Fires of Prophecy_ Book Two of the Morcyth Saga - Brian Pratt [95]
Yorn comes over and joins the conversation, “When the others return, we’re going to take him to get drunk.”
“Why?” she asks.
“To help him forget about things for awhile,” he replies. To James he asks, “You want to come?”
“No, I’m not into that sort of thing,” he tells him.
“Your loss,” he says as he wanders back to the others.
From the wagon where Ezra and Arkie are, they can hear poor little Arkie crying. “He misses her,” Tersa says. “She always played with him after we stopped.”
“We all do,” he admits, “she was special.”
A little while later, when Yorn sees Delia approaching, he grabs Jiron and the pit fighters all head into town. They pause momentarily at the wagon and soon Scar and Potbelly join the group as it continues on its way.
When Delia gets to the camp, she asks James, “Where are they going?”
“To get drunk,” he explains, “at least that’s what Yorn said.”
“Hope they don’t get into any trouble,” she states as she watches them go.
The first place they find is an old tavern with questionable clientele. Walking in, they see the mangiest group of derelicts this side of the gutter. “Perfect!” announces Scar as they sit at a large table off to one side.
A woman with a small beard and a patch over one eye comes up to them and says something that none can understand. Despite the language barrier, they finally make her understand that they want drinks. She brings them over several bottles of a foul smelling concoction that makes their eyes bug out and slightly burns as it goes down.
“Like mother’s milk,” Potbelly squeaks out after downing a large swallow.
“I hope they’re not trying to poison us,” Scar says as the liquid burns its way down to his stomach.
They sit there and drink for awhile, trading tales both true and improbable when a group of tough looking men walk into the tavern. They see them sitting at the table and walk over toward them. When they reach the table, one of them says something belligerently to them, which of course no one understands. Their failure to respond only makes him all the madder.
“What do you suppose is wrong?” Shorty asks.
A man sitting at a table next to theirs says, “You’re sitting at their table and they want you out.”
Jiron looks at the spokesman for the group and he says, “No, you find your own table. This one’s ours.”
Even though he couldn’t understand the words, he understood the meaning behind them. The man suddenly reaches out and grabs Jiron by the shirt as he starts hauling him out of his chair.
Jiron stands up while at the same time swinging his fist with all his strength and connects with the man’s jaw, sending him stumbling backward several feet into his fellows.
Then pandemonium erupts as one of the man’s friends takes a swing at Jiron and both sides join the fray.
“For Tinok!” Scar yells as he trades blows with a large individual, finally sending him to the floor with two quick blows to the stomach and then one to the face, breaking his nose. Turning, he sees Shorty being tossed through the air where he hits the wall with a thud.
The other tavern’s patrons quickly make for the sides of the room or out the door to avoid becoming embroiled in the fighting. Some join in, those who always enjoy a good fight no matter the reason.
The fighting remains fairly even until the town watch shows up. When Potbelly sees them enter he yells, “The town watch!” They all turn to see a dozen uniformed men entering wielding clubs, which they use to start felling brawlers.
Trading a few more blows, they turn and race to the other side of the tavern where they dive through the windows or run out the door into a side alley, to avoid being taken in. A quick survey shows them all there and then they race down the alley.
“Man that was a good fight!” exclaims Yorn, wiping blood away from his nose.
“Just what I needed,” Jiron adds, smiling.
Stig says, “I think one of my teeth are loose,” as he wiggles one.
Walking down a little further, they find another tavern where they’re able to resume their drinking once more. An hour passes and they’re beginning to get fairly