The bardling straightened indignantly. Yes, the count had given him a purse of coins, but it had been for traveling expenses, not payment! “I’m not a—a kid! Or a mercenary!”
Lydia shrugged. “In other words, he’s not paying you. Powers save me from idealistic youngsters!”
“The count’s niece is in terrible danger! How can you possibly be worried about money!”
“Because,” the woman drawled, “I’ve gotten into the habit of eating regularly. Can’t do that very well without coin in the purse.”
“You’re not one of Count Volmar’s subjects?”
“Powers, no! I’m subject to me, boy, not to any count! I was making my way across the world—never did it before, that’s why!” she added before he could ask. “Anyhow, I got as far as this castle when I heard the news about the count’s niece and a reward for her safe return.”
“Oh.”
Lydia grinned again, but this time Kevin thought it looked more like a snarl than a smile. “Let’s set things straight from the start. Yes, I’m a mercenary. But don’t you look down your nose at me, boy! I earn my own way, give good value for service bought, honor my agreements, and sleep nice and sound at night. You find anything wrong with that, or with me, best get it out in the open now.”
“I don’t. And I didn’t mean to insult you. It’s just that ... well, I’ve never met anyone like you before.”
She gave a bark of a laugh. “1 bet you haven’t! Look, Kevin, I’m not angry at you. It’s just I’ve seen too many men—and boys like you—try to take advantage of any woman who isn’t under some man’s protection. I’m lucky; my people believe in letting a girl grow up knowing how to defend herself. But I’ve traveled enough to know it sure as hell isn’t an easy world for most of my sex.”
“And so you’re trying to protect other women?”
“Hell, no! I’m trying to protect any helpless soul! Damned if I’m going to let anyone, male, female or whatever, be turned into a—a thing to be used, not if I can do something to stop it—Besides,” she added, her quick grin back so suddenly Kevin wondered if she was ashamed of having been serious for even a moment, “the pay is good!”
“But what—”
“Look,” she interrupted brusquely, “here comes the rest of our party.”
The bardling watched them leaving the keep, first one, then another, then ... two? Only two? Staring in dismay, Kevin realized that despite all those encouraging words, the count couldn’t have trusted him that much after all.
Ah well, what was, as the saying went, was. Trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice, he waited till they were within earshot, then began as firmly as he could, “Welcome. I am Kevin, a bardling, and this warrior is Lydia.”
As the first figure shook back the hood of its gray-green cloak, revealing slanted green eyes, pale, silken hair and fair-skinned, ageless features so fine-boned and elegant they never could have been human, the bardling added with a gasp, “You’re an elf!”
The elf-man looked at him without expression. Except, Kevin thought glumly, for a hint of contempt in those slanted eyes. “You are observant.”
Oh yes, this was an elf, all right. The sarcasm in the cool voice reminded Kevin all too well of that night in the forest. “I’m sorry,” the bardling said as courteously as he could. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I was just surprised.”
That earned him the barest dip of the head from the elf. “Understandably. I am Eliathanis, of the Moonspirit clan of White Elves.” He was also obviously a warrior, his lithe figure dad in silvery scales of elvish armor, a straight sword with an intricately wrought silver hilt at his side. “My people do not enjoy being accused by humans of harm. I was here at court when the girl was stolen—and I intend to prove those accusations wrong.”
I bet you haven’t got a crumb of humor in your whole body, Kevin thought, eyeing that rigidly controlled face. Stealing from one of the old ballads, the bardling said formally, “We shall be glad of your help, good warrior,” and gave a formal little bow.
“But will you be so glad of my help?” the second figure wondered softly. Slowly, with a fine sense of drama, it drew back the hood of its black cloak. revealing a face just as inhumanly fine-boned and elegant as that of Eliathanis, framed by a fall of straight, silvery-blond hair —but this face was so dark of skin it was nearly as black as the cloak. The elf was dressed entirely in black as well, tunic, hose, boots, all save for a chin silver belt. The clasp, Kevin noted uneasily, was worked in the shape of a skull. Blue eyes, eerie against so much darkness, glinted coldly.
“A Dark Elf!” Lydia yelped, hand flying to the hilt of her sword.
