Dragonquest - Donita K. Paul [82]
“What, Kale? Why did you interrupt me? These people are wallowing in disturbing lies.”
The people, Regidor. They—
“Hey, monk!” A grubby marione stood swaying before Regidor. “You got a reason to be here? You casting a spell on us or something?”
“No,” said Regidor in his deep, resonant voice.
Two more men joined the drunken marione, a tumanhofer and a urohm.
The tumanhofer spoke. “No matter. We’re tired of you gawking at us. We’re throwing you out.”
“And what if I choose not to leave?”
No, Regidor, no! Just walk out.
“Curse you! I’m the first mate on the Rondamoor. No one crosses me.”
A murmur went through the crowd. One man spoke up.
“No one beats him in a fight, either. You best go, monk-man.”
Regidor pulled his leathery-skinned hand out of the sleeve. Slowly he raised one finger, its nail almost a claw, and pushed the hem of the cowl up. The hood inched upward, revealing a gleaming smile of many sharp white teeth.
“I choose to stay.”
34
A BRAWL
The room grew quiet. The band stopped playing. The customers ceased their babble. The workers behind the bar deftly removed glasses and bottles, shoving them under the counter.
Regidor undid the sash around his robe, unfastened the top button, and let the garment fall to the floor. His tail slipped out of the belt at his waist. A plain white shirt covered his torso, but didn’t hide the bulging brawn of his back and neck. With his shoulders back and his head held high, he looked more than his seven feet in height. The black trousers he wore had been loose two weeks before. Now they stretched over his muscular thighs and calves. The upper portion of his shiny black boots molded around his legs with supple leather, but the soles and slight heels were hard enough to be lethal weapons.
He tapped his toe on the wooden floor in a slow rhythmic beat that made the hair on Kale’s arms stand on end.
“What are you, anyway?” growled the tumanhofer.
“A meech,” answered Regidor, his voice a rumble in the quiet room.
The urohm ran a hand through his greasy hair. “You mean, like a meech dragon?”
“Indeed.”
The urohm swallowed hard and looked down at his two chums.
The marione bristled. “Ain’t no such thing as a meech dragon.”
Regidor chortled.
The marione bounced on the balls of his feet, his clenched fists shaking. “We can take him. There’s three of us.”
The tumanhofer roared, lowered his head, and charged. His two buddies followed on his heels.
Regidor leaned back on his tail, swept one foot up in an arc and struck the attacking man with a clean hit to the side of his head. The meech completed the arc, landing on the same foot. He brought his tail around to land a blow to the marione’s midsection.
A dozen men joined the urohm in the fight. Kale grabbed a candlestick and entered the fray, swinging. Before she reached Regidor, the rest of the room erupted into a riot. A few picked up their drinks and made for the front door. Some struggled to pass through the belligerent crowd and leapt onto the stage, disappearing with the performers into the dark nether regions of the building.
Metta and Gymn soared above the ruckus. Dibl flew to a crude chandelier made of six lanterns and an old wagon wheel. He perched on one of the spokes and called out with noises that sounded like cheers.
Kale pressed through the slugfest, still trying to get to Regidor. She soon realized he didn’t need any assistance. No one landed a blow on the twirling, lashing warrior. He struck his opponents with fist, foot, and tail.
Two brawling men fell into her, knocking her to the floor. She struggled out from under them and crawled beneath a table. From there, she watched the pandemonium as booted feet scuffled around her. A thud from above warned her someone had landed on the table. The wood creaked, and she scrambled out just before the table collapsed in an explosion of splinters.
Kale jumped to her feet to avoid getting trampled. She dodged where she had to and shoved when she needed to in order to make her way to the bar. Bardon defended himself against two scruffy