The minotaur licked his lips as they spread into a broad smile. “I might, but I doubt you have enough … flesh to sate my appetites.”
The woman’s smile changed into an almost predatory grin. Her eyes roamed over the minotaur’s body resting hungrily on his hips and the bulging coin purse at his side. She gestured up to the second floor, where several other women in varying states of dress looked on at the patrons below. Some had the same predatory gleam as the matron; most held thinly veiled disgust and a few, apprehension. “I assure you, we have quite the banquet.”
“We should get the Wayfarers,” asserted Al in a tone that would not allow debate. “Tell the keeper we’ll take our meals outside.”
The matron curtsied. “Of course. We would have difficulty fitting all of you inside.”
Urk was half-pulled, half-pushed out the door by his wife and into the cool air, where the Wayfarers were waiting eagerly.
“And?” asked Muraheim.
“Paid and honored,” answered Urk.
The Wayfarers were already slipping past as Al continued. “We’ll take our meals out here. Make sure it comes quick. Urk gets angry when he’s hungry.”
Muraheim gave a nod of recognition but little more as he followed the rest of his flock within. As they waited, Al’rashal and Urkjorman used the time to water the draft beasts and ensure the wagons and supplies were secure. In truth, they were leaving time for the people on the porch to decide if they would clear out or not. Half of them went inside or wandered off, leaving one corner of the porch almost vacant, which the two occupied. Urk sat on the floor, leaving the table to come almost to his chest and leaned against the banister dividing the porch from the ground below. Al stood on the other side of the banister, more comfortable standing in the dirt than under the porch. Urk dragged the table flush with the banister so she could easily reach it. The only other person near them was an older man with pale skin and red hair who sat a table over and smoked a roll of tobacco or something that smelled close enough to it. Urk tilted his head in the stranger’s direction. The pale man returned with a slight nod and a draw of his smoke. A moment passed, and the stranger turned the smoke in Urk’s direction. The minotaur smiled and waved the stranger on. The stranger smiled and resumed smoking.
Urk and Al had been making idle conversation for what felt like ten minutes when the entry door, opened letting light and the sounds of revelry spill into the cool night. It was such a departure from the muffled tones they’d become used to, that each of them aimed one long ear at the door before turning their gaze to the entrance. There the young boy from before had poked his head out and cast an expression of well, an expression Urk couldn’t identify curiosity, perhaps, at the two. The child’s face seemed to set with something akin to determination, and he vanished back inside.
The two looked to each other. “What do you suppose that was?” asked Al.
The minotaur shrugged. Children had always confused him, and the ones with the pilgrims had been no different.
Another moment or two passed, and the child reappeared, dragging some wench behind him. He pointed at the two. “See? I told you we had two more outside.”
The woman looked at the two with a collision of surprise and consternation on her face. “Ah yes, I see, I’ll see to it.”
They both hurried back within.
“Least the boy makes sure we get fed,” remarked Al with a wry grin.
“Yeah, like pack animals,” grumbled Urk, though there was no real malice in his voice. He no longer had the energy or care to be angered by the closed minds of others. “He’s not being—”
The door opened again, and the boy appeared, alone this time with a tankard in one hand and a plate of half-devoured food in the other. He walked up to the table with Urk and set his things down before pulling up a stool.
“What are you doing?” asked Urk, bewildered.
“Eating with us, obviously,” said Al with a smile.
The child’s eyes widened with dawning horror. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to impose … I just …”
“No, no,” insisted Urk as a small peal of laughter left his lips. “You are welcome at our table.”
“Thank you, Mr. Red Mantle.”
“Boy’s got manners; hope our son is as well behaved.”
“Son?” asked Al with a raised eyebrow. “Yesterday it was daughter.”
“We’ll have both.”
“You have children?” asked the boy, eyes wide and face twisted in thought.
“Not yet,” admitted Al.
“But we’re working on it.” Urk chuckled, earning a swat from his wife and a playful glare.
“Really? How?”
Urk leaned forward, the weight of his elbows causing the dry wood of the table to creak. “You see, when a man loves a woman … ow!”
Al grasped one of her husband’s long, bovine horns and jerked his head aside. “Hush, you.”
“What? He asked!” Urk gestured at the child, who was now trying to control his laughter. “Fine, you tell him.”
“That is a conversation he should be having with someone else,” hissed his wife.
“Someone like whom?” asked Muraheim, exiting the tavern with two serving wenches in tow.
“You,” Urk said it more like an accusation than an explanation.
The boy turned to the old gnome, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the air, as the wenches cautiously set the meals, cups, and a carafe of wine on the table. “How are they going to have children?”
Muraheim looked at the child in stark confusion. “Ah, you wouldn’t know, of course. They made a deal with the Baron of Wings. Ten years of serving at the baron’s pleasure, and they would be granted the ability to have children, together.”
“Ah,” said the boy in understanding. “But the baron serves Larashu, right?”
“Right.”
“So why have them help Wayfarers and not fellow Liberated?”
Urk aimed both ears at the old gnome. It was a thought that had circled his head as well, but he had not asked the baron directly. One did not risk displeasing one of the Auvithia.
“I suspect,” Muraheim began. He seemed to be taking great care with his words. “It is because of the relationship between Kurgen’Kahl …” At the mention of the god’s name, he aimed a finger at Urkjorman. Then he aimed the same finger at himself. “… and Mehrindai.”
“Oh,” said the boy. “Because our gods are married.”
The gnome answered with a steady silence. “Come inside, Eihn.”
The boy, Eihn, rose but turned, half-seated in his chair to his master. “I don’t think it’s right that we eat inside, and our guards are out in the cold.”
Muraheim nodded, a gentle, fatherly expression crossing his face as he waved the boy over. “That may be so, but there simply isn’t room for them inside. Not truly.”
The boy nodded, lowering his head in defeat as he walked toward the gnome. Halfway there, his head snapped up as an epiphany lanced into his mind. “But we can fit out here.”
Muraheim was left speechless.
Eihn bounced in place excitedly. “If they can’t come in, we can come out.”
“I suppose we could … though it’s terribly cold, and I think the others would prefer to be in where it’s warm.”
“Well then, I’ll just stay out here,” answered Eihn with a nod.
“But then you’ll get cold,” he protested.
“No, it’s not so bad. It’s still warmer than the hills of home.” That seemed to settle it for Eihn, who triumphantly marched back over to the table and sat.
Muraheim looked to the minotaur and then the centaur as though begging for help, but neither was in a giving mood. He turned to the door, hesitated, and walked back inside. Al and Urk waited a moment and burst into laughter.
“What’s so funny?” asked Eihn.
Urk was only able to pause his laughter for a few seconds before answering. “Nothing, Een, nothing.”
�
��Eihn,” he corrected.
“Eihn,” said Urk, extending a hand for a shake. “Good on you, standing your ground for what you see as right.”
“Master Muraheim taught me that.” Eihn beamed. “He says the best things we can do is the right thing, and failing that, the nice thing.”
“Is that right?” asked Al aloud with a sly glance to her husband.
The door opened, and Muraheim stepped back onto the porch with a large tankard whose contents steamed in the night air. He pulled up a stool next to Eihn and sat down.
“Come to join us, Master?” asked Al.
“I couldn’t well leave the boy out here alone.”
“I’d be fine, Master.”
“I’m sure you would be, my child, but I would be a poor steward of my flock if I didn’t make sure of it.”
Eihn opened his mouth as though to speak but said nothing.
Urk looked to his wife and shrugged. “We’d best eat this before it gets colder than the night.”
The drink was thin and watery, the greens half-dry, and the meat drowned in juices to disguise its bland flavor and rubbery texture. Still, Urk devoured it all with enthusiasm. After weeks of grain, seed, and smoked meat, the minotaur would have probably consumed grass, beetles, and grog with equal relish, simply because it was different. He imagined the “Old Mansion” relied on that fact as well as the sparse competition to fill seats, despite the substandard fare. His wife was making idle chatter with Eihn between mouthfuls and warming to the boy. Children always put Al in a good mood and stoked her desire to have her own.
The minotaur sucked the juices from his fingertips as he cast his gaze to the aged gnome. Muraheim was holding his own counsel, eyes fixated chiefly on Urk and uttering the occasional “tsk” of disapproval as Eihn and Al conversed. Urk picked up a chunk of meat that was more femur than muscle and eyed it suspiciously. The kitchen had obviously thrown the scraps into the pan to insult the two ‘demi-humans’ but he liked marrow. He bit the femur, filling the air with the sound of crushing bones and making both Eihn and Muraheim jump. Al just shook her head.
“Just because you look like a cow doesn’t mean you have to eat like one,” muttered the gnome before taking a long swig of his warm drink.
Urk closed his jaw, grinding the bone down over three long seconds. “Trust me, Wayfarer, cows don’t eat bones.”
“Or gnomes,” replied Muraheim with mounting agitation.
“Gnomes,” Eihn exclaimed. “Do minotaur eat gnomes?”
“Of course, we do. We eat gnomes, elves, even little human boys.”
Eihn’s eyes widened in shock, and Urk filled the air with laughter.
“Anything?” pressed Eihn.
“It’s hard to fill a belly this big.” He chuckled. “But you might be just the right size.”
“It’s why you must always be careful around demis,” cautioned Muraheim.
If the warning was supposed to stoke fear, it had the opposite effect. The child looked around, eyes darting between the plates of food and Urk. “What about centaur? Would you eat centaur?”
Al spat up her drink, Urk thumped the table with one open palm, and Muraheim’s mouth hung agape in silence. Urk patted his wife on the back to help clear the drink from her lungs. “I like him. I want two just like him.”
“Two, so it’s sons now?” His wife coughed.
“Well?” pressed Eihn.
“I’ve never had the pleasure.” Urk smiled. “Give me a moment, and I’ll tell you how they taste.”
Al released a startled yelp as Urk pulled her closer, wrapping one massive arm around her shoulders and took one of her hands into his own. She laughed, playfully trying to pull away as he wrestled one of her comparatively tiny hands into his mouth and made a big show of biting. He followed with a peck on the cheek, a kiss to the throat, and would have followed with one to the lips had Eihn not spoken up.
“So, what does she taste like?” he prodded around a broad smile. “Horse or human?”
Urk bristled. “Neither. She tastes like centaur.”
“I … ah know, I.” Eihn seemed equal parts confused and alarmed. “It’s just, she’s half and half, so I thought—”
“I’m not half anything,” stressed Al. “Just centaur.”
“We aren’t half anything,” said Urk.
Eihn looked to his master, who held a thin smile but said nothing. “But I was taught you were half-human and half something else.”
“Foolishness humans teach when they know not,” corrected Urk, letting the heat of the boy’s affront bleed away.
“Then where did you come from?”
“The same place as everyone else,” answered Al.
“The gods,” added Urk. “We are children of Larashu.”
“Yes,” agreed Muraheim. “Along with goblins, orcs, shape-shifters, and many, many monsters.”
Urk nodded in agreement before turning his gaze to Eihn. “Yes, Larashu helped create many races, including man. The gnomes are one of the few she did not.”
“Mehrindai be praised,” said the gnome, before lifting his cup in a toast.
“Though I wonder,” continued Urk. “Were the gnomes born before or after Mehrindai was bed by Kurgen’Kahl?”
“Before,” insisted the gnome.
“Wayfarers always say before.”
“Unfettered always say after.”
“True,” conceded Urk. It was a hotly debated subject, both between and within their faiths. “Though, to see the storm brewing behind your eyes, I would say the Unfettered got it right.”
Muraheim attempted to drown his anger with a long draw of wine.
It didn’t seem to work.
The old gnome rose from his seat. “The final leg of the trip starts tomorrow and may be the worst. I’d best rest my old bones.” He turned to leave. “As should you, Eihn.”
“But my bones aren’t old,” protested the child.
“None of that, boy.”
“Just a little longer, Master, please?”
The gnome sighed. “Just a little. Don’t make me come back to get you.”
“Yes, Master,” said Eihn emphatically.
The gnome went inside, and like the passing of a winter storm, the air seemed to warm, and the dark night seemed brighter.
The dulcet tones of Al’s voice struggled to keep the anxious silence at bay. Several times Urk felt the boy’s gaze resting on him, only for it to race away a moment later. At last the minotaur rumbled, “Out with it, boy. Say what you feel, else you’ll lose the chance to before your master fetches you inside.”
Eihn opened his mouth as though to protest but then seemed to think better of it and sat in thought a moment. “I just … I just wanted to apologize for Master Muraheim. He’s normally not so …”
“Hateful,” offered Urk.
“Mean,” decided Eihn.
Urk sucked his teeth. “We get that a lot.”
“Why?”
It was Al who answered, “Because ignorance breeds contempt. And contempt is easy to feed with fear.”
Eihn nodded slowly, if not understanding what she said entirely, at least seeming to understand enough to know the feel of it.
“He lacks understanding,” agreed Urk, the heat of his anger abated.
“I wish he understood,” lamented Eihn as he gazed at the doorway. “I wish I did.”
Urk reached forward and took Eihn’s chin in his massive fingers. Turning the boy’s face toward his own, he gazed into the wide eyes. There was some fear in those eyes but wonder as well and curiosity. “Do you, child? Do you really want to understand?”
Eihn nodded, as though too afraid to speak.
“You will understand, when you can answer this riddle.”
“Riddle?”
“Yes, now listen carefully.” Urk paused, to lend gravitas to his words. “What has six legs, four arms, and one heart?”
Eihn seemed to grasp some idea for just a moment and then lost it. His face twisted in co
nfusion as Urk let him go. Idly Eihn began muttering the riddle to himself as a serving wench came outside with a tray to collect the dishes and mugs. “Excuse me,” she interrupted. “We, uh, don’t really have room for you, for the both of you upstairs…”
The woman shrank back from Urk’s gaze as though he was about to strike her. When no attack came, she continued. “So, we made some room in the grain shed. It may be cramped, but it will keep the chill out and smells better than the stables.”
Urk nodded. It was better than he expected. He waved the woman away. “Best you go on inside, Eihn. It will be a long day’s journey tomorrow.”
“That’s fine, I don’t need much sleep.”
“But we do,” reminded Al. “You’ll be sitting on a wagon drawn by horse and ox; we’ll be walking the whole way.”
Eihn’s mouth fell agape for a moment. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Go on in then,” prompted Al. “And ask one of the servers, not the girl from before, to take us to this grain shed.”
Eihn nodded and hurried for the door. Just before entering, he stopped, turned to them, and bowed. “Good eve, Ms. Al’rashal, Mr. Urkjorman. May your dreams be full of wonder and your rest undisturbed.”
With that, the boy spirited within. Moments later, a server came outside to guide them around the back to the grain shed. As promised, it was clean, it kept the chill out, and a pile of blankets had been laid upon a few straw mats for them to sleep on. They thanked the wench, and in time, they slept.
Chapter Four
Home Stretch
Al’rashal took a deep breath and coughed. She’d expected the air this early in the morning to be cool, refreshing, and help steady her system. But a hot, dry wind was sweeping in from the east that consumed the chill air and promised a long day of hard perspiration. She groaned, praying her stomachs would hold their contents. “Why is the sun so bright?”
“So Sasarael may bathe us in her radiance,” answered her husband, throwing his arms wide to soak in the sun.
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