"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.