Maybe this wasn’t going to be such a painful wait after all. Kevin began weaving a tale of Bardic wonder about his adventures in Count Volmar’s casde and on the road to Westerin. As Elli stared at him adoringly, he turned the skirmish with the bandits into epic adventure, spinning it out until he and his party had overcome a whole army of outlaws.
“Why, that’s wonderful!” Elli breathed, edging closer to him.
She was, he discovered, wearing some sort of sweet, flowery perfume, a heady scent Warily, he let his hand slide towards her, and felt a shock race through him when her own small hand, rough with work but delicate all the same, closed about his fingers. Breathless, the bardling sat frozen, not daring to move, wondering what would happen if he tried to put an arm around her. About him the bustle of Westerin seemed as distant and remote as a dream.
Kevin nearly yelped when Lydia tapped him on the shoulder. “Wake up, lover boy. Here’s your sword.”
Blushing, Kevin released Elli’s hand and scrambled to his feet
“You owe Grakka two gold crowns, four silver,” Lydia continued blandly. “And you, Erri—”
“That’s Elli!” the dwarf girl said indignantly.
“Whatever. Your mother’s calling you. Here’s the money we owe her. Now, scoot!”
Elli scuttled into the shop. But she paused just long enough in the doorway to blow Kevin a kiss.
Lydia chuckled. “Pretty, isn’t she? Can’t be a day over fifty.”
“Fifty!”
“Young for a dwarf. Momma Grakka has to be pushing a hundred, if not more. Yup, little Elli’s got to be fifty, all right, just about the dwarven age of puberty. Hot for marriage, too, or ... ah ... whatever. Grakka has her hands full!”
She glanced at Kevin, who was still staring towards the weapons shop, and chuckled anew. “Forget it, kid. These human-Other romances never work out. Besides, in a few more years, sweet little Elli is gonna be all grown up and look just like her tough old momma.”
Oh. Well. The bardling sighed, disillusioned.
“Come on, Kevin. The elves must be bored out of their minds. And who knows what mischief Tich’ki’s working!”
What Tich’ki had been doing was trying to teach the two elves how to play cards. She had already, it turned out, won one night’s free lodging for their horses from the stable-keep.
“Never even noticed the cards were marked, eh?” Lydia murmured wryly. “And don’t give me that ‘innocent little me’ look, either, my dear. I know you far too well! Let’s get out of here before we wind up in prison.”
If anything, the crowds seemed to have gotten worse as the day progressed. Kevin, one hand on his new sword, the other on his purse, struggled his way along, beginning to long for the nice, peaceful, open countryside.
All at once, a particularly rough body barreled into him.
“Hey!” the bardling yelled. “Why don’t you watch where—”
A second man hurtled into him, nearly sending the bardling sprawling. For one horrifying moment he was sure he was going to go down, and be trampled by the heedless crowd, but then Naitachal’s hand closed about his arm, pulling him back to his feet. The Dark Elf gestured the whole party into an alcove where they could be out of the stream of traffic,
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, I—” Kevin broke off abruptly. Something didn’t feel quite right ... “Wait a minute.” Oh no, oh no, this couldn’t be! The bardling searched himself frantically, then cried in panic, “It’s gone! The purse Count Volmar gave me is gone!”
“Oh hell,” Lydia muttered. “I knew this was going to happen.”
“That man—” Kevin gasped out, “the one who jostled me—he must have stolen my money! We have to —”
“Have to what? Do you see him anywhere?”
