'Where have you been?' asked Little Shoulders.
'Sleeping. I'd almost forgotten what it was like.'
Just then, Mertwig arrived with Yeblidod on his arm, the bandaged cut on her temple partially concealed by a wide-brimmed hat. She was pale but seemed much stronger. The shock of the attack apparently had worn off, and a good, long rest had done her wonders.
Canpho, the healer, rushed over to Yeblidod to see how she was feeling. He was obviously pleased with the answer because he smiled broadly and called out, 'Friends, we have cheered many heroes today, but there is one here now who remains unsung. With her considerable healing skills, she helped to save many of you and your friends from certain death after the first day of battle. Herself nearly killed last night, she has come back to us whole and happy! I give you Yeblidod!'
Everyone cheered.
Mertwig's face was blissful. He looked at his wife with a gaze bordering on reverence. She returned his look with one of awkward embarrassment. 'I don't know what to say,' she whispered to her husband.
'Just say thank you,' he replied sweetly.
She lowered her head humbly, unable to speak. Kishpa and Brandella applauded lustily along with everyone else.
Mertwig quieted the crowd and proclaimed, 'Canpho, you and all of our friends know how much my wife and son mean to me. Like yourselves, I wanted to send my family away before the attack. But Yeblidod, like several of the women'-and Kishpa sent a barbed look in Brandella's direction-'would not go. She sent our boy away for his safety, but she stayed behind to add her healing powers to those of the wondrous Canpho.'
One elf, obviously a bit worse for wear after imbibing a few tankards of victory ale, stood on the sand and burst into another hearty cheer-although it was uncertain whether he applauded Yeblidod, Canpho, the victory, or the ale. His compatriots, giggling, pulled him back down on the sand. Mertwig cast a patient look at the sky and waited for silence.
'For my own part, like all of you. I did what I could on the barricades,' he said, the sun casting strange shadows on his craggy face. 'With the danger we all faced, many of you, I'm sure, made promises to your loved ones that you would do this or do that for them if all went well with the battle. I, too, made such a promise.'
Yeblidod looked surprised as her husband continued, 'And before all of you, I now keep that vow.'
Mertwig opened a small box and took from it a fragile, delicately detailed glass ball that shimmered like a huge diamond in the sunlight. This, before all of you, I give to my beloved Yeblidod.'
The glass globe, which rested comfortably in Mertwig's hand, was mostly clear, with subtle traces of azure and moss. Mertwig used two hands to pass it gently to Yeblidod. 'The clearness of the glass is for the purity of my wife's love,' he proclaimed, looking steadily at Yeblidod. 'The strands of blue celebrate the sky that witnesses this moment. The green threads in the glass… well, they simply reminded me of the gentle green eyes of my own true love,' he concluded.
The crowd heeved a collective sigh as Yeblidod, oblivious to two huge tears creeping down her cheek, stroked the glass bauble and held it up to the sun. Even Tanis was moved. There were thunderous applause and cheers from everyone-except Kishpa. The mage frowned with dismay and looked at Brandella. She, too, had a worried expression. It did not stop her, however, from clapping her hands in appreciation of the old dwarf's romantic gesture.
After his speech, Mertwig proudly shepherded his wife through the crowd, yet kept his distance from Kishpa. He also stayed away from Tanis. The half-elf was perplexed by Mertwig's strange behavior.
Suddenly, everything went black. The sun disappeared. The beach was no more. There were no sounds from the crowd. All was emptiness, except for the loud, irregular beating of a heart. There was no up or down. No east or west. Tanis found himself trapped in a void, neither rising nor falling. He groped ahead of him, reaching for whatever he might find in the darkness. But there was nothing. Only the thudding that seemed to grow weaker with each passing moment.
The half-elf reached for his sword. It was an empty gesture; there was no enemy to fight. Helpless, not knowing what he should do, Tanis cried out, 'You must live! I will save your Brandella. Keep fighting!'
Did Kishpa hear him? Tanis would never know. But a moment later the sun reappeared. He was back on the beach, still perched on the rock, and the celebration was still on. But it was much later in the day than it had been just a moment ago. The sun was low in the sky, sending long, amber shadows across the sand. Lunitari, the red moon, could be spied on the horizon.
More worrisome yet was that the happy idyl of mere seconds before had turned into a confrontation between Mertwig and a pasty-faced elf whom Tanis did not know. The faces of the observers were somber.
'I saw you sneak out of my uncle's house,' declared the elf, whose honey-brown hair just brushed his shoulders. 'I could not imagine what you were doing there. I knew you and he had been friends once, but that ended long ago. My uncle had no use for you and your dwarvish ways.'
Mertwig opened his mouth, but Canpho, his brown eyes crinkled with worry, interrupted.
'This is a joyous time,' the healer said, coming between the young, angry elf and the distressed Mertwig. Canpho faced the elf. 'There is no need for these hard words. You're upset by your uncle's death. We understand-'
'You understand nothing!' shouted the elf, unmollified. 'This dwarf, knowing that Azurakee was dead, broke into his home and looted it while the rest of us were at the barricades!'
At the heinous charge, the assembled elves fell silent. The waves breaking on the shore and the crackling of the dimming bonfires were all that could be heard. The faint smell of roast venison mingled with the usual scents of the seashore.
Finally, Canpho spoke cautiously. 'Think a moment, young one. Be sure of what you are saying. Mertwig will forgive you, I'm sure, if you retract your terrible accusation.'
'I will not retract,' the elf said resolutely.
'Then I will not forgive!' Mertwig erupted. 'How dare you slander me in this way? And here, in front of my wife, my friends-'
'You have no friends, thief!'
Mertwig lunged at the young elf, who dodged back against his assembled kin. Canpho and several other elves grabbed the dwarf and held him back. 'Dwarves!' muttered one old elf, his icy blue eyes reflecting the belief in elven superiority that was one of the least attractive attributes of the race. Tanis, himself the frequent target of hatred by both humans and elves, felt his heart go out to the brave dwarf who dared to live among elves.
'I saw him!' insisted the youth, his soft, pallid cheeks quivering with indignation. 'He came out of Azurakee's house with a bag over his shoulder. I went in after he left, and all the valuables were gone. Stolen! He robbed the dead!'
'Lies!' countered Mertwig, sweat slick on his slanting brow. 'Don't listen to him!'
'What proof have you?' Canpho demanded of the young elf.
The accuser lifted his round chin proudly. 'Only what I saw with my own eyes.'
'There!' the dwarf exploded. 'He hasn't a shred of evidence to back up his outrageous charges.'
The elf began to struggle against the hands that still held him, his feet scuffling gouges in the sand.
'I am not lying! Ask the dwarf how he managed to buy the glass ball for his wife. You all know he is poor. Ask him that'
Tanis had listened to all of this as he searched the crowd for Brandella. At the mention of the bag that Mertwig had supposedly carried, the half-elf gave pause. He had seen the dwarf hiding behind such a bag during the battle with the spider. Yet Mertwig had saved his life in that same battle. All he had asked for in return was Tanis's silence, and so the promise had been given. The half-elf hoped he would not be called upon to break that vow. But mostly he hoped that Mertwig was innocent. Then Tanis spotted Brandella. She was sitting next to Kishpa, both with grim expressions. The half-elf slipped off the rock and sidled close enough to overhear their conversation.
'You must speak up for Mertwig,' Brandella told the mage in a low voice, squeezing his hand.
'And say what?' he asked in quiet, yet desperate frustration.
'That you believe in him. Tell them that you stand by him. It will carry much weight.' Her eyes glowed dark against the deep green of her woven shirt. Kispha looked unconvinced.
'But what if he's guilty?'
'Then,' Brandella argued, 'you will have been wrong in one thing but right in the other.'
