CHAPTER 60 Release the Elf

CHAPTER 60

Release the Elf

Brownie

“And then the ingrate had the audacity to call me an old biddy with saggy … knees!” Morga thumped her large gray hand onto her thick wooden table. “Which is why I was going to eat him for dinner, of course.”

“Of course,” Brownie and Rufus said in unison. They smiled at each other and sipped their cups of fresh-pressed pear juice. Slake was too busy lapping cream in a bowl laid out for him on the table to respond.

Earl Oakley, an older elf with long, white-streaked hair pulled back in a ponytail and a sharp hawk nose, lay trussed up on the floor. His brown eyes were bulging, his mouth gagged. He didn’t look comfortable, and his clothing was dirty from being dragged.

The three had made it halfway down the trail when the door had opened and an enormous ogre had stepped out to greet them. She was a head taller than Brownie, and quite elderly. Her ashen gray skin was similar to Duke Wyldon’s family of elves, but on the ogre, it was more like rock and stone. She was a power to be reckoned with, and the second she’d seen them approaching, everyone had paused in their tracks.

And then she’d invited them in for drinks.

“I suppose you’re here on a quest to stop me?” Morga eyed us.

Brownie nodded. “We’ve been sent to free the earl. Sorry about that.”

Morga picked up her own juice and downed the contents of the wooden mug in one fell swoop. She placed it onto her table surprisingly gently, careful of the vessel, and crossed her arms. “So, what are you offering to trade for the earl?”

Brownie tapped a finger on her chin in contemplation. Usually, they would have picked up something useful on the way for this part of the exchange .

Rufus coughed before waving his hand on the table. An untouched flying pork sandwich, a bimbleberry scone quartered for easy consumption, a third of the wheel of unigoat brie, and four remaining olives from their late lunch the previous day appeared there. When they’d been in a hurry to clean up, he’d just quickly gotten rid of everything by storing it in his ring.

“How about a replacement feast?” he said. “As I understand it, you don’t like eating elf—”

“They’re too wiry,” the ogre explained. She happily perused the offering in front of her with a sharp gleam in her eyes. “This will do very nicely as a trade.”

“Perfect!” Brownie clapped. It turned out Brownie had picked up the perfect thing for this test: a Rufus.

“Then, if you’re satisfied”—Rufus stood, downing the last sip of his juice—“we really must be going.”

“Hold on just one moment.” Morga also stood up, looming over the beastman. Brownie felt her heart race as she debated summoning her dagger. “Let me grab you another glass.” Morga’s eyes landed on Brownie. “I won’t let you leave until you’ve played a song for me, Minstrel Bronwynn. It has been too long!”

Brownie smiled and swung Danielle into her lap. She crossed her legs comfortably and leaned back in her chair, plucking a series of notes. “How about ‘Three Witches’?”

“Wonderful. That and ‘One More Song to Go’?” the ogre asked.

Suddenly, Rufus said, “Wait! Are you that Morga?”

Everyone turned to face the beastman, and he became outwardly self-conscious. “I mean, I’ve just heard about you before and finally placed it. Don’t mind me. Go on, Minstrel Bronwynn …”

Her fingers plucked a heart-wrenching soft, dark melody, singing an old song that her grandmother had sung to her when she was a little half giantess. It was about three witches that balanced their home … and the one left to shoulder all of their tasks when her sisters perished.

Three witches lived in Holgrovely

Betwixt the town and fore the sea.

One lived on lime,

One lived on thyme

And the last on a hazel tree.

The lime witch roamed the wave struck bath,

The thyme witch seeped in earthen wrath,

The last was she

Who kept the tree

That birthed the forest path .

One washed the town in sea breeze neat,

One bore the town of summer heat,

One looked and bade

To grow the shade

Which stretched between their feet.

When Winter came the sea witch froze,

Thyme burned in summer sun repose,

But the hazel leaves

Which weeps and grieves

Stood still in her shadows.

They hunt for her but never find

The witch that last is left behind

Who never asked

To shoulder tasks

Her sisters used to mind.

There is one witch of Holgrovely

Betwixt the town and fore the sea,

She minds the waves,

The wood and staves,

But ne’er forgets there once were three.

Throughout the entire conversation and performance, Earl Oakley had remained trussed up on the floor. The grimalcat was receiving pets from Morga, and Rufus had finally relaxed. Brownie finished up her second song and then activated [Liar’s Palace] with ease. She wanted to be ready for the hard part that came next.

“Thank you for the juice, Morga,” Brownie said after they were all finished. “Rufus, if you can pick up the earl, we’ll get going.”

“Farewell, everyone, and see you next time, Minstrel Bronwynn.” The ogre followed them to her doorway and waved them off. The hill was a dangerous climb, with soft dirt that could slip out from underfoot, but they made the trek.

They weren’t anywhere near the main road when Brownie sent word ahead to her horse.

The minstrel stopped on the path. “Alright, I think we’re a safe enough distance from Morga to release you now, Earl Oakley. Please forgive our being overly cautious.”

Rufus put the earl down on his feet and ripped apart the ropes tying his ankles and knees together like they were fine thread. He plucked the gag out before moving to release him from his upper bindings .

“OVERLY CAUTIOUS!” the elf immediately screeched. “You dare —”

Rufus shoved the gag back into the elf’s mouth, having stopped just shy of freeing the earl.

“No, no, it’s fine!” Brownie urged her travel companion. “Release the elf.”