'Gerard, meet Blair Windholm, sergeant of the town guard. He and his small regiment will be among those under your command. Blair, this is Gerard uth Mondar, the new sheriff.'
Blair bounded to his feet and stood rigidly erect. 'Sir, it's an honor to meet you.'
'At ease,' Gerard said, taking one of the two guest chairs in front of the desk.
Blair resumed his seat stiffly.
Gerard studied the man, trying to place his features. Something about him looked familiar. 'So, sergeant of the guard, eh? I take it you served under Sheriff Joyner as well?' he said.
'Sir, it was my privilege to serve under the late sheriff. His death was a terrible loss to the whole town.'
Gerard cocked his head. Nothing about Blair's words could be taken amiss, and yet Gerard had the distinct impression that the sergeant was challenging anyone who presumed to fill Joyner's shoes. 'Well, I will only be staying as sheriff until after the temple dedication,' Gerard said, trying for an amiable tone and seeking to ease the tension in the room.
No sooner were the words spoken than Gerard realized he had made a mistake. Blair's expression turned frosty. 'A short-timer, then,' he said. It was spoken as an accusation.
'Well, filling in until the mayor can find someone permanent.' Gerard scowled. 'Wait a minute, now I know where I've seen you before. You were at the inn last night, weren't you? Flirting with that pretty serving maid. What is her name? Kaleen something?'
Blair flushed. 'That's not a pretty serving maid. I mean…' He trailed off, flustered and turning even redder. 'I mean, that's Kaleen Duhar, and I intend to marry her!'
'Hmm, Kaleen Duhar,' Gerard said, watching his glowering subordinate with amusement. 'I got on her wrong side, I think. I must be sure to make amends. So, she's your betrothed?'
'Not exactly,' Blair muttered. Vercleese coughed. An awkward silence followed.
The air in the guard headquarters had turned decidedly chilly, Gerard noted. He was wondering what a safe topic of conversation was when a member of the guard burst into the room. 'Sir, we have a situation brewing over at Stephen's Grocery.'
Blair leaped to his feet again. 'What is it?' he asked, heading for the door.
'That elf, Kirrit Bitterleaf.'
Blair swore under his breath and followed the guardsman out the door, his visitors forgotten.
'Kirrit Bitterleaf?' Gerard asked Vercleese, hastily following.
Vercleese grimaced. 'Local leader of the exiled elves,' he said, his distaste evident. 'They maintain a base in the mountains from which they harass Baron Samuval, but some of them come into town once in a while for supplies.'
Gerard and Vercleese hurried down the stairs hard on the heels of Blair and the guardsman. The four hastened across a corner of the Town Square to the base of the vallenwood housing the town's largest grocery. In the street, an elf Gerard recognized as one of those from the inn the previous evening was loading supplies onto a wagon. Nearby, three or four rough-looking, well-armed men looked on. 'I hear elf blood is blue,' he heard one man say, with a nasty laugh.
'Naw, everyone knows it's yellow,' another said.
'Maybe we ought to spill a bunch and see,' remarked a third, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword.
But the elf continued loading his supplies as if blithely unaware of the men. The only hint of reaction, Gerard saw, was the muscle in his jaw tensing nervously.
Meanwhile, a number of townspeople had gathered and stood in clusters, watching. From their expressions, they sided with the roughnecks. Gerard turned to Vercleese, his eyebrow cocked in an unspoken question.
'There's a lot of ill will against elves,' the one-armed knight whispered. 'Some people blame them for all the unrest in the countryside hereabouts. Not that the elves don't deserve some of that, as far as I'm concerned. Officially, they're welcome in town, though few actually come here. Just as well, I say. However, those men'-he indicated the lurking toughs with a jerk of his chin-'are probably some of Samuval's men, the very ones the elves are fighting. They're officially welcome here as well, as long as they don't stir up trouble.'
'Looks to me like they're stirring up trouble right now,' Gerard said.
Just then, a tomato was launched from amidst the townspeople, striking the elf squarely in the head. He stumbled slightly and dropped the sack of flour he'd been carrying. The townspeople and Samuval's men joined in laughter. The elf whirled to confront his attacker, his hand dropping to the knife at his belt. But it was unclear who had hurled the messy missile.
'Kirrit Bitterleaf,' Gerard said, stepping forward.
The elf turned, scowling suspiciously, facing Gerard with his hand hovering over his knife.
'You dropped something, good sir,' Gerard continued, keeping his hands well away from his weapons. He spoke loudly enough for all to hear. 'Allow me to give you a helping hand.'
From the corner of his eye, Gerard noticed Blair had started forward as well, but the sergeant was stopped by Vercleese's hand on his arm. Vercleese gave a slight shake of his head, indicating to Blair that it would be good to let the new sheriff handle the situation.
The crowd had fallen silent. Samuval's men looked on with frowns.
For a moment, Bitterleaf remained tense, ready for action. He stared into Gerard's eyes. At last his hand eased away from his knife hilt, and he nodded. Without any further word, the two of them stooped and lifted the bag of flour, which fortunately hadn't burst, onto the wagon. Gerard gave the elf some assistance with the few remaining items then Bitterleaf climbed onto the wagon and drove away without a word or gesture to acknowledge Gerard's help.
Gerard snorted at the elf's arrogance, then turned to the townspeople, who were staring at him. 'I'm sure you all have business to attend to,' he said equably.
There was muttering among the crowd, but at last they began to disperse and go their ways. Gerard caught the attention of Samuval's men as they were about to turn away. 'As for you folks, I'm the new sheriff around here, and I'll expect more decorum while you're in my town.'
'What's decorum?' one of the men whispered to the man next to him.
'I think it's like hanging pictures and stuff on the walls,' said his comrade with a bewildered expression.
'And just what is your name, sheriff?' the third nan demanded of Gerard.
'I'm Gerard uth Mondar,' Gerard said. 'And I aim to run a quiet town.'
'So did the last sheriff, and look what happened to him,' the man muttered to the others, speaking just loud enough to be overheard. They all chuckled nervously.
'What's that?' Gerard asked coolly, his hand edging nearer to his dagger.
'Aw, nothing,' said the man as he turned away. 'Come on,' he called to his fellows. 'We'll find better company down at The Trough.'
When everyone had gone on their way, Blair turned to Gerard, his expression more deferential than before. 'Well done, sir. If you have no objection, the corporal here and I will return to our duties.'
'Of course,' Gerard said. Then, unable to stop himself, he added with a grin, 'And I'll pass along your respects to Mistress Kaleen if I see her at the inn again tonight.'
Blair huffed a moment, then stalked away. Vercleese chuckled, joining Gerard. 'Betrothed!' he scoffed. 'Blair really leaves himself wide open, doesn't he?'
'Who is this Kaleen Duhar he's so intent on marrying?' Gerard asked.
'Oh, Kaleen. She's the daughter of Cardjaf Duhar, one of the wealthiest and most influential men in Solace. He's a landowner from Palanthas, came here about a year ago with his wife and their only child, Kaleen. Since then, he's already risen to be an important figure on the town council.' Vercleese watched Blair and the other guardsman as they marched back across the square toward the guard headquarters. Vercleese shook his head. 'Blair's a good enough man, even if a bit of stickler for the rules. Everyone in town knows he's sweet on Kaleen. Now you know it, too, though he's got about as much chance with the likes of her as I do catching a kender with its hand in my pocket.'
'It seems not everyone was pleased with Graylord Joyner's performance as sheriff,' Gerard said as he and Vercleese continued their walk through town. They stayed at ground level now and frequently had to stop to allow wagons and carriages by, or to avoid the swirling throngs of pedestrians who crowded the town. In short order Gerard's boots were caked with the thick mud of the streets, churned up by the many passing wheels and hooves
