Dragons of the Valley - Donita K. Paul [35]
The couple sat on the other side of the room, enjoying a plain meal of traveler stew and round bread. Verrin Schope had engaged one of the locals in a conversation. Sir Beccaroon nodded to the young lady who served him and sniffed the savory bread. The aroma stirred his appetite, and the first bite reassured him that the stop at the tavern had been an excellent idea.
He had lowered his beak to the water bowl when everyone in the room ceased talking. He straightened and saw the cause for alarm. Three bisonbecks and a seven-foot creature of unknown origin stood inside the front door. The burly men surveyed the room with a cocky arrogance that caused the grand parrot to snap his beak. The beast leaned against the doorjamb, looking bored.
The marione owner of the establishment hurried to confront the new customers. Young and strong, he didn’t look like the round baker on the sign that hung outside. “I’ll serve you in the back. We’ve an open terrace there where you can enjoy the fine weather.”
The leader of the men sneered at the innkeeper. “We’re not good enough for your main dining hall?”
The owner stood taller and looked the bully in the eye, although he had to tilt his head back some to do so. “Our best customers favor the outdoor dining. But I do not serve those who have not had the opportunity to wash in here. Many travelers are in the same circumstance. If you prefer, there is a bathhouse at the end of the street. You are free to use their facilities first, then return for your meal.”
The leader’s hand flashed forward and grabbed the innkeeper’s neck. He lifted the man off his feet. “We prefer to eat now.”
He pulled the man closer so that they stared at each other nose to bulbous nose. The unfortunate marione’s face turned red, and choking noises could be heard over the stillness of the room.
A chair scraped across the wooden floor, and Verrin Schope stood. He strolled over to join the dangerous scene. Standing with his arms folded in front of him and looking completely at ease, he said, “Put him down.”
The bisonbeck’s intimidating glare fell on the dark emerlindian. “Why should I?”
“So often what is inflicted on another comes back to torment the offender.” Verrin Schope smiled. “Don’t you find that to be true?”
A puzzled look from the bisonbeck changed quickly to rage. He dropped the struggling marione and grabbed for his own neck as if to tear choking hands from his throat. The innkeeper scrabbled out of reach, then stood behind Verrin Schope.
The two other bisonbecks sprang forward, weapons drawn. Verrin Schope merely raised a hand as if to signal for them to stop. The ruffians clattered against an unseen barrier and bounced back. The leader of the group fell. Once on the floor, he no longer struggled to breathe. Evidently the grasp on his throat had loosened. The other two helped him to his feet, speaking excitedly in a foreign tongue.
The beast still leaned against the wall, but he no longer looked bored. His narrowed eyes surveyed all before him. When his eyes came across Beccaroon, the parrot saw a muscle twitch high on the creature’s cheek. What was he thinking? And what kind of man-beast was he?
The strange creature turned and walked out of the inn. His comrades did not seem to notice his departure. They glared at Verrin Schope and the innkeeper, darting glances at the other patrons of the tavern. Clearly the situation didn’t reflect the way they usually encountered people. The leader pulled his shoulders back, stuck out his chest, and said something to his men. With faces still hardened with anger, they turned and left the building.
The innkeeper bowed before Verrin Schope. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” He turned, and Beccaroon saw the serious expression on his face. “Those