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 the document. “Fitik, you know, Caleb. Do you think he would forge this?”
The dwarf’s scowl deepened as he glared across the table into Variel’s eyes. His tongue ran across his lips before downing his mug of ale. As his knuckles whitened, he slammed the empty cup on the table. “No, Caleb is an honorable man. He wouldn’t fake this.”
“Then how do you explain your signature?” Variel asked, pointing at the incriminating scrawl.
Fitik leapt to his feet and slammed his fists upon the table.
While everyone sat in silence from the sudden reaction, armed men rushed into the hall, weapons bared.
With a raised hand from Tarian, the sentries halted. Keeping his attention on Fitik, Tarian addressed the guards. “We’re fine. Return to your posts.”
“Are you sure?” Keldon questioned sheathing his sword.
“Kel, leave us!”
When the door closed, Tarian rounded the cracked table and lifted the sheet of paper. “Fitik, can you agree that this raises questions?”
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