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"The half that's on duty, no doubt," Keryth put in.
"All the better." Zaor turned to Myronthilar. "You first?"
The small elf lifted a silver brow. "But of course."
Myron hopped lightly from his stool and strolled over to where a cluster of guards, Gold elves all, lolled indolently over a table littered with bottles and goblets. One of them eyed the Moon elf with a supercilious smile, then elbowed his neighbor. He said something that sent a ripple of laughter through the group.
Watching this, Zaor lifted a hand to his lips to hide a smirk. The haughty elves were due for a lesson in the importance of open minds and keen observation. Had they the wit to look beyond their first impression, they would never have discounted the small Moon elf.
There was a remarkable economy about Myronthilar's every movement, a precision and purpose to each step and gesture. He was like a dagger: slender, finely honed, perfectly balanced-and deadly. The results of this encounter, Zaor mused, would be a good start to the necessary reeducation of Evermeet's elves.
Myronthilar stopped and regarded the assembly soberly. "Well met, Saida Evanara," he said politely, regarding a suddenly wary Gold elf female. "I'm afraid I must be the bearer of ill news. Myth Dra
The female's eyes narrowed. "And well I know it. I was there until the final battle ended!"
"Yes, I have heard minstrels sing that tale," Myron said. "Paid minstrels. There are others, though, whose stories claim that you ran like a rat." He looked around the elegant taproom. "Of course, such as they would never perform in so fine an establishment as this."
Saida's face flushed with outrage. "How dare you! Never in my life have I been so insulted!"
"Actually, that is not entirely true. You really ought to listen to a wider range of bardic tales," Myron said helpfully.
One of the guards leaped to his feet and stood menacingly over the diminutive Moon elf. "Have a care how you speak. Saida Evanara is my kinswoman," he said in a low, ominous tone.
"You have my sympathy," the Moon elf returned. "Of course, since none of us can chose our kin, I shall not hold that against you."
The elf scowled and reached for his sword with a slow, dramatic flourish. A look of utter befuddlement crossed his face when his fingers closed around an empty scabbard. His puzzled frown was chased away by an expression of sheer panic as he regarded the length of steel at his throat. It was very familiar steel. Myron had beat him to the draw-and with his own sword!
The Moon elf lifted the "borrowed" blade to his forehead in a mocking salute.
Saida hissed with rage and leaped to her feet. Before she could draw her weapon, Myron tossed her the stolen blade. Instinctively, she caught it, and then lunged. The Moon elf dodged, spun, and parried Saida's second attack-with her sword.
With her free hand, Saida groped at the scabbard at her hip, unwilling to believe the evidence of her eyes. It was indeed empty. Her eyes narrowed with malevolence.
"You're quick, Gray," the Evanara warrior admitted as she shifted into battle stance. "But when I'm finished with you, you'll think you've been stomped by a warhorse!"
"I've heard that," Myron said conversationally. "You really ought to chose lovers less inclined to bemoan their experiences."
"Enough!" snarled the guard whose sword Saida wielded. "By Corellon, I will have your hide ta
The enraged elf leaped at Myronthilar. He never came close. In fact, he never touched the floor. Instead, he found himself gasping for air, his feet dangling, as he looked into the eyes of the biggest elf he had ever seen- a blue-haired giant who held him aloft with one hand by the collar of his uniform, as a boy might hoist a puppy by the scruff of the neck.
"As you can see, the quessir is already engaged," Zaor said, referring to Myron in the term reserved for noble elven males. "If it is the custom of the guard to fight two and three against one, by all means-choose an assortment of your comrades and I will be happy to oblige you."
The elf's face, already red from his struggle for air, turned purple with rage. Three of the guards leaped to their feet and rushed to his defense. The Moon elf casually tossed his captive at them, bringing all four down in a heap.
Myron and Saida were fully engaged now, and the ring and clash of their weapons filled the tavern with grim music. The remaining two guards rose from the table to take the blue-haired elf's challenge. They reached for their swords, only to find that their scabbards were empty, as well.
They whirled. Behind them stood Keryth, a sword in each hand. "Excuse me," he said politely, walking past the bemused elves to hand one of the blades to Zaor. He turned the other sword and offered it hilt-first to its owner.
"My apologies for the inconvenience, but you see, my friend ca
In almost comic unison, the guards turned to stare at the sword on Zaor's hip. A mixture of chagrin and grudging respect dawned on their faces. One of the elves, a raven-haired male who wore the insignia of a captain, rose to his feet. He wiped a line of blood from his chin with his sleeve and eyed Zaor with genuine curiosity.
"What's this about, then?"
"I wish to apply for a position in the guard," Zaor said.
A dry chuckle escaped the captain. "You chose an unusual way to do so! Why didn't you just come right out and say you were a moonfighter? No order or regiment would refuse you."
"Had I done so, would you have considered my friends, as well?"
"No," the captain admitted. "Though they are as quick and skilled as any elf under my command."
Zaor tactfully declined to point out the obvious flaw in the captain's claim. "The three of us, then," he pressed.
The Gold elf shrugged. "Done."
At that moment a sharp thud resounded through the tavern. They turned, observing as Saida gritted her teeth and tugged at the blade embedded in the living wood of the tavern wall. Myronthilar, who had just sidestepped her lunge, was examining his fingernails in an exaggerated gesture of patience.
"One more thing. Call off your lieutenant before she takes the edge off her kinsman's blade," Zaor requested dryly.
The captain sniffed, as if in derisive agreement. He slanted a look up at the blue-haired elf. "What your friend said of Saida Evanara's courage in battle-was there any truth to it, or was he merely taunting her to start this fight?"
Zaor shrugged. "As to that, you must judge for yourself. Myronthilar Silverspear's words had a purpose, and they served their purpose well. Saida Evanara is under your command. Her measure is not mine to take."
"Fair enough." The captain cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, "Hold!"
Myron responded instantly, dancing back out of his opponent's reach and dropping his sword to a low guard. He inclined his head to Saida, the respectful gesture of one fighter to another to mark the end of an honorable practice match.
But the female stood still, her sword poised for a strike and her entire body quivering with rage and indecision.
"I said hold!" snapped the captain. He strode over to the elf woman and seized her wrist. Saida's gaze snapped onto his face. Her eyes grew wary, then guarded.
"On your command," she agreed, then added, "I would not have struck, captain."
The Gold elf searched her face. "I wonder," he murmured.
He dropped her wrist and turned away. "Follow me to the guard's barracks. You have much to learn."
The three Moon elves exchanged triumphant smiles and fell into step behind the captain. But the Gold elf whirled, and fixed a stare upon the company of guards behind them.