not know?”

“I’ve heard the word before, of course. I’ve always thought it meant worrying too much about what other people think of you. But I must be wrong. I can’t imagine anyone going to all the trouble you have simply to improve another’s opinion of one’s self. That would be pathetic, don’t you think?”

The minotaur had been growing increasingly angry as Sindri spoke. Now the man-bull’s face was so contorted by rage that he truly did resemble an inhuman beast. With a roar, the minotaur ran toward Sindri, hands stretched out in front of him. He was so furious that he wasn’t going to waste time drawing his axe; he was going to fight the little wizard barehanded. It wouldn’t be much of a fight, Nearra thought, given the difference in their sizes.

Nearra wished there was something she could do to help Sindri, and once more the warm tingling erupted in her hands, stronger than before. A picture flashed through Nearra’s mind—an image of the minotaur’s hooved foot slipping in the street muck, causing the man-bull to lose his balance.

And then it wasn’t simply an image anymore. The minotaur’s right hoof slid on something wet and disgusting lying in the street. He wobbled, unbalanced, but he was moving far too fast to slow down. He barreled toward Sindri, completely out
of control, wildly waving his arms in a vain attempt to regain his balance.

Just as the minotaur was about to slam into the defenseless kender, Sindri nimbly stepped aside, and the man-bull continued slip-sliding forward, straight for the entrance of the Blind Goose Tavern. The minotaur crashed into the tavern door, his speed and bulk reducing it to instant kindling.

The strange tingling sensation in Nearra’s hands began to fade and she felt a trifle dizzy.

Nearra looked at Sindri. “Are you all right?”

The kender was grinning. “Did you see the way he hit that door?
Pow!”

Sindri was obviously unharmed. Nearra hurried toward the tavern—careful to keep from slipping herself—and hesitantly walked through the now-open doorway.

The minotaur lay sprawled on the dirt floor, beneath him the splintered remains of a table, as well as a pair of very unhappy customers. The minotaur groaned and started to rise, but one of the men he’d pinned grabbed a broken table leg and cracked the man-bull over the head with it. The blow didn’t seem to injure the minotaur, but it did enrage him further. He roared and reached for the man. The man’s friend pulled free from the remnants of the table and grabbed another table leg. He swung wildly, trying to free his friend. But instead of hitting the minotaur, he nearly hit Nearra.

Nearra screamed but dodged the blow just in time. “Davyn! Catriona! Time to go!”

It was dim inside the tavern, but Nearra could just make out the figures of Davyn and Catriona standing near the bar. With them were two men—one tall and one short. Catriona pointed to the tall one, and then the three of them began hurrying toward the entrance, leaving the short one behind.

Looks like we’ve found our guide, Nearra thought. She then stepped out of the way to let Davyn, Catriona, and a handsome blond elf exit the tavern.

Catriona shot Sindri a look. “I see your horned friend managed to track you down.”

“You missed it, Catriona! Just as the big cow was about to get me, he suddenly slipped and went crashing into the tavern! Do you think maybe I cast another spell on him without knowing it?”

Davyn gave Nearra a quick look before turning to Sindri. “We can worry about that later. We need to get out of here before the fighting spills into the street.”

The sounds of combat inside the tavern had become louder and more violent. It seemed the brawl had spread to include the rest of the Blind Goose’s customers.

“You mean before the minotaur comes outside looking for Sindri again,” Catriona said.

Nearra looked at the elf. His right hand twitched near the pack slung over his shoulder and then fell still.

Nearra frowned. She’d had the impression that the elf had been holding something. And had she seen that same hand reach out as the elf had run past the minotaur? It had all happened so fast, she wasn’t sure.

He smiled. “My name is Elidor.” He reached out to shake Nearra’s hand.

“Introductions later,” Davyn said, grabbing Nearra’s hand and pulling her down the street. “Running now.”

Oddvar stood with his back against the bar, warily watching the fighting and doing his best to stay away from it. He could fight well enough when he had to, but he preferred to use stealth and cunning whenever he could.

He still had hold of the poisoned dagger he’d intended to use on the elf. He was now tempted to use it on the idiotic minotaur who’d come crashing into the tavern before Oddvar could prevent the cursed elf from stealing his “job” as Nearra’s guide. The Theiwar had no idea who the redheaded girl in chain
mail had been, but obviously the boy had experienced some unexpected complications. Whatever had gone wrong, Oddvar knew his master wasn’t going to like it, not one bit. He slid the poisoned dagger back into its sheath and skulked off in search of a back door.