Saving Solace

CHAPTER 18

Gerard sent Blair off for the wagon and horses that, earlier, Gerard had arranged to have tethered nearby. "Is everything ready?" Gerard asked Vercleese when Blair was gone.

"Yeah," said Vercleese, sounding none too happy about it. He started to say something else but was interrupted by the rattle of the wagon and the clop of approaching hooves. Blair drew up in front of the little group and hopped down from the driver's bench. The three pulled their prisoners to their feet and hustled them into the back of the wagon, where they bound their feet.

"Now where?" Blair asked.

"To the jail, of course," Gerard replied.

"And who's going to stand guard all night?" Blair asked sullenly. "Me?"

"Not necessarily," Gerard said, tugging on his beard as he mulled the matter over. "You've worked hard tonight and could probably do with a good night's sleep. No, I think we could probably find a citizen willing to volunteer his services, guarding these prisoners tonight."

"A volunteer?" Blair said. "Isn't that a little, er, unusual?"

"That's right," Gerard said, as he and Vercleese untethered their horses from behind the wagon and mounted. "However, this is an unusual case, calling for unusual measures." When he gave directions to Blair, however, it was Vercleese who exploded. "Are you out of your mind?

Why don't you just stick your hand into a hornets' nest and get it over with!"

"Nevertheless," Gerard said, "that's where we're going. Get him up, Blair."

Blair flicked the reins and clucked to the draft animal pulling the wagon, who slowly bestirred himself. The wheels rattled over the cobbles, and the bound prisoners grunted as every violent jolt tossed them about on the hard, rough boards of the wagon bed. With Blair leading in the wagon, Gerard and Vercleese followed at a leisurely pace on their horses, watching to make sure the pair didn't try to escape.

They went through the heart of town, passing the Town Square, the smithy, and the stables. The traffic had thinned by now, though many people were still out on foot. On some street corners, clerics exhorted folk to observe the forthcoming temple dedication with more propriety. But the citizens of Solace were proud of their new temple, which promised to be one of the preeminent structures in all Ansalon, and they were determined to celebrate the occasion.

At the Town Square, Blair veered onto a well-to-do residential street running westward, toward Crystalmir Lake. He drew up to one imposing edifice. Behind him, Gerard and Vercleese reined in.

"Are you sure this is such a good idea?" Vercleese muttered.

"Oh, I think it's an ideal solution," Gerard said with a grin. "Wait here." He tossed his reins to his deputy and dismounted. He stepped briskly up the gravel walk to the front door, where he pounded hard enough, with the pommel of his sword, to rouse the heaviest sleeper. After a few minutes, a bleary-eyed butler opened the door. "Yes, who is it?" the servant demanded imperiously. "Who dares to wake the household at such an hour?"

Gerard moved so that the light from the man's candle shone on his face. "It's Gerard uth Mondar, the sheriff of Solace. And I have urgent need of Nyland's services for the night."

"The young master is asleep," the butler droned. "As is anyone," he added with a scornful look, "not engaged in scurrilous endeavors of one sort or another."

"You'd best hope I overlook your disrespectful comments," Gerard warned. "Now go wake up Nyland and bring him here, before I come in and roust him out of bed myself."

"You wouldn't dare," the butler said, although a slight tremor in his voice betrayed his uncertainty.

"Try me."

The butler tried to stare Gerard down but failed abjectly. "Hmph! I'll go see what I can do," he muttered at last. "Please wait here." He started to shut the door.

Gerard stuck his booted foot in the doorway. "I think I'll wait inside, if it's all the same to you."

The butler's glare told Gerard that it wasn't all the same, but he acquiesced to the inevitable with poor grace and stepped aside. "If this is suitable," the butler said with a mocking tone, indicating the entry way, "I'll leave you here while I go rouse the young master.

Gerard nodded and the man marched off with a stiff, unhurried gait.

When someone appeared a few minutes later, it wasn't Nyland at all, but Lady Drebble. "What's the meaning of this?" she demanded. "What are you doing, banging on doors in the middle of the night and demanding that solid, upstanding citizens be rousted from their beds?"

"My dear lady, I have sore need of Nyland for the night," Gerard said diplomatically. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to impress him into duty serving as one of my deputies."

Lady Drebble began to wring her hands. "My little Nyland, occupied in such a… common undertaking? How remarkable! What could you possibly want him to do?"

"Guard a couple of prisoners."

"Guard prisoners!" cried Lady Drebble fanning herself desperately. "My little Nyland, associating with such rabble? Why, I won't hear of it! He might fall asleep, and then they'd cut his throat."

"If he's on guard duty, he won't be sleeping," Gerard served dryly. "And of course the prisoners will be safely locked up."

"I insist upon speaking to the mayor," Lady Drebble said. She stamped a pudgy foot. "Right now!"

"Mother, what is it?" asked a young man's voice behind her. Moments later, the pale face of Nyland Drebble materialized in the little sphere of candlelight.

Gerard knew from Vercleese that Nyland was at least eighteen, although he was kept under so tight a rein by his mother's apron strings that he was treated as though he were twelve. "What are these men doing here?"

"Nothing, Nyland. It has nothing to do with you," Lady Drebble said. "Go back to bed."

"Nyland, get dressed," Gerard interjected. "You're coming with us."

The lad's eyes grew wide. "Am I under arrest?" He looked more delighted than dismayed.

"No, not at all." Gerard smiled, touched in spite of himself by the young man's innocence. "We badly need you to guard some prisoners for tonight."

Nyland's mouth fell open. "Are they dangerous ones?" he asked when he remembered to close it again.

"Not at all," his mother said hurriedly. "They're quite ordinary criminals, I'm sure. And I'm sure the sheriff can find someone else more suited for such a menial job."

"Oh, yes," Gerard said to Nyland, as though his mother hadn't spoken. "A couple of very dangerous sorts, indeed."

"But I'm unarmed." The young man looked embarrassed. "And I don't possess a weapon. Mother won't permi- that is, I have yet to select and purchase a suitable weapon."

"Well, that's easily remedied. I'll loan you my sword," Gerard said.

"Oooh!" Nyland breathed. He turned to his mother. "I–I really think I should go. After all, it's my, uh, civic duty."

"It's your patriotic duty," Gerard offered.

"It's my patriotic duty," Nyland echoed eagerly.

"Nyland, I won't hear of it! Now obey me and return to bed." When the lad didn't respond quickly enough to suit her, she stamped her foot again. "Right now, Nyland!"

"I'm sorry, Nyland, but this is man's work, or I wouldn't have asked you. You really must come with us," Gerard said. He looked the lad in the eyes. "That's an order."

"You hear that, Mother? My duty to my community calls me. I really must go." Nyland disappeared into the house before his mother could object, presumably to dress.

Lady Drebble turned on Gerard, her face purple with rage. "I'm going to protest to the mayor!" she cried. "I'm going to put a stop to this nonsense at once!"

"You might want to put on some proper clothes, first," Gerard said when it appeared she might launch self into the street, still in her nightdress and robe.

"Hmph!" she snorted and spun away, slamming the door.

Gerard waited.

"Do you really think he'll come?" Vercleese asked, having slipped up behind Gerard sometime during the discussion.

"Oh, he'll come all right. He wouldn't miss this for all the world."

Sure enough, moments later Nyland bounded out of the house, still lacing up his breeches and tucking in his shirt. He glanced fearfully over his shoulder. "We should hurry," he said. As if to set an example, he raced down the walk and hopped onto the back of the wagon. "Come on. Let's go!"

Gerard and Vercleese grinned at each other, promptly complying. The lad's misgivings seemed well grounded, for no sooner were they under way, drawing away from the house, than Lady Drebble appeared again at the doorway, gesticulating hysterically. "Be brave, my boy!" she cried to the departing entourage. "I'll get you out of there! I promise!"

"Not before the night's out, I hope," Nyland muttered, just loud enough for Gerard to overhear.

At the jail, the two prisoners were tossed into an empty cell. They struggled against their bonds and attempted to speak, but all that emerged from their gagged mouths were sounds suggestive of the worst possible threats and curses. Nyland stood outside the cell, watching them with fascination.

"Here," Gerard said loudly, handing over his sword to the youthful jailer. "Keep a firm grip. Don't stab them unless you have to. But, uh, if you are forced to run them through, go for the vital organs. Try to keep the bloodshed down to a minimum. Cleaning up the jail can be such a mess."

Nyland held the sword, staring at it with wide eyes. Copper Mustache and his accomplice moaned into their gags and struggled harder against the ropes that held them.

"What if they try to escape?" Nyland asked eagerly.

"Then skewer them like the rats they are," Gerard said, speaking mainly for the benefit of the prisoners. He leaned close to Nyland and whispered, "But see that it doesn't come to that, will you? I'm counting on you; keep them frightened, but alive. I really do need them alive."

"All right," Nyland said, sounding disappointed.

"What are you going to charge them with?" Blair asked, ready to write something down in the official logbook.

"Hmm, they're under suspicion," Gerard said.

"Of what?" asked Blair, hesitating and looking doubtful.

"I'm thinking on it," Gerard said with a grin, watching the prisoners squirm.

"And where are you two headed without your blades?" asked Blair, seeing Vercleese unbuckle his sword as well and place it on the jail guard's desk.

"Someplace you'd rather not be," Vercleese replied glumly as he and Gerard returned to their horses. They mounted again and headed off into the dark, directing their way back past The Trough, where business as usual sounded well under way again, and on out of town.

They rode as far as Jutlin's mill, but instead of continuing across the bridge and down the road that ran alongside Solace Stream to Gateway, they turned their horses up into the mountains. Vercleese led the way. Gerard rode contentedly behind, listening to the wind sigh through the tops of the pine trees that began to grow thicker around them as they climbed.

Even at night, it was hot at this time of year. Gerard would have found it stifling were it not for Thunderbolt parting the air like a ship cleaving water, creating the illusion of a breeze.

After a while, however, the ground, merely hilly at first, rose more steeply, and the night air grew chilly. Gerard began to regret not bringing a cloak. He huddled inside his light cotton shirt as best he could and hoped they were getting close to their destination.

But Vercleese led on inexorably as the hour grew late. Finally, they reached a high mountain meadow and Vercleese stopped. "Here?" Gerard asked as his deputy dismounted.

Instead of answering, Vercleese began gathering wood for a fire. Seeing what the man was doing, Gerard made haste to help, for the one-armed knight was clearly hampered in such activity. Soon they had a good-sized blaze going, alerting anyone within miles to their presence. Stealth wasn't called for on this particular adventure, Gerard reflected wryly.

He tossed a dry branch as thick as his arm onto the fire. The smoke stung his eyes as a vagrant breeze picked it up for a moment; then the air fell still again. The wood sizzled and popped. Flames nibbled tentatively at one end of the branch before enveloping the whole piece with a voracious appetite. Gerard hugged himself, feeling warm again at last, and wearily flung himself down on the ground. Vercleese was already lying back, studying the stars. Something hopped through the underbrush near them then veered away from their presence, bounding deeper into the woods.

"Are you sure we'll find him here?" Gerard asked, propping himself up on one elbow to look at the older man.

Vercleese yawned, reminding Gerard how long a day it had been. In a moment, both were fighting to keep their eyes open.

"Don't worry," Vercleese said after a moment. "I he's around, he'll find us."

"How did you get a message to him?" Gerard asked.

The only answer that came was a soft snore fro Vercleese.

Gerard settled back comfortably. He watched the moons sail by silently overhead. He wasn't even aware of falling asleep.

He was aware of waking up, however, for he became cognizant of the lean, sharp features of an elf leaning over him, leering into his face. It was Kirrit Bitterleaf.

Gerard jerked upright, not entirely surprised to see that he and Vercleese were surrounded by elves, their arrows nocked and bowstrings taut. Slowly, Gerard started to get to his feet.

"Sit," Bitterleaf said harshly, pushing Gerard back down. Gerard glanced at Vercleese, who gave him a look. Gerard sat.

"I believe you have requested an audience with me," Bitterleaf said in an unfriendly tone. He waved to the embers of their fire, still glowing in a great, ashy heap. "Either that, or you are the most stupid humans I've ever met. I'd have known you were here even without advance word."

Gerard examined the man by the dim light of the moons and dying embers. He understood with some sympathy, as he looked into that ravaged face, that Kirrit Bitterleaf had seen his people displaced and devastated. Likely, the elf didn't trust anyone, and certainly not a pair of humans who held positions of authority.

"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.