Bonus Scene #2: Fight at the Golden Hare
(Roric POV) (From Chapter 17)
The interior of the Golden Hare was warmly lit, clean, and cozy. Couples, small groups of men, and even families sat at the long tables, eating and drinking, talking and laughing. A group of young men occupied the end of one of the tables, apparently working hard at getting drunk. Feeling out of place, an obvious stranger in this room where everyone appeared to know each other, Roric sidled over to a smaller, and thankfully empty, table in the corner, not far from the heavily-drinking young men.
Almost immediately, a tall, gangly youth appeared beside him. Roric braced himself to be kicked out of this place where he didn’t belong, but instead the boy said, “What can I get for you?”
He was hungry and thirsty and exhausted in body and spirit, too much to even think. “I...”
“I know what you need. I’ll be right back.”
The youth went over to the bar and quickly returned with a tall tankard overflowing with foam. “This’ll hit the spot. What d’you think?”
Roric took a sip. It was a dark beer, flavorful and fortifying. Immediately he felt a little revived. “Very good, thank you. Tell me, please,” he added quickly as the youth turned away, “is there a woman named Perarre Tabrano working here?”
The youth goggled at him wide-eyed, then said, “Be right back.”
He headed for a door next to the bar. Roric wondered what had made the boy react with such an extraordinary expression on his face. He sat drinking his beer, fearing to see who came out of that door or what their manner would be. Perarre’s mother or sister, coming to give him an earful of scolding for how he had mistreated her and then send him packing? The man she was going to marry, to punch him in the face and then send him packing? Perarre herself, to tell him she didn’t want to see him, or that she was already married, and send him packing?
He wanted to flee, but he hadn’t come all this way just to run away before he reached his goal. Instead, he drank down the rest of the tankard to brace himself for whatever might be coming, then signaled the bartender for more. The burly, brown-bearded man, built like a bear, quickly brought him a second tankard and accepted the coins that Roric fumbled out of his leather coin pouch.
He drank deeply. These tankards were much larger than he was used to, but the next thing he knew, he had already drained the second one. The room tilted slightly around him as he debated the wisdom of ordering more.
Then one of the young drunkards sitting near Roric yelled, “Hey, Peri, I know you’re in there, woman, so get your sweet ass out here and bring me some beer!”
The glow of the beer inside Roric turned to a heat of anger. Surely that oaf couldn’t be the man Perarre had left him for. He barely restrained an inexplicable and completely foreign urge to go over to the man and punch him.
The door by the bar banged open and Perarre swept out, holding a tankard. Roric caught his breath at the sight of her; even in a common brown dress and white apron, her hair all sweaty and flyaway and a look of utter fury on her face, she was so beautiful. Why had he been so foolish as to drive her away?
She slammed the tankard down on the polished wooden surface of the bar. “Beer for Edro,” she said, her voice carrying across the sounds of conversation in the room, which had become more subdued. “Watered.”
The bartender smiled calmly at her and filled the tankard. Perarre thanked him and stalked, tankard in hand, over to the table where the man who had shouted for her – Edro, Roric presumed – was sitting with his friends.
Before she could set the tankard down, Edro grabbed her arm. “Why’ve you been avoiding me, woman? Aren’t you glad to see me?” With his other hand he gave her bottom a hard squeeze.
Roric had seen enough. His hesitations evaporated with his growing rage – and, perhaps, with the influence of the two full tankards of beer in his system. He stood, somewhat steady on his feet, and walked over to Perarre and Edro as Perarre, standing with her back to him, smacked the side of Edro’s head with the tankard, sloshing beer over his blond hair.
Edro’s hand tightened on her arm and he licked at the beer dripping down his face. “Watered? You’re giving me watered beer, bitch? You –”
“Get your hands off of her,” Roric said, his voice falling like a rock into the now-silent room.
Perarre turned and saw him. Astonishment – or was it fear? – flashed over her face. “Roric...”
Still gripping Perarre’s arm, Edro stood up from the bench. “Excuse me?” he said right in Roric’s face, the heavy stink of his alcohol-saturated breath choking Roric’s senses. “What did you say to me?”
The two tankards of beer had unlocked something buried deep inside Roric, something he thought had been beaten out of him decades ago. “I said, get your hands off of her.”
“She’s my woman, and this is none of your business.”
“No, she’s my woman.”
“What was that?” Edro asked loudly. “I’m not sure I heard you right.”
“Am I speaking in Uurikhani? I said, she’s mine.”
“Roric –” Perarre said, her voice high and tight with fear.
“Frigging bastard!” Edro let go of Perarre and swung a heavy fist at Roric’s face. It connected with a loud thud and a burst of pain through Roric’s jaw. He stumbled backwards, crashed into the bench where he’d been sitting, and found himself and the bench overturned in a heap on the floor.
Through a haze of pain and alcohol and fury and embarrassment, Roric watched Perarre throw the rest of the beer in the tankard in Edro’s face. He knocked the tankard out of her hand. “Stupid frigging bitch!”
He lunged at her; his friends grabbed him by the shirt and the belt of his pants, restraining him. “Ed, you’re going to get us thrown out again!” one of them yelled.
Perarre hurried over to Roric and knelt down beside him. She dabbed at the corner of his mouth with the corner of her apron; the white fabric came away with blood on it. “Oh, Roric, he’s not worth it.”
He had spent too many years of his life weak and humiliated and cowering; no more of that, not now that he had something to fight for. Breathing hard, he pushed himself up to sit propped against the toppled bench. “Is that the one you’re going to marry?” he asked.
Perarre sat back, shock on her face. “Marry? Where’d you get that idea?”
“The orderly who brought me your note. Blonde girl. She said she heard you and your sister talking once about a man who was waiting for you to come home and marry him.”
“Nida.” Perarre briefly closed her eyes in exasperation. “If I ever get back to the University, I’ll strangle that girl. If she had bothered to eavesdrop on the whole conversation, she would have heard me say that Edro’s a pig and I wouldn’t marry him if he was the last man in the world!” She shouted the last of this in Edro’s direction.
“Bitch!” Edro shouted back. “You’re going to marry me, and you’ve got nothing to say about it!”
Roric wiped more warm wetness away from his mouth with the back of his hand, and stared at the blood. His jaw ached; he could feel it starting to swell where Edro had punched him. He swallowed nausea at the pain; it was probably due to the large quantity of beer he had drunk that he hadn’t noticed it before now. More important than the pain was the fact that this stupid, drunken oaf had been abusing Perarre most shamefully. Edro might be younger than him and twice as broad and more used to brawling, but Roric was going to teach him a lesson.
Perarre caught her breath and drew back a bit as though frightened by what she saw in his face. With one hand on the toppled bench and the other on her shoulder for support, Roric got to his feet. She scrambled up beside him. “Roric, please don’t, he’ll kill you, he’s too stupid to know any better, it’s not worth it...”
Roric ignored her. While Edro and his friends laughed and shouted insults, he picked up the metal tankard that had landed on the floor and rolled towards him, and walked to Edro’s table. He set the tankard down hard on the table and stared at his hand, drawing on the powerful magic that had entered him when he opened Anggird’s book. It swelled within him and rushed to his hand, then paused, awaiting his command.
He grabbed the tankard and pushed the magic into it. It shattered with a loud, grating, metallic noise into a heap of metal shards.
Edro and his friends fell still. Roric fixed Edro with a hard stare. “Leave. Her. Alone.”
Neither Edro nor his friends argued with him as he turned his back on them and walked back to his table. Cautiously, he touched the fallen bench. When it didn’t explode, he righted it and sat down.
“You must be hungry,” Perarre said, a note of forced cheerfulness in her voice, loud in the silent, tension-filled room. “We’ve got some nice roast pork and vegetables tonight. I’ll bring you some. And when you’re done, we’ll talk.”
The fury that had kept Roric going through the confrontation with Edro drained away all at once, leaving him weary and heavy. “Please.”
As she returned to the kitchen, he rested his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. Maybe she was furious with him. Maybe she didn’t want him here. But even if she told him to leave, at least he had protected her honor.
And she hadn’t left him for that stupid, drunken oaf, after all.
(Roric POV) (From Chapter 17)
The interior of the Golden Hare was warmly lit, clean, and cozy. Couples, small groups of men, and even families sat at the long tables, eating and drinking, talking and laughing. A group of young men occupied the end of one of the tables, apparently working hard at getting drunk. Feeling out of place, an obvious stranger in this room where everyone appeared to know each other, Roric sidled over to a smaller, and thankfully empty, table in the corner, not far from the heavily-drinking young men.
Almost immediately, a tall, gangly youth appeared beside him. Roric braced himself to be kicked out of this place where he didn’t belong, but instead the boy said, “What can I get for you?”
He was hungry and thirsty and exhausted in body and spirit, too much to even think. “I...”
“I know what you need. I’ll be right back.”
The youth went over to the bar and quickly returned with a tall tankard overflowing with foam. “This’ll hit the spot. What d’you think?”
Roric took a sip. It was a dark beer, flavorful and fortifying. Immediately he felt a little revived. “Very good, thank you. Tell me, please,” he added quickly as the youth turned away, “is there a woman named Perarre Tabrano working here?”
The youth goggled at him wide-eyed, then said, “Be right back.”
He headed for a door next to the bar. Roric wondered what had made the boy react with such an extraordinary expression on his face. He sat drinking his beer, fearing to see who came out of that door or what their manner would be. Perarre’s mother or sister, coming to give him an earful of scolding for how he had mistreated her and then send him packing? The man she was going to marry, to punch him in the face and then send him packing? Perarre herself, to tell him she didn’t want to see him, or that she was already married, and send him packing?
He wanted to flee, but he hadn’t come all this way just to run away before he reached his goal. Instead, he drank down the rest of the tankard to brace himself for whatever might be coming, then signaled the bartender for more. The burly, brown-bearded man, built like a bear, quickly brought him a second tankard and accepted the coins that Roric fumbled out of his leather coin pouch.
He drank deeply. These tankards were much larger than he was used to, but the next thing he knew, he had already drained the second one. The room tilted slightly around him as he debated the wisdom of ordering more.
Then one of the young drunkards sitting near Roric yelled, “Hey, Peri, I know you’re in there, woman, so get your sweet ass out here and bring me some beer!”
The glow of the beer inside Roric turned to a heat of anger. Surely that oaf couldn’t be the man Perarre had left him for. He barely restrained an inexplicable and completely foreign urge to go over to the man and punch him.
The door by the bar banged open and Perarre swept out, holding a tankard. Roric caught his breath at the sight of her; even in a common brown dress and white apron, her hair all sweaty and flyaway and a look of utter fury on her face, she was so beautiful. Why had he been so foolish as to drive her away?
She slammed the tankard down on the polished wooden surface of the bar. “Beer for Edro,” she said, her voice carrying across the sounds of conversation in the room, which had become more subdued. “Watered.”
The bartender smiled calmly at her and filled the tankard. Perarre thanked him and stalked, tankard in hand, over to the table where the man who had shouted for her – Edro, Roric presumed – was sitting with his friends.
Before she could set the tankard down, Edro grabbed her arm. “Why’ve you been avoiding me, woman? Aren’t you glad to see me?” With his other hand he gave her bottom a hard squeeze.
Roric had seen enough. His hesitations evaporated with his growing rage – and, perhaps, with the influence of the two full tankards of beer in his system. He stood, somewhat steady on his feet, and walked over to Perarre and Edro as Perarre, standing with her back to him, smacked the side of Edro’s head with the tankard, sloshing beer over his blond hair.
Edro’s hand tightened on her arm and he licked at the beer dripping down his face. “Watered? You’re giving me watered beer, bitch? You –”
“Get your hands off of her,” Roric said, his voice falling like a rock into the now-silent room.
Perarre turned and saw him. Astonishment – or was it fear? – flashed over her face. “Roric...”
Still gripping Perarre’s arm, Edro stood up from the bench. “Excuse me?” he said right in Roric’s face, the heavy stink of his alcohol-saturated breath choking Roric’s senses. “What did you say to me?”
The two tankards of beer had unlocked something buried deep inside Roric, something he thought had been beaten out of him decades ago. “I said, get your hands off of her.”
“She’s my woman, and this is none of your business.”
“No, she’s my woman.”
“What was that?” Edro asked loudly. “I’m not sure I heard you right.”
“Am I speaking in Uurikhani? I said, she’s mine.”
“Roric –” Perarre said, her voice high and tight with fear.
“Frigging bastard!” Edro let go of Perarre and swung a heavy fist at Roric’s face. It connected with a loud thud and a burst of pain through Roric’s jaw. He stumbled backwards, crashed into the bench where he’d been sitting, and found himself and the bench overturned in a heap on the floor.
Through a haze of pain and alcohol and fury and embarrassment, Roric watched Perarre throw the rest of the beer in the tankard in Edro’s face. He knocked the tankard out of her hand. “Stupid frigging bitch!”
He lunged at her; his friends grabbed him by the shirt and the belt of his pants, restraining him. “Ed, you’re going to get us thrown out again!” one of them yelled.
Perarre hurried over to Roric and knelt down beside him. She dabbed at the corner of his mouth with the corner of her apron; the white fabric came away with blood on it. “Oh, Roric, he’s not worth it.”
He had spent too many years of his life weak and humiliated and cowering; no more of that, not now that he had something to fight for. Breathing hard, he pushed himself up to sit propped against the toppled bench. “Is that the one you’re going to marry?” he asked.
Perarre sat back, shock on her face. “Marry? Where’d you get that idea?”
“The orderly who brought me your note. Blonde girl. She said she heard you and your sister talking once about a man who was waiting for you to come home and marry him.”
“Nida.” Perarre briefly closed her eyes in exasperation. “If I ever get back to the University, I’ll strangle that girl. If she had bothered to eavesdrop on the whole conversation, she would have heard me say that Edro’s a pig and I wouldn’t marry him if he was the last man in the world!” She shouted the last of this in Edro’s direction.
“Bitch!” Edro shouted back. “You’re going to marry me, and you’ve got nothing to say about it!”
Roric wiped more warm wetness away from his mouth with the back of his hand, and stared at the blood. His jaw ached; he could feel it starting to swell where Edro had punched him. He swallowed nausea at the pain; it was probably due to the large quantity of beer he had drunk that he hadn’t noticed it before now. More important than the pain was the fact that this stupid, drunken oaf had been abusing Perarre most shamefully. Edro might be younger than him and twice as broad and more used to brawling, but Roric was going to teach him a lesson.
Perarre caught her breath and drew back a bit as though frightened by what she saw in his face. With one hand on the toppled bench and the other on her shoulder for support, Roric got to his feet. She scrambled up beside him. “Roric, please don’t, he’ll kill you, he’s too stupid to know any better, it’s not worth it...”
Roric ignored her. While Edro and his friends laughed and shouted insults, he picked up the metal tankard that had landed on the floor and rolled towards him, and walked to Edro’s table. He set the tankard down hard on the table and stared at his hand, drawing on the powerful magic that had entered him when he opened Anggird’s book. It swelled within him and rushed to his hand, then paused, awaiting his command.
He grabbed the tankard and pushed the magic into it. It shattered with a loud, grating, metallic noise into a heap of metal shards.
Edro and his friends fell still. Roric fixed Edro with a hard stare. “Leave. Her. Alone.”
Neither Edro nor his friends argued with him as he turned his back on them and walked back to his table. Cautiously, he touched the fallen bench. When it didn’t explode, he righted it and sat down.
“You must be hungry,” Perarre said, a note of forced cheerfulness in her voice, loud in the silent, tension-filled room. “We’ve got some nice roast pork and vegetables tonight. I’ll bring you some. And when you’re done, we’ll talk.”
The fury that had kept Roric going through the confrontation with Edro drained away all at once, leaving him weary and heavy. “Please.”
As she returned to the kitchen, he rested his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. Maybe she was furious with him. Maybe she didn’t want him here. But even if she told him to leave, at least he had protected her honor.
And she hadn’t left him for that stupid, drunken oaf, after all.
