With a note that contains the signature of the dwarves, on the one hand, the time has come for the leaders of the alliance to discuss everything. Fitik is furious that he’s being accused of treachery. And he brings up the behavior of the elves, in particular how quickly they produced the cure for the toxin that ravaged Tarian’s people and hurt the dwarves. Will these leaders be able to strengthen the alliance? Or will the coalition fall apart under its own weight?
Tarian drew his finger along the table and tapped against the document. “Fitik, you know Caleb. Do you suppose he forged this to implicate you or your kin?”
The dwarf’s scowl deepened as he glared at Variel. He ran his tongue across his lips before downing his mug. Fitik’s fingers clenched the tankard until it cracked in his grip. He looked between them. “No. Caleb is no liar, and neither am I. That mark disgraces us both.”
Variel pointed at the incriminating paper. “Then explain your signature!”
Fitik leapt to his feet and banged his fists on the table, cracking the wooden slab. Armed men rushed into the small hall, weapons bared. Tarian raised his hand, stopping them in their tracks. He kept his attention on Fitik as he addressed them. “We’re fine. Return to your posts.”
“Are you sure?” Keldon asked as he lowered his rifle.
“Leave us, Kel!” When the door closed, Tarian lifted the sheet of paper and rounded the cracked table. “Fitik, can you agree this raises questions?”
“It’s as suspicious as Variel possessing the antidote to that creature!”
“We created the remedy after finding the beast.” Variel’s hand drifted to Tarian. “The tonic saved Keldon’s life, not to mention yours, Fitik. Though that coincidence isn’t as curious as the missive holding your signature!”
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