Elf Defence (Adventures in Aguillon #2) - Lisa Henry Page 0,51

her basket, but before she left she reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a handful of gingerbread men and handed them over. “Wouldn’t want you to starve,” she said.

Benji had never been less in danger of starving in his life, but he appreciated the gesture for what it was, and took them with a murmured, “Thanks.”

It was only after she’d left that he noticed the gingerbread men were all wearing tiny icing shackles. It would have been funny, except it really wasn’t.

Chapter Thirteen

Calarian’s sides ached and his breath was pulled from him in sharp gasps, but he kept running, Lars close on his heels. He didn’t stop until he judged they were high over Tournel and had a clear view of the path leading from the village. Only then, when he was confident they weren’t being followed, did he slow to a steady trot.

“Where are we going?” Lars asked, his breathing heavy as they pressed on, climbing the steep mountain.

“We passed that little hut when we were on our way to save Maisy,” Calarian panted. The thin mountain air really wasn’t optimal for a lowland elf, but right now that was the least of his problems.

Lars nodded. “Oh, the deserted cowherd's hut? That’s a good idea.” He slowed to a stop and Calarian was just about to tell him they needed to keep moving when Lars’s bottom lip quivered alarmingly. “Gunther has Benji. What are we going to do?” His giant shoulders slumped, and in that moment he looked as helpless as Calarian felt.

And Calarian really did feel helpless. He’d gone on quests, and had even taken part in what people now called the Glorious Return of Aguillon’s King, but there had always been someone in charge, someone to steer their path, while Calarian got to look intimidating with his bow. But now? He had no bow, no plan, no leader, and no clue what they were going to do next.

But one look at Lars told him that was the last thing he should say. So he stood tall, placed his hands on his hips in a way that implied he had some idea what he was doing, and said with a confidence he didn’t feel, “When we get to the hut, we’ll make a plan. I’m great at plans.”

Lars arched an eyebrow at him, and his lips thinned in annoyance. “You mean like your plan to tell the first idiot you saw that he was the new duke? Because that’s worked out so well.” He folded his arms across his chest, shoulders stiff with barely concealed anger. “I still can’t believe you both lied to me.”

And ouch, that was something they were going to have to talk about, wasn’t it? But not here, and not now.

Calarian sighed. “We can talk about it when we’re safe.” He set out along the path, looking for the downward incline that would lead them to the hut. He sighed wistfully when he thought of the last time they’d trekked up into the mountains, when they’d shared their picnic, and Lars had agreed to share much more, and Calarian had thought all his fantasies were about to come true.

He’d thought it would be casual, was the thing. A fun little threesome, something to pass the time while he and Benji figured out what was going on between them. He hadn’t expected to be blindsided by messy human emotions, and he certainly hadn't expected Lars and his tender kisses to unlock the groundswell of affection for both Lars and Benji that it had. And now Benji was in prison and Lars was mad at him, and Calarian couldn’t even blame him.

He kept walking, head down, and soon enough they came to the turnoff to the hut. He cast a wistful glance over the horizon, hoping against hope that Dave was somewhere nearby and could be persuaded to abandon his new-found musical pursuits and help them, but the nun and her entourage were nowhere to be seen or heard. He sighed again as Lars trudged past, and Calarian never knew the sight of somebody trudging could make his heart sink so far it scraped his boots.

They reached the entrance to the hut and found a mountain troll sitting there.

“That’s why the hut’s empty,” Lars said quietly, breaking his silence. “The trolls moved in next door and the smell…”

Calarian could only imagine. The troll didn’t seem inclined to move away from the door, so Calarian cleared his throat. “Unkhhhh queeee graaach?” he rasped