In response to Talia's question, someone in the back of the crowd calls out, "They're elves!"
The one-legged man snorts at this. "Shut yer trap Norg. These ain't elves. Elves ain't this ugly. Or this easy to kill."
"Maybe they're kobolds," shouts someone else, "like in the story of Crellan and the Kobolds!"
The drunk boys seem to think this is hilarious. "Maybe they're Booglies," one chuckles, "like in the stories my Gram tells."
Then there's a chorus of scattered opinions.
"Goblins!"
"Trolls!"
"Hag's spawn!"
This last one draws more laughter from the boys.
The peg-legged man cuts them off. "I come outside when I heard Sam scream. By the time I got here they was all chewin' on 'im. Three of 'em chased me. They did some kinda witchcraft with the grass, and I got all tangled up and fell over. These two," he looks at Pral and Talia, "killed 'em all. If they hadn't, I guess I'd be... Where's Sam's arm?"
There is a long silence. Finally, Thumbs speaks again, addressing Mediocrates' question first. "There's nothing up that road but a hundred miles of wilderness, full of elves and rumors. Maybe the light of day will show us more."
He turns back to the crowd. "Everyone inside the great hall. Now. Norg, get everyone out of the stables and bring them inside, too. Then bar the doors." He turns to the blond bartender, "Corin, find Molly and tell her Elendil needs his wounds cleaned up. Have Roona get rooms ready for these four." He pauses. "Draw that one a bath if she wants it."
Last, he addresses two broad-shouldered young men. "Bring Sam into the cellar and cover him up with something. We'll send for the priests at dawn. Leave those ugly things here--whatever they are. Father help us all."
No comments:
Post a Comment