Bellowing a cry to his god of battle, the dwarf barreled straight toward the largest mercenary. His head connected hard, significantly below the man's sword-belt.
The mercenary's eyes glazed, and his sword clattered from his hand. His lips fluttered soundlessly, and his hands lowered to grasp at his flattened crotch. After a moment's silence, he tilted and toppled like a felled tree. A small, high-pitched whimper wafted up from the floor where he lay.
But the dwarf suffered no ill effect from the impact. Few substances on all Toril could rival a dwarven skull for sheer durability. He staggered back a few paces, rebounded off the bar, and sprinted across the room in search of a weapon. The patrons parted before him like cockroaches scattering from a suddenly lit torch, and the hearth came into full view. Before it stood the bemused cook, who balanced on one arm and hip a large platter holding a leg of freshly roasted lamb.
The dwarf headed for the hearth at a run. On the way, he grabbed a cloth that had been left on a table and wrapped it twice about his hand. Then he seized the leg by the joint and whirled back toward the battle. Using the roast meat as a club, he aimed a hard upswing at the nearest mercenary.
The man got his sword down to meet the unusual weapon, but the blade sank to the hilt in the tender meat and did not seem to slow the dwarfs blow in the slightest. Up swung the leg of lamb, driving the hilt of the sword into the man's face. There was a crunch of bone as the hilt struck and shattered his nose, then a splat as the sizzling meat slapped into the man and splattered him with hot juices. Howling, pawing at his ruined nose and blinded eyes, the mercenary reeled off.
"Waste o' good food," muttered the dwarf. Nonetheless, he tossed the leg of lamb to the floor so he could tug free the sword. The weapon was too long for him to use, but judging from how well the elf was holding forth with just a dagger, he figured his new friend would know the use of it well enough.
Between parried blows, Kendel glanced toward the hearth as another dwarven battle cry ripped through the tavern. His new ally held a sword before him like a lance, hilt braced against his belly, and was already well into another charge. The dwarfs chosen mark turned toward the low-pitched shout and neatly sidestepped. The dwarf could not change course in time to hit his original target, but his sword plunged deep into the protruding belly of yet another mercenary.
"Oops," murmured the dwarf, but he quickly made the best of his mistake. He leaned into the sword and began to run in a circle around the impaled man, looking for all the world like a farmhand pushing one of the handles that turns a millstone. The sword tore through the man's flesh with sickening ease. His insides spilled forth, and he slumped, lifeless, into the spreading pile of gore.
The elf, meanwhile, leaped forward to parry a blow from the first man, a vicious downward sweep that would have felled the dwarf. He caught the man's sword on the crossguard of his dagger, but the force of the blow forced him to his knees.
Before the mercenary could disengage his sword for another strike, the dwarf closed in. Reaching high over the joined blades, he delivered a punch to a point just below the man's rib cage. The man's breath wheezed out in a single gusty rush, and he bent double over the kneeling elf.
The dwarf seized the man by the hair and forced his head up. "Seems like we finally see eye to eye," he quipped, and then he smashed his fist into the mercenary's face. Once would have been enough, but the dwarf hit him again just for the practice. Casually he shoved the insensible man aside and picked up his fallen sword.
"Use this one, elf," he advised Kendel. The other's a finer weapon, but youll find the grip a mite slippery."
The elf seized the offered sword and leaped to his feet, whirling to meet the final challenger and slapping his dagger into the dwarfs hand. But the last standing mercenary did not like his chances against these two. He slid his own sword hastily into its scabbard and bolted for the door.
"After him," bellowed the dwarf, kicking into a run.
Kendel hesitated and then followed suit. He had drawn steel against human soldiers; the penalties would be stern. Wherever this dwarf might be going would certainly be safer for him than Port Kir. And it occurred to Kendel that the journey might well be worthwhile in itself.
He found the dwarf in the courtyard, bouncing wildly as he sat atop the struggling mercenary. Kendel strode over and placed a blade at the man's throat.
" 'Bout time you got here,* grumbled the dwarf as he rolled aside. This one's jumpier than a bee-stung horse. On yer feet," he instructed the man. "Start aValking east down the street. I'm behind you, and if you run a step or sing out fer help, Fll dig this fine dagger into yer backside."
"What do you plan to do with him?0 Kendel asked as he fell in beside the dwarf
The dwarf pursed his lips and considered. Truth be told, I'm a'getting mighty tired of all that's been going on in these parts. I'm for going back to the Earthfaat Mountains and my kin, but first I'm thinking we should take this scum back to whatever pond he's used to floating on. Fd like to meet the man who hired him," he said in a voice full of grim promise.
"Why?" Kendel asked, surprised.
"I been a slave fer ten years. More, if n you add the days I was forced to work in that sow's bowels of a tavern. Didn't much like it. Don't much like the idea of anybody, not even them pixie-licking wild elves, being forced into slavery. I wanna know the who and why of it. Hired swords don't come cheap, and taking elves as slaves can only bring a keg of trouble. There's cheaper and easier ways of picking pipeweed leaves. Something else is going on."
Kendel eyed the dwarf with new respect. Seldom did the insular dwarven people consider the well-being of other races. He was also a bit shamed by the dwarfs concern. He had long heard tales of the forest elves' troubles, but had been unwilling to get involved. To many humans, an elf was an elf, and incidents such as the one in the tavern were far too common. Yet here was a dwarf, ready to go to the aid of the forest folk.
"Is that why you fought in the tavern that first night?" he asked softly. "In defense of a beleaguered elf?"
The dwarf snorted and prodded at the mercenary with the tip of the dagger. They spoke ill of me mother," he said. They shouldn't ought to do that."
"Indeed they shouldn't," Kendel agreed. "You did well to defend her honor."
"And her name," the dwarf added. "Seems like I do more'n my share of that. See, me mother passed her name along to me. I wear it right proud, but not everyone sees things the same."
"Ah. My name is Kendel Leafbower," the elf said, curious as to what the dwarfs name might be and hoping to speed the introductions.
"And I be called Jill," responded his new friend, shooting a cautious, sidelong look up at the elf. His expression dared Kendel to comment.
That explains much," murmured Kendel solemnly. "In Elvish, the word 'Jill' means fearsome warrior,' " he lied hastily, for storm clouds were already gathering on the dwarfs brow.
"Aye, that she was," Jill said happily, his ire forgotten. The name come down through the clan to male and female alike. And odd enough, it seems like every male dwarf who bears it fights better 'n most."
"Probably because you have more practice," the elf observed; then he winced as it occurred to him how the proud dwarf might take these words.
But to his surprise, a deep rumble of laughter shook the dwarfs belly and rolled upward in waves. "Aye, there's something to that," Jill admitted.
The new friends shared a companionable grin and set off with their hostage at a brisk pace toward the east, and whatever answers might await them there.