Page 1 of Garlands and Gauntlets

Chapter one

Theo

Hearthwynd isloud.

Not just loud in my ears, but loud…everywhere. Shouts from the market, clattering hooves on cobblestones, bells ringing. Ribbons of red and green hang from every flickering streetlamp, garlands of holly wound up with them. Hearthwynd’s citizens wear brightly colored scarves, kids play. And it smells like pine and mulled wine and…

I’m hungry.

Sohungry.

My stomach growls, and I pause to get my bearings. Ever since I left Greymarch Manor three days ago–since my own half-brother put a signed death warrant in my hands and told me to never return–I’ve been trying to save as much coin as I can. My father…or, I guess, the man I thought I was my father until my tusks grew in…he taught me in warcraft, adventuring, sure. But I’ve never made a single coin myself.

Now I’m on the streets.

And starving.

The smell of roasted meat draws me down a cobblestone street, and I follow my nose toward the source of that wonderful scent. I end up finding a small tavern tucked between two crooked buildings, like it was wedged in somewhere it didn’t belong. The noise shifts here, laughter erupting from inside, and I know I should lie low, but at this point I’m going to take a meal where I can get one.

Heads turn as I duck through the low doorway, my head almost bumping the threshold. It happens everywhere–at seven feet tall, with wild red hair, olive green skin, and a braided beard, I’m hard to miss–so I don’t let it bother me. I nod politely to all the people who have now gone silent and staring, and I make my way to the bar.

He glances up at me.

Does a double-take.

Waits.

“Uh,” I start. “Greetings.”

“What can I get for ya?” he asks, like I was supposed to understand the question without him even saying it out loud.

“Um…” I can’t stop stumbling over my words. “Something warm. And filling.” I fumble with my coin pouch, wincing at how little I have left. I took everything I could scrounge up from my room, a small sum for any average person in Hearthwynd, but it will only get me so far. “Please?”

The bartender scoffs at me (I’ve noticed people tend to have that reaction to me around here) and I’m sure he’s about to deny me service–but a voice comes from behind me.

“Put it on my tab.”

I glance over my shoulder and there he is–my savior. He’s an elf, or maybe a half-elf from the looks of it, with glossy dark brown hair that falls in one of those edgy half-shaved styles. He’s dressed all in black, rings glistening on every finger of his left hand, cuffs up the entirety of his pointed left ear.

He’s very pretty.

It just makes me more awkward.

And that gets a million times worse when he comes closer, and I can see that his eyes are bright, brilliantgreen.

“Whatever he wants–food and a good drink,” the elf says. He’s shorter than he looked at first, probably about five feet, if not less. He sidles up next to me and leans against the bar. “You know I’m good for it.”

The bartender doesn’t seem convinced, and I know I need to be careful. Before he passed away, my adopted father always told me people in Hearthwynd would try to take advantage of my good nature.

So I do my best attempt at a scowl. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

He tilts his head, grinning. “We haven’t, but it’s the season of giving and you looked lost. You’re new in town, aren’t you?”

“That obvious?” I ask, wishing I sounded less awkward.

“Painfully,” he deadpans. He extends his hand and I can’t help but notice his long, slender fingers. “Name’s Vaelin. And you are…?”

“Theo.” I hesitate, unsure if I should say more.

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