"Elsewise - A Middle" by Becca Lusher

Mind made up, by first light Jez had a brand new plan. Now that Sir Derek seemed to have moved in with Lux, there was nothing tying her to the castle - especially as she no longer wished to be rescued by a knight. She shuddered at the very thought. If all knights were like the two she had met, then they could stick to saving stupid damsels. Those damsels were more than welcomed to the lot of them. As such her deserted-castle-dragon combo was now rendered useless, unless she wanted to lie in wait for a wandering sorcerer looking for a new place to stay.

She didn’t much fancy that idea.

Lying in wait for sorcerers always seemed to end in messy ways - toads, enchanted sleeps, boils, hairy feet. If the amount of visitors Jez’d had over the past three years was anything to go by, she would probably be old and grey before any sorcerer stopped by anyway. Then, if they did and cast spells in all directions, then it would probably be another thousand years before anyone dropped in on the off-chance that kissing something might shed a spell or two. And who would want to kiss a wrinkly, old, grey princess then?

No, waiting didn’t seem to work, and she’d had enough of sitting around wasting time while her future decided whether or not to visit her. It really didn’t appear to be in any rush, so surely it couldn’t hurt to go and look for it. If, by some weird quirk of fate, she happened to miss her future while out travelling, then she’d ask Lux and Derek to entertain it until she came back. Could happen. She grimaced, and doubted hugely that it would. Still, travelling about wouldn’t do any harm.

Well, it might, but at least she could break her itchy-footed boredom. A little disaster would be a small price to pay to relieve the ache in her brain. It would also get her away from the pitying glances of Derek. She knew it was a sad state of affairs when a man in love with a dragon felt sorry for her. Besides, she didn’t like being pitied, it was too close to being back home in the palace, surrounded by mist-brained courtiers.

She crept downstairs, eager not to disturb anyone or be caught and asked what she was about. Tiptoeing into the main hall, she wondered why she bothered. Lux was snoring again, lying on her back, shimmering wings spread out beneath her, while Sir Derek was laid out along her throat. He too was snoring. Honestly, with the racket they were making Jez was amazed the castle hadn’t tumbled down around their ears.

Shaking her head, she passed them by and went in search of some food in the parlour. She stuffed a sack full of everything she reckoned she might need, making sure to leave a decent amount for Derek and King to survive on, before she sat down at the table. With a mug of tea in one hand and a quill in the other, she composed a temporary farewell note, while sipping her drink. She kept it short and to the point, and wished them all well. Happy with herself and her plans, she folded the parchment, drained her cup and wandered out through the kitchen garden.

Cherry was waiting for her, cute head bobbing over the door. When Jez approached, the mare snorted then lashed out with her teeth in a traditional greeting.

Patting her gingerly, Jez dumped her things outside the door and went to fetch Cherry’s tack. On the way she peered into the other stalls, and was relieved to notice that King was no longer sleeping in the stables. Some of his things were still scattered about, but both he and the little cat were missing. Grateful that she wouldn’t have to avoid him, she gathered Cherry’s bridle and saddle, and ventured into the stable with her vicious brute of a horse.

They danced, stamped, swore, bit and ran around in circles for a while before Jez succeeded in wrestling the leather onto the beast. Cherry seemed to view it all as a marvellous game, with bonus points for bruising her rider and top marks for drawing blood. Jez saw it as a necessary torture.

“One day it will all have been worth it,” she muttered as she limped her mount out into the morning light and picked up her bag. “One day.” As she swung herself into the saddle, she glanced at Derek’s silver charger and wondered why she didn’t have the nerve to steal him instead. Compared to Cherry he was a complete lamb.

“Morals,” she growled at herself, disgusted. “Who knew?” Taking a final look around the place she had lived for the past three years, Jez clucked her tongue at Cherry and ambled down towards the drawbridge. It would be nice to have a change.

* * *

“There is nothing so wonderful as a long, lazy ride on a summer’s day,” Jez sighed to herself, reclining under an old willow that overhung the road. “Provided it isn’t raining.”

Cherry snorted in agreement, and shifted to a new patch of grass, while Jez stretched her arms above her head and stared up at the sky between the leaves. It was a pale, warm blue without a cloud in sight. She smiled, and wriggled in the dappled sunlight, trying to encourage her clothes to dry from the sharp showers she had suffered earlier in the day.

A rumble from her stomach reminded her it was lunchtime, so she grabbed her pack and ferreted through it. Taking a trip down the bank to the stream, she looked along the road in both directions as far as she could see. A low cloud was rising in the direction she had come from.

“That better not be more rain,” she mumbled, planting her fists on her hips as she narrowed her eyes at the haze. It was more like a dust storm than anything else.

Frowning, she returned to her things and sipped at her water bottle, while munching on bread and cheese. Before long she realised that the cloud was made by a horse and rider. Shortly after realising that, she groaned, turned around and banged her head against the tree. It was too late for her to tack up Cherry and run away now. She’d been seen. “Damn him,” she snarled, and threw her things back into her bag and clucked her tongue at her horse. Cherry lifted her head, flicked her ears, and blew down her nose before returning to the more important business of eating.

“Well, I can see you’ll be a fat lot of help,” she growled.

Unable to think of anything else to do, she drained her water bottle, then went back to the stream to refill it. On returning she noticed the rider had slowed down and was no longer galloping, instead he had dismounted and was leading the sweat-streaked horse.

“He’s doing it on purpose,” Jez told Cherry. The horse merely switched her tail at some flies and paid no attention to the princess. Frustrated at having to wait for him to arrive, Jez sat down on her packs and watched the distant horizon where a small group of clouds was drifting over the mountains.

“Bet they bring rain with them,” she prophesised gloomily.

“Nice to see your temper’s improved.”

She didn’t look up as King - dusty, sweaty, and sounding disgustingly cheerful - untacked his horse and threw himself down next to her, swiping her water bottle and drinking most of it. What was left he emptied over his head.

“Such manners,” she muttered when he handed it back with a grin.

“I know, if you had any, you’d go down and refill it for me.”

“I don’t. So why don’t you go throw yourself in instead?”

Looking over his shoulder towards the stream, he raised his eyebrows and hauled himself to his feet. “Not a bad idea. Thanks, Your Royalness. Just don‘t go running off while I do.”

“If I had time, I would have run already. Besides, you might drown, and I wouldn’t want to miss watching that.”

“There’s a good girl.” He chuckled and ruffled her hair, before slinking off with a whistle.

Jez did her best not to react, and instead spent her time making friends with King’s horse, a rather smart looking bay, with neat white socks and a soft temperament. “You’ll need it,” she warned. “Cherry’s as mean as they come. Try not to get within range, eh?”

“Talking to yourself?”

She spun around and found King watching her whilst leaning against the tree, an amused smile on his face, while water dripped from his hair and clothes.

“Making allies amongst the enemy, actually,” she replied sweetly, patted the horse and walked towards him.

“Surprised you didn’t shoot her.”

“I like horses.”

“So you only shoot things you don’t like?” he demanded.

“Yes!” she snapped. “And you better watch out, or you’ll be next.”

“Violence isn’t always the answer, you know, squirrel killer.”

She sighed and rubbed her forehead; was it always going to come back to that? Even away from the castle the pesky squirrels had found a way to haunt her. “It is if you want to feed Lux. If you can find a way of feeding the squirrels to the dragon without killing them, or being violent in any way, then I will gladly hear it.” Then laugh as you make a complete idiot out of yourself trying to carry it out.

King made a huffing noise, which might have been conceding the point without actually having to say so, then shook his head like a dog, showering her with water.

“You need training,” she told him curtly, wiping drops off her cheek.

He grinned. “Actually, according to Lux it’s you that needs training. Sit, Princess, stay! She is mightily vexed at you, my girl. Most mightily vexed indeed.”

“I am not your girl,” she growled. “And why is she vexed with me? I thought she would like the extra time and space alone with her laddy-love.”

“That’s what Derek said, but Lux disagreed. She says you can’t look after yourself.”

“Oh, for pity’s sa-”

“And that no princess should be allowed to wander alone.”

“But, I lived alone fo-”

“And that someone should go out and bring you back.”

“Over my dead bo-”

“And we, that is Derek and I, told her you wouldn’t appreciate being told what to do.”

“You’re damn strai-”

“But Lux declared someone had to go along and protect you.”

“That’s what Cherry’s fo-”

“So they sent me.”

“You?”

“Yes.”

“What the bloo-”

“Lux thought it was a good plan.”

“Stop interrupting me!” she screamed, knowing he was doing it on purpose, but there was only so much of his merry brown eyes twinkling with amusement that she could stand. “Let me finish a bloody sentence before you say more of your pointless things!” Puffing a little from her outburst, she glared at him, knowing she was probably looking like some weird wild-eyed madwoman, but she didn’t care. She was a weird wild-eyed madwoman, or at least that was what she turned into whenever King was around. He was like a full moon to her weirdness werewolf, and she didn’t appreciate it.

“There now,” he said soothingly. “Two whole sentences. Don’t you feel better?”

Jez chose not to dignify that with an answer, and gathered up her tack instead, ready to wrestle it onto Cherry. Perhaps it was her hair crackling, eye sparking, raging anger, or maybe Cherry had eaten more than enough grass and was ready to move on, which stopped the horse from greeting her with her teeth. Whatever it was, the little mare stood meek and mild, and let Jez attach leather and mutter dark curses beneath her breath.

Now, more than ever, Jez wished she had been given magic training as a child. It was probably the only area of life she had missed out on during her less-than-average education, and now she was regretting the lack. A few minor hexes would have been just what she needed right about now, or maybe just a major one. Something involving boils, rotted teeth and manky legs. Just thinking about it was enough to soothe her anger, and by the time she had finished arranging her packs on Cherry’s back she was smiling.

“That’s what I like to see - a happy face.” King mounted his own horse and scanned the horizon. “What are you smiling about anyway?”

“Hexes and curses,” she told him sweetly, swinging into Cherry’s saddle. “And what kind of effect they might have on you.”

“You know, you’re such a pleasant girl. I am so pleased to have you around.”

“No one forced you to come after me,” she told him when they were back on the road and riding forward again.

“Well, actually, Lux did. And I am not the kind of man who argues with dragons.”

“No, you save all that skill for princesses,” she muttered darkly.

King snorted. “Hardly. Most princesses are meek and mild.”

Jez shuddered at the mere thought.

“See, now that’s why I like you.”

“If you think that’s going to make me become meek and mild just so you don’t like me any more, then you are sadly misguided.” She raised her chin haughtily. “It was a good try though.”

He grinned. “Don’t worry, Princess, there’s more than meek and mildness that could make me dislike you. You seemed to be graced with all the most irritable ways on the planet.”

“Does that mean you don’t like me?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

“No. Sorry.”

“Good.” She sighed with relief. “I hate women who feel they have to change themselves to fit in with a man’s expectations.”

“They don’t normally change to make the man hate them, though,” he remarked. “They usually change for love.”

“Love?” Jez scoffed. “Anyone who has to change for love is more in love with the idea than the person they’re pursuing. You can’t call that love.”

“What can you call it?”

“Foolishness.”

He smiled. “Some would say that’s exactly what love is, regardless of whether you change yourself to fit it.”

Jez shrugged. “Depends who you’re in love with.”

“I guess.” He nodded. “You’ve some firm set of ideas in that pretty head of yours, haven’t you?”

She scowled at him. “If you’re going to make remarks like that, Master Smith, I do hope you realise I won’t answer you.”

King laughed. “Suits me perfectly!”

“I didn’t say I’d be silent though,” she warned him. “In fact I might start singing.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Do you have a harp?”

“No,” Jez snickered. “I wouldn’t know how to play it. I just have my voice with which to make melodious music.”

Leaning against his pommel, King tipped his head to one side curiously and raised an eyebrow. “Would that be such a bad thing?”

She smiled, then nudged Cherry into a canter. “You haven’t heard me sing.”

* * *

Evening was just beginning to gain control over the sky when the pair rode into a small farming town. King looked longingly at the first inn they came across, which was rowdy and full of activity, its collection of farm hands and shepherd boys already brawling, while the rest of the less inebriated guests sat dicing at tables outside in the last of the daylight. Jez ignored his pleading glances and rode resolutely on.

During her time at the castle she had travelled through this town once or twice, and never had she elected to stay at that inn. Her favoured place was on the other side of town, right next to the gates. King was muttering mutinous mumbles by the time they reached it. Still ignoring him, Jez dismounted and handed Cherry over to the stable lad, warning him of her mount’s temper, before tossing him a copper coin.

King stared at the tavern, then cleared his throat, causing Jez to stop by the door. She turned, looked up at him and waited. He frowned. “We’re staying here?”

“I am,” she told him, hitching her pack higher up her shoulders. “What you do with yourself, I really don’t care. You can go back to the castle if you like. I certainly won’t miss you.” She turned on her heel and entered the common room, smiling to herself a little.

Inside was dark and mysterious, full of the smells of spilled ale and tobacco. Fat candles dripped down iron holders on each of the tables, while lanterns hung above the bar. One or two of the tables were occupied, and a small group of regulars propped up the bar, chatting to the barkeep. He was a small, thin, nervous looking man, with a pair of broken glasses on his nose, repaired with string. At the other end, wiping tankards and looking generally bad tempered, a huge woman the size of several mountains thrown together worked fastidiously.

It was she who looked up as Jez entered the room. “Kin I git ya?” she asked, her voice gruff and squeaky all at the same time.

Jez smiled in greeting. “All right, Marigold? I’d like a room, board for my horse and a couple of meals, if you can fit me in.”

“Kin do.” The woman nodded, then whistled sharply.

The nervous man stopped chattering at his customers and looked in her direction. “Yis?”

“Room, Barrel. Lassie wants a room.”

“’kay.” He nodded, then returned to talking to his guests.

“Just the one? I hope they have big beds, because you surely don’t expect me to sleep on the floor, do you?” a voice murmured softly in her ear.

Jez jumped, and glared at King, who wore a satisfied smile. “You can get your own room, and food, and pay for it yourself. I didn’t ask you come.”

“There’s gratitude for you,” he sighed mournfully, and leant on the bar, a coin glinting in his hand as he waved it at Marigold. “Any chance of a drink, my good lady?”

“Kin I git ya?” she asked, putting down her cleaning cloth with great reluctance as she stomped ungraciously towards the taps.

“Pint of your best, if you please, ma’am.”

Marigold grunted, put a tankard under the pipe, filling it with suspicious looking liquid, then slammed the full mug down in front of King, taking his money. “Der’ya.”

“My gratitude,” he mumbled, sipping at the rim.

“He’s nothing to do with me,” Jez said hurriedly, holding up her hands as Marigold looked at her.

The barwoman smiled, revealing surprisingly good teeth. “I know dat, ya too gud for t’likes o’him. Kin I git ya?”

Jez grinned as King choked on his drink. “Just apple juice, please, Marigold. Not cider!” she called as the woman headed towards the barrels.

“Ya no fun, Jeez,” she chuckled, a rumbling noise that rattled the glasses overhead and vibrated through the floor.

“I know.” She handed over her coin. “I’ll go sit down, shall I? Barrel can call me when my room is ready.”

“’kay,” the woman agreed, picking up her cloth again with a sigh of happiness. “Dinner be over in a li’l bit.”

“Thank you.” Jez raised her glass in a toast, and wandered off towards the corner.

“I’ll have what she’s having,” King murmured over the bar, before following.

Settling at her table, Jez stored her bags by her feet and sipped her drink, eyes drifting over the rest of the cliental - they all looked like regulars to her; old men come to chat to Barrel, young men too timid to take the rough and tumble life on the other side of town, and a few courting couples looking for somewhere quiet to stare at each other for an evening.

King plunked his tankard down and dropped his pack beside her, before he took the chair opposite. “So,” he said, looking around, “this the kind of place you go for, is it?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I like quiet.”

“It’s dead.”

“Suits me.” She shrugged. “I’m travelling, and I prefer to keep travelling. Here I’ll get some food, something to drink and a decent night’s sleep. The only thing I’ll get across town is robbed. But, like I said, you are more than free to head that way yourself. No one says you have to stay with me.”

“Lux wouldn’t forgive me if anything happened to you.”

“Lux wouldn’t have to know.”

He grinned. “You know that’s a fairly perilous sentence - you’re giving me every incentive to bump you off and steal your money and horse.”

Jez snorted, smiling at the little serving boy as he carried out a bowl of nondescript sludge for each of them. “You wouldn’t find much money on me, and you’re welcome to the horse, if you think you can get near her.”

King rubbed his arm meaningfully where Cherry had taken a chunk out of him on their mid-afternoon stop, then shook his head. “How far do you think you’ll get if you haven’t much money?”

Sipping her soup, Jez met his eyes with hers and smiled. “Who said I didn’t have much money?”

“You did,” he reminded her.

“No, I didn’t. I said you wouldn’t find much on me, I didn’t say I didn’t have any.”

“Oh.” King looked confused.

“You look like a knight. Eat your soup while you think, you don’t want it getting cold.”

“This is soup, is it?” he asked doubtfully, lifting up a spoonful and watching it slop greasily back into the bowl.

“Just eat it,” she growled. “The food at the other place might be better, but you’d never get a chance to get any of it into your mouth before you were wearing it. Now eat up.”

“You’re awfully bossy.”

“Starve then.” She shrugged, and ignored him while she finished her own bowl, breaking her bread roll on the table when the boy returned with one for each of them.

“This place is a pit.” King sniffed, looking around critically.

“Says the man who slept in a stable. Anyway, did you look at the castle while you were there?”

“But that cleaned up beautifully with a little effort. This place…” He looked around again.

“Is fine,” Jez growled, feeling she had to defend it. “It’s all fine. Stop being a snob.”

He smiled. “You know, I wouldn’t have pictured you staying in a place like this.”

“You do surprise me,” she drawled, picking out the soft insides of the roll and throwing the rock-hard crust into her bowl. “And here was me beginning to think you knew me so well. I’m heartbroken.”

“My poor girl, how callous of me,” he returned in the same tone. “I should have known that if we crossed a stinking hovel of a place with greasy food and rickety tables that it would be just the place for you to stay in. Though,” he continued in a normal voice, “I can see why some things might appeal. Not good enough for you indeed.” With a snort, he finished his meal and drained his tankard. “Another drink?”

“Sure.” She handed him her empty cup and watched him stump back to the bar. Her attention then turned to the door as a new group of travellers entered, one of which was carrying a small travelling harp attached to his pack. Jez watched curiously as four of their number settled around a table, and the other two went to the bar.

“Gods save us, it’s an elf, and he has a harp,” King grumbled, putting down their drinks before he took his seat again. “I hope he doesn’t plan to play it.”

Jez rolled her eyes; clearly he knew nothing of elves. “And you say I’m cheerful.”

“I can’t stand their ethereal, haunting voices, or the lyrical, symphonic mystery of their music. It drives me around the bend. People rave about them, but I can’t see it myself. I’d rather hear two cats in a sack.”

“Gosh,” Jez gushed with wide-eyed awe as she leant on the table towards him, “I never knew you were so cultured, Master Smith. Please, do share more of your fascinating opinions.”

“You’re mocking me, aren’t you?”

She smirked and sat back. “However did you guess?”

“You looked interested in what I might have to say - you never do that.”

“True,” she acknowledged and sipped her drink. “Gah!” she gagged, tears springing to her eyes. “What in the world is this?”

“Oh. I thought you might appreciate a real drink.” King grinned.

“A real drink of what? Dragon saliva?” she croaked.

“More for me then!” Cheerfully, he swiped her glass and added it to his own. “You should have said what you wanted.”

“Bastard,” she growled, and headed to the bar for herself. On the way her mood improved dramatically as she realised she had both an excuse to get away from King, and another to talk to the elf, who was draped dramatically over a stool, while his companion tried to attract the attention of either Marigold or Barrel. The little man was engrossed in a story about how many crows Farmer Morti had strung up that summer alone, while Marigold was cleaning glasses with a fervent air, shooting him occasional panicked glances as she realised she would have to put down her cloth again at any moment.

Amused, Jez hopped onto the stool next to the elf and began tapping a beat on the bar top.

“Your friend is shooting venomous glances in my direction,” a smooth voice murmured to her. “He doesn’t have sorcery in him by any chance?”

“None.” Jez looked over her shoulder and grinned at King’s scowl. “He’s just bad tempered.

“More fool him then,” the elf muttered, then looked at his companion. “Still standing there, Geoff?”

“Can’t get served,” the man growled, waving his arms. “What kind of place is this anyway?”

“The quiet kind,” Jez informed him, then slid off her stool and wandered closer to Marigold. “I think they want to talk to you.”

Her eyes widened, and the cloth speeded up. “Kin’t joost yit. Need t’do tin more afore I kin do owt else.” The glasses glistened before Jez’s eyes.

“Why don’t you call one of the kitchen lads in, at least to serve?”

“Dey’s kitchin bays.” Marigold looked horrified. “Ya kin’t git dem behind t’bar. T’ain’t right.”

“How many glasses left now?”

“Two.”

“Okay. When you’re done, can I have another apple juice, please? Smith got me something poisonous.”

“Faire wiskee,” Marigold informed her. “Clears oot ya throat frim t’lungs oop.”

“I noticed,” Jez replied dryly, and fished a coin from her purse. “And is my room ready yet?”

“Barrel!” Marigold roared, throwing her cloth onto the bar with a loud, wet slap. “Did ya git Jeez’s rooms done yit?”

“I’s a gittin’ to it,” the little man chittered. “I’s a gittin’.”

“Then git!”

“I’ll git,” he agreed, and scurried up the stairs.

“Here ya drink, Jeez.” She set the glass on the bar then finally turned to the traveller and his elf friend. “Kin I git ya?”

For a moment the man looked confused. “Can I get you, what?” he repeated, then blinked. “Oh! What can you get me? Right, sorry. Yes. Rooms for my four companions and me, and some food, while you’re at it.”

Jez raised her eyebrow, sensing Marigold’s hackles rising at the man’s commanding tone. She looked more closely at him, and wondered if he was a noble.

The elf caught her stare and chuckled, then nudged his friend aside. “Excuse him, he was dropped on his head at birth. What he meant to say was have you got four rooms to spare, and anything us weary travellers might possibly get to eat?”

Marigold stared at him appraisingly. “Kin do,” she grunted, then stomped off, swiping her cloth on the way.

The elf and man both blinked, then looked towards Jez for a translation. “That was a yes. You’d best wait by your table, and someone will bring your food over to you. If you want a drink, you’re best off waiting till Barrel gets back. Oh, there he is.” She nodded to the little man as he pattered towards her.

“Ye room’s a done, missy. An’ ye friend, I’s done his while I was up dere too. Tell him, if ye would.”

“Cheers, Barrel.” Grinning at him, she wove her way through her tables to fetch her bags.

“Had a nice chat with the elf?” King wanted to know as she dragged her things from under the table.

“Riveting,” she told him. “By the way, your room’s ready, if you wanted to know.”

“Oh. Thanks.” He drained his mug and followed her up the stairs, where a maid was hovering to show them into neighbouring rooms.

Jez beat King back down stairs, and grinned to find the elf sitting at her table, his travel harp propped up on a chair beside him. “Got you both another drink,” he said when she sat down.

“Oh... Thank you.” She picked it up and sniffed suspiciously.

The elf chuckled, toying with one of his pointed ears. “I haven’t poisoned it, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He had wicked grey eyes, she noted.

“You don’t need to poison me, just buy fire whisky.”

“Ah.” He grinned, rubbing at his short, black hair. “No, I would never do such a thing to an unsuspecting person. Marigold served me, and I asked for what you were drinking. Mine appears to be apple juice, I don’t know about yours.”

Jez sipped tentatively, then smiled. “So’s mine.”

“Good.” He looked over the bar. “Are you absolutely sure your friend isn’t a sorcerer? Because that stare of his is making me feel all tingly. Sorcerers always make me feeling tingling, usually right before they clutch their noses, swearing because the spell backfired. Never cast at an elf with a harp. ”

Raising an eyebrow, Jez looked over her shoulder and noticed that King had reappeared, a ferocious scowl on his face. “He’s not my friend, and no, as far as I know he isn’t a sorcerer, but I think he has a thing against elves.”

Her new acquaintance clutched a hand to his chest. “Alas, poor me.”

Jez grinned. “It isn’t a loss, trust me. Room all right for you, Smith?” she asked as King sat in a chair on the far side from the elf and his harp.

He grunted.

“I’ll take that as a yes then,” she grumbled, then turned back to the elf. “So, do you have a name about you? Or just a harp?”

The elf smiled. “Since you asked, I am most frequently known as Leves.”

“Why aren’t you sitting with your friends, Leves?” King growled. Jez blinked, surprised, and realised King really didn’t like elves. It was more than just bad temper or anti-harp sentiments; he looked at the person in front of him, spotted the pointy ears and felt hatred. She grew curious.

“Here our paths diverge,” Leves said in his smooth, rippling voice. Jez smiled, feeling soothed by it and felt she could listen to him all night. One glance at King told her he didn’t feel the same. In fact he shuddered whenever Leves opened his mouth. “My friends continue, but I do not.”

“Becoming a farmer?” King asked, sounding as though he had to force the words out. When he lifted his tankard it was with shaking hands. Jez was astounded to see that he was sweating.

Leves laughed, a musical, tinkling ripple that sent shivers of pleasure down Jez’s spine, while King shook so hard he knocked his drink over. “Alas, farming is not for me. I merely plan to wait for a new band to travel with. They are returning from whence they came, but I have no desire to follow.” He handed a handkerchief across to King so that he could mop the table. “They’re dwarves.”

Jez stared at him, then turned to stare at his previous companions, two of which were definitely not an inch under six foot. She stared at Leves again. “They’re the tallest dwarves I ever saw.”

“He means they’re miners,” King grunted.

“Yes, he’s right,” Leves nodded when Jez blinked incredulously. “In the mining industry a single miner is called a minor, two or more are known as dwarves.”

“But why?” Jez asked, knowing full well, just like everyone else, that all dwarves lived on the coast, sailed pirate vessels and got all weak and sweaty if asked to go underground.

“It’s a rock thing,” Leves said airily.

Still confused, Jez turned to King and raised her eyebrows.

“Legends, Jez, about them being made out of rocks - and you have to admit they do like them shiny gems. They’ll sink a whole fleet to get hold of them.”

“Oh… right. Well, I’m glad we cleared that up.”

“So am I.” Leves smiled at her, and sipped at his cider. “But that still leaves me all stranded here with nowhere to go and no one to go with.”

“Why don’t you go mining?” King growled.

Leves held out his hands and looked them over meticulously. It was clear that he was thinking, Working rock, picks and hammers, with these hands? And ruin my fine, pearly skin? Instead of saying any of this though, he smiled. “I prefer the open road and the occasional adventure. Though I do not like to travel alone,” he added before King could snarl something about that.

“Oh. Well, in that case - oww!” Jez yelped as King’s foot bounced heavily off her shin. “Smith!”

“A word, Jezebel,” he demanded, and jerked his head towards the bar. “And no listening, elf.”

Leves smiled lazily, picked up his harp and began absently turning the tuning pegs. “My ears are closed,” he promised.

“They better be.” King grabbed Jez’s arm and dragged her away.

“King!” she protested in a whisper. “King, let go of me!”

“That’s the first time you’ve ever used my name,” he remarked, his old, idle smile returning as he released her. “I like it.”

“Sod off, Smith,” she snapped. “And tell me what your problem is. Do you know him or something?”

King looked in Leves direction, shuddered, and hurriedly looking away again, grimacing as a long, loud, discordant twang echoed through the bar. “No, I don’t know him,” he whispered.

“Then why are you being so nasty to him?”

“I’m not being nasty,” King corrected. “I’m being rude.”

“Rude, nasty, same difference.”

“It is not,” he told her loftily. “You’d really notice if I was being nasty.”

Jez didn’t think much of his threat and flapped her hands at him in dismissal, then turned away.

“Wait!” He seized her arm again, earning himself a thump across the head. “Oww! That hurt.”

“Well, so does grabbing my arm! Pack it in.”

“All right, all right, sorry, sorry,” he muttered and released her. “But don’t go yet, I haven’t finished.”

Rolling her eyes, Jez folded her arms and leant back against the wall. “I’m all ears.”

“And no doubt pointy lobes over there is too,” he grumbled. “But it can’t be helped. I’m sorry I kicked you, but you were about to invite him to join us, weren’t you?”

“Me,” she corrected. “I was about to ask him to join me.”

“Oh, stop it, Jez,” he sighed wearily, rubbing his forehead. “I’m coming with you, wherever you are going, and you know it. Actually, while we’re on this subject, where are we going?”

“Dunno.” She shrugged. “Anywhere. I’m looking out for my future, or destiny, or whatever it is that will put a bit of life into my, well, life.”

He shot her a soulful glance from beneath his lashes. “Am I not exciting enough for you anymore, my beautiful princess?”

“You can pack that in too. Sweet and loving doesn’t suit you.”

“I’ll remember that,” he agreed with a serious nod. “Rude and uncouth all the way.”

She didn’t bother to reply to that. “And you were never enough for me, smart boy. You’re nothing but a knight wannabe, and that is a fearful future.”

He winced. “Gods, I could turn into Derek or Trevor, couldn’t I? I guess I never thought that one through. Thank you for saving me from such a terrible fate, oh Gracious Majesty.”

“You’re not funny, and you’ve gone off the point. Why can’t I invite the elf? Why can’t I take him along with me instead, and send you home to Lux and Derek’s little bubble of bliss? I’m sure you can pop it most valiantly and be all proud of yourself about it.”

“You have such a high opinion of me,” he sniffed. “I’m wounded. Anyway I am not leaving you with a stranger. Lux would fry me. And I am especially not leaving you with an elf - haven’t you heard about them?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I have heard plenty, but please, enlighten me.”

“He’ll…” King looked around, then leaned closer to lower his voice even further, “serenade you.”

Jez couldn’t stop a snort from escaping. Seeing the genuine hurt on his face, she tried to smother it with her hands, but it didn’t work and giggles bubbled out. “You should see your face,” she cackled. “I’m sorry, Smith, but really, is serenading truly all that bad?”

He shuddered. “It’s horrible. The next thing you know he’ll tell you stories, or talk to you in elvish, or make you live in a tree. It’s unnatural!”

“Do you ever listen to yourself?” she asked patiently.

“Not when I’m speaking of elves.” He shuddered again.

“What is your problem?” This was about more than just singing, she realised. “Is it the ears? Because if it is that’s racist you know.”

He scowled at her. “No, it isn’t the ears. Though I’ll admit they don’t help. But they’re so… musical.” He shuddered again. “Even when they’re speaking. And ethereal. They don’t look, sound or seem right. They’re all wrong.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this.” She threw her hands up, and turned away from him.

“All right, all right.” He ran after her, whispering in her ear. “But you made me tell you this. I… I’m…” He choked, then mumbled something completely inaudible.

“You’re what?” she asked, turning around to look at him, one eyebrow raised. If he said jealous, she would have to hit him again.

“I’m… elfobic,” he muttered, turning bright red, much to her amazement.

“You’re what?”

“Elfobic,” he repeated a little louder, and stared straight into her eyes. “They terrify me.”

Jez bit her lip.

“Don’t laugh at me, Jez,” he begged. “Please.”

“I’m sorry,” she half-snorted, trying to hold them in.

“Jez… don’t be cruel.”

“But… umm… why?” she sniggered, her shoulders shaking as she tried to suppress her mirth. “What is it about them that, err, scares you?”

“I can’t believe you find this amusing,” he growled.

“Oh, Smith, I’m sorry, but come on, you have to admit it is a little, umm, unusual.”

His glare was flinty. “Go back to your elf, little girl. I feel suddenly tired.” He bowed curtly. “Farewell, Princess, I wish you every happiness in your endeavours to discover a future.” Turning sharply, he strode off across the room.

For a moment she considered going after him, if only to shout at him for calling her a little girl, but shook her head and returned to her table and Leves. If King wanted to be silly, then she would let him sleep with his pride overnight. If he still wanted to leave in the morning, then she wouldn’t stop him. She had been telling him all day to go back to the castle and leave her in peace. Feeling strangely gloomy, she sat down and picked up her glass.

“Trouble?” Leves asked, looking up from his harp and raising delicate eyebrows.

“Like you weren’t listening,” she told him.

He grinned. “Well, maybe a little.”

“Have you ever heard of anyone being elfobic before?” she asked doubtfully.

Leves chuckled, twanging the unusually loose strings of his harp. “Aye, that I have. Surprisingly common on the coast, apparently.”

Jez wasn’t paying attention to his words. “What are you doing to that harp?”

“Tuning it.” He blinked innocently.

“That’s not tuning,” she told him. “That’s untuning. You’ll never be able to get it to work like that.”

He grinned. “Depends what I want to do with it.”

She raised an eyebrow, then shook her head and sipped her drink. “And here was me thinking it was just a rumour.”

“Elves don’t bother with rumours, they take too much feeding.” Lifting his harp, he held it level with his face and pulled back the longest string, sighting along it.

“I wish someone had explained that before I caught a few of my own.”

“Cheeky little buggers, aren’t they?” he chuckled.

“That’s one way to put it,” she grumbled. Then stared as he tested each of his loose strings, put down the harp and began counting the short arrows in his quiver. “Do you really shoot from that thing?”

He stared at her with utter disbelief. “I am an elf, you know.”

Jez stood up. “I think I need something stronger than apple juice.”

Leves grinned. “Mine’s a brandy, if you’re buying.”

“I don’t know about the elf thing, but I can tell you’re male.”

* * *

It was dawn when Jez woke, groaning at the ache in her head. Something was whistling outside her window, a sound that cut right through the throbbing pain. It wasn’t even tuneful, in fact it was bloody awful. No, not something, someone. She opened blurry eyes and realised that it wasn’t coming from outside, but in. The thing was seated quite comfortably on the windowsill, foot tapping idly on the floor and picking his teeth with a small arrowhead.

She had to clamp down on the urge to run over and push him out of the window, and instead pulled herself into a sitting position. It was then that she registered the fact there was a strange elf in her room, and a quick glance at the door told her it was still locked. Even though she’d had a few drinks the night before, she had definitely not been drunk - well, not all that drunk - and she remembered coming to bed. Alone. She had even managed to remove half her clothes (the left side), before collapsing into bed. So how was there an elf in her room? There was nothing else for it, she would have to ask.

Finger combing her tangled hair away from her eyes, she squinted at the visitor. “What are you doing in my room?”

“Whistling,” the elf replied, his smile far too bright and sunny for such an early hour. The sun was barely risen. And it was summer. That meant it was practically the middle of the night.

“Why are you whistling in my room then?”

“Waiting for you to wake up,” he informed her. “You do know sleep is for the weak, don’t you?”

“Maxims are for the stupid,” she retorted, reaching down to locate her left shoe. “Why are you waiting for me to wake? We talked last night.” At least, she thought they had, but some other weird memories were coming back to her that involved dancing on tables and playing really bad folk-tunes on the out of tune harp. At some point King had stormed in to tell her to shut up.

In a rather good barbarian impression, or so a drunken Jez thought, King had thrown her over his shoulder and carted her - wriggling and giggling, then lurching and turning green - up the stairs, opened her door for her, before throwing her in the room and slamming into his own.

She could remember stumbling about, bouncing off things, giggling some more as she tried to undo buttons and laces, followed by swearing and hopping as she stubbed her toes repeatedly, then she had found the bed and it all went dark. However, as nice as it was to remember all of that, it still didn’t explain the elf. Leves, her brain reminded her.

“No, we sang last night, well, if it could be called that. I think we broke ever bit of glass in the place before they paid us enough to shut up. You haven’t got elvish blood, have you?”

“Not that I know of,” she replied, rubbing her temples. “But you still haven’t told me anything. Why are you here? And more importantly, how are you here?”

“How?” Leves raised his eyebrows, then grinned. “Oh, that’s easy. I just climbed the rose outside your window. You really should close the shutters, especially when elves are around.”

“How did you know which room was mine?”

“Oh, I didn’t.” He shrugged, picking up his harp and twanging an arrow out into the dawn light. Somewhere above the stables a pigeon squawked. “I just climbed into a few rooms until I found you.”

“Don’t let King catch you doing that.”

“What, climbing into rooms?” He grinned. “I got into his just before I found yours by the way. He was dreaming and talking in his sleep. Something about saving the squirrels from the dragons, or it might have been dragons from the squirrels… Did you know he sleeps with a cat?”

Jez blinked weakly. “Stop. Please. Stop. You’re confusing me. It’s too early to be hanging around people. Especially elves. What time is it anyway?”

“Sun’s just got up, so probably about three thirty.”

“I hate you.”

He blew her a kiss. “Never mind, sweet one, I’m sure I’ll win you over. We’ve a great adventure ahead of us after all.”

“We have?”

“Yes, you invited me to travel with you.”

“I did?”

“Yeah! You said so last night, said I could keep you company as you headed out find your future, while King went home to Lucy and, umm, Desmond.”

“Really?”

“Ahuh.” He nodded, then lifted his harp again. Another twang, another squawk. “Ooh, excuse me, I think I just bagged supper.” Without any effort, Leves dropped off the windowsill and vanished.

Jez was still staring, or rather gawping, and idly wondering who Lucy and Desmond were, when he returned with a couple of dead pigeons. “Dinner!” He grinned and held them up for her inspection.

“You really better not let King find out about that.”

“What, that I shot some flying vermin?”

“Yes.”

Leves raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“He seems fond of vermin.”

The elf smiled lazily. “Oh well, that explains quite a bit.”

Rather foolishly, she asked, “How do you mean?”

Even more foolishly, he answered, “Well, he hates me, but he seems to like you. Now it all finally makes sense.”

Jez picked up a pillow, punched some air into it and threw it at him. He tumbled out of the window with an “Aiiieee!” cry. She rushed over to assess her aim, and see if the two-storey drop had done him any harm. Sadly he appeared to be still moving.

“Good shot,” King approved from the next window along. “What was he doing in your room anyway?”

“Whistling,” she replied, then withdrew and slammed the shutters. There was no way she was making that mistake twice with an elf about. Using her belt, she lashed them together firmly. Ignoring the plaintive tapping on the now locked shutters, she crawled back to bed.

* * *

It was a much more reasonable hour when she finally stumbled downstairs with her pack and collapsed at a table. Marigold grunted at her from the bar, Jez mumbled back, and within a few moments a breakfast of eggs and bacon was presented to her.

“Thanks.”

She was halfway through it when the door burst open and King stormed in, Leves hot on his heels another pigeon corpse in hand.

“Jez!” King shouted when he saw her.

“Go away, I’m eating breakfast,” she mumbled with her mouth full, which sounded more like, “Oh mahmay, mime meetin’ mreakfoorst.”

King grabbed a chair opposite her, while Leves bounded lopsidedly into the kitchen to present his newest prize for the pot. “What the bloody hell have you been saying to the elf?” he demanded.

Swallowing, Jez rubbed her temples and squinted at him. “You expect me to remember it all?”

He raised an eyebrow. “He says you invited him along.”

“I don’t actually remember doing that,” she said, pointing at him with her fork. “He probably overheard our talk. It’s the points, they seem to attract sound. Or I might have said it when I was drunk.” She shrugged. “Anyway, he’s harmless enough.”

“He shoots pigeons!”

She gasped. “However will you cope, being on the road with a pigeon killer and a squirrel killer?” She sipped her water. “Best to cut your losses and go home, squire.”

“I’m not a squire anymore,” he reminded her. “And you don’t really want me to go home.”

“Don’t I?” she asked, popping another forkful into her mouth.

“Nope.” He shook his head and stole her last rasher of bacon. “You like having me around really.”

“I bloody don’t!” she snapped as he leapt to safety and devoured his prize. “You thief!”

“Squirrel killer.”

“That really isn’t an insult.”

He grinned, then bounded back outside again. Within two minutes he returned, sitting down with a pensive expression. “He isn’t really coming along with us, is he?” he asked, sounding worried.

Jez shrugged as she pushed her empty plate to one side, and drained her glass of milk. “I don’t know. Can’t really stop him if he wants to. He seemed all right enough last night.”

“What about this morning?”

“I hate everyone this morning,” she informed him flatly. “Him and you included. Or especially, even.”

“You always hate me, so that isn’t much of a news flash,” King reminded her. “And does he really have to come with us?” he asked, a faint tone of pleading in his voice. “Can’t you tell him to shove off or something?”

“I’m always telling you to shove off - hasn’t worked so far.”

“Yes, but I’m persistent.”

“Is that what you call it?” she remarked, heading to the bar to settle her bill with Marigold. “I thought you were just being annoying.”

“Well, that too,” he admitted with a grin and picked up her bag for her. “Cherry’s all tacked up and ready, by the way.”

Jez stared at him. “Did you do it?”

“Don’t be daft.” He snorted. “I might have been a squire, but I’m not that bloody thick. Leves did it, said he had the elvish way with animals.”

“Ah, I thought I saw him limping.”

“Yes, she got him right in the -”

“Morning!” Leves greeted brightly, and Jez noticed his voice was an octave higher than it had been, and now that she looked at him he wasn’t bright, he was white and clearly in pain. “How’s things?”

“Better for me than they are for you, I suspect.”

King stormed out with her bag to fetch the horses.

“He didn’t take the news too well,” Leves told her.

“So I gathered.” Jez wandered outside after him, and checked the sky for rain, frowning at the heavy clouds heading in from the west. “And I am sure you shared the news with him in a polite and friendly manner.”

Leves smiled, then loped off to find his own horse.

“I’ll take that as a no then.” Jez sighed and rubbed her forehead where a new headache was beginning to develop. An elf and a former squire, both of which appeared to dislike each other immensely, and she was fast growing to hate them both. This trip, wherever it was going, was going to be close to hell. And it was going to rain.

“This day just gets better.”

A yelp, followed by a scream made her pick up her pace, and she arrived in the stable yard in time to see Leves pick himself up from the ground, still slightly doubled over with pain, while King clutched at his left bicep muttering faintly about blood and tetanus. Between the pair of them, Cherry stood prettily in the morning light, the picture of smug equine innocence. Jez smiled.

“Well, maybe it won’t be so bad after all.”