Fleas - Songs of the Gnolls I

A SLAVE, AN OLD MAN AND A MOUNTAIN GOAT 2.1

He held the mead horn as unintelligible and completely unimportant voices buzzed around him. The tavern keeper, a sweaty, smelly man, looked at him with a grim expression. He fumbled in his pockets and handed him the three copper coins the drink cost. He took a sip and frowned as if he had just licked a rotten lemon.

"You're not from around here, are you?". A young man with a squeaky voice sat down next to him. "Beer is acceptable here, but mead," he raised his eyebrows, "you know. Tell me, what brings you to the Kingdom of the Wall?"

It was no longer a kingdom, the Empire had absorbed it long ago, and even when it was, it was not called that. The old knight understood the reason for the nickname. The houses were ugly, as were the food and the people. The great wall that separated the civilization from the savannah was the most striking thing about the place.

"That is a personal matter, my young friend," he replied without looking at him. He turned the horn a few times before finishing the bloody ordeal that the tavern keeper had mistaken for mead.

"I understand," continued the man, "we all have our business. However, I would be happy to offer myself as a guide. These roads can be a bit confusing for someone unfamiliar with their curves..."

"I wasted three coins on that drink, and I can't afford to waste another. I appreciate the offer," he said with the rudeness and tactlessness that characterized someone of his age and experience.

He rose and left the tavern. Outside waited his mount, a large mountain goat with huge horns, silver fur and hazel eyes. And bad-tempered, like him. The animal was as big as a horse and twice as agile, making it an ideal mount for steep and mountainous terrain.

"Come on, Surly, let's go," he said as he untied the reins and struggled into the saddle. When he was a young man, he could do it in one bound. But now his knees hurt and his legs were not so strong.

The young man came out of the tavern and gave chase. He took Surly by the bridle and stroked him as he explained:

"I must insist that my services are... necessary. You see, this is no place for a wrinkled and forgetful old man. Perhaps it would be wise for you to hear my price and pay it."

The mountain goat shook off his grip and gave him a head butt. The man fell back on his hindquarters and put his hands to his head. He saw blood gushing from it.

"His name is Surly," explained the old man, "can you guess why?"

The angry man tried to get up, but the blow had made him dizzy. The old man sighed, removed a blanket from the saddle with which he had covered a claymore, draw it and continued:

"You don't know who I am. Perhaps my younger days are gone, but not my ability to cut off heads. I could prove it, or you could hear my offer: Leave now. If you ever cross my path again, a Surly's headbutt will be the least of your worries.

The man was not intimidated, but he made no effort to get up.The old man spurred Surly on and he began to march.

The streets of the city were dusty and uneven. Thirst was a constant, even among the cacti that grew here and there. And water could be worth more than gold. The city was still on alert for a visit from the hyaenids. He did not have the pleasure of meeting them, for he had just arrived. Nor was he interested in them, for his business was different, alien to the savannah and its inhabitants. In the streets, everything was sold, from goods from the Sun Kingdom to the west to slaves. Of the latter, the most common were trolls, ideal for the mines; orcs, useful for archery and little else; gnomes, useful as servants; and, of course, men who had fallen from grace, unable to pay their debts, or captured in some campaign.