Realms of the Arcane - Brian M. Thomsen [30]
"In a while, Dad. I'm going to find Sasha and stop in at the Sheets. I want to see their faces when they hear that Calimport's biggest news comes from the bakery."
* * * * *
Finding Sasha and stopping in at the Sheets turned out to be one and the same task. After an hour or so of fruitless search, Wiglaf finally peeked into the tavern to find the late-afternoon trade in full flower, and Sasha at the bar in rapt conversation with Garadel, sipping some of the innkeep's best spiced wine and surrounded by five or six regulars. She noticed him at the doorway and waved him inside.
"It didn't take you very long to make friends," Wiglaf smiled.
"Well, some folk are friendlier than others," she said, pointing to Angrod and his mates, each nursing a tankard of ale at a far table in the crowded tavern. "That one there, he's very friendly."
"He told her he'd like to wrestle with her!" said a gap-toothed customer. "He'd show her a few moves!" from another, and the group burst into cackling glee.
Wiglaf blanched. "Why-" He started toward Angrod, but Sasha held him back.
"No, no. I said it sounded like fun."
"So Sasha suggested they arm wrestle," said Garadel, not looking up as she swabbed the top of the bar with a cloth. A restrained giggle suddenly left her mouth as a spit sound.
"You beat him?" Wiglaf was incredulous.
"That hulk? Oh no, he won, all right. But trust me, he paid for it."
"It took two out of three falls!" crowed a patron, and others joined in.
"His face turned red as an apple!"
"He screamed like a banshee!"
"I thought he'd burst his bullocks!"
"Notice he's drinking with his left hand." Sasha nodded toward Angrod as he set down his ale to massage his right wrist. "I think Mister Swordthumper's had enough wrestling for today."
* * * * *
Over dinner that night, Thorin Evertongue laughed loud and long at Sasha's story, while Ariel smiled shyly at her son's "lady friend." To his slight dismay, there had been no need for Wiglaf to recount his seashore triumph in the Sheets, for during the afternoon the news of his discovery had spread there just as quickly as it had reached the pasha's palace. But he'd received his fabled free tankard of ale from Garadel, and before long he was in the spotlight as he'd hoped: adding plenty of delicious detail for a rapt audience, small bits of it perfectly accurate. Finally the pangs of hunger had called everyone to their evening meals, and Wiglaf and Sasha to their temporary home.
"Young Swordthumper won't stew for long," Thorin said. "He struts and roars like a wild beast, but he'll do no real harm. Your little match today was probably good for him."
"It certainly did me good," Sasha said. "He'll think twice before-"
"Thorin!" came a muffled voice from outside. The Evertongues' front door shook with repeated pounding. Thorin ran and opened it on a frantic Garadel.
"Someone's inside the bakery!" she spluttered. "Your cat's howling, crashing noises-we've got to stop them!" Sasha bolted to her feet and slung her broadsword's strap around her neck as Thorin grabbed an axe from the fireplace. Wiglaf fumbled through his pockets in vain, terrified he'd left the precious spell-book back in Schamedar and that Fenzig would therefore be roasting him on a spit soon after the intruders were done murdering his father.
"My book!" he shrieked.
"Oh, my goodness," said Ariel, going to the mantel. "Is this what you're looking for?" She held up the most wonderful, most delightful, most beautiful spellbook Wiglaf had ever, ever seen. "I always empty the pockets before I wash clothes, dear."
"Mom…" He grabbed the book and they were gone.
As they dashed to the bakery, Garadel shouted that some inn guests had complained about the racket outdoors: cats in heat, maybe, from the unearthly hissing and wailing. Then they heard utensils scattering to the floor and a loud crash, the cat only moaning louder. Thieves rarely plied their trade