Chapter Eight

Four nights later, Magiere stood behind The Sea Lion's bar, feeling a little more comfortable in her daily schedule. Out on the road, she and Leesil had developed a type of routine involving traveling, making camp, planning, manipulating feigned battles, and then beginning the process all over again. These events were interspersed with their experiences in new towns, villages, and Leesil's gambling. Now things were different. Her entire staff stayed up half the night serving guests, then slept late in the mornings. Leesil spent his afternoons working on the roof, while Beth-rae cooked, Caleb cleaned, and Magiere handled supplies, stocked shelves, and kept the house accounts. Chap watched over Rose. They always ate an early supper together before opening for customers. Magiere was continuously clean, warm, and slept in a bed every night.

Physical comfort and a unique sense of structure were not the only aspects of this life which brought her peace. For the first time, she was giving back to a community instead of draining it. The sailors, fisherfolk, and shopkeepers who patronized The Sea Lion enjoyed themselves and had a space of relief from their hard work. It did bother her when Leesil would mention the hushed whispers that often reached his ears about Magiere, "Hunter of the Dead." Perhaps she had become a local attraction. She could only guess how such rumors began, although she'd not seen either Welstiel nor the imposing nobleman again. Magiere suspected Leesil might still be drinking himself to sleep some nights, but as long as he stayed sober at the faro table and picked no pockets, she had no complaints.

Beth-rae walked up to the bar, carrying a full tray of empty mugs and looking a bit weary. A few strands of her silver, braided hair hung in loose wisps.

"Four more ales for Constable Ellinwood and his guards," she said.

Magiere glanced at the table of loud men, but didn't comment while drawing the ale. One customer she could often count on was Ellinwood. Her distaste for the self-important man only grew with familiarity.

She set the mugs back on Beth-rae's tray, and the front door opened, letting in a cool breeze. No one entered, but she saw a head of brilliant red hair in the doorway with a close-trimmed beard of the same flaming color that hid his chin, cheeks, and upper lip. A burly man, perhaps in his late twenties, wearing a leather vest, he stood half in and half out, hesitating. He scanned the room and stopped upon seeing Constable Ellinwood. His jaw tightened, and Magiere knew there would be trouble.

The man stepped in, not bothering to close the door, and strode to Ellinwood's table, glaring down while the constable's ale mug halted in midair, almost to his mouth.

"Can I help you, Brenden?" Ellinwood asked, attempting to make his heavy body sit straighter.

"My sister is dead nearly a week, and you sit drinking with your guards? Is this how you catch a murderer?" the man spit out angrily. "If so, I could find us a better constable lying in the gutter with a bottle of swill!"

The townsfolk stopped talking, even those at the faro table, and heads turned. Leesil held up one hand toward Chap before the dog moved, motioning him to wait.

Ellinwood's fleshy jowls grew pink. "The investigation continues, lad. I have found several important facts just today, and now, as any man, I do as I please with my own time."

"Facts?" Brenden's tone rose to a dangerous level.

The solid muscles of the blacksmith's arm tightened as he leaned on the table, and Magiere judged from his build that he could break Ellinwood's neck without trying. Perhaps his accusations were justified, but she wanted no bloodshed in her tavern. She glanced over at Chap and Leesil again, wondering if she should take action or let Leesil handle it. Her partner was more skilled at managing such situations in a quiet fashion.

"What facts have you found?" the blacksmith continued. "You slept till midday, then spent the afternoon eating cakes in Karlin's. Now you're here, in your finest velvets, drinking ale with your lackeys. When exactly did you find your new facts?"

Ellinwood's pink tinge deepened, but he was saved from responding when an unshaven guard in a rumpled shut stood up.

"That'll be enough, blacksmith," he said. "Go home."

He was answered with a resounding crack as Brenden's fist connected with his jaw, sending the man tumbling back into another table of patrons. Another guard started to rise, but Brenden grabbed his greasy black hair and slammed the man's head twice against the table before anyone else could move. The guard slumped off the cracked table to the floor, unconscious. Leesil jumped over the faro table as Magiere unsheathed her falchion from under the bar.

"Chap, hold." Leesil called out. If the dog leaped in, someone would end up bleeding.

Magiere slipped around the bar's front and held her ground for the moment. Leesil could usually stop a fight with few injuries to anyone.

"Gentlemen…" Leesil began.

Lost in rage, Brenden swung a backhanded fist at the half-elf, but his blow met empty air. Leesil dropped, hands to the floor, and kicked into the back of Brenden's knee. The blacksmith's large body toppled and a breath later, he found himself pinned, facedown. Leesil sat on his back, with one forearm against the blacksmith's neck and the other pinning his right arm. Although he was much heavier than Leesil, no amount of bucking from Brenden could throw his lithe keeper off. Every time Brenden tried to pull a leg under himself, attempting to get to his knees, Leesil kicked back with his foot in the blacksmith's knee, as if he were spurring a horse, and Brenden flattened to the floor again.

"It's all right," Leesil kept saying. "It's over."

The first guard Brenden had hit disentangled himself from the table of patrons that he'd landed on. Blood ran down his jaw and chin from his nostrils and it was obvious Brenden had broken his nose. His hand dropped to the sheathed shortsword on his hip, but then his eyes lifted to see Magiere. Her falchion rested on his shoulder, the sharp edge next to his throat. She said nothing. The guard put his hands up in plain view and stepped slowly back.

Finally, Brenden stopped struggling and lay in a smoldering, panting heap.

"My friend's going to let you up," Magiere said to him, not taking her eyes off Ellinwood's guards. "Then you leave my place, understand?"

"Leave?" Ellinwood puffed. "He is under arrest for attacking the very men who protect Miiska. He is a criminal."

While Magiere disagreed, this was none of her concern. She just wanted them all to take it outside.

"He's not a criminal," Leesil protested. "Have some pity, you whale!"

One of the guards-not the one with the broken nose-pulled a rope from his belt and crouched down to begin tying Brenden's hands. Leesil reached out to stop him, but Magiere grabbed him by the shoulder. Cursing under his breath, the half-elf stood up and stepped out of the way.

When Brenden was roughly jerked to his feet, he glared at Magiere as if she were to blame.

"Don't come back," she said. "This is a peaceful tavern."

"Peace?" Brenden spit out, sorrow outweighing the anger in his voice now. "How can you talk of peace when you're the one who can stop this killing? No, you hide away, serving ale to the likes of him." He motioned with his head toward Ellinwood.

"I can't stop anything," she said, tensing.

The guards dragged Brenden from the tavern.

Leesil walked away without a word and went back to his faro table, but Magiere could see he didn't feel like dealing cards anymore.

Late the next morning, Leesil stood outside Miiska's guardhouse, which also served as a jail, and checked his purse again, somehow hoping the coins within had miraculously multiplied. It had been hard enough to keep his distance from passersby who could have unwittingly aided him with that need, but he'd promised not to lift any more purses now that they had to stay in one place. Upon rising that day, he'd asked Magiere for his month's share of profits in advance. She'd given it to him with some apprehension, probably believing he needed it for a gambling debt. He didn't care what she thought. She'd never understand the truth. He wasn't sure he understood what he was doing anyway.