Crusade - James Lowder [44]
While the night watch made regular patrols in Suzail, shadowy figures still skulked in and out of alleyways, waiting for unwary travelers or drunken adventurers to stumble into their traps. Creatures that would never roam the streets during the day came out to scavenge through the offal and garbage dumped unceremoniously out of windows into the thoroughfares. And though Azoun had secreted a small dagger in his boot when he'd left the castle, he felt much safer when he finally passed through the door of the Black Rat.
"For the last time, no!" a barmaid screeched. She slammed a mug down on the table nearest the tavern's front door and slapped the one-eyed man sitting there. A burst of loud, raucous laughter rumbled through the room in response. The frumpy, fat-cheeked barmaid took a curt bow-one much too low for a woman with any modesty, considering the cut of her dress-and sauntered back to the kitchen.
Azoun started at the disturbance, then shivered at the wall of warm air that washed over him as he entered the tavern. He hadn't noticed how cold it was outside until then. The king glanced around the room for an open table, saw quite a few, then moved toward one close to the small fireplace that dominated the taproom's northern wall. The dozen or so patrons of the Black Rat watched Azoun cross the room, then went back to their drinks or their games of dice.
"I'd do anything for that girl, and this's what I get!" the one-eyed man yelled.
Azoun noticed that he was slurring his words slightly.
"Bring back the head of one of those barbarians the king's so hot on killing," a mournful-looking man called from a table near Azoun. "That'll win her heart."
The barmaid walked out of the kitchen and went straight to Azoun's table, ignoring the rude comments from most of the drunkards in the taproom and the protestations of love from the one-eyed man. The king politely ordered an ale, then leaned back toward the fire.
The woman smiled in gratitude at the respect shown her. "Ale's free tonight," she said. "One of our patrons was recently rewarded by the king, and he left gold to pay for drinks." After another brief smile, she blew a coil of red hair from her eyes and went for the drink.
"Alas," a lean, dark woman sighed as the barmaid left the room. "She's given her love to another, Brak. You'll never have her now. Her smile gives her away."
A few men chuckled, but Brak, the one-eyed warrior, stood up. "What?" he snarled, pointing at Azoun. "That old coot?" The king's shoulders sagged. The last thing he wanted was trouble.
The barmaid returned with Azoun's ale, gave it to him, then got Brak to sit down. "There's no one but you," she teased and pinched the man's ruddy cheek. "But I'll love you more if you prove how brave you are on that crusade.
Perhaps I'll love you most of all if you don't come back."
There was more laughter, but one man, clad in shining chain mail, stood up and lifted his mug. "I say we should raise a toast to King Azoun… the only king in the West worth following into battle. Long live the king!"
After the trials of the last few days, Azoun felt his heart leap as the patrons of the Black Rat, both men and women, lifted their mugs and called out, "Long live the king!"
That phrase always made King Azoun think of his father. Rhigaerd had loved to hear men shout that toast, and few nobles had missed the opportunity to please him with it during his reign. Azoun usually found the phrase troubling, since many of the courtiers assumed it was a sure way to win favor. The phrase had fallen out of use at court, but it obviously hadn't in the city. The king didn't find this particular toast lacking in sincerity or enthusiasm, however.
He smiled to himself beneath his powdered white beard.