Shanhaevel gestured back at the table. “I’m studying. I shouldn’t be much longer.”
“Ah, good. Well, have you eaten, at least?” When Shanhaevel shook his head, the warrior frowned and said, “I’ll have Glora send up some breakfast so you can eat while you work.”
With that, Melias turned on his heel and headed down the hall toward the stairs.
“Fair enough,” Shanhaevel called after him, then shut the door and returned to his spellbook.
A short time later, there was another knock, and Leah opened the door, bearing a tray with steaming porridge, more fresh bread, and cold milk.
“Just set it here.” Shanhaevel pointed to a clear place on the table beside where he was working.
The girl’s footsteps were heavy across the floor, and she practically slammed the breakfast tray on the spot where Shanhaevel had indicated. He glanced up at her.
“What is it?” he asked.
Leah blushed. “N-nothing, sir. I’m sorry. It’s just that Paida is off somewhere, hiding or something, and I have to do all the work. Please forgive me, and don’t tell Mistress Gundigoot of my rudeness.” She curtsied and hurried from the room.
Shanhaevel looked up from his work long enough to watch her disappear, then shrugged and started in on breakfast while he finished his studying.
By the time Shanhaevel made his way downstairs and out the front door, walking staff in one hand, the rest of the company had already gathered. It was, indeed, a clear, bright morning, although snow still clung in the shade. The elf’s breath was visible, whisked away by a mild morning breeze.
Shanhaevel hadn’t taken four steps out the door before he noticed Shirral standing off by herself, bundled in a woolen cape of deep brown over leather armor. She leaned on a walking staff, facing away from him and down the road. Her golden blonde hair cascaded in gentle waves past her shoulders. She wore a curved scimitar at her belt, but she was twirling a sling in one hand.
Maybe it’s time to make more proper introductions, Shanhaevel thought. See if maybe the morning sun has done a little something for her disposition.
When he altered his course to introduce himself, the druid heard his approach and turned to face him. He stopped dead in his tracks, stunned. Her narrow face bore the unmistakable swept-back look of the elves, and her partially pointed ears confirmed her heritage. But she was not full blooded, he realized. She had been born to mixed parentage, a half-breed of elf and human, which explained why he hadn’t this noticed last night.
And she was absolutely beautiful.
Shanhaevel realized he was staring at her, and she looked right back at him, her icy blue eyes flashing in anger, her arms now folded across her chest. He shook his head, realizing his rudeness, and crossed the rest of the distance between them, preparing to introduce himself.
“We met last night,” he said with a slight chuckle, “but we didn’t get introduced. I’m Shan—”
“I know who you are. Jaroo told me.”
Shanhaevel stood frozen, one eyebrow raised, taken aback by the druid’s abrupt manner. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just that I wasn’t expecting—”
“A half-breed? Well, there’s a surprise. No one ever does. But there you go. The world is just full of the unexpected, isn’t it?”
With that, Shirral turned and walked several steps away, ignoring him as she tightened the straps on her horse’s saddle.
Shanhaevel stood with his mouth hanging open for several moments before a shadow crossing in front of him brought him out of his stunned surprise. It was Ahleage astride a chestnut gelding, trying to reign in the frisky mount. Shanhaevel looked up at the young man and almost laughed out loud, forgetting his confrontation with the druid for the moment.
Ahleage’s eyes were bleary and his face was puffy, as though he had slept with it buried between two pillows all night Well, pillows of a sort, at any rate, Shanhaevel thought.
“Didn’t get much sleep last night, huh?” Shanhaevel asked, smiling.
Ahleage blinked a couple of times, as though trying to absorb the elf’s words, then he cracked a sleepy but smug smile and turned his horse away again, muttering something about needing eggs for a proper breakfast.
Shanhaevel shook his head in amusement and turned to find himself face to face with two more horses. A scowling Melias and a very large smiling man were astride them. Shanhaevel stepped back and caught himself staring again.
“Uh, hello there,” he said, looking from Melias to the newcomer and back again.
“Hiyah!” The huge man said, smiling even more broadly. He leaned down and stuck out one big, meaty hand. His breath smelled of ale, and strongly at that.
Shanhaevel shot one puzzled glance at Melias, whose scowl deepened, and took the large hand offered to him, shaking it vigorously.
The captain’s son, Shanhaevel realized with a start, remembering now the stifled groans during the meeting the night before. So, he’s a drinker, is he? Shanhaevel mused. What’s his name, again?
“I’m Elmo,” the fellow said, as though reading Shanhaevel’s mind. “You’re an elf!”
“Yes.” Shanhaevel smiled at the big oaf’s forward manner, nodding. “I’m Shanhaevel. Good to meet you.”
The man’s smile was replaced by a deep, contemplative frown. “Those other two said your name was Shadowspawn,” Elmo said, pointing over the elf’s shoulder.
Shanhaevel didn’t even have to turn around to know the big man was pointing to Ahleage and Draga. He rolled his eyes and tried to laugh. “Oh, they’re just having some fun with you. Really, my name’s Shanhaevel. They just like to call me that other name.”
Elmo puzzled over this for a moment longer, then smiled and nodded again. “All right, Shanhaevel.”
Shanhaevel took a moment to study Elmo’s outfit. The man wore a shirt of chain mail, and he had an unstrung bow tied across his saddle. Shanhaevel’s eyes widened considerably at the huge two-bladed battle-axe on Elmo’s back.
“Are you any good with those?” he asked, gesturing to the weapons.
“Uh-huh,” Elmo replied, then pulled out a fine dagger from a sheath at his belt. “This is my favorite. My brother Otis gave it to me!” he said, beaming with pride. He held the dagger out, hilt first, for Shanhaevel to examine. “Go on, you can hold it. It’s beautiful, huh?”
Shanhaevel reached out and gripped the dagger. The blade felt amazingly well balanced in his hand and just holding it gave him a small, unusual shiver, one he had felt only a few times before. He took a closer look at the weapon. Even in the brightness of the early morning sun, the elf’s keen eyes noted the perfect edge to it. He spotted what he suspected was there—a tiny sigil etched into the blade near the hilt.
Magical, Shanhaevel thought in amazement. I wonder if he even knows? The elf looked up into the smiling face of the simple man, made a show of feeling the balance of the blade in his hand, then flipped the weapon around and passed it back, hilt first, to Elmo.
“Very nice,” he said. “You should hang on to that.”
“Oh, I will,” Elmo replied. “My brother Otis gave it to me!”
Shanhaevel nodded, and Elmo smiled again. The man spurred his horse and trotted off to show Ahleage and Draga the dagger, leaving Shanhaevel and Melias to themselves.
“Goodness,” Shanhaevel remarked. “He doesn’t seem to be the brightest fellow in the village. But he looks like he can handle that axe well enough—if we can keep him away from the drink.”
“Aye,” nodded Melias, still scowling. “I would rather not have to watch him to make sure he stays out of trouble, but Shirral vouches for him, so…” The man shrugged. “I can’t very well tell him to go home. We’d get run out of town, I suspect.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Come. We must be on our way. Where’s your mount?”