Dark Tidings

Chapter 13 - Spring Roll

They both froze when they heard the sound of the front door opening. Three giant men burst in and they were all staring evil daggers at them.

"Who the hell are you people? What are you doing in my house?" shouted the biggest man. He was enormous and made out of pure muscle; there wasn't an ounce of fat on the beast. His long straggly hair and thick black beard completed the menacing image.

"They're thieves," screamed one of the other men. "Let's get them. Let's hurt them bad."

Tung's instincts kicked in and he took control. Without taking his eyes off the three bearded figures, he whispered hurried instructions to Madrick.

"Go. You need a head start. I'll cause a diversion. Grab our things and sneak out the back door. Go to the market quarter. I'll meet you there. Go."

Madrick scooped up their possessions and backed away from the approaching men. He edged towards the back door, hoping he'd be unnoticed if he didn't look them in the eyes. Tung lifted two logs from the fireside and hurled them at the, now extremely angry, men. They looked even angrier as the logs smashed into the furniture behind them. Another two logs followed; this time he hit one of them square in the face and the men backed off a little. Angry didn't describe their mood now. They were deranged. Their faces were the colour nature had only intended for over-ripe plums and they made noises which only bears had a chance of understanding.

Madrick had slipped away and made his escape but the men had penned Tung in. His route to the back door was cut off. He swung the last two logs around wildly to fend off his attackers, all of whom were now armed with various objects they'd chosen with the express purpose of hurting Tung... a lot.

His internal sense of survival spotted his last chance to escape a merciless beating. He darted for the window behind him and, without really thinking, threw himself headfirst at it. The shutters were closed but the flimsy wood splintered as his head crashed into them. He flew, rather gracefully, through the gap and landed on the grass outside. It was as if he had practised this means of exit many times because he performed a surprisingly stylish roll before he sprung to his feet and ran free. The three men were left stunned, all they could do was watch him run for his life and disappear into the maze of alleys which led away from the house.

Tung chuckled and literally patted his own back as he sprinted away. Weaving through the back streets, he made for the busy market quarter. Greasy smells and the raucous sounds of numerous inns and eating houses filled the air. Squawky chatter echoed off the buildings as old women haggled with stallholders for scraps of meat and vegetables, and young women haggled with old men for free drinks. Drunken revellers screamed abuse at the open-air entertainment. He began to relax. These streets were his home.

He barged and bumped his way through the crowds. Where was the old man? Had he kept on running, with all their worldly possessions? He was about to give up when he found Madrick cowering in a small doorway near the main square. He slipped in beside him and, without so much as a 'hello', started to describe his daring escape.

"And it ended with a beautifully timed spring through the window followed by a graceful roll when I landed."

In reality, the escape had been quite impressive, however Tung's wildly exaggerated version would have left the average person in awe, had they believed even half of it. Madrick wasn't the average person but an extra-large pinch of salt allowed him to listen in silence and nod politely when appropriate. He seemed glad to be reunited.

"How about we get something to eat?" said Tung.

"I've still got plenty of the dungeon banquet in my belly," said Madrick. "How about we get a drink instead?"

There was no argument from Tung so they left the comparative safety of the doorway and slunk through the shops and stalls, keeping their eyes peeled all the while for the bearded men. Would the three beasts try to find them or would they cut their losses and stay at home to clear up the mess?

They heard the drunken shouts and smelt the overpowering stench of alcohol long before they saw the tavern. They slipped inside The Black Bear; it seemed vaguely familiar to Tung. Not surprising really because he'd imbibed in most of the town's less salubrious hostelries. Tung was immediately filled with nostalgic, mainly imagined, recollections of happier times as he led Madrick through the crowded tables and up to the bar.

"Two flagons of your best ale, barkeep," he shouted over the din, paying for them out of his recently-acquired ill-gotten gains.

When the drinks arrived, he took a deep swig from one before handing it to Madrick. The old wizard was too busy trying to spy out a seat to notice. Tung surveyed the room. It was filled with a motley assortment of dangerous and dirty human lowlifes. My kind of people, he thought as he took a long swallow from his own tankard.

"There's an empty table," said Madrick. "Over there, near the back."

They elbowed their way through the throng and grabbed the seats just before a young couple who thought they'd found a quiet spot for a bit of courting.

"Too slow," said Madrick. "Off you blow."

It was marvellous to be sitting in a reasonably comfortable chair, in a comfortably warm room with an adequately cool tankard of ale.

"Life doesn't get much better than this," said Tung, as he downed half the brown liquid in his jug.

It had been a long time since he'd had good food in his belly, a drink in his hand and money in his pocket. Life was perfect and it was only going to get better from here on in.

By the time they were halfway through their third pitcher, they'd decided on the next few steps in their plan. They reserved one of the inn's four rooms and after one or two more drinks they would retire to the room and create the next spell. Follow that with some well-earned sleep and hopefully when the morning came, they'd be able to work out the best way to use the new spell.

It seemed like a good, solid plan, however it didn't take account of the fact that Tung's 'one or two' more drinks actually turned out to be more like eight or nine. That was bad, because the Scroll in the hands of a very drunk man was not a clever combination; not clever at all.