Page 52 of Ale Storm

“Get her off me!” the dwarf with Mya still gripping his shoulders yelled, glancing at the mouth of the alley.

Three more peacekeepers had appeared, and another golem lumbered into view.

“She attacked me!” he added. “We’re innocent!”

“They’re thieves,” Rylana called as Mya released the dwarf and stepped back, raising her own hands.

“You’re the thieves!” the dwarf called, pointing at Rylana with theatrical flair. “They’ve stolen a legendary antique hunting horn from King Ekton.”

Rylana grimaced, not appreciating the amount of truth of the statement. “We found it in the woods, and you haven’t shown me any documentation that shows that you’re a faithful servant that your monarch sent to retrieve it.”

“They don’t look faithful at all to me,” Mya put in.

By then, the gnomes and golems had entered the alley and surrounded the group. Rylana kept her hands up and hoped that, since weapons hadn’t been drawn, the peacekeepers wouldn’t do more than issue a fine, though it was disgruntling to think she might receive even that.

“Good evening, Bookkeeper Rylana,” a dry gnomish voice said. A familiar voice.

The shadows had hidden faces, but one of the gnomes unshuttered a lantern. The flame provided enough light for Rylana to recognize Captain Dindarin, the gnome who’d been present the day she met Jildarin. The gnome had issued him a fine for changing into a dragon and had barely refrained from giving her one for throwing a knife when Jildarin had tried to kill her. She didn’t know how relieved to feel that he recognized her.

“And, ah, you are the proprietor of the special bakery, aren’t you?” Dindarin peered at Mya.

The other peacekeepers looked at her with interest, as if Mya might pull out some cookies or erotic croissants for them. The magical golems, of course, did nothing but loom, their stony faces unexpressive.

“I own a respectable bakery and am most certainly not a thief. And neither is Rylana.”

“I trust I don’t have to remind any of you that violence of any kind is forbidden in Tranquility.” Dindarin looked at each of them as he spoke.

“We were only defending ourselves,” Rylana said.

“She’s wearing the stolen horn.” That was Gormer, his bearded face visible now in the light as he thrust a thick finger toward her.

“The found horn,” Rylana said and hurried to explain where she’d gotten it, inserting, “You can ask Peacekeeper Bixtok all about it.” She also told them the two dwarves had shown up suspiciously the day before and instigated the back-alley violence.

Unfortunately, Gormer and his buddy spoke at the same time, their voices raised to drown her out as they claimed she was not only a thief but had attacked them, that all they’d been doing was trying to collect the stolen horn.

“Enough!” Dindarin raised his arms.

The dwarves kept speaking, gesturing and claiming their innocence. At a flick from Dindarin’s finger, the golems took a couple of steps toward them. The dwarves fell silent.

“Arrest them,” Dindarin told a lieutenant.

“Yes, sir. All of them?” The peacekeeper lifted a stun stick.

Another had drawn a disc that Rylana knew from past experience could turn into a magical net.

Dindarin surprised her by shaking his head. “Only the dwarves. I don’t recognize them, and it is far more likely that they were the aggressors. Bookkeeper Rylana works with Chef Jildarin at the Dragon Diner, a respectable establishment in our fine town. Further, they assisted our people during the time of the troll curse.”

Rylana slumped in relief, surprised but pleased the gnome captain was saying favorable things about her and Jildarin. She was even a little stunned. She’d known the elves had acknowledged that she and Jildarin had been helpful in ending the curse, but she couldn’t recall the peacekeepers saying much.

“Yes, they did,” Mya said. “Jildarin and Rylana are good and law-abiding neighbors.”

Mya didn’t point out that she’d been responsible for making the dough for the bread that had been instrumental in resolving the curse. Rylana almost said something about that herself, but a bout of queasiness came over her, so she rested her hand on her stomach and took a few deep breaths. It was a good thing she wasn’t getting arrested; she might have thrown up on one of the golems.

“But they stole our king’s horn,” Gormer protested.

The golems strode forward, gripped the dwarves by the arms, and hefted them into the air.

“You are being detained,” Dindarin told them, “until your identities and story can be verified. If the horn has indeed been stolen, you may file a report.”