The table being occupied by elves clearly not from around wasn’t the problem; Ayara wasn’t some bigot who took issue with visitors to Fairlaigh. It was not necessarily that they were uniformed in the burgundy and gold of Yendell, where, if pressed, she would admit was where her family hailed from. It was the fact that they made no attempt to seem like anything other than soldiers on a mission that irked Ayara. They sat so precisely, so neatly, with rigid postures, hands on their mugs and cups as though awaiting an order to drink. That order would undoubtedly come from the commanding officer at the head of the table. He had just a little bit more decoration on his uniform and sat with more pomp.

So it was that Ayara could not keep from staring down the whole table of soldiers as she entered the tavern “Rest Your Blade Here” along with her cohorts in the mercenary company “The Rude Rubies.” She was not surprised when Kornin, spotting the same suspicious lot, elbowed her in the side. “Check out the conscripts,” he lowered his head to whisper in her ear.

Ayara towered over most elves; she considered herself lucky to have found a man even she needed to look up to. “Some kind of operation,” she commented so the others in their company would hear.

“Friends of yours,” Bonnelle Rhodian, a plump dwarf with a mane of wild red hair asked Ayara. She had a satchel tucked under her left arm.

Sibling sprites, diminutive creatures who rode birds, whisked by.

“We’re at peace with Yendell,” the sister of the pair, Renaut, said as her sparrow, Chirpers, flitted up into the rafters.

“Unless things changed during our last job,” Henri, the brother, added as he followed her onto the beam with his raven, Cawcaw.

“I can’t say that they are friends of mine,” Ayara replied in a grumble, squeezing the words through gritted teeth. Although born in Yendell, she’d emigrated while very young and was as much a denizen of Fairlaigh as Kornin.

“I hope Yendell’s troubles with The Sorceress haven’t found their way here,” Henri commented from a beam above.

The soldiers seemed to have their interest piqued by overhearing the chatter among the Company. One of them dared to drink from his glass of water as she attempted to appear casual.

“If that witch set her sights on Fairlaigh the militias would be mobilized. She’s still just Yendell’s problem,” Kornin said. The group moved past the soldiers and headed towards a booth in the rear of the tavern.

“They’re probably just here as escorts for some dignitary,” Renaut said. Her sparrow was now perched on the rim of a potted plant hanging from the ceiling. The girl sprite was picking through the bright blue flowers; her kind used pollen, sap, and other natural substances for their spells. They were always scavenging for ingredients.

“Let’s hope that’s it. I wouldn’t want to fight the sorceress. Although I hear she’s half dwarf so that would be interesting.” Bonnelle shrugged her shoulders, releasing a tangle of red curls which flopped down across her back. “I’d fight her if someone contracted me to do it.”

“You can only spend money if you’re alive,” Kornin cautioned his boss.

“Speak for yourself. I’ve a legacy to secure!” Bonnelle flipped her hair and flashed the elf a haughty smile.

Ayara admired how her boss reveled in her mortality. With the long lives that elves lead, “legacy” was never a concern. You either made a name for yourself during your thousands of years or you did not. There was no notion of securing resources for generations yet to come.

An elf clearly closer to the end of his thousands of years than the beginning awaited the Rude Rubies in the booth. He was enshrouded in a dark purple robe, the kind meant to be worn while relaxing in a spa. The only people who dared take them outside were either too intoxicated or too powerful to care. He was flanked by lurid ladies wearing little at all. Not that such was unusual in the sweltering Fairlaigh heat. Those poor Yendell soldiers must be suffocating in their stiff uniforms!

“Ah, Bonnelle,” Salen, their contractor, rose as he greeted the company of adventurers. He extended a shriveled arm and his robe parted as he stood, revealing more of the wrinkled flesh than Ayara cared to see. One of the elf women beside him, a look of embarrassment on her face, was quick to pull the gown closed and cinch the cloth belt at his waist. As she did, her garish necklace of brightly colored beads rattled against her chest. “A pleasure to see you, as always.” His smile would seem cruel if it wasn’t so practiced.

Bonnelle and the elderly elf shook across the table, the elf needing to bend forward for his hand to meet Bonnelle’s. Some dwarves would find it awkward or humiliating to have elves constantly accommodating their short stature. Bonnelle thrived in these parts because she appreciated that she was worth their effort.

The other of the old elf’s ladies pushed empty cups of tea to the side of the table to clear space for Bonnelle and the rest of her company.

“The pleasure is all mine, Salen.” Bonnelle slipped into the booth, the woman on her side glided away with supernatural grace and cozied up to Salen. The two sprites parked their birds on the tabletop, eliciting a shout of surprise from the other elf women.

Kornin looked to Ayara. She shook her head “no.” They would stand. She rubbed her gloved hands together. A pulse of energy crackled through her arms. She was near enough Kornin that he could smell the release of power. The message was clear; they would be ready to act in case the situation turned violent. One could never get comfortable during underworld dealings. She could not tell if the frown on his face was because he did not want for this meeting to turn violent or because he did not appreciate her paranoia. Not even Bonnelle had suggested that they serve as guards.

Unceremoniously, Bonnelle dropped a satchel onto the tabletop. The commotion caused a glass to rattle, and the sprites’ birds squawked in surprise. The two women glared at their guests with disdain.

Salen gazed at the bag. “You got it?” His tongue flicked across his lips.

“Would I be here if I hadn’t,” Bonnelle answered with a smile.

Looking over the tavern, Ayara noticed the ornately uniformed officer was watching the booth. She tapped Kornin on the shoulder.

“Trouble,” he whispered.

“They’re watching us.” She pointed at the officer.

“Yes, because you’re staring and pointing at them,” Kornin said. He raised up his right hand and fluttered his fingers at the table. The officer’s expression soured and he looked away.

“There. Now we’re no longer of interest to the Yendell Army.”

Ayara sniffed and turned her attention back to the booth. Salen was enthusiastically flipping through the tome the Rude Rubies acquired for him during their last job. It had taken considerable effort to track down, a task putting their orienteering and survivalist skills to the test. Fortunately, this particular contract had attracted little danger aside from the environment. As Bonnelle detailed the team’s various exploits, hoping to finagle a bonus from their patron, Ayara could not ignore a nagging concern about the soldiers.

Finally, she bowed forward and quietly called “Henri.” The sprite looked toward her. With a couple of quick hops from his bird, he was facing Ayara.

“Is something wrong?”

“Listen in on those soldiers. I want to know what they’re here for.”

“Understood,” Henri said. He stroked the nape of his raven’s neck. The bird lifted his head up and opened his mouth wide. Henri reached around and touched his fingertips inside the beak and then licked his fingers. With that, the bird hopped off the table and beat its wings to rise back up to the rafters. Although the gust from its flight tussled Ayara’s hair, she heard nothing from the animal.

“Is ... something the matter?” Salen’s voice made her shiver.

Ayara leaned forward and planted her hands on the table. “I’m uneasy with the Yendell soldiers.”

“Yeah,” Bonnelle began, her face scrunched up as she looked at the table of soldiers. “I suppose we’ve been out of town while tracking this book down, Salen. I hope we didn’t miss an occupation.” Bonnelle picked up one of the half-empty cups of tea and wrinkled her nose after sniffing its contents.

“No, nothing so dramatic.” Salen closed the book as he craned his neck to look at the offending soldiers. “Naturally, I and my associates looked into their presence.” While Fairlaigh’s officials were so easily bribed they maintained a menu for it, Yendell presented a less pliable threat.

“And?” Bonnelle’s prodding seemed driven more by a thirst for gossip than a concern for the situation.

With a dismissive shrug, Saren admitted he and his associates were stumped. The best they uncovered was that the team’s mission related to some fool’s unpaid taxes.

“That’s a relief.” Bonnelle leaned in closer to Saren, shoving one of his attendants out of the way. “So,” she pointed at the book. “We got you what you wanted—at considerable risk to ourselves—and even did it ahead of time.”

“That’s why I pay your company so well,” Salen remarked with a drawn-out sniff that stretched his nostrils. “You don’t want a bonus just for doing your job though, do you?”

“Well, you know it could be like a retainer. I know a couple of other kingpins, like Salisare, who might be looking to take me on ...”

“Salisare works me these days.” Saren leaned into the table, crossing his left arm against the book. He held up his right hand, extending his middle and forefinger. Some sort of signal? Immediately, one of his ladies produced a small bag of coin and slapped it onto the table. Fairlaigh currency spilled toward Bonnelle.

Ayara wondered which combination of fingers would have commanded an attack ... and where would it have come from? Assuming the soldiers weren’t just a ruse by Salen, she counted several tables with potential threats. This included those codgers sipping from teacups while admiring the young woman studying by herself. The woman’s book sported an illustration of an attack rune while the old man drank tea meant for replenishing aggressive energies.

“Baron Yalizan, then,” Bonnelle guessed, her dopey grin giving away her gambit.

“Bonnelle, I shall miss you,” Saren admitted with a genuinely warm smile. Being an elf and she a dwarf he was likely to outlive her despite his advanced age. It was not uncommon for an elf to dismiss their more mortal acquaintances as long gone even upon meeting. “Now, there are some other matters I would like to discuss. Did you know that the Malzanly Coalition has returned to this region?”

“You don’t say? I remember hearing about bounties put on their leaders down south but nothing about them up here.” Bonnelle nudged the loose coins back into the purse and then slid it toward Renaut and her sparrow.

Chirpers hopped atop the bag. Her feet wobbled as the coins inside shifted beneath her. One of Saren’s women motioned to pet the bird’s head, but Renaut pulled back on the reins and the sparrow snapped at the woman with her short, light brown beak. The elf glared at bird and rider. Renaut tossed back her hood to smirk at the woman. Her big black eyes were defiant and playful. Her antennae pointed at the elf in challenge.

Without even a hint of a draft, Henri settled his raven on Ayara’s bare right shoulder. The talon’s pinched a little too hard. “The soldiers are here for us,” he whispered into her right ear. “You or Kornin specifically. They’ve mentioned ‘the elf’ several times, but never a name. The leader, Lieutenant Chrincha, has made it clear that Bonnelle is not to be harmed, though. Then, one of them made a rather offensive remark about me and my sister!”

“For us,” Ayara wondered aloud as she flinched towards the soldier-occupied table.

“The soldiers are here for you,” the woman sitting across from Bonnelle demanded as she leaned toward Ayara. Renaut’s bird made an aggressive chirp at the woman again but was ignored.

Bonnelle and Salen looked at Ayara. “What?”

Salen handed his book to the woman seated between him and Bonnelle. She quickly tucked it into a bag under the table.

“Something Henri overheard from their table,” Ayara answered. She stared down several of the soldiers. Then the one at the head of the table coughed and they all looked away.

“Very sorry to cut our meeting short, Bonnelle, but I’ve anywhere else to be,” Salen said. He slid out of the booth with the women, one of them clutching the book to her chest. The other fingered her necklace—which Ayara noticed was made of ensorcelled beads—as she eyed the soldiers’ table. As he bowed farewell to Bonnelle, his head dipped low, Salen told her: “Should you get through the day without incident, do get in touch. We’ve opportunities to discuss and I would like to hear how this matter concluded. Should you find yourself prisoner or otherwise inconvenienced by our guests from Yendell … do find a way to get in touch.”

Bonnelle had earned a bonus from him after all!

After Salen exited the bar, flanked by his guardians, the two old men seemingly lost interest in the young woman with the book of runes and departed as well.

“Group meeting,” Bonnelle suggested. Kornin and Ayara slid into the booth from each side and sandwiched the portly dwarf. The two sprites dismounted and squatted on the table top before the three large folk.

“What do we know,” asked Bonnelle as they all huddled.

Henri raised his left hand. The bright green of his sleeve slid down his forearm, revealing iridescent skin. “Ayara was suspicious of that table so she asked me to listen in. Most of them were just talking about whatever but they had a definite interest in us. They mentioned: the Rude Rubies, Bonnelle by name, Ayara and Kornin as just ‘elves’ and …” Henri blushed, looking away. “They don’t like us sprites! They called us ‘the bugs.’”

Renaut scoffed. Elves and sprites didn’t generally get along due to sprites’ limited aspiration despite their tremendous potential for magic. In contrast, back in the Age of Unity, elves got along well with the wraiths of the Dark Lands. Wraiths, who often aspired to be Dread Lords, were power hungry despots.

Henri continued: “There was mention of a ‘contract,’ and they were specifically ordered not to hurt you, Bonnelle.” He rubbed his chin a moment. “Oh, and their leader is Lieutenant Chrincha.”

“Chrincha,” Bonnelle turned the name over in her mouth. “He’s won some of the Military Games.” It was the sort of trivia that Bonnelle would know, being well studied for a dwarf. “I don’t know what they mean by a contract. There are no bounties on our heads. At least, none from around here.” She glared at Ayara.

“What? I left there when I was a child!” Ayara defensively crossed her hands over her chest. After a moment’s silence, she added: “Twelve hundred years ago!”

“I wish I had my club,” Kornin grumbled.

“I wish I had my hammer. But this place doesn’t allow weapons.” Bonnelle shrugged.

Renaut rolled up her sleeves and flexed fingers of carapace. “So? That just means they’re unarmed, too. Between my brother and I, we can take them!”

“I have my gloves,” Ayara said with a smile. Works of her own design, they housed crystals in the palms which she could use to attack. Many didn’t recognize they were weapons until it was too late.

After pushing some glasses out of her way, Bonnelle brazenly eyed the enemy table. “So they have outnumber us and have maybe better training, but between the sprites’ magic, Ayara’s weapons, and me and Kornin throwing tables and chairs I bet we’d win.” The dwarf had always been better with improvisation than planning.

For a long moment, the occupants of the table and booth stared each other down with enough intensity than patrons in between moved elsewhere. However nothing was said and no action was taken. Finally, Kornin coughed and asked: “So now what?”

“Bait,” Renaut announced. “Since we think it’s Ayara who they want, then we send her over to the bar to get us drinks.”

“Like how the weakest animal in the herd is the one that gets picked off by predators,” Henri explained.

“Wait, since when are we so sure they want me? And since when am I the weakest,” Ayara protested as she held up her hands in disbelief.

Renaut slapped her brother on the back of the head. “Anyway, we know they want one of you two elves. If it’s Ayara they’re after, they’ll move on her while she’s separated. If it’s Kornin, they’ll come to us while we’re down one combatant. Either way, we’ll force them to move while we’re expecting and prepared for it.”

Pointing at Ayara, Bonnelle said: “With that settled, why don’t you get me an ale. A hoppy one.”

“I’ll have a mellow root tea,” Kornin added.

“My brother and I can share a cup of spiced wine,” Renaut said. Chirpers spit up a pile of plant seeds and the sprites began digging through it.

As Ayara headed to the bar, warily watching the enemy elves from the corner of her eye, Bonnelle shouted “see if Salen left his tab open!” Despite the imminent threat of a battle, Ayara smiled. She’d miss Bonnelle, too.

Ayara slapped her hands down on the bar top. The metal plates in her gloves which housed the crystals clanked hard and she winced, hoping she hadn’t scratched the countertop. “Barkeep,” She called out, craning her neck to look behind the bar.

The Yendell soldiers were impatient hunters, it seemed. As Ayara waited for some service a voice cold as stone intoned “I would like to speak with you” behind her.

Casting a sidelong glance at the booth, Ayara saw the tense faces of her companions as Kornin and Bonnelle armed themselves with cups and tankards while the birds launched into the rafters atop their birds. Her heart raced as she considered lashing our or hearing them out? She choked down her panic. “About a contract,” she asked in a squeak.

“Yes. Perhaps without … the dwarf,” the cold voice said with disdain.

“I just like to think of her as a very tall sprite without magic,” Ayara smirked. “One who I am employed with. I think it would be a breach of contact to take on a job without her.”

Tankards and cups were lowered. The apprehension on her companions’ faces was replaced by confusion or maybe bemusement. One didn’t tease their attacker.

“That sounds more like a short human,” the man behind her responded to her comment about Bonnelle.

“What’s a couple of hundred years,” Ayara asked with a smile. To an elf two centuries was nothing.

The barkeep emerged from behind swinging doors that separated the bar from its storage. The elf seemed bigger than he really was, on account of the airy Fairlaigh robes draped around him. “What do you want,” he asked, gruff, as he ran toweled the inside of a glass.

“You know, I forgot what my friends wanted! Just give me a moment.” Ayara grimaced in embarrassment. She sidestepped toward the booth, shadowed by the decorated officer with each step. As she approached, Kornin and Bonnelle waffled between keeping their makeshift weapons ready to be thrown or settling in the booth. They eyed the soldier suspiciously as Ayara seated herself and beheld the man behind the cold voice.

This was the decorated soldier from the now empty head of the soldiers’ table, Lt. Chrincha. The champion of the Yendell War games held every couple of hundred years, and lasting decades if the competition was strong, was reduced to stalking an elven girl probably a third his age. It seemed unbecoming of a soldier with a face that looked like it should be memorialized with a statue, stern and strong, the model of a Yendell officer.

“Bonnelle Rhodian,” Lt. Chrincha spoke the dwarf’s name to her face with kinder regard than when he referred to her as “the dwarf” a moment ago. “I would like to speak with you and your adventuring company, the Rude Rubies,” the name of the company received sufficient contempt.

“Sorry to say, Lieutenant Chrincha, but unlike some girls I don’t have a thing for a man in uniform.” Bonnelle batted her eyes at him. She still held a cup in one fist, poised more to pitch rather than drink from.

“About a contract. A rescue operation.”

The dwarf but down the cup. “Oh, but I do like how very deep the pockets on those uniforms go.”