The King Trials 2: Beyond.

~The Flying Piglet~

Nightfall descends and with it, a revelry in the flying piglet.

Cheery music dominates the atmosphere, an upbeat convergence of stringed instruments, the jingles of tambourines, the ethereal shrill of flutes with a strong percussion of drums all the way through.

It is a wonder that the alehouse survived. The only proof of its devastation is the one sidewall, blackened by streaks like the outline of a column of flames, flakes of wood peeling away like dead skin. A relentless smell of ash lingers in the air. The alehouse swarms with rowdy masses, almost all of them holding tankards of ale, most of it spilling to the floor.

All the square shaped tables that can accompany four people are centred around the alehouse. Close to a blazing firepit, the ensemble of tavern musicians strum their instruments, cultivating the jovial ambiance.

Solaris and I are the only ones that sit exclusively as two. Although the tables are only meant to seat four people, most of the tables are overcrowded with clusters, reaching maximum occupancy. Though I do not know the village nor its people, it is a pleasing sight to see them all so happy. So many diverse beings in one settlement. A multiracial vision like this is rare to come by.

Solaris and I are seated on the outer ring with a frequently obstructed view of the bar. A shelf of liquor stands on display with bottles of varied drinks, some glow radiantly, others sparkle like a cosmic nebula of colours. One of the servers behind the counter pours a draft of ale from the row of kegs behind her and slides it to one of her thirsty patrons.

A riot of amusement beckons my attention on my other flank. A lot of them have moved sets of tables and chairs and shoved them to the sidelines to make space for a classic tavern brawl. The cheering escalates with every moment. It has even piqued my interests.

I sway my head twice, craning my neck, catching a glimpse  of a the contender. My shoulders sag, annoyed that I should have known. Vince is in the circle facing against a determined villager, putting on a spectacle for all.

Vince has two tankards of ale in his grasp. His opponent lashes out with a barrage of fists, but Vince deftly sidesteps from each, letting his challenger stumble past him off-balance. Laughter ripples through the crowd, his audience mainly women who try to muffle their peal of giggles behind their hands.

Vince drinks from both tankards, managing to not spill even a drop whilst he effortlessly evades his opponent's attempts, sending him flailing into public humiliation.

"As expected," Solaris says acidly.

I turn to face him. His look of sheer disapproval.

"He is so privy to attention," Solaris's eyes follows the match from over my shoulder. Resentment festering in his tone. "I swear he feeds off the adulation of people. He sees himself as a god that needs to be worshipped."

I scoff in disagreement. "Or he is simply putting on a show. It is just who he is." I fling my gaze to the corner of the alehouse, passed the narrow wrought staircase that spirals to the ceiling. Perhaps a rooftop access. I notice Anthia and Aries whispering covertly to each other with their hoods drawn.

"There it is again," Solaris points out, beating his hand on the table like a gavel. "Vince's keeper," he says it like it were a curse. He slumps back into his seat and folds his arms across his leather jerkin, almost challengingly, like he anticipates a reaction.

I feel his words do not merit an answer.

Solaris thinks at me for a while before he shoots up a hand and flags someone over from behind me. Promptly, a Tuaten appears on the flank of the table. A Tuaten is a bald-headed, two-tailed being with glossy yellow skin that looks slippery, almost wet, decorated with speckles of blue dots. He expertly balances four trays of huge, rusted silver tankards on his arms, two on each.