Page 30 of Sorcery, Swords & Scones
The forest had seemed endless then, dark and menacing as she'd pushed through undergrowth that snagged at her clothing and stumbled over roots that threatened to send her sprawling. Cold rain had soaked through her traveling cloak to chill her to the core, and wind had whipped her sodden hair against her cheeks. Lightning had licked the sky, and thunder had rumbled like the war drums of the Deep Guard echoing through the mountain halls.
When she'd finally staggered from the tree line and seen the lights of Wayside flickering through the sheeting rain, she'd nearly wept with relief. Even The Tusk & Tail, neglected and crumbling, had seemed like a refuge.
She could still remember the pungent odor of rancid ale and general neglect that had greeted her when she'd pushed through the tavern's heavy door. The great room had been dimly lit by a few guttering candles, the tables were sticky with grime, and cobwebs had dripped from the wooden beams overhead. It seemed almost miraculous now that the ramshackle tavern she'd taken shelter in had become home.
The sound of Thrain's gruff voice snapped her back to the present. "That doesn't sound like dwarves," he muttered, his grip loosening on his axe as the lute music grew louder.
Sass tilted her head, listening to the strumming that drifted through the trees. "Florin wouldn't be making so much noise anyway. She's more subtle than that and more strategic. If she were out here, we'd never know until she wanted us to."
Not only was the music coming from a stringed instrument, the precise notes spoke of a trained musician rather than dwarves trying to pass the time around a campfire. As they drew closer to the source of the sound, even Cali lowered her bow slightly, her gray ears pricked forward with curiosity rather than alarm.
They crested a small rise and looked down into a naturalclearing where the forest opened to reveal a sight that made Sass's eyes widen in amazement. Several elaborate tents circled a central fire pit, but these were nothing like the utilitarian shelters mercenaries or even traders would choose.
Constructed from sumptuous, silky fabrics in opulent shades of sapphire blue, emerald green, and deep crimson, each tent was edged with gold fringe, and each towering tent pole boasted a gilded finial. The largest tent, positioned at the center of the clearing, was particularly magnificent, its fabric like liquid gold flowing down from the many tall poles. And did it have a skylight and an attached turret?
"Definitely not dwarves," Thrain huffed, lowering his axe.
"Then who?" Val asked, echoing the question that was on all their minds.
Korl simply grunted and led them down into the clearing. As they approached the encampment, Sass spied a lute player perched on a tufted ottoman beside the fire, his fingers dancing over the strings. A willowy woman with pointed ears tended to something in a glittering copper pot, but even from a distance, Sass could tell this wasn't typical campfire fare. The aromas drifting toward them were complex and sophisticated. This was no rustic stew.
The elves milling around the tents and fire wore fabrics so luxurious that Tinpin the haberdasher would have swooned at the sight. Not only did they look fit to be presented at court, but they also drank from delicate glass goblets rather than dented metal cups that were the hallmark of most travelers.
Who were these elves, and why were they camping near Wayside of all places? And was that a lavender-plumed ostrich adorned with a bejeweled lead and tethered to a gilded pole?
The lute player noticed their approach first, his fingers gradually slowing the melody until the music died away entirely. Then the ostrich swung its beak in their direction, eyes narrowing as if it wanted to charge. Sass had never been intimidated by a bird, but she’d also never been appraised by one with so much regal disdain.
The sudden silence seemed to draw the attention of everyone in the camp, and Sass felt a moment of awkwardness as the elegantly dressed people turned to stare at their small, motley group. For the first time in ages, Sass felt both underdressed and out of place.
Before anyone could speak, the ostrich shrieked and then turned away with what could only be described as a dismissive sniff. A tall figure emerged from the tent next to the ostrich, and his gaze landed on them.
As a dwarf, she’d learned not to trust elves, but she couldn’t help but be fascinated by this one. It was impossible to tell his age, but he wore his silver hair primly tied back. Sparkling rings adorned every finger, and his robes were both voluminous and sleek.
His face lit up with what appeared to be genuine delight as he absentmindedly patted the ostrich on the head. “Don’t pay any attention to my battle ostrich. Glen takes a while to warm up to strangers.”
Glen? Sass exchanged a glance with Val, who looked more amused than anything.
“Battle ostrich?” mouthed Val.
The elf clapped his hands together as he glided toward them, unaware or uninterested in the confused looks their group was exchanging. “Welcome, friends! I've been hoping you’d come!”
Twenty-One
The reliefthat this wasn't Florin's hunting party warred with a completely new set of questions. Why had an elf set up camp near Wayside, and why in the hells would he be hoping they’d come? Even more perplexing, why had he brought a battle ostrich?
Val, ever practical and direct, stepped forward slightly and braced her hands on her hips. "Who are you, and why are you hiding out in the woods like…like bandits?"
The elf's radiant smile flickered for just a moment, and he pressed a dramatically bejeweled hand to his chest as if Val had slapped him across the face with a glove. "Hiding? My dear woman, we are most certainly not hiding, and bandits do not travel in such magnificent style."
He had a point there. Sass had never seen any type of bandits or thieving party exude quite so much style—or travel with an ostrich and lute player.
He gestured grandly at the silk tents around them. "I am Erindil of Lananore, and this is my traveling party. We are the farthest thing from bandits you could imagine.”
Korl grunted. "That doesn't explain why you're here."
Erindil's smile brightened again, as if Korl had asked exactly the right question. "Ah, but of course you're curious! Please, come sit with me." He waved them forward, and his silk robes rustled like autumn leaves. "Allow me to offer you some mulled wine—my own personal blend. I never travel without it.”
The elf settled himself gracefully onto what could only be described as a throne in miniature—a high-backed chair upholstered in emerald velvet and trimmed with gold cord. The piece of furniture looked like it belonged in a palace rather than a forest clearing, yet here it sat as if it had sprouted from the earth itself.
