"I'm Bolin," he says. "Come see me at the smelter if you want some armor." He turns to me. "You might want to come see me this week also, Arq. Looks like we need to do a little repair work."

"I'm Triel," says the young elf.

"You know," I say thoughtfully to Bolin. "That egg stalker knocked out a chunk of the stonework in the sewer. It probably ought to be patched up before the whole place becomes one big breeding ground for those clacking monstrosities. You wanna come take a look at it with me?"

He shakes his head.

"Sorry. I'm not a stonemason."

"But - you're a dwarf."

The beard gets annoyed.

"Listen," he says, voice rising. "Just because I am a dwarf doesn't mean I can dig a tunnel or fix a stone wall. Don't stereotype me!" His ruddy face turns even ruddier. "Oh look, you're an elf. Sing me a song, elf."

Triel guffaws. "Elves don't sing."

Bolin looks confused.

"We don't sing here in Elftown," I tell him. "Not really much to sing about, is there?" I take another deep drink of ale and change the subject. "So, do you think you can salvage this cuirass?"

* * *

When Bolin leaves, I follow him out. I let him get a couple blocks away before I hail him. He turns warily, then relaxes when he sees it is me.

"I've got a question," I say. "You didn't grow up here in Elftown, right?"

"That's right."

"You're from-" I search my memory for a name. "Rigurd?"

"No. Volska. Further north."

Even better. I glance around. No one is nearby. The evening mists are starting to form. I grab the dwarf's arm. I may never get another chance to ask.

"How bad did we lose the war?" I whisper. Bolin stares blankly.

"What war?" By the goddess, he is dense.

"The one in which my ancestors - and everyone else's in Elftown - were captured," I hiss. "The reason we are all stuck here. That war."

"Oh," he rumbles. "That war. The elves didn't lose that war. You won it. It ended by treaty and both sides claimed victory. But those of us with no stake in it give the victory to the elves. Your Council got significant territorial concessions."

"But-" I try to wrap my thoughts around this information. "But - if my people won the war - why are we still here?"

Bolin's eyes drop.

"I don't know."

"Don't they know about us?"

"I don't know," he mumbles, evasively. I grip his arm tighter.

"You're lying!"

"Hey, beard!" The voice comes from behind me. A human voice. The watch. "Is this knife-ears bothering you? What do we got here, boys? A robbery?"

Great. I let go of Bolin's arm and half-turn toward the patrol. There are six of them. Well-armored, with broad sharp swords and ugly spiked maces. No way I can win this fight. Well, I can kill a few before they overwhelm me.

"No, no, no," the dwarf says. "Thank you for your assistance, but it's not like that at all. This poor chap was just begging for bread money to feed his family." He turns to me, fishes a silver coin from his pocket and tosses it to me. I catch it.

"Thank you, sir dwarf, sir," I say obsequiously to the dwarf and then mumble toward the humans. "I meant no harm, good sirs, I'll be off then." I slip past Bolin and move down the street.

"Get yourself home then, you worthless beggar," the watch chief shouts after me. "I catch you on the street after curfew and I'll cut those ears off your head!"

If I ever catch you alone after curfew, you big stupid clumsy human, you won't live long enough to draw your sword. Of course, the humans are smart enough to stick together in Elftown. You never catch a member of the guard alone. Maybe someday, though, one will be careless, and I will get lucky.

I take a circuitous path through Elftown's narrow alleys for a few blocks, to make sure the patrol does not follow me, and then stop to take a deep breath. That could have ended very badly. I owe the dwarf for that. As for what he told me, I don't want to think about it right now. I will lock it away in my mind for later. I don't suppose it really changes anything, anyway. At least that's what I tell myself, but deep inside the acidic bitterness corrodes.

The confrontation with the watch patrol convinces me to take Jet's admonition to lay low a little more seriously. Time to disappear. I slip from the shadows and begin to move toward home. I don't make it more than a few steps before the dark clouds above burst and the rain that I hate pours down in its violent nightly deluge. I swear in frustration and pull my hood up over my head.