17878265 by David Page B

ending to this story than the one portended by this announcement.
    Taggert banged his tankard with a spoon to quiet the commotion in his common room.
    “Let’s hear it, then!” shouted Miller Wilton.
    “All right,” Taggert grumped, waving Wilton down. “Barag son of Borag has asked for the hand of my beloved Belinda, and I have agreed to let them wed!”
    Taggert sounded happy, but faraway to Loric. The wall behind him finally closed in on him to end his retreat. Likewise, the eruption of joy that followed was muted to Loric’s ears. He had thought that maybe his father was right. With Barag gone, perhaps he would build a farm and take a wife. Belinda would make a fine mate, but now she was promised to Barag. Loric slumped into a chair and stared into his tankard, wishing it were deeper. He turned it bottom up and emptied it, without realizing he was drinking to the happy couple. A critical decision had been made for him. He was leaving Taeglin tonight.
    “You look like you could use another drink, friend,” offered the man across the table from him. Loric was without words, so the man said, “I’ll buy. I’ve seen that look before.”
    Loric kindly thanked the man and lifted his eyes for a glimpse of him. His green hood was up, but he hung back in his chair, with his arms draped behind its tall knobs. He looked like a scarecrow. His posture allowed firelight to play upon his face, which featured cool blue eyes, thin lips that were pressed together to form a confident smile and a scar, high on his left cheek.
    “That engagement caught you off guard; did it, Loric?” the stranger asked.
    Loric eyed him suspiciously. “How do you know my name?” he demanded.
    The stranger shrugged, not at all put off by Loric’s gruff question. “I watch. I listen,” he answered. “I pick up a few things that way.”
    “You’re an eavesdropper,” Loric grunted, annoyed to be in the man’s presence.
    “Some would say that,” the man agreed. “Some would be as rude as to tell me I am nosy,”
    he went on, reading Loric’s next response and speaking it before he had the chance. “I like to think I’m observant.”
    “Call it what you will,” Loric shrugged. “You’re minding business that’s not your own.”
    The stranger’s half-smile kindly disagreed with Loric. He withdrew a handful of silver and copper coins and piled them on the table for barmaids to see.
    “So what’s your business in Taeglin?” Loric asked, watching the man’s nimble fingers
    shuffle the clinking discs about on the flat surface before him. Fair-haired Jillian brought a pitcher to the table to refill their mugs, as if summoned by magic.
    “That is my own,” the man said in a low voice.
    Jillian frowned.
    Loric was not sure whether the expression was for his question or the stranger’s reply. “Oh,”
    Loric replied dumbly.
    As the barmaid moved away, the stranger studied the sway of her hips. “So you’re a farm boy, huh?”
    Loric nodded. “What of it?” he asked.
    “The red stallion.... is it yours?” the stranger inquired.
    Loric was uncomfortable talking to the inquisitive fellow opposite him. He made to down his drink and leave, but Barag was standing near the door. Loric would endure any conversation to avoid an encounter with the bully. He decided that no answer was best.
    “The reason I asked,” the stranger told him, “is because I know many a knight that would give their shield arm for a fine piece of horseflesh like that.”
    Loric poked his index finger toward the man and rumbled, “Leave my horse alone.”
    The stranger raised his hands defensively and chuckled. “Relax, Loric. Your horse is safe.”
    Loric rose to check on Sunset.
    “He is right where you left him,” the stranger promised. “Sit down. I am harmless. I am just curious what a farm lad needs with such an animal. That’s all.”
    “My father gave him to me,” Loric conceded. “If he’s not where I left him....”
    “He is there,” the