Breakfast at the Spangled Inn was a weekly treat for the Three Vixens during the long winter months of the Navan campaign. Bitterly cold weather and storms of icy rain brought the conflict to a standstill, with neither side desiring a battle in the terrible conditions. The barbarian army, flushed by a series of autumn victories, threw up a line of fortified camps along the Great Road and waited for springtime. Their enemies followed suit, nursing their wounds and planning their revenge while snow covered the barren empty land that lay between.
On a cool frosty morning in the week before midwinter, Chekhu and Sharmoon were tucking into steaming bowls of mutton stew when Keelam appeared suddenly at their table. The huge shape of the innkeeper loomed behind her, like a protective father guarding a wayward golden-haired daughter. Keelam shrugged his hairy hand off her shoulder and grinned at her friends.
"How did you get in here?" asked Sharmoon, chewing on a lump of gristle and giving the diminutive blonde a puzzled frown.
"I walked in through the front door," Keelam answered sarcastically.
"But I thought you were banned from here last week," Sharmoon retorted. "Or has Old Grog forgotten already?"
"No, I haven't forgotten," said the innkeeper, smiling broadly. "But the ban applies only to evenings. It is now early morning, so I am allowing this little troublemaker to eat a hot breakfast with her comrades." He hustled Keelam into the chair beside Chekhu and patted her head. "Sit there, and behave yourself! I'll fetch you a bowl and spoon."
He walked away, collecting a tray of empty plates from a group of travelling merchants at a nearby table.
"That stew was excellent!" said one, passing five copper coins to the innkeeper.
Keelam stared ruefully at the coinage as it tinkled in Old Grog's hand, then she looked across the table at Sharmoon. The dark-haired warrior stared back, her blue eyes keen and unblinking.
"You haven't got any money, have you?" she ventured. "Not even enough to buy breakfast?"
Keelam shrugged, smiling sweetly at the innkeeper when he returned with a bowl of stew and a spoon. Thirty years of serving his customers had taught him many things and when he saw Keelam's expression he knew at once that she could not pay for the food. Usually he threw such scoundrels out on their noses, cursing them as beggars and thieves. But his tough old heart fostered a soft spot for this little barbarian, whose tousled blonde mane and twinkly eyes never failed to charm him. Drunken brawler and brazen dice-cheat though she was, her antics amused him, even on those nights when he hurled her out onto the road. He admired her plucky spirit for, despite her small stature, she always stood her ground and would defend her dubious honour against any burly fellow who challenged her.
"This breakfast," he said, shoving the spoon into her hand. "This breakfast is given without charge. But only this once, Keelam! Next time you pay for your stew like everyone else."
She thanked him profusely and he walked away with a grin, leaving her in the company of her two companions.
"Old Grog is clearly very fond of you," Chekhu commented, clutching her own blonde tresses to keep them out of her bowl. "Why, I cannot say."
"Because I provide entertainment," Keelam replied, munching a spoonful of stew.
Sharmoon leaned across the table, jabbing an accusing finger at Keelam. "Where were you last night, you little minx? You never returned to the camp."
"We covered for you," added Chekhu. "Sharmoon volunteered for your sentry duty while I told the captain you were sick with a fever."
"Thank you, comrades," said Keelam.
"So, where were you?" Sharmoon demanded.
"In the forest," came the reply, somewhat sheepishly. "With Olrin and Tar-Silwa."
Chekhu and Sharmoon exchanged a knowing glance, while Keelam slurped hot broth from her spoon.
"The two elven scouts we met yesterday?" Sharmoon inquired, after a silent pause. "You spent the night in their hideout?"
Keelam nodded, grinning mischievously as she juggled a too-hot chunk of mutton with her tongue.
"You lucky wench!" said Chekhu, pushing her empty bowl aside. "Those pointy-eared beauties had me drooling like a dog!"
Keelam swallowed the half-chewed meat and belched loudly, drawing disapproving glances from the merchants sitting nearby.
"Were they as tasty as they looked?" Sharmoon inquired, her eyes narrowing in anticipation of an interesting tale. She waited patiently for an answer from Keelam, whose mouth was again full of stew.
"Delicious!" said the little blonde.
"The elves?" asked Sharmoon eagerly.
"No, the stew," Keelam replied, spooning a slice of carrot into her mouth as she spoke.
Chekhu laughed. "If you tease us, minx, I'll pour that bowl over your head!"
Keelam waved her hand in a gesture of apology and gulped another spoonful.
"Tell us what happened last night," said Sharmoon. "I want to hear every detail, so don't leave anything out."
"Alright," said Keelam. "Here's my report. But you'll have to allow me a few pauses while I eat my breakfast."
"Go on, then," Chekhu urged. "Begin at the beginning, when we parted on the woodland path in the late afternoon."
Keelam took a breath and stirred the bowl to cool the stew. Her companions sat back in their chairs, making themselves comfortable as they waited for her story to unfold.
"Two hours before sunset," she began. "The elf girls guided our patrol to the glade where five pathways meet, and I remained there as rearguard while the rest of you returned to camp."
"That much we know already," Chekhu interrupted. "Tell us what happened next."
Keelam spat a gobbet of mutton-fat onto the floor and resumed her account. "It grew dark very quickly. There was neither moonlight nor starlight. The deep dark of the forest crept around me as I huddled in my wolfskin cloak. Weariness from the day's long march overwhelmed me and I fell asleep. I hadn't meant to nod off, but when I awoke I found myself sprawled among the leaves like a dead thing. The woods lay in deep shadow and everything around me was as black as ink.
"I heard a soft laugh close by, and a lantern's gleam dazzled my eyes. Two tall, slender figures in hooded cloaks loomed over me. Their faces were invisible but I recognized their voices. It was indeed Olrin and Tar-Silwa, whose woodcraft had guided us so skilfully through the forest. In soft voices they whispered my name as they helped me to my feet. I told them I had to get back to the camp but they said I wouldn't find my way on so dark a night.
"So they took me to their hideout, a small hut made from skins laid over a frame of interlacing branches. The air inside seemed warm, but there was no fire, only a couple of strange smokeless lamps. We took off our cloaks and sat among sheepskin blankets and white cushions. There I ate bread and fruit while the elf girls spoke together in their own language.
"After the meal they gave me a warm drink, a green liquid that looked like lime-juice but tasted like mead. They both supped the same stuff and soon all three of us were talking merrily and laughing. The elves unbraided their woven plaits, letting their shiny flaxen hair tumble around their shoulders. Their beautiful grey eyes gleamed in the lantern-light, returning my gaze whenever I met the glances that they cast at me.
"My blank staring amused them and they told me so, but I couldn't help it. They fascinated me. I felt humbled by their loveliness, by their graceful movements, by their pale flawless skin. They're warriors, like us, but I saw no scars on their hands. Nor was their green raiment stained or travelworn. Their close-fitting trousers and loose shirts weren't patched and tattered like my buckskin dress.
"After a while I began to feel dizzy and my head spun, but the odd feeling soon passed. By then, the elves were whispering together, partly in their own language, partly in the Common Speech. I realised that they were discussing the physical attributes of a male comrade whom they both desired to fuck. Tar-Silwa had seen this fine fellow's cock and described it to Olrin in lavish detail."
"How disappointing!" Chekhu interrupted. "Two pretty elf girls wasting their passion on a cockstem. Just when you thought the gods of good fortune had smiled upon you."
"So it seemed," said Keelam, gobbling another spoonful of stew. "But those gods were indeed with me, as you shall see."
