Alan Foster - Kingdoms of Light

Struggling with unfamiliar knife and fork while wishing she could simply bend over and shove her face into her plate, Cocoa lowered her eyes. "You disgust me!"

"She ain't the only one."

The amused voice came from nearby. It was difficult to say who were the roughest-looking individuals occupying the table across from the travelers': the heavily bearded men, the women with their manifold painful piercings, or the pair of horned mogs freely sharing their food and drink. Oskar opted for the women.

Fumbling a piece of chicken into her mouth, Cocoa kept her gaze lowered and her voice down. "Just ignore them."

"You ignore them." Grease and gravy threatening to stain his elegant tunic but never quite adhering, Cezer rose from his chair, shaking off Oskar's cautioning hand. "Excuse me, offspring of an indeterminate parentage: did you say that I disgust you?"

It grew very quiet very quickly at the neighboring table. Still tugging at his companion's shirt, Oskar growled his own warning. "By the Whiskers of the Great Mother, sit down!"

Cezer spoke without looking at his companion. "Not until this boorish lout apologizes. To Cocoa if not to me."

Smiling wanly at the grim-faced group seated across from them, Cocoa declared reassuringly, "That's all right. No apology necessary."

One of the mogs was starting to rise. Jingling more chain than a clutch of convicted pickpockets, so did the blue-painted woman next to him.

"Drinks are on the house!" Oskar suddenly shouted as he pushed his chair back and straightened.

Toothy mog, blue woman, and puzzled companions stared at him. "You can't say that," rumbled one of the men. "Abnyk is the owner of the White Ass. Not you."

Grabbing Cezer around the neck, Oskar nodded in the speaker's direction. "I know, but I needed the moment."

"Let go of me, you fatuous cur!" Whirling around, an enraged Cezer swung one fist in a sweeping arc that caught the startled and still seated Taj on the side of his head. Reeling but not releasing his grip, the older man stumbled backward, still holding tightly to his outraged companion.

"By Master Evyndd's beard, that's enough!" Putting utensils and further thought of food aside, Cocoa leaped across the table to join in the fray. Her weight was enough to send all three of them crashing to the floor in a noisy upwelling of dishes, goblets, drink, and condiments. Caught in the middle and struggling to escape the fray, Taj succeeded only in being drawn in deeper.

Confronted by this display and uncertain now exactly how to proceed, the ominous throng at the other table hesitated. By the time one of the men started to draw the knobkerrie slung at his belt, Mamakitty had arrived. More importantly, so had Samm. The giant put a hand on the would-be combatant's shoulder.

"Let's everyone just keep calm, shall we?"

"Snolwraith! I'll not have anyone telling me to—" At this point the eager bruiser noted that the hand on his shoulder was quite large enough to envelop his entire head and squeeze it like a pimple. His voice and testosterone level plunged in concert. "On the other hand, maybe I will."

The nominal leader of the seated rogues shrugged. "No need for us to thrash them, Gelgirth. They're doing a good enough job of it themselves." Watching the brawl, a couple of the women had begun to giggle. Vestigial wings smacking appreciatively against one another, the mog seated between them began to shout encouragement and suggestions to the combatants.

Observing the chaos, Mamakitty uttered a sigh of dismay. "What the canary is doing in there, I can't imagine. Samm, clean it up."

"Yes'm." Lurching forward, the giant deftly but firmly began to disengage the cursing, spitting, disheveled belligerents.

"Outside." To the now grinning spectators she added, "Sorry for the disturbance."

"Not disturbance." With a sharp claw, the other mog picked something revolting out of his front fangs. "Enjoyed the show, I did."

"Rightly so." A human comrade slapped the mog on the back, between its folded wings. "Fought like cats and dogs, they did!"

Once they were outside, while Samm strove to balance an enormous canvas sack of newly acquired supplies on his expansive back, Mamakitty proceeded to upbraid her abashed companions.

"What were you thinking, fighting in there like that?" There was no response from the now contrite combatants. "The one thing we don't want to do is draw attention to ourselves, and you four promptly start a fight!" She glared furiously at the leanest member of the indicted quartet. "And even you, Taj—I'm surprised at you."

"I wasn't—" The singer was not given a chance to explain.

"We were insulted." His honor but not his tunic stained, Cezer methodically flicked chopped carrots from his collar. "I was merely attempting to redress the situation."

"You would've been redressed, all right," Oskar growled at him. "In blood. I had to stop you."

Taking another tack, Taj blurted, "It was Cocoa who saved us. By jumping in and keeping us fighting among ourselves, she gave those at the other table no reason to participate." He eyed the young woman admiringly, his thoughts oddly unbirdlike. "That was very clever of you, to fake a real fight to create a diversion."

She frowned in confusion. "What 'fake'?"

"Oh, come on, all of you! I want to be well out of this misery-drenched town by nightfall. Before any of you can cause any more trouble." Pivoting smartly, Mamakitty started down the main street, resuming the march southeastward. The others followed.

"Should've kicked your butt," Oskar muttered.

Cezer hissed at him. "You and what pack of offal-rolling mongrels?"

"Shut up, the both of you!" Lengthening her stride, Cocoa caught up to Mamakitty and engaged her in conversation, ignoring the two men. Oskar went silent to oblige her, while Cezer did the same so he could concentrate on watching her walk.

Behind them, in the White Ass Tavern, mogs and men had already forgotten all about the contretemps that had taken place at the table beside them. Those of the other patrons who had observed the fracas had returned to their respective drinking and conversations. Once more, the gray and depressing atmosphere was broken only by occasional whispers.

Only one patron left his seat. Easing away from the ragged counter, he was already composing the message he would send via aireq bird to distant Kyll-Bar-Bennid. It had been known for some time that the generals of the Horde and the necromancer Khaxan Mundurucu would pay well for any information that would help them to ferret out the remaining small pockets of resistance to their otherwise all-dominant rule. Surely any armed, purposeful, combative travelers who as they were fighting among themselves swore by the name of the dead wizard Susnam Evyndd were worthy of the Horde's attention?

In addition to being keen of eye and ear, the quisling was also sensitive of nose. When seated, the belligerents had smelled as human as anyone else. But when they had been battling with one another, a powerful odor of cat and dog and something fowl had suffused that portion of the taverna. Whether that information would be of any use to the Horde he did not know, but wishing to be as thorough as possible in hopes of receiving an appropriate reward, he had included it in his missive as well.

Like the rest of its arboreal brethren, the aireq bird was in a less than cheerful mood when the eager eyewitness attached message and directions to its leg. It sat on its perch, face nearly as long as its wings, and waited apathetically for instructions.

"Go now," the former resident of the taverna commanded. "Fly swift to the fortress of Kyll-Bar-Bennid, deliver this message, and hurry back with our reward. Your share will feed you well."

The aireq sighed and fluttered its sleek blue-black wings in the subdued gray light. "Might as well. I could use the exercise." Whereupon it lifted from its perch by means of the two smaller wings attached to the sides of its skull, rose into the air, and flew straightaway out the open window.