as he tried to figure out who’d called him that.
“Duck, idiot!” came the voice again, and Calarian realised belatedly that it was a warning, and ducked just in time to miss the arrow that went whizzing by, dangerously close to his ear.
He glanced up from where he was sprawled across the back of the cow to see Hannah rolling her eyes at him from the back of her horse while leaning over and punching the offending archer, dropping him like a stone. Calarian decided then and there that if anyone was worthy of Gretchen, it was her. She flicked the reins and her horse trotted over, and she asked in an exasperated tone, “Why didn’t you duck the first time?”
“Um.” Calarian felt the heat rising in his face as he said, “I thought you were calling my name?”
Hannah’s brow furrowed for a second, and then she smirked. “That’s your name? Calarian Duck?”
“There’s nothing wrong with it,” he said, lifting his chin. “It sounds a lot better in elvish.”
“Sure,” she said with a snort.
Calarian wanted to be more annoyed at her dismissal of what was a very noble and ancient elvish name, actually, but at that moment a beefy hand clapped on his shoulder, and Lars was there, sweaty and red faced and grinning.
“We saved him! We did it!” He half-tugged, half-wrestled Calarian off the cow’s back and dragged him into a solid hug.
“For now,” Hannah murmured, eyes flicking over to the gallows where Gunther was climbing the steps and waving his parchment. “Gunther doesn’t look like he’s done with his bullshit.”
“But the guys with weapons are out of the picture,” Calarian said. “We outnumber him now! We can grab Benji and get out of here!”
He saw the suddenly dismayed expression on Hannah’s face. His stomach sinking, he turned to see what she was looking at. From one of the side streets that led onto the square, a group of men in uniform approached. They were leading an angry-looking goose on a chain.
“The guards,” Hannah said.
Calarian squared his shoulders and wondered whose side the guards of Tournel were on.
It was a dishevelled group of humans and elves who gathered around the remains of the fountain a little while later. Most of the cows had been rounded up, but one or two were still wandering curiously through the square. It very quickly became apparent that the commander of the guard and his busted nose were no friends of Benji, but he was willing to listen to everyone, which Calarian appreciated.
Helga, the woman who had been pushed down the steps by Gunther, was obviously respected by the commander and his guards, because they looked shocked when she lifted up her skirt and showed them her bloody knees.
“An accident,” Gunther exclaimed. “I feared people were rushing the gallows!”
The commander raised a finger. “Why is there even a gallows though, sir?”
“My point exactly!” Helga exclaimed.
Benji sat on the edge of the smashed fountain with Hannah at his side. He was quiet, which was very unlike him, and it worried Calarian. He sat down on his other side, and Benji leaned into him.
“I’ve had a really shitty day,” he muttered.
“I know.” Calarian rubbed his back surreptitiously. Then he took Benji’s bollock dagger from his belt and passed it over to him. “Would this make it a bit better?”
Benji grinned, and turned the dagger over and over in his palm.
One of the guards gave them a disapproving frown.
“Look, Jakob!” Benji said. “Calarian got my dagger back for me!”
“You really shouldn’t have that,” Jakob said, and shook his head. “I’ll have to take it off you again if you’re still under arrest, you know?”
Benji cradled the dagger to his chest. “As long as I don’t have to share a cell with that goose.”
The goose hissed and flapped its wings.
Calarian watched as Helga gestured wildly to the commander. The commander pinched his nose, and then his sharp gaze sought Calarian out. He crooked his finger.
Calarian stood up and walked over to him. He joined the small group, standing next to Lars. Lars looked pale and uneasy, and completely out of his depth.
“Sir,” said the guard, “Gunther has made a claim that you and the other elf have committed treason against Tournel.”
“Well, we’re not from here,” Calarian said, “so I think it would technically be espionage?”
“Espionage,” the commander said thoughtfully, as though he was tasting the word.
“But also, no,” Calarian said. “We are legitimate envoys sent from the kings. In fact, Duke Klaus sent for us because of the mountain