34
A BRAWL
The room grew quiet. The band stopped playing. The customers ceased their babble. The workers behind the bar deftly removed glasses and bottles, shoving them under the counter.
Regidor undid the sash around his robe, unfastened the top button, and let the garment fall to the floor. His tail slipped out of the belt at his waist. A plain white shirt covered his torso, but didn’t hide the bulging brawn of his back and neck. With his shoulders back and his head held high, he looked more than his seven feet in height. The black trousers he wore had been loose two weeks before. Now they stretched over his muscular thighs and calves. The upper portion of his shiny black boots molded around his legs with supple leather, but the soles and slight heels were hard enough to be lethal weapons.
He tapped his toe on the wooden floor in a slow rhythmic beat that made the hair on Kale’s arms stand on end.
“What are you, anyway?” growled the tumanhofer.
“A meech,” answered Regidor, his voice a rumble in the quiet room.
The urohm ran a hand through his greasy hair. “You mean, like a meech dragon?”
“Indeed.”
The urohm swallowed hard and looked down at his two chums.
The marione bristled. “Ain’t no such thing as a meech dragon.”
Regidor chortled.
The marione bounced on the balls of his feet, his clenched fists shaking. “We can take him. There’s three of us.”
The tumanhofer roared, lowered his head, and charged. His two buddies followed on his heels.
Regidor leaned back on his tail, swept one foot up in an arc and struck the attacking man with a clean hit to the side of his head. The meech completed the arc, landing on the same foot. He brought his tail around to land a blow to the marione’s midsection.
A dozen men joined the urohm in the fight. Kale grabbed a candlestick and entered the fray, swinging. Before she reached Regidor, the rest of the room erupted into a riot. A few picked up their drinks and made for the front door. Some struggled to pass through the belligerent crowd and leapt onto the stage, disappearing with the performers into the dark nether regions of the building.
Metta and Gymn soared above the ruckus. Dibl flew to a crude chandelier made of six lanterns and an old wagon wheel. He perched on one of the spokes and called out with noises that sounded like cheers.
Kale pressed through the slugfest, still trying to get to Regidor. She soon realized he didn’t need any assistance. No one landed a blow on the twirling, lashing warrior. He struck his opponents with fist, foot, and tail.
Two brawling men fell into her, knocking her to the floor. She struggled out from under them and crawled beneath a table. From there, she watched the pandemonium as booted feet scuffled around her. A thud from above warned her someone had landed on the table. The wood creaked, and she scrambled out just before the table collapsed in an explosion of splinters.
Kale jumped to her feet to avoid getting trampled. She dodged where she had to and shoved when she needed to in order to make her way to the bar. Bardon defended himself against two scruffy bisonbeck sailors. Kale jumped on the back of one as he raised his fist to smash the back of Bardon’s head. The bisonbeck bellowed and began to spin. She held on, thinking she would be catapulted like a rock in a sling. Bardon dispatched one assailant and turned his attention to the sailor carrying Kale on his back.
Metta and Gymn swooped in, spitting green and purple saliva at the bisonbeck. The sticky goo stung when they projected it into his eyes. Unfortunately, he bobbed and gyrated wildly and made a poor target.
Kale held on with one arm wrapped partway around the man’s thick neck. She dug the fingers of her other hand into the fleshy outer ear, twisting and pulling with all her strength.
The bisonbeck yowled. He slowed his spin, making a ham-fisted grab for her hand. Bardon took the opportunity to smash the bigger man’s nose. The lehman landed another blow to the sputtering sailor’s windpipe. Kale dropped off his back and ran to Bardon’s side. The bisonbeck went down on his knees, coughing.
We’ve got to get Regidor out of here.
“We can’t get anywhere near him.”
Not physically, but we can with our minds.
“What do you suggest?”
Work together. Both of us tell him to get out to the street.
“And when we get to the street?”
I’m not sure. Oh, where is Dar when we need him?
“We can do this, Kale. You’re right. We’ll get Regidor out to the street and away from the fight.”
Kale poured forth a stream of persuasive prattle.
Regidor, we must get away from here. This is pointless. Stop fighting. Go out the door. Regidor, we must leave. No more fighting. Get out the door. The front door, Regidor, to the street. Leave this riffraff behind. Out. Out! Get out!
Regidor eased toward the door.
Kale and Bardon dodged swinging fists and sidestepped as many of the combatants as possible. Bardon cleared the way for her until they reached the swinging doors. The minor dragons came to roost on the two o’rants as they waited by the exit for the meech.
Regidor burst through a knot of wrangling men and shot out the doors. Kale and Bardon followed, the dragons flying above them.
On the street, men fought with knives.
Oh no! This is worse.
“Don’t worry. We’re getting out of here. Regidor, to High Street before Kale gets hurt.”
Regidor landed a blow to one marione and kicked the knife out of another’s hand. The dragon caught a tumanhofer who had the ill judgment to tackle the meech from behind and tossed the short man onto the overhanging roof of a storefront porch.
Regidor flashed a toothy grin at Bardon. “Let’s go!” he shouted.
Three ruffians noticed their retreat and began hurling debris from the street. A bottle whizzed by Kale’s ear. A small stick bounced off her back. She feared for her minor dragons and wished she carried them safely inside the moonbeam cape.
She heard a thud, a grunt, and saw Bardon stumble. Regidor scooped up the injured lehman and tossed him over one shoulder. They ran until the sounds of pursuit faded.
Regidor ducked into an alley and put Bardon down. The unconscious lehman slumped against the wall.
“You take care of him,” the meech ordered. “I’m going back to find Dar.”
Panting from her long run, Kale dropped to her knees beside Bardon. The young man slid out of his half-sitting position and fell with his head in her lap. She put her hand on his chest and felt him breathing. “Regidor, those men are probably searching for you.”
“They can’t hurt me.”
“That isn’t the point. You’ll hurt them. There’s no sense in stirring up trouble.”
“I’ll stay out of sight. When I reach The Horn, I’ll mindspeak to Dar. I want him to bring my robe.”
“Now you need your robe?” She couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice.
“Granny Noon gave it to me.”
“Oh.”
She watched Regidor slip into the street and dash for another shadowy spot that would hide him.
Metta settled on her shoulder, Gymn on Bardon’s chest.
Head wound? At the minor dragon’s direction, she felt the back of Bardon’s head. She found a lump, and her hand came away wet with blood.
She struggled to reach inside her moonbeam cape. She sat in an awkward position with its folds trapped beneath her legs. As soon as she had the flap pulled back far enough, Kale asked Metta to enter a hollow and find something to use as a pad to hold against the wound.
The purple dragon returned in short order with a wad of linen material. Kale pressed this against the gash with her fingers resting on his scalp. Gymn curled his body around her hand and Bardon’s wound.
While the energy of healing moved in a circle between the little green dragon, the injured lehman, and herself, Kale touched Bardon’s cold and clammy chin. The dark shadows prevented her from seeing his color, and she wondered how pale he must be. She brushed his straight black hair from his face, and her hand lightly grazed his ear. The shape surprised her.
Exploring with her fingers, she found the ear again and ran one finger around the curve of his lower ear, up the back, and to the top where a distinct point peaked and then tapered down to his temple.
The tip was not as pronounced as Granny Noon’s, Leetu Bends’s, or Grand Ebeck’s, but it definitely did not round off at the top like an o’rant’s ear.
She took a swift breath in and whispered as it came out. “Bardon, you’re a halfling.”