CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  A SOBERING SURPRISE

  After a tiring day on the move with barely a rest, the Traveling Treasure Inn looked far better for its paltry price to Garrick. Even so, now as the stars started to shine in the skies above Tanisgroth, the mercenary still knew the day had not yet ended for him. Leaving the others behind, he and Cerelene went deeper into town.

  A much needed rest indoors was due, but even more pressing, however, was that their supply of regular arrows were running out. Not only that, though, Garrick also wanted to find out if what Captain Shaddox said was true. That King Ironhearth and the dwarfs were, in fact, starting to lose ground and fast.

  As Cerelene went off to buy arrows, Garrick walked towards the Hunter's Boot Tavern. He knew the easiest way to get the information he was seeking would be to go there. Unlike the royal elf maiden, Garrick was used to this kind of lot.

  The mercenary chuckled to himself as he also imagined Elias, a Knight of Providence, or Maldrin, an aging wizard, and even more far fetched, Anya, a cleric of Elion stepping into the seedy tavern. Now Deelah? Yeah, she would be at home there for sure, but Garrick knew that the thief might only make things worse if she came along.

  After pushing open the door to the tavern, the smell of ale and other fermented drink hit him like a slap to the face. The inside of the Hunter's Boot was old and falling apart, but as he scanned the room he could tell by how full with patrons it was that none of that mattered. Then Garrick watched as an overweight, older man behind the bar looked up at him and smiled, wiping his bald head with a rag, having just left a spit of wild boar.

  “Take a seat anywhere, stranger,” said the barkeep. “I am Fizkins, and this is my tavern. The boar will be ready soon if that is your pleasure, but if drink is all you want, that is fine too.”

  Garrick smiled back and pointed to a table in the far corner. “I will just take a seat over there, and a tankard of your best ale would be fine.”

  “Of course, my friend,” sighed Fizkins, slightly. “But you will be missing some good meat though. And you do know the deal here at the Hunter's Boot, right?”

  Garrick only half listened as he scanned the crowd of about twenty, but then looked up at the tavern owner as he finished his final push for more money to fill his purse for the night.

  “Take a long drink from my boot and food and drink is half the price!” announced Fizkins with a smile as he shoved his damp rag into his apron.

  Then the diverse crowd started to chant. “Drink! Drink! Drink!”

  Garrick laughed loudly then shook his head with a smile. This was his kind of place.

  “No. No. Just the ale is fine,” replied the mercenary as he brandished a silver coin.

  Fizkins gave a short bow, winked, then continued, “Suit yourself, stranger, but I would say that dwarf there made the right choice.”

  Garrick looked over the room as the barkeep walked away. Sitting by himself, with three tankards of ale and three empty plates in front of him, was a dwarf whose appetite was as big as the battle axe still strapped to his back. Though his appetite for ale was vast, Garrick could see that the dwarf had already had enough when he gave a giant belch and slowly grabbed for one of the tankards.

  Garrick then looked at the table next to dwarf’s, at which sat a couple of elves. They were on the same mission for information as he was, but in a more official capacity. Of that he was sure.

  The elf lords were dressed as the diverse town folk of Tanisgroth, but the air they gave off was that of Queen Lightshower and The Elven Forest. After they looked at the mercenary and nodded a polite greeting, they went back to their drinks.

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  Another belch rang out in the tavern as the dwarf carried on with his meal. Looking over the crowd one last time, Garrick saw that he was actually the only dwarf in the tavern. Sober or not, Garrick knew the dwarf would be his best shot at information. And as ale made for a looser tongue, that made it all the better.

  “Mind if I sit?” asked Garrick, after making his way to the dwarf’s table.

  “By all means, mercenary,” grinned the dwarf, after scanning Garrick up and down. “Sit. You will not be the first to ask me about the invasion. And by the looks of you, I am sure to get some information from you for my travels, as well.”

  The dwarf belched once more and slammed his tankard down, sending its contents into the air and landing in front of three burly blacksmiths. The men got up angrily and stepped to the open side of the table that Garrick and his new drinking companion were to share.

  “That is it, long beard. The belching may get laughs from most of the crowd in here, but if one speck of that ale gets on me or my friends, you are going to have a big problem. Understand?” threatened one of the blacksmiths.

  The dwarf looked indignant and started to open his mouth, but Garrick cut him off.

  “Look, friends. I will be sitting here now, so no matter how hard he slams down his tankard, the contents will have to go through me,” replied Garrick calmly. “Now, if you will excuse us, we have business to discuss.”

  It sounded reasonable and polite enough. But the three men, having come in from a hard day's work, had none of it.

  “Who do you think you are...” continued the blacksmith angrily.

  Fizkins, noticing the escalating situation, ran over. “Randock, please sit down.” Then the barkeep nodded at the other two blacksmiths. “I will get you another round, on the house.”

  Before his friends could respond, Randock pushed Fizkins back. The old fat man fell over a chair and the crowd quieted.

  “Are you taking these strangers' side over us?!” yelled Randock.

  Garrick helped Fizkins up. He was a little shaken, but that was life running a tavern. Then the dwarf stood up and stroked his long brown beard. “Does shoving an old man make you feel strong? Try that with me!”

  The dwarf and Randock locked eyes while Garrick watched the other two blacksmiths, waiting to see what they would do. The room had become almost silent. All that could be heard now was the whispering from the crowd of onlookers.

  Suddenly, Randock threw a knee to the dwarf’s head. It was a bad move. It wasn’t the first time the dwarf had fought someone bigger than him in a tavern. He moved to the side and grabbed Randock’s leg, taking him down. Then the dwarf moved past his legs and sat on the blacksmith’s stomach, landing fists to his face.

  Seeing Randock fall, his companions attacked Garrick. Strong as they were, the blacksmiths did not have the mercenary’s fighting experience. Nimbly, Garrick threw a right cross to the face, crumbling the first attacker. Then the second grabbed him around the neck, but the mercenary flipped him over his shoulder, where he landed on his fallen companion. As Garrick moved towards the scuffle between the dwarf and Randock, the crowd cheered. Some raising their ale, while others moved from their seats, closer to the action.

  Though heavy upon him, Randock’s trade had made him strong enough to shove the dwarf off of him. Then the blacksmith quickly got to his feet and took a swing at the advancing mercenary. Garrick ducked and threw a left punch to the the blacksmith’s body. Randock took the blow well and grabbed Garrick in a bear hug, as his friends stumbled to their feet.

  “His sword! His sword! Grab it!” yelled Randock.

  Now back on his feet, the dwarf could see the stakes had risen to a dangerous level.

  “Please! Please! No weapons!” screamed Fizkins, as he backed behind the bar.

  The dwarf slammed a kick to the blacksmith going for the sword at Garrick’s side. At the same moment, Garrick dropped an elbow down on Randock’s head. As his grip lessened a bit, Garrick dropped another elbow and the mercenary landed back on the floor, while Randock fell back, shaking his head in pain and confusion. Then the mercenary planted his feet firmly and raised his fists, ready for another attack if it came his way.

  The dwarf, however, had a different idea.

  “So that is how it is?” bellowed the dwarf, looking at the other blacksmith in front of him. Then he reached around and unbuckled his battle axe.

  Suddenly, an arrow flew. Then another. And another. And another.

  The blacksmith that pressed towards the dwarf fell back, looking down in shock at an arrow in his forearm. Randock stumbled to one knee and looked down at an arrow in his leg, while the blacksmith that had gone for Garrick’s sword was pinned to the floor by an arrow in his left foot.

  “Do not move, dwarf, or I will loose another, and you will lose your beard altogether,” announced an elven voice.

  The dwarf looked over at an arrow in the table near his head and then rubbed a hand over his partially cut beard. When he turned and looked across the room, his eyes suddenly widened in astonishment.

  “CERELENE?”

  Lowering her bow as she looked across the room at the dwarf’s face, Cerelene’s eyes widened. Then she whispered one word.

  “...Ondibar?”