Steel was no match for druidic magic.
The slender, white-haired young man, known as Salt, carefully examined the apples for sale, turning them this way and that to check for bruises and other imperfections.
"Ah, young sir," coaxed the old woman, who ran the stall, "you needn't worry--all these apples are beauties, only the best for the marketplace! The bruised ones I keep for family and for the cider press." Indeed, the fruit on display not only was attractively arranged, but large, lusciously red, ripe, and polished to a sheen.
"Give over," complained his older, grey-haired companion, "an apple is an apple. You're so damn picky, Salt. By the saints! I thought we were going to have nuncheon! I'm starving after taking on those damn trolls!"
Salt grunted without taking his eyes off the apples. "I'm very particular about apples, you standardless peasant."
"Aye, particular about that and a thousand other things, you pouncy pureblood," sighed Steel. "I'll meet you at the tavern. My girl is waiting for me."
Salt barked a short laugh. "Your girl and everyone else's. Dream on, Steel!" Tara, the lovely serving maid at the Sign of The Three Doves was the tavern owner's daughter and off-limits to everyone except the poxy high lord himself.
Steel acknowledged his direct hit, with a playful punch to the arm before strolling off. "Meet you there, then."
It was twenty minutes later when Salt, with a burlap sack full of apples, appeared at the tavern door. He hesitated at the threshold, all his senses at full alert. Something was definitely not right.
For one thing, despite the tavern being filled with the usual rowdy crowd, it was dead quiet. The customers had their eyes half-closed as if entranced. Everything was at a standstill.
Salt licked his finger and surreptitiously drew a sign in the air. Invisible to anyone's eyes but his, a trail was drawn to Steel's table, where the old swordsman was nodding over a tankard as if half-sprung, his black eyes dimmed. But the handsome young magician knew that was impossible. It took
hours to get Steel drunk.
Salt's eyes narrowed as he took in his friend's hooded and cloaked dining companion who did not seem the least bit drowsy and was reaching stealthily into Steel's jerkin. Salt moistened his lips and with a flick of his tongue tasted the magic in the air, unsurprised at the results. Old Steel was a madman with a sword, even at his age, but no match for druidic magic, despite his belief in the ever-lasting protection of the saints. And now he sat entranced.
This druid must be the one that had been after them for some time. The sneaky fellow had never made it clear what he wanted, keeping his goal as secret as his identity, but now it was obvious. The unusual blue amulet that Steel wore around his neck (claiming that it came from holy ground and that it was his good luck charm) must be something more than just a lucky piece. It was strange that Salt had never sensed anything from it.
Ah, he could see the druid's lips moving and the amulet starting to glow. It must have needed a key. What a bold culprit! To thieve it in public and in broad daylight!
Sadly withdrawing the largest of the flawless apples from the burlap sack, Salt threw it hard at the druid's head with perfect aim, breaking his magical concentration. Instantly, the tavern came alive with slightly bemused customers, not to mention the tavern staff.
Steel's sharp reflexes kicked in before his mind caught up with the circumstances, grabbing the druid's thieving hand in an iron grip that bode fair to breaking his bones.
The druid might have slipped the net with another spell, but Salt had already crossed the room with lengthy strides and was at the enemy's back now, slamming him with a nullifying spell. Salt tore off the culprit's hood, just as the dawn of understanding smacked into Steel and lit his rugged face with anger.
"And what have we here?" asked Salt silkily and then arched his brows in surprise, as he gazed into the face of a pretty, red-headed woman with eyes the color of violets, who was ruefully rubbing her head with her free hand. Salt had not been afraid before, but something in the back of his mind weakly screamed "Trouble!"
(
Footnote: I imagine someone somewhere has written a book with characters named Salt and Steel, but if so, I don't know about them.)
