Felonious Canine Companions

 

I sat at the bar shooting the breeze with the grizzled old proprietor and watched Whiskey and Bad Karma play.

 

"Those pesky mutts of yours..."

 

"Pffft.  Don't go there, Hal," I interrupted.  "We both know the customers love them.  And you know that I'm good for it if they get boisterous enough to break something.  Besides, they make you money."

 

Hal grinned and gestured at them with his chin.  They were seated near one of the tables.  Their tails swished and long pink tongues slurped their muzzles on occasion.  A child at that table was sneaking pieces of his lunch to them, but the jig was up when he started to giggle any time Whiskey nuzzled his leg to speed up the flow of treats.

 

"That will do, young man.  Leave those animals alone and eat your stew."

 

"But, Mum.  They are so hungry.  Look at them," he said.  "Look, Papa.  They are very sad."

 

Karma and her mate had the act down to a science and both of them put on their pitiful faces.  Their ears drooped and muzzles dipped.  They looked at the boy's mother with quick glances and then looked away.  Even the body language of the hounds changed; shoulders slumped, tails tucked tight to their rumps, the dogs' entire demeanor conveyed their certain and imminent demise - Only you can save us!  Please, please feed us.

 

"Papa?"

 

At a table nearer the center of the comfortable room, Woodja, my forester friend, teased and flirted with Amity, the Tabard's alluring new waitress.  The child's father got her attention and motioned for her to bring a bowl of stew  for the dogs.

 

"See, told you they made you money.  You should be paying me for their help."  I grinned at him and mimicked his peculiar, but common, 'gimme' behavior, cupping one hand then tapping my thumb to the other four fingers.  It resembled the quacking bill of a duck lying on its back. 

 

I finished my ale and slid the empty tankard across the buffed and polished bartop. 

 

"You can start by buying me a beer."

 

Hal snorted his amusement at the notion.  He poured another mug of grog and brought it back to me.  His hand turned palm up and he began to tap his fingers, then stopped.   The habit was such a part of Hal that if he failed to do the 'gimme' folks would ask after his health. I laughed. He joined in, but the cussed old skinflint still made me pay for the beer.

 

Amity returned to Woodsie's table after delivering lunch to the dogs. She is a pleasant sight and I could see why Hal moved her out of the scullery to wait tables.  Woodja was smitten. 

 

Finished with their snack, the canines were back on the prowl.  As Whiskey brushed past her skirt, Amity reached out to scratch his ear and coo 'sweet doggie' endearments.  He stopped and nuzzled her hand, then turned to look at Woods with soulful brown eyes.

 

"Ah, Woodsie, isn't he adorable? Give'im a little piece."

 

 Woodja offered a juicy chunk of mutton to the hound. Bad Karma slinked up beside him and snatched the coin pouch from his belt then bolted for freedom.

 

The canine thief scampered for the scullery door and rear entrance while patrons laughed.  

 

Woodja bellowed, "Hey! Ya friggin' hound, give me back my coin!"

 

He came to his feet with a rapidity that knocked his chair over. That startled Amity and caused some interesting jiggling of her generous anatomy. Woodja pounded across the room toward the scullery, hollering and cursing all the way.

 

Whiskey gulped down his treat, placed his paws on the table and gingerly snatched the bowl of mutton, vegetables and savory gravy from the table.  The hulbor took his prize to the shelter of another table in the corner of the room. He flopped down, chin on his paws and waited for his mate to return.

 

"You teach'em that?  That was impressive, girl.  And funny, too, but I bet Woodja ain't feeling that."  Hal cocked an ear to better hear Woodsie's dire threats as he pursued my purse-snatching pet.

 

Halloran, owner and sometime bartender of the Faded Tabard Inn, smiled. The dogs had a knack for causing folks to do that.  He worked at polishing the smoky dark wood of the bar to a gleam.

 

"Hells, Hal, do you really think I could do that?" 

 

I said that with all the sincerity I could muster.  The act - and my air of affronted innocence - got tarnished a bit when the door opened to admit another patron.  Karma pranced in right behind him, tail held high, looking pleased with herself.  She held the hide coin purse in her mouth.

 

She made a bee-line to my chair and delivered it with a muffled clink at my feet. 

 

Hal crossed his arms over his chest and nodded his head, "Yeah, Arabesque.  I think you maybe could do that very thing." 

 

Around us, those who had been listening to our banter weighed in.

 

"Show me how to train like that, Ari. I'll share the spoils."  "Can you teach a ferret to do that?"  "Do you think Karma could show me how to pick pockets, too?"

 

I chuckled and stretched down to collect the purse, then scratched my girl's shoulder with affection.

 

"Bad Karma!"

 

She grinned her charming doggie smile and, with the nonchalant arrogance of an apex predator, turned to join Whiskey under the far table.  They slurped their ill-gotten gains with relish.

 

The hilarity died down and the customers returned to eating, drinking, chatting, and fantasizing about Amity. 

 

A short while later, the door crashed open and a thoroughly pissed off forester barged in brandishing a huge wood axe.

 

"Woodja, wait!"  But, of course, that didn't work.  Should I tell him I've got his coin?  Nah, the exercise won't kill him and this could be funny.  I hope he doesn't hurt the dogs.  Hells, I hope they don't hurt him.

 

Glaring at me, Wood snarled, "Ari? You're gonna need to tame something else.  Where in all the Hells are those thieving hounds?"

 

He cast his gaze about the room until he spied them munching under the table.

 

"And the Gods-cursed things are eating my LUNCH, too?"

 

 Indignant, Woodsie stalked toward the corner table and raised the axe over his head. Karma poked her head out and gave a warning growl that had no impact on the stout woodsman.  Woodja brought down the axe with a crash that turned the table into little more than firewood and the dogs yelped in surprise, then dashed for the exit. Wood pursued them, thundering threats and waving his axe. We could hear his shouts for some time as he chased my hulbors.

 

Hal's casual swipes of soft cloth over the bartop gave it a gleam brighter than the one in his eyes as he told me, "You know what, Ari? I've got the lowest prices in this village because I save so much on furniture and entertainment."  He laughed with unbridled delight. "Keep it up, Arabesque.  And could you make this next table big enough to seat, oh, six or so?"

 

He then made the 'gimme' motion with his fingers and, with a theater performance-quality sigh, I reached into the coin pouch to pay for the latest damages and wondered how much time I'd need to gather the materials to make a new table for him.

 

"Big enough to seat six."  Sly, demanding, old cuss!

 

With a warning growl that Bad Karma would be jealous of, Hal reached across the bar and plucked Woodja's coin purse from my hand.

 

"Use your own, ya conniving wench! Gods, it ain't like ye won't get some of it back for the mats you'll use to make me that new table." Furry caterpillars danced above his rheumy eyes as he wiggled his brows a time or two.  "That poor old wood chopping friend of yours will need his coin to quench a powerful thirst when he gets back from chasing your mutts.  And I intend to profit from that, Ari."

 

I took a long slug from the tankard, thought about it and figured Hal was right. By now, the hounds were half the distance to Lafcadio Woods and home. Woodsie would be pooped when he returned.

 

I hoped he would not come back with fresh hulbor hides hanging from his belt; or bloody bites, for that matter.  I liked that fellow.  He worked his arse off.  And I adored my canine cohorts.

 

Oh well, worse comes to worst, I would miss those hounds something awful but I could always tame something else, I suppose. I've wondered if you could teach a bobcat anything useful. And bears!  Yeah, bears are pretty smart.  And then there are...

Hulbors...and something...and Bears. Oh, My!

 My forester pal, Woodja, and I lugged our exhausted carcasses into the Faded Tabard Inn. I tossed a tired 'Hello' wave to the customers I knew and made my way to the bar.

 

Woodja caught the eye of Amity, looking pretty fetching in her "Tip me, I'm yours!," attire and signed with a drinking gesture his need for a beer. Amity winked and moved toward the bar to fetch it while he sagged into the nearest available place to park his worn-out self.

 

"Beer!  Mugs and pitchers and buckets of beer.  If I don't get something to drink, I'll turn to dust, Hal."

 

The Tabard's owner and occasional barkeep acknowledged me with a glance over his shoulder and wave of the towel he'd been using to polish the striking ironwood bar top to its signature luster. 

 

 "Milady, an aperitif," he said, then imitated a courtier's bow and put a mug of the house brew on the counter in front of me.

 

  I rolled my eyes to give him my opinion of his snooty performance and didn't waste a second, just grabbed a fistful and chugged.

 

"Ahhh, Gods, Halloran. Don't you love me anymore? This swill is awful."

 

I suppose I could have told a more believeable fib. The Tabard's grog is renowned for its quality. I downed the rest of it and shoved the tankard across the bar top.

 

"Keep'em coming, you lazy bar toad. Me and Woodsie have been working our tails off and we're going to drink enough for you to afford to open another location in Farlan'."

 

He cackled with avarice and poured some more grog. "Where're the mutts?"

 

I poured another measure of the beer down my gullet, wiped foam from my lips with the back of a hand and smiled.  I got up and moved toward the door.

 

"Wait 'til you see this."

 

Woodja heard me and tucked his coin pouch inside his vest.  Those thieving mutts would need to be extra sneaky and creative to get at it, this time.  He tugged a time or two at the leather thong suspending it and nodded once, satisfied that it was secure.

 

I opened the door,  gave two sharp whistles and my hounds, Bad Karma and Whiskey, trotted into the room followed by a clumsy, furry, panting bear cub.

 

Well, they trotted, Nightmare the Bear tripped on the top step and tumbled into the room. His graceless entrance provided the bar's customers a bit of amusement.

 

"Yo, Ari! Looks like the bear's been drinkin more'n you have." 

 

I shot a look of disgust at the embarrassing bear and gave a sheepish grin to the patron that made the comment.

 

The dogs headed for their favorite haunt beneath a table in the far corner, passing Woodja, who crossed his arms over his chest to protect his treasure.  I laughed along with the rest of the drinkers and diners that noticed and made my way back to the bar, followed by a lumbering bear cub.

 

"Hal, Nightmare, Nightmare, this is Hal, the greediest barkeep you'll ever meet."

 

The bruin stood on his hind feet and looked at Halloran, then grabbed my mug in his paws and slurped his tongue into it. I rolled my eyes and signalled Hal to bring me some more.

 

Handing over another mug of the Tabard's finest and making the 'gimme', Hal took my coin and commented, "Bears get big, ya know."

 

I shot an acerbic glance at the beast tipping the tankard up to lick out the final few drops of beer and answered, "Only if they live long enough, partner."

 

Things settled down. Nightmare wandered off to beg from tables here and there, the dogs snoozed, Woodja flirted with Amity, I drank. Typical Tabard Inn end-of-workday.

 

As the evening wore on, customers came and left.  Amity, with her 'come hither' smile and pleasant wiggle worked the room, food was served and mugs emptied.  When the door opened next, I glanced over and saw my best friend walk in.  I hadn't seen her since Lost Party Mountain was just a mole hill.

 

"Soli? Soliloquy!" I bounded toward the door and engulfed the red-haired, buckskin clad woman in a crushing hug.

 

"What are you doing in Hawkville? I thought you were...," which was all I got out before two more hulbors sprinted past us and squared off with Nightmare in the middle of the room.

 

The hounds spread out, lowered their sleek bodies closer to the floor, the hair at their shoulders bristled into stiffened tufts and tails stuck straight out behind them as they gave voice to low-pitched growls.

 

Nightmare, by now more than a little loaded from amused diners feeding him beers, bawled a confused, very unbearlike bleat and ran for the corner table where Whiskey and Karma had taken up residence.

 

Before the hulbors could take up the chase, Soliloquy snarled, "Alloy! Spring!" The dogs heeled at once and sat at her side.

 

"Impressive.  How's a metal-working wench learn to handle canines like that?"

 

Soli laughed, "Ah, you know, the wilds are wild and a couple of sharp-toothed friends make a girl feel safe. Miners and the other rough-and-tumble foundry and forging types may not respect me, but the hulbors?" She winked. "That bear yours?"

 

I whistled for Karma and her mate and Nightmare followed, with obvious hesitance, behind them. I glanced over my shoulder at Halloran. He had his 'why me?' look on. I touched my coin purse and his demeanor changed to something much brighter.

 

With an air of patience, Karma sort of strolled toward the two strange hulbors that had come into her territory. Soli touched my elbow to get my attention and motioned me back a few steps. Whiskey and Nightmare trailed Karma.

 

Alloy and Spring glanced at Soliloquy, then stood and faced Bad Karma.

 

Now this ought to put a shine on the evening.  Nothing like a room full of almost-wild animals getting acquainted to stir things up.

 

Karma circled the two strangers, who, in turn, pivoted to watch her. Amity had come up behind Soli and me bearing two tankards with a smile. We took them and resumed watching while we sipped the cool ale. Every eye in the room was riveted to the dominance display taking shape before us. 

 

The four outsized hounds presented aggressive postures.  Hair at their shoulders and along their backbones stood in rigid fans, lips curled back to expose dagger-sharp teeth. They lowered their bellies closer to the floor and bunched powerfully muscled legs beneath them.  Their tails wagged in tight, controlled swings as they anticipated action. Karma emitted a growl of her own - which was all Nightmare, in his drunken, 10 feet tall and arrow-proof state needed. He launched.

 

With the most ferocious growl a not-yet-juvenile, and quite inebriated, bear could muster, Nightmare charged the dogs. Caught between Bad Karma and a charging, drunken bear, Alloy and Spring bolted, triggering the pursuit instinct of the other three predators. In short order, chaos reigned.

 

To the delight of all the patrons close enough to witness it, Amity was the first casualty.  She had been taking a tray of mugs to one of the tables when a sudden tsunami of fur-bearing critters swamped her. The tray of tankards went one way, the attractive waitress went the other; both decorated the polished oak floor in disarray.  Amity's was, by far, the more interesting.

 

Whiskey and Bad Karma chased the other dogs followed by Nightmare the staggering Bear. The baby bruin bashed and bumped customers and tables, tripped over his own paws and floundered. He drifted sideways more often than straight ahead. Tabard diners laughed and tried to herd him toward the fray.

 

Soli and I waded into this mess calling our companions to heel. After some growls and snarls of our own, we got control of our animals.

 

Throughout the whole event, Halloran had looked on with a calmness and serenity that unnerved me, forearms resting on the lustrous bartop. He had a pleasant, cat-eating-the-canary look on his face.

 

Damn.  At least this time I had someone to split the damages with.

Requiem

 

 

 

I sat alone on the stairs at the scullery's rear entrance. Too alone. The Faded Tabard had yet to open and I had still not stopped weeping.

 

Bell-like laughter tinkled from the pathway leading to the Tabard's back door as Amity, former scullery trull, current waitress and resident fantasy arrived.  The laughter stemmed from the flirtatious efforts of another smitten male to get her attention. She drew up with a start when she saw me there on the steps.

 

"Ari? You scared me, girl. Gods and Trogs, are you crying?" She rushed over and held out a dainty hand. "C'mon, Baby."  Opening the door, she led me inside.

 

Amity drew a tankard of ale and handed it to me, then made herself scarce and readied the Faded Tabard Inn for the day's business.  She stoked the cook-fire, wiped the evening's dust from the bartop, restoring its jewel-like glitter,  placed spitoons in strategic spots, occasionally sent a worried glance my way.  She did not intrude.

 

 My mind wandered stray paths as I daydreamed scenes which stung my eyes with the fire nettle bite of unshed tears.  I stood, mug in hand, in the midst of a lifeless pall which hung over the all but deserted room. The Tabard felt, was, different without the mutts darting between tables snatching scraps or casting "Please feed me, she doesn't" woeful looks at patrons. I could imagine with pristine clarity the laughter of the customers when they saw Woodsie reach to protect his coin pouch whenever the larcenous hulbors came near him. There was no 'scritch, scritch, scritch' of dog claws as they scrabbled for purchase on the polished oak-planked floor and chased one another.

 

I didn't take my usual spot at the bar. Instead, after taking a long pull of the bitter ale, I moved to the table set into the far corner of the room that used to be the favored territory of Bad Karma and Whiskey. Amity was good. There wasn't a single stray hair from one of the mutts under that table. It was as if they'd never ever been there. I sat and quietly sobbed. 

 

 Gloomy,  invested in a misery felt only by those who have lost, I flinched when Halloran plunked down a fresh mug with a crisp thunk.

 

"Drink this and stop staining my furniture with your crying and snot-slinging, wench."  With a sly wink, he added, "Not that havin' ya make me some new stuff wouldn't make my coin-pinching carcass smile a bit." His greedy leer was comical.

 

I smiled back, in spite of myself, stuck my tongue out at him and drained the grog in one long swallow, returned the tankard to the table with a thunk of my own.

 

"Hal, I sold the dogs."

 

He nodded sagely, as if every day someone told him they'd cut off one of their arms and it didn't faze him in the least.

 

"Because it was good for you? Or the best thing for them?"

 

I blinked a time or two. Leave it to Hal, crusty old curmudgeon of a tavern owner, to cut to the chase with the fewest words possible.

 

"Ah, Gods, Hal. They got mauled in Lanfar. I took'em across the river, just to see something new, you know?"

 

A single tear beaded at the corner of one eye.

 

"We were ambushed; Ogron refugees," I told him.  I drew circles in the moisture puddled on the table near my mug. "I went down first blow. As I faded out I could hear Karma and Whiskey, snarlin' and growling like demons from some nightmare.  The mutts saved my life, Hal. When I woke up, they were just laying there. I could only tell they were alive by their ragged gasps. I couldn't even carry'em.  I just dragged them both 'til we got back home to Beaver's Bight."

 

Looking away, I hitched a heartbroken sob, then wiped at my tear-tracked cheeks and went on.

 

"I had potions and love and patience and...and it didn't do any good, Hal. Their injuries were just too severe.  It was dangerous for them to leave the Bight; besides, they sure couldn't hunt and I couldn't always be with them.

 

"My friend Soliloquy told me that Strong Gryphon Farm took in companion animals, in any condition. Fed them, cared for'em, and taught the animals to watch over their farms and flocks." With an anguished gaze, I faced Halloran and concluded my story,  "So I took my Bad Karma and Whiskey there and left them, Hal."

 

Amity had brought her boss and me another round in time to hear my tale. The waitress's doe eyes glistened with sympathetic tears of her own but there was a small smile of triumph on her face at the same time.

 

"Uhmmm, Ari? Don't go away, ok?  I'm coming right back, just stay here, alright?"

 

Before I could answer, she scurried out the door. Her clogs clicked a rapid tatoo on the oaken planks and the exaggerated swish of her skirt left a titillating glimpse of something that made Halloran smile with lecherous glee.

 

I looked at the Tabard's owner and he shrugged. "Don't know, girl. Drink your beer."

 

When the door opened again, a parade of creatures entered. It looked as if a circus had come to town. First through the door was my forester pal, Woodja, leading Nightmare the Bear. They'd been prowling the Yew forests out East and had only recently returned.

 

"Ho, Ari," he called out. "Wait'll you see the haul old 'Mare the Bear drug back here for us!"

 

They cleared the door and Nightmare shuffled over to where I sat in the corner and tried his bruin best to give me a few sloppy licks.

 

I fended the amorous beast off with a sharp, "Scat, you furry, stinky thing!  Go on, scoot."  I smiled as I wiped bear slurps from my cheek.

 

He followed his nose and wandered away to hunt scraps and tidbits over near the scullery.

 

 Woodsie grabbed a table and occasionally glanced at the door; anticipating Amity's return, I imagined. Now and then, he looked over at where Hal and I sat, smiling an I've-got-a-secret grin.

 

Next, Soli walked in with a fur stole around her neck and a radiant smile. The stole then opened vivid, intelligent-looking eyes that were colored a green found only in the Northern auroras. It yawned a mouthful of pointy teeth my way. The tip of its tail twitched and ears swiveled as it examined the room and occupants.

 

"I met a bard over in the Silver Mountains named Nugent, Ari. He had this cat and I had some silver nuggets burning a hole in my purse. He calls it 'Fever' because he was writing a song about cat scratches.  Isn't that just the weirdest thing?  Anyhow, you got any room in your heart for a kitty?"

 

She dumped the lynx onto the table where it arched its back in a luxurious stretch and looked from Hal to me with haughty calm. It then sat, licked the pads of its paw, and wiped tufted ears with delicate care.

 

I couldn't speak and didn't have time to do so, anyway, because the next thing through the door was a huge pair of gleaming white tusks over which beady, evil-looking red eyes blazed and all perched on the brawny neck of a monstrous boar.

 

And Amity was riding it.

 

I almost fell from the bench as I laughed. The fellow she'd been flirting with when she'd arrived had been trying to coerce her into taking a ride on the beast.  He now had an arm around her waist and oozed 'gallant protector' from every pore. His hand strayed perilously close to the Promised Land, as he ushered hog and rider into the room.

 

"He's mine, Arabesque," Amity squealed.  "The pig, I mean."

 

She stared at her admiring suitor, swatted his wayward hand with a smart rap, and continued, "The pig with four legs, that is."

 

Her wannabe paramour had the good grace to appear contrite.

 

"Want him?"

 

Both Woodsie and Halloran blinked in surprise.

 

"I mean the boar, you two.  Sheesh."

 

We all laughed with tension relieving guffaws. Hal got up and fetched drinks and snacks, the animals did stuff things with four legs do and the mood in the room, and in me, was changed for the better.

 

New tears, with a sweet and different flavor, coursed down my cheeks. I took a deep swallow of cool ale and tipped a mug to absent friends.

Another Place at the Table

 

 

Woodsie, Soli, and I were having a 'wetting down' party at the Faded Tabard Inn for the newest crew member.  We called him 'Chops' because none of us could get our mouths around Nguyen Tran Boi, which is the name he was born with. He didn't seem to mind; pleasant fella, worked hard, had an odd sense of humor.

 

Case in point: "Dai Uy! Look-see!"

 

Chops said that a lot and it always caused me to cringe before turning to 'look-see.'

 

Just now, the slightly-built young woodsman had Nightmare the Bear's muzzle in his hands and a scant whisker's distance from his face. A small piece of Lanfarian trout protruded from Chop's mouth.

 

'Mare's focus was on appetizers and I was not at all sure that Tranny's face wasn't on the menu.

 

Turned out I need not have worried, though. Cats like fish, too.

 

My friend Soli's lynx had been watching, tip of her tail twitching to and fro, waiting for an opportunity. Fever sprang onto the table-top and, with a quick swipe, batted the morsel from between his lips. 'Mare backed in surprise and the feline felon followed her prize to the floor with a graceful leap.

 

I tipped my mug of ale in a gesture of thanks to those Gods that watched over drunks and fools and then took a long pull from it.

 

I pointed a thumb at my chest and corrected my newest charge.

 

"Yo, Chops?  No Dai Uy." Pointing to a group of militia types in another part of the room, I said, "Captain is in Army. You call me 'Boss'."

 

Chops laughed and lifted his arms with clawed hands splayed and a ferocious, but comical, look on his face.

 

"You Boss! Like spider in dungeon!"

 

He then waved a butter knife with bravado and menace, clasped his chest and sagged against the back of his seat. Nightmare swiped the rest of the fish on his plate before he recovered.

 

I chuckled and turned back to the bar only to find Amity, by coincidence attired in a silk camisole designed to resemble a spider's web, posing her own fierce arachnid imitation over my next tankard of grog. Halloran's view of this display no doubt pleased him as I spied his casual, but circumspect, adjustment of the fit of his faulds.  I laughed but my good humor evaporated when I heard,

 

"T'would've been better had the bear chewed the shyte's face."

 

This surly comment caused me to pause before I took my next swallow of beer. Hal cast a sharp glance at the table of military men from which the comment had sprung, then turned to me.

 

I finished taking the drink, and with exaggerated care, placed the mug onto the gleaming bartop. Amity's artfully sculpted brows were raised in surprise, or maybe it was alarm.

 

Much of the room, those closest to hearing the nasty statement, grew silent. Woodja and Soli were looking at me as I pivoted on my barstool; in neither's face did I see any hint of hesitancy. 'Tis a wonderful thing to have friends at your back.

 

...and it affected Chops not a whit.

 

Oh, he was aware. The tension and actions of those surrounding him did not go unnoticed. It simply did not have an impact on him.  He fussed with Nightmare a bit longer then drained his beer.

 

Rising from his seat, he nudged 'Mare with his hip and slipped past the bear searching for scraps around the table. He came to the bar, mug in hand.

 

Holding out the cup for Amity,  he asked, "'Nother? Is right? Please, more?" Amity favored Chops with a blinding smile and an extra-saucy pivot that showed why the Tabard's clientele was growing as she moved to refill his mug.

 

"Dai..." Chops smiled a chagrined 'ooops' and made the correction. "Boss."

 

I winked and motioned, tankard in hand, for him to continue.

 

"War is long and long ago, Boss. Not none of my brother, no sister..." He seemed lost for a moment.

 

I provided a gentle prod, "You mean family?"

 

"Yes. That is word. Not none of family in war. In ville only. Grow rice, grow pig, not fight." He took the tankard from Amity and blushed as the beauty caught his eye and smiled at him.

 

"Not fight, still lose." His sloe eyes were downcast for just the briefest moment, then snapped onto my own with a fierce glare.

 

"Soldier come. Soldier my country, soldier no my country, no different. Soldier take only." He glanced at the table of military men then turned back to me.

 

His stature seemed to grow. He stood tall, proud tilt of chin, direct gaze of piercing black eyes and soberly announced, "I no ville...

 

"I no live ville, no more," he said.  His chest swelled a bit and his hands made fists.  He appeared determined and confident.

 

Chops turned to face the table where soldiers sat.  He stated, with calm assurance, "And soldier no take from me, no more."

 

One of the militiamen hawked a gob and spit it into the nearest spitoon.  He pushed away from the table and rose, hitched his belt and made a show of adjusting his weapon's sheath to a more comfortable position against his side.  He gripped the pommel of his short sword and tugged it out a bit then reseated it a few times.

 

Chops watched, his attitude serene.  His friends - no, that is not quite right - his family, Woodja, Soliloquy and I,  stood with him.  Four of us, a young bear and a semi-wild cat, faced the table of soldiers. 

 

Before the militiaman made another move, more of the Tabard's customers began to rise from their tables and benches, too.

 

Behind his gleaming ironwood-topped bar, Halloran thumped a stout cudgel against one palm with a hypnotic rhythm.

 

  No.  Soldiers would take no more from Chops.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Impressum

Texte: Jeffrey B. Jones
Bildmaterialien: Photo Credit, David Niblack, Imagebase.net.
Lektorat: J.B. Jones
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 07.10.2014

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Widmung:
Not a dedication, but rather a plea... In my mind's eye, I can see instances that a clever and creative graphic wizard could bring to life on these pages. I offer an invitation--and a challenge, perhaps--to all of the talented artists and illustrators who might come across this piece. Put your imaginations and skills to the test. Create the visual companion to the words found herein, whether that be cover art or depictions of the scenes that caught your fancy.