Onelle clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she cleaned a table with a once white rag. "One would think people would know how to clean up after themselves this late in life." Finished, she tucked the rag into her belt so it would be readily at hand the next time she needed it.

     "Onelle, lass, can you give me a word that rhymes with 'faerie'?" 

     Onelle sighed as she threw a glance to Serlay who, like almost every day, sat under the stained glass window. In the latter part of the day the sun would streak through, washing him in shades of green, blue, and pink. The minstrel came to Lion's Eyes for tales and inspiration for his lyrics. He cared for little else but his poetry. His auburn hair was never brushed, it just hung in unruly curls about his ears and eyes. He kept his clothes clean- but never bothered to tuck his shirt in. One boot's edge was doubled over, the other extended to full length near his knee. A corner of his red shirt hung out of his dark pants. Every so often, he would wipe his hand upon it, to clean away the spare ink.

     "How about 'marry'?" she replied as she headed to the bar. Serlay may have been a minstrel but he could never write a complete poem without asking for a word that rhymed with another. 

     "Thanks lass." He bent his head again and was transformed back into the wall as he neither spoke nor moved except for the incessant scribbling of his quill across the parchment.

     Having no more orders, Onelle grabbed a hold of the marble slab that made the bar and heaved herself up so she could sit on it. Her small legs dangled off the floor and she began to swing them under the folds of her skirts. She observed the quiet tavern. Except for Serlay, there were but two others in her husband's tavern. She didn't know either of them. All she knew was that they were both human and both drank ale.

     "Terance, my love," she called out. She heard his heavy bootsteps behind her. She looked to her right to see him lean his meaty elbows on the table. "Find out about those men," she sweetly asked. She heard him sigh and looked to see him roll his blue eyes.

     "Ah lass, I did that for you yesterday," he cheerfully protested. He knew the routine; they did it every time strangers came in.

     She reached over and placed her small hands in his. "I want to know who they are," she pleaded.

     "Lass, you can't know everyone. No one knows exactly who or what lives in the Land." He tried to hide his smile from her as her little right hand palm rested directly over his. The magick tattooed symbol on her hand and the matching one on his directly lined up. A warmth crept from his hand and spread throughout his body. The special ink for the tattoo was from the blood of the elusive unicorn. The heart shaped symbols had been a gift from one of the last sorcerers in the Land. The creature had bestowed his blood as wedding present to the couple. It was one of the last acts the unicorn ever did as he met his end with a sharp cross bolt to his heart.

     "Please do it for me my love," she playfully pleaded. Terance sighed and gave her hand one more squeeze.

     "All right, all right," he began as he let go of her and started towards the back table. "But I won't do this for you tomorrow."

     Onelle laughed, her laughter sounding like tiny drops of music. "That's what you said yesterday, and every day before that."

     Terance tucked in a corner of his shirt as he stopped in front of the table. The two silenced their conversation and looked up at him. The tavern owner pulled over a chair and sat down, keeping his smile wide. He looked up to the two men; as humans both were taller than him by a good foot.

     "Never marry faerie women," he began with a wide grin. "It's amazing how fast you lose your hearts to them." He put out his hand to the man on his right. "The name's Terance. I'm the owner of the Lion's Eyes. Where be you two from?" The man on his right, a blond haired man, shook his hand as the other, a red head, took a swig of his ale.

     "From the Western Isles. I'm Aliz and this is my brother Machieu." The man, Aliz, had a firm handshake. Terance only nodded in welcome to the other brother as he realsed his hand. Aliz went back to his ale as the tavern owner swung back in his chair. He peeked under the table to see the hilts to two gleaming sabres. Terance lost his smile for a moment as he straightened.

     "Lads," he got both of their attention's, "there will be no blades in my tavern." One glanced to the other. Aliz took charge again.

     "Sir, Terance, please. We're both tired- it's been a long walk. We just wish a place to sit and drink to forget. Is there some way we can stay with our blades?" he asked. 

     Terance gave a little chuckle. "Funny you should mention that. Give me your tale and you can stay, along with your word that you won't cause any trouble." Both nodded then Aliz started.

     My younger brother Machieu had just recently learned the sword when he returned to our home isle named Ger’ulu. It was the wrong time for knowledge about the blade. He had returned for but an hour when our neighbor cried, 'War! Battle has begun between us and the elves!' The Crecs- an usual calm elven clan- have always wanted to take over every isle in the Western Isle chain. They had won three others already. Loving our farm and our home, Machieu and I decided to fight.

     We traveled with other brave lads, most from our small village. We arrived at the town of Dapili. Yes, I see the acknowledgement in your eyes. Even from here, this far away from the Western Isles, you've heard of Dapili. It was the scene of one of the most terrible battles ever recorded.

     My brother and I fought bravely, side by side through everything. But alas, we were not prepared. The elves are masters at the bow; we are but farmers, decent at yielding a sword, more so than our neighbors who had joined us. My sabre whipped through my enemies like a cobra striking its prey. Yet, I did not pay attention to the archers. An arrow caught my heel. I dropped my blade as I grimaced in pain. Luckily, Machieu covered my back. Unfortunately, three elves decided at that moment to attack. My brother valiantly defended us, until one caught him from behind and held him as another cut out his tongue. That is why I tell this tale and my brother stays a mute. We've never figured out why the Crecs did that to him. I'm guessing they thought it was a cruel way to die, not being able to call out for help as he bled. But Machieu didn't die, neither did I. We played dead, lying still as death on the ground as the battle waged over us. Before lying down, I gave my brother a potion that I had received from a healer. Supposedly it was to heal all wounds. My brother drank it and therefore kept his life as we laid there side by side, the sounds of war ringing in our ears. As soon as the fighting around us let up, we both ran to a nearby tree and hid among its protective canopy of leaves, shielding us from all eyes. We hid until daybreak, when the fighting would stop. I heard sounds that night that would chill your bones. I did not want to guess what they came from. We got little sleep that night.

     At day break, we carefully climbed down to see the results of the last day and night's fighting. I couldn't believe the sight that was before me. It was now a red battle field, the green of the grass had been stained a bloody red. Bodies littered the field; some so mutilated I couldn't tell if they were human or elven. Arrows jutted out like the tall grass of the plains. Heads were unattached. Blue, green, black, brown eyes were wide open and would stay that way for eternity. I longed to reach down and close each eyelid, with a tear for every farm hand like me who had only wanted to protect his home. I had to ignore the feeling of bones and skin under my boots; there was no clear path through the carnage. My guilt was overwhelming; I almost wished to be one of those dead. My tears flowed freely that day; I believe all of my tears have left me now.

     We found our blades, stole some food and headed out to the nearest town. There, both my brother and I were healed. The healers could repair my walk; they couldn't replace Machieu's voice. 

     We've looked throughout the Land for fighters to protect our home. So far, we have found none. That sir, is how we've stumbled into your tavern.

     Terance closed his eyes and could see every detail of that horrible battle. His body chilled as he knew he had to help these two. He opened his eyes and looked into the brown ones of Machieu.

     "By the base of the mountains, near the edge of the Great Desert, lives a gated city. Inside that city is three thousand men, the best trained fighters in the Land. They are called the Guardians of the Realm. Go to their leader, a captain named Rudib and tell him Terance sent you. Then tell him your story. He will gladly help you."

     The man's eyes watered as Aliz profusely thanked him. "Sir, thank you. You have perhaps saved many lives." Terance only nodded his head as he stood.

     "If I had a coin someone told me that, I would be very rich," he softly whispered to himself.

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