not some dumb animal.” From the sound of the grumbling, the rest of the crowd agreed with him.
“Dumb! Can you catch a rat with your hands?”
“You’re a fine one to talk about holding life sacred,” a gaunt, gray-haired woman declared, shaking a finger at her. “That red flag of yours gives you away. You work for a price, killing for pay.”
Dawna walked over to the tree beside the butcher’s stall and pulled her sword free. The crowd watched with worried eyes as she sheathed it. “I accept a fee to defend what I think is right, goodwife. I only use my weapon in worthy service. I never harm anyone who cries me mercy and lays down his weapons. Thank you.” She tugged her pack out of the butcher’s limp arms.
“Fine words,” the prosperous man said, “but you were quick enough to paddle a harmless boy.”
“It’s a lesson he had coming, if not from you, then from me,” Dawna said frankly. “If the king’s marshalls saw him he’d have gotten more than a swat, I can tell you that. His punishment was with my empty hand. I will never draw my sword against an unarmed man, woman or child.” She sighed. “I am only passing through your town. I’m not looking for a fight. But don’t doubt that I can defend myself well without it. I don’t want a fight with you. All I want is to sup here and sleep, and I’ll be on my way in the morning.”
“Not in my establishment, you won’t. You stay out of my inn,” the wrinkled old woman ordered her.
“And mine,” added a stout man.
“Leave our town,” the boy’s father declared, shaking his fist. “We don’t want you here, sell-sword. No one here wants your services, or your presence.”
Dawna growled to herself. If she hadn’t been so tired she’d have given them all the flat of her hand. If anyone she’d ever met needed spankings, it was these people. “I’m on the common property, and I claim the king’s peace.” She raised an eyebrow, defying anyone to disagree with her.
No one did. The king’s peace meant they couldn’t drive her off the green or within a body-length of any public highway. Paying her no more mind the townsfolk closed up their market stalls and went in to dinner. Dawna watched longingly as a cluster of merry-makers followed Mistress Peck through the cheerfully-painted wooden door at the corner of the square. Beer , she thought, wistfully, roast beef . Tempting smells floated out to her on the evening breeze.
No chance gettiing a hot meal from Mistress Peck or the other innkeeper, nor of paying a villager for a share of their supper. Dawna sat down against a tree and began to rummage in her pack for dry, tasteless journey biscuit. It’d gripe her belly more than usual knowing that good food was so close by.
She jumped back in alarm as something cold and slimy fell on her hand. The tabby cat she had rescued sat at her feet with tail wound around its paws, looking up at her with big, green, saucerlike eyes. The thing that had now fallen off Dawna’s hand was a freshly caught trout.
“Taking pity on the hungry traveler, eh?” she said, reaching down to scratch the cat behind the ears. “Thank you. It’ll be most welcome.”
With flint and tinder from her pack she struck a small fire, gutted and staked the fish over it to cook. It was delicious. The cat watched her eat, accepted a morsel and no more, rubbed against Dawna’s knee, then disappeared into the darkness. Dawna banked the fire and settled herself uncomfortably against the tree. With the townsfolk unkindly inclined toward her she didn’t dare strip off her armor. After a few drinks they might be bolder. She hated fighting with drunks; they always threw up on her, and bronze took so much polishing.
The blanket of twilight began to draw across the sky. Now that the sun was down the chill river mist was rising. She pulled her gray wool cloak out of her pack and wrapped it around herself, tugging the hood down over her forehead. Not warm enough, but it would
“Dumb! Can you catch a rat with your hands?”
“You’re a fine one to talk about holding life sacred,” a gaunt, gray-haired woman declared, shaking a finger at her. “That red flag of yours gives you away. You work for a price, killing for pay.”
Dawna walked over to the tree beside the butcher’s stall and pulled her sword free. The crowd watched with worried eyes as she sheathed it. “I accept a fee to defend what I think is right, goodwife. I only use my weapon in worthy service. I never harm anyone who cries me mercy and lays down his weapons. Thank you.” She tugged her pack out of the butcher’s limp arms.
“Fine words,” the prosperous man said, “but you were quick enough to paddle a harmless boy.”
“It’s a lesson he had coming, if not from you, then from me,” Dawna said frankly. “If the king’s marshalls saw him he’d have gotten more than a swat, I can tell you that. His punishment was with my empty hand. I will never draw my sword against an unarmed man, woman or child.” She sighed. “I am only passing through your town. I’m not looking for a fight. But don’t doubt that I can defend myself well without it. I don’t want a fight with you. All I want is to sup here and sleep, and I’ll be on my way in the morning.”
“Not in my establishment, you won’t. You stay out of my inn,” the wrinkled old woman ordered her.
“And mine,” added a stout man.
“Leave our town,” the boy’s father declared, shaking his fist. “We don’t want you here, sell-sword. No one here wants your services, or your presence.”
Dawna growled to herself. If she hadn’t been so tired she’d have given them all the flat of her hand. If anyone she’d ever met needed spankings, it was these people. “I’m on the common property, and I claim the king’s peace.” She raised an eyebrow, defying anyone to disagree with her.
No one did. The king’s peace meant they couldn’t drive her off the green or within a body-length of any public highway. Paying her no more mind the townsfolk closed up their market stalls and went in to dinner. Dawna watched longingly as a cluster of merry-makers followed Mistress Peck through the cheerfully-painted wooden door at the corner of the square. Beer , she thought, wistfully, roast beef . Tempting smells floated out to her on the evening breeze.
No chance gettiing a hot meal from Mistress Peck or the other innkeeper, nor of paying a villager for a share of their supper. Dawna sat down against a tree and began to rummage in her pack for dry, tasteless journey biscuit. It’d gripe her belly more than usual knowing that good food was so close by.
She jumped back in alarm as something cold and slimy fell on her hand. The tabby cat she had rescued sat at her feet with tail wound around its paws, looking up at her with big, green, saucerlike eyes. The thing that had now fallen off Dawna’s hand was a freshly caught trout.
“Taking pity on the hungry traveler, eh?” she said, reaching down to scratch the cat behind the ears. “Thank you. It’ll be most welcome.”
With flint and tinder from her pack she struck a small fire, gutted and staked the fish over it to cook. It was delicious. The cat watched her eat, accepted a morsel and no more, rubbed against Dawna’s knee, then disappeared into the darkness. Dawna banked the fire and settled herself uncomfortably against the tree. With the townsfolk unkindly inclined toward her she didn’t dare strip off her armor. After a few drinks they might be bolder. She hated fighting with drunks; they always threw up on her, and bronze took so much polishing.
The blanket of twilight began to draw across the sky. Now that the sun was down the chill river mist was rising. She pulled her gray wool cloak out of her pack and wrapped it around herself, tugging the hood down over her forehead. Not warm enough, but it would
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