eyes. He wiped the tears away, then looked up over his shoulder at her and smiled. “I had surgery performed on my ears and my eyebrows to make me look this way,” he admitted. “But the healing water is doing its work so well on me that my body is overcoming the surgery. Based on this, Jacob should be back on his feet tomorrow.”
“Why?” Merilla asked simply.
Kestrel stood. “They ordered me to; they tricked me. They want me to spy on the humans who fight against elves. This was my training, to see if I could fight and speak like a human,” he admitted to her, feeling compelled to speak.
Merilla reached out and took his hand. “I never would have known. Your accent is a little odd, but not extreme. You really had me fooled, until I saw you running on the water; and I know you only did that for Jacob.
“I’ve never seen an elf before. I know they come to Estone, at least some traders do, and it’s not a big deal there. But I’ve never seen one before now,” she added.
“You’ve been at least as good to us as any human would have; you’ve got a good heart, Kestrel,” she told him. “Is that your real name, or is that phony too?”
“That’s my real name, my one and only,” he answered. He stood in silent thought, as Merilla watched him.
“I’m going to take you to Estone, that much is clear. Nothing’s changed about the fact that we’ve got all these yeti parts to sell to the market, and you’ve got two little boys you need to take care of,” he decided out loud. “And after that, I’ll go back home and try to figure out what comes next.”
They never talked about Kestrel’s heritage again. The next morning Jacob was substantially recovered, and they returned to their journey across the rough lands. Four days later they began to see scattered settlements, and their woodland pathways became county trails and lanes. After another two days they saw villages, then passed through small towns, and on the eleventh day of their journey they reached the walls of Estone in the middle of the morning.
“We’re supposed to go see a trader named Castona,” Kestrel told the guard at the gate, one who provided lax security for the traffic that entered and left the bustling city.
“Sure, he’s on the square by the north wharf, a big square with a statute of a mermaid in the middle. Ask around when you get there and someone will show you his shop,” the guard said idly, examining Merilla as he spoke.
They walked through the city, traveling slowly as they navigated the horse through the urban traffic that was crammed into the narrow streets. By the time they reached the northern square, they were past lunch time, and Merilla took her two boys in search of a food vendor as Kestrel entered the shop he had been directed towards.
The shop was shallow but wide, well lit by windows, and lined with shelves behind a counter. Kestrel banged the door noisily as he entered with the keg of blood on one shoulder and his bag of artifacts in his hand. He was thankful that the various extremities and organs had dried enough on the journey to no longer stink as badly as they had. In the open air they had been barely tolerable; inside a shop, before they had cured, they would have emptied the room.
Several patrons in the shop turned to look, as he found an open space along the counter and gladly placed his goods there in relief. A man behind the counter, one he assumed was Castona, looked up from another patron, then looked back to his business without comment, letting Kestrel wait uncertainly.
Many minutes later, after Castona and an assistant had helped the traders ahead of Kestrel, the proprietor came to see Kestrel. “You’re looking a little wild and wooly,” the shopkeeper said laconically, looking at Kestrel’s dusty traveling clothes.
“Arlen said that I should come to see you,” Kestrel replied. “Are you Castona?”
The shopkeeper seemed to weigh Kestrel, then looked to see how close the other customers were, to judge what they might overhear. “My name’s Castona,” he agreed. “Where did you see Arlen?”
“I’ve been training with him in Firheng the past few months, then he and I were on a trip towards the Water Mountains a couple of weeks ago. That’s where I last saw him,” Kestrel explained.
“And why were you on your way to the mountains?” Castona asked, switching suddenly to an accented pronunciation of the elven language.
Kestrel also looked around, but saw no unusual interest in the language. “I am in training,” he replied in elvish. “We were on a training expedition to test my skills.”
“Your language is good,” Castona switched back to the human tongue. “You could pass as a southerner from Uniontown or Lakeview with no problem, there’s that little accent. And your ears aren’t extraordinarily elvish, but you ought to wear a hat,” he told Kestrel.
“So how is Arlen, and what do you have here?” he indicated the items piled on the counter.
Kestrel decided to switch back to Elvish. “We were traveling with a companion, Artur, to check on reports that a yeti had come down from the mountains and was plaguing the settlers in the area.
“We found the yeti,” he said.
“Yeti?” Castona repeated loudly, in the human tongue. “You saw one?” Many heads turned to look at the two of them, and there was a sudden silence in the shop, as other conversations ceased.
Kestrel waited, and the others slowly returned to their own business. “Sorry,” Castona muttered.
“The yeti was attacking a settler’s homestead, and we happened upon the scene,” Kestrel continued. “It killed Artur, and I killed it.
“Arlen took Artur back so that his spirit could join his ancestors,” he explained. “We gutted the yeti, and these are what I was told to bring to you — a keg of blood,” he tapped the container, “and the head, the hands, the liver, the heart, some glands, and the,” he paused, “stick and balls.
“The settler’s family survived, and I want to sell these to support them,” he finished his story as Castona stared at him with widened eyes.
“Let’s go to a back room,” the merchant suggested in elvish. He motioned for Kestrel to come around the corner of the counter.
Kestrel followed, grabbing his goods as he turned the corner. “If Merilla comes looking for me, would you tell your staff to tell her I’m in here?” he asked Castona.
“Barler,” he called, then turned to Kestrel. “What does she look like?”
“A human,” Kestrel said impulsively. “Her hair is light brown, and she’s wearing a red vest over a white blouse,” he added.
“Barler,” Castona repeated in his louder voice, “if a woman with brown hair and a red vest comes looking for my client, tell her to wait out here,” he instructed, then led Kestrel down a dim hall to a small room with three chairs and a table.
“Let me see what you’ve got,” the merchant said as he closed the door behind them.
“Kestrel put the goods down, then reached into the bag and pulled out the head first. The lank, dark hair hung limply from the skull, while the wizened features of the face were shrunken but intact, darker, but still discernible.
“Growelk take me!” Castona swore, picking up the large item gingerly, turning it around. “It is a yeti head! What else is in there?”
Kestrel proceeded to pull out the items, laying them all out on the table, covering its surface with organs and remains. Castona reached for the keg, and struggled to raise it with both hands, surprised by the weight. “May I taste it?” he asked Kestrel.
The elf shrugged, and Castona used his knife to pry the cork out of the opening. He poked a finger down into the dark hole, and pulled the finger out, then popped it in his mouth.
The merchant squeezed his eyes shut and shivered, then slowly pulled his finger out of his mouth.
“You killed the yeti? You personally?” he asked Kestrel.
“There wasn’t any choice at the point in the battle when it happened; it was kill or be killed. I put a sword in his groin,” Kestrel answered.
Castona sat at the table, and ran both hands through his hair without knowing. “I can give you,” he paused as he calculated, “twenty golds today for all of this.”
Kestrel tried to remember Artur’s lessons about the value of human currencies. Twenty golds would be enough for Merilla to live for many years comfortably, he thought, but he wanted to confirm. “Merilla has to
