Page 114 of To Kill a King
At the hearth, a dwarf with a hammer over his shoulder and a metal helm stood, telling some epic tale. Every few minutes, he would stop and take a sip from one of the observers’ glasses before continuing with his story.
How odd. Elessan never spent much time in the presence of dwarves, but if the man was so thirsty, he should have his own drink. He flagged the bartender, whose attention was also focused on the narrator.
“Excuse me, barkeep,” Elessan said, keeping his voice down. “I’m looking for the thane, or his second in command.”
“Shhh,” he said.
“But I’m hoping you can tell me—”
“Elf!”
Elessan turned. The storyteller gestured to him. “If you think your tale is better than mine, come up here and share with everyone.”
He shook his head. “No, that’s not what I meant—”
“You spoke during my story, did you not?” The man with the oversized hammer wove through the throngs of listeners to approach.
Elessan swallowed as heat flooded his face. His training in dwarven etiquette appeared to be lacking.
He stepped away from the hearth and headed their direction. “We all want to hear what two elves were doing skulking around the entrance to Vagkuldir. Come, tell us!”
The dwarf grabbed Elessan’s arm and Zadé’s untouched ale. “The rules are thus. You pause every once in a while and take a drink from the audience. If they let you, they approve, and you may continue. If they don’t, you stop and leave town.”
Elessan blinked, his mouth opening and closing a few times as the speaker hauled him to the hearth.
“Standard storytelling protocol. We will see if your tale beats that of Thane Hedul Bluntforged.” He thumped his chest with his free hand.
Zadé cackled in the background as she took another swig of ale.
Elessan threw her a glare through narrowed eyelids. She’d known this would happen and had let him stumble into it anyway.
Turning his attention away from her, Elessan eyed the crowd of dwarves, their expressions ranging from hostile to disinterested. Well, he had wanted to talk to the leader. But he could have been a little more politically correct about it, apparently.
A baritone voice rang out from the back of the pub. “Hurry up, already!”
Elessan took two deep breaths and glared at Zadé. She leaned back against the bar and lifted her ale in salute. Rolling his shoulders, he studied the room. This would be his one chance to win the respect of the dwarves, and sway them to Aliya’s aid. He couldn’t let her down. Steeling his spine, he flared his nostrils. “My name is Elessan Svialto, one of the last of the mountain elves that once lived in Aeth Esari. I’m here to tell you the tale of Aliya Larimar, the human queen.”
He pulled one side of his mouth up in a smile, flashing his canines at Thane Hedul as murmurs scuttled through the crowd. “Only she’s not human, and she’s not truly queen. Yet.”
Reaching down, he made eye contact with the dwarf in front of him, grabbed his tankard and swallowed a mouthful of ale. Slamming the dwarf’s mug back on the table, he continued. “The story starts two centuries ago, at the beginning of the Human-Elf war. Before Aeth Esari fell, there was a woman, Sorisana, my mother. She was young, but youth gave her the energy and dedication she needed to run messages between the various branches of our army. It was a dangerous job, but she was adept at dodging scouts.
“One day, a landslide hit, cutting Sorisana off from our forces in the Shadow Mountains. She was wounded, and the enemy had her pinned in. If they caught her, not only would my mother lose her life, but the location and strategy of the entire elven force would be revealed.
“A human soldier found her as he wandered into the forest to relieve himself. The soldier’s name was Ren Larimar, soon to be appointed first Baron Larimar. He was a rare man, for he had honor, and he knew the war was started under false pretenses. He hid my mother and escorted her to safety before the army moved out.” Elessan pulled a medallion from his tunic, Aliya’s pendant. “My mother gave him this, as a token of our family’s friendship and the life debt.
“Imagine my surprise when, two months ago, I found the new owner of this necklace running through the woods. A young girl, fleeing royal guards and the Arcane Inquisitor.”
He reached for another drink. The dwarf’s expression did not change, and as he received no objection, Elessan lifted the goblet.
Hedul shoved his hand between the glass and Elessan’s lips. “Not that one.” He glared at the dwarf who didn’t object. “The liquor would blind you, if it didn’t kill you, elf.” The thane ripped the mug away, emptying its contents on the ground. “Try someone else’s.”
Elessan swallowed hard. Apparently, there was truth to the rumor that dwarves drank wood alcohol. Nodding his thanks, he grabbed a different stein and took a healthy swig. The liquid burned his throat. He held back a cough. He may not be drinking wood alcohol, but he needed to be careful, or he’d walk out of here as stumbling drunk as Zadé. And that wouldn’t help Aliya at all.
He told his audience what Aliya had related of Malkov, her training, and kidnapping. “Now, she’s escaped the king’s assassins, and is heading to the human capital, Lions Grove, to stand up to the King. If she’s lucky, she’ll kill him. The elven army supports her. The mages support her.” At least, he hoped they would honor their promise, once he hunted down his contact in Westcliff and that crazy little gnome. “But it’s not going to be enough. She’s our one opportunity to end Malkov’s war, and his atrocities against the magic-users and other races of the realm. But to give her the best chance, we all must unite.” He fixed Hedul with a stare. “We need you. And not just as soldiers, but for your skill in the forges.”
He pulled the wooden box from his pack, tearing off the lid and showing the silver orbs to those watching him. Several dwarves craned their necks, some stood for a better view. He reached for another dwarf’s ale and took a drink. The floor tilted to one side.
Smaller drinks from now on, and he needed to wrap up fast.