A slight tingling at Delbridge's wrist grabbed his attention. He clapped a hand over the copper bracelet. The metal was quite warm. Delbridge was not in the mood for any more visions that day, especially not in front of Froeder. He tried slipping the bracelet off, but the fit was too tight. After much tugging and prying that left the flesh and bones of his hand bruised, he finally wrenched it from his thick wrist and dropped it into his pouch. Feeling quite good about himself, he followed the impatient retainer from the audience hall and into the luxurious keep, anticipating the fruits of his labors.
Perhaps he had at last reached his true station in life.
* * * * *
Delbridge awoke when a rough hand shook his shoulder until his teeth rattled in his head.
"Omardicar the Omnipotent?"
"Who? Oh, yes," he mumbled, momentarily confused. Blinking against the lamplight, it took Delbridge a moment to remember where he was. He sat up slowly, and an empty wine bottle from the night before rolled off his chest and shattered on the stone floor. "Who are you, and what is it you want?"
Standing above him, a burly man in chain mail laughed, his thick red beard and mustache dancing in the wavering light. "I'll answer no scoundrel's questions. You're under arrest." A second soldier wrenched back the curtains from across the room's window, adding thin dawn light to the scene. The red-bearded man grabbed Delbridge by the upper arm and yanked him from under the feather tick and out of bed.
"What are you talking about?" Delbridge squealed, trying to slip from the man's strong fingers. "I'm a guest of Lord Curston's! He'll be most displeased by your rude treatment of me. I demand to see him at once!"
The sergeant maintained his hold but said nothing.
Delbridge knew he'd had too much to drink the night before, but he'd been in his room the whole time and could not possibly have caused any trouble.
"Perhaps you need a little incentive," hinted Delbridge, reaching toward the table for a small stack of coins, but the guard jerked Delbridge's arm behind his back.
"Don't try any of yer magic on me, cur." The armored guard dragged Delbridge from his sleeping chamber on the second floor, down a narrow flight of stairs, and out the east entrance to the keep. Two more guards holding pikes joined them as they crossed the bailey, headed for an archway bearing the sign, "Gaol."
Delbridge laughed a bit hysterically. "Can't you see? You've confused me with someone else, an easy mistake with all of the strangers about for audience day." He tried slipping his arms from the hands of his captors. "If you'll just let me go now, I'll forget about this indignity."
Instead, the hands tightened. Delbridge instinctively dragged his heels as they crossed the threshold and entered the dark, chilly, foul-smelling recesses of the jail. Tugging the ring latch of a heavy wooden door, the red-haired guard swung it open, its hinges creaking. Sobbing his innocence to an unknown crime, Delbridge was thrust through the door and thrown to his knees in a dank, lightless cell; the door clanged shut behind the departing guards.
Rusty iron hinges echoed in the darkness.
Chapter 9
Dancing in the Woods
The young woman's slight frame was draped in a dark blue cloak of the finest weave. A silk scarf the color of cornflowers completely surrounded her face, crossed under her chin, and flowed over her shoulders to her waist. Her features were nearly perfect, her full lips unusually red against the pale, angular planes of her face.
"If I didn't know better, Master Fireforge," she said in her deep, even voice, "I might think you were trying to avoid me." Her sea-green eyes, as wide as two steel pieces, took in his downcast ones.
Flint dragged his eyes up, his cheeks blushing crimson. "Certainly not . . . Oh, Great Reorx," he swore, "I can't lie to save my soul. I was avoiding you, but not for the reasons you think."
Tanis noticed that pedestrians on the bridgewalk were stopping to stare at the exotic-looking woman and the flustered dwarf. "Let's talk in here," he said quickly, pushing Flint and Tasslehoff ahead of him through the door to his home. The woman followed, her carriage regal. Tanis's breath caught in his throat at her beauty; she reminded him of waves lapping at the shore.
Inside Tanis's house in the trees, Flint collapsed dejectedly into the bent-willow rocker Tanis had placed near the cold hearth just for him. He held his shaggy head in his hands. "I don't know where to begin . . ."
"You could start by introducing us," Tasslehoff sang. Without waiting, he propped his hoopak up in a corner and thrust his delicate hand forward. "Tasslehoff Burr-foot, at your service." The woman looked at his hand as if unsure what to do, then clasped it awkwardly.
Just then Tanis came forward with four glasses and a dusty bottle of mulled ale he had been saving. He smiled at the woman and said, "Tanis Half-Elven."
She regarded his fine facial features, the slightly slanted eyes, and the suggestion of a tip to the ears beneath his thick reddish brown hair. "I thought you looked too rugged to be full elf, yet too beautiful to be human. . . ." she mused.
It was Tanis's turn to blush. "All we know is your given name from Flint," he said hastily. "Selana, isn't it?" He offered her one of the glasses. She extended a slim, almost translucent hand to accept it, which shook slightly as Tanis poured the pale-colored ale into the vessel.
"Yes, I am called Selana." She took a hasty gulp of the ale, coughing as she swallowed. Tasslehoff clapped her on the back. "I thought it was water," she gasped.
"Water?" The kender slapped his
