Trail of the Gods_ The Morcyth Saga Book Four - Brian S. Pratt [54]
The lights of Osgrin appear ahead of him out of the dark and when he passes the outskirts he comes across a two story building with a sign depicting a pig on a spit roasting over a fire.
A wonderfully delicious aroma is coming from the building, roast pork is what it smells like. Stopping in front, he ties his horse to one of the rails outside and makes his way through the front door.
The place is packed and the only table left to him is all the way in the back, a small table only large enough for one or two people. He signals one of the serving girls on his way over and she arrives shortly after he takes his seat.
“Welcome to the Cooked Hog” she greets him, a warm smile upon her face. “My name’s Celia. Is there anything I can get for you?”
“I’d like some of whatever it is that smells so good,” he tells her. “And a mug of ale, too.”
“What you’re smelling is our specialty, roast pig,” she tells him. “It’s only half a silver and comes with some vegetables as well as a half loaf of bread.”
“Perfect,” he says as he hands over the coins.
Taking the money, she says, “Back in a moment.”
He sits back and looks out over the other patrons as he waits for his meal. Sitting around the table next to him are five men, mercenaries by the looks of them. Scattered throughout the common room are others, perhaps ten in all. Most likely they’re guards from some caravan who’s stopped here in Osgrin for the night.
Celia comes out of the kitchen a minute later bringing over his meal. She sets a large plate with sizzling slices of roast pork before him, their juices running all over the plate. Arrayed around the edges of the plate are several of the favorite local tubers everyone seems to like. On the table next to it, she places half loaf of bread and his mug of ale. “Is there anything else you’d be requiring?” she asks.
Taking out his knife and grabbing the fork which had been supplied, he cuts off a large slice. Shaking his head, he stuffs the pork in his mouth as she turns and walks away. The juice runs down his chin and he wipes it off with his arm. Taking the bread, he discovers it’s still warm as he tears off a chunk and dips it in the juice on the plate before eating it. He never did that before until he saw James do it one time. Ever since, he’s rarely eaten just plain bread.
From the table of mercenaries next to him, he hears something that makes his blood run cold. One of them just spoke in the Empire’s language before the mercenary sitting next to him stops him.
“Not here,” the other man whispers. “Use only their tongue!”
“Right,” the first man says.
Miko glances over to them while trying to appear that he isn’t. Now that he’s paying closer attention to them, he can easily tell they’re from the south. The slight darkening of the skin and their facial characteristics all say they’re from the Empire. They’re not as prominent in these men as in others he had been around when he was in the Empire and would most likely not be noticed with just a cursory look. But after what he had been through, he’s not likely ever to mistake them again.
James. They must be here after James. He continues eating, more slowly this time and tries to listen to their conversations. Most of what they’re saying is barely audible and he can only make out fragments of what they’re saying.
“…just to the north of here…”
“…will kill him. That’s what…”
“…soon. Maybe tomorrow, not sure…”
“…get it done and return home where…”
They’re here to kill James! He wolfs down the rest of his meal quickly and takes the bread with him to eat on the road. Getting up from the table, he tries not to make eye contact with the men as he moves past them toward the door.
A hand grabs his arm and he almost pulls out his sword before he realizes it’s Celia. She looks expectantly