November 5

Word Count: 1697

Saratin was exhilarated. They'd been at the inn for less than fifteen minutes and he'd already seen a brawl over a game of cards, and a man tossed into the kitchens for not being able to pay his bill. Saratin would have gladly washed dishes for the privilege, but Iber insisted tonight's meal be on him.

Iber was an interesting fellow. He had calmly stepped over the drunk passed out on the floor and eased his way over to a table in the corner. He waited silently, until the occupants picked up their dishes and vacated their spot, then he motioned for Saratin to sit.

The tavern on the first floor of the inn was called The Cat's Claw. The sign outside the door was barely visible on its warped wooden placard. The inside too, was well worn. Upon entering the cacophony of smells and sounds almost made Saratin take a step back into the cold. The air was thick with fire smoke, stew, and alcohol. It was crowded, with many small groups huddled at the tables in the back, and a few larger groups and the more open tables in the middle. Off to the left was a small stage with merry trio playing a wild tune. The table Iber chose afforded them a full view of the proceedings with very little attention drawn to them.

"You've really never been in a tavern before have you?" Iber stared at him incredulously.

"No. How can you tell? Is it that obvious?"

"Well, you've got this silly grin on your face… and every little things seems to grab your attention." Iber laughed as Saratin turned to watch the proprietor put another log on the already huge fire. "Wait until they start the real entertainment. Iber had caught the eye of the barmaid as he entered, and she had now made her way to the table.

"Whatever you're serving, we'll have two… and your best ale." Iber placed a coin that should have paid for three dinners in the maid's pocket. She smiled coyly and sauntered off.

Saratin continued to watch the different groups. One of the card players had been accused of cheating and a serious argument arose. They were screaming at each other almost unintelligibly, pointing their fingers at one another. The shorter of the two came around the table and their yelling match went nose to nose. The proprietor tried to step in, but was pushed away. That push started another and suddenly the table was flipped and coins scattered everywhere. Groups were had not been paying attention were paying attention now. They fell to the floor and began grabbing any lose coins they could find. The two shouters turned away from each other and went after those who had gone after their money. The proprietor shouted and two huge hulking men appeared from the kitchen. With their help, the owner threw as many as five men out the door and onto the streets. When the whole thing was finished, the tavern occupants simply turned their attention back to their own conversations.

"Amazing," Saratin exclaimed.

"Oh, that? Happens all the time. You should see it when the tavern owner is too cheap to hire some muscle. I've seen tables broken in two before." Saratin eyed the huge solid tables.

"Really?" As Iber laughed again, the barmaid returned with their food. Iber slipped another coin in her pocket.

"So what do Brothers do instead of going to a tavern."

"Well, when the dinner bell rings, we go into the Great Hall. During the meal we meditate or contemplate. Sometimes we'll listen as a brother shares his exemplary contemplation and we'll discuss it."

"So you think and talk?" Iber tasted a spoonful of the meat stew the barmaid had set before them. He gave it a passing grade and took another bite. Saratin joined him.

"Yes, it's very peaceful."

"Sounds boring."

"It can be."

"What about singing? Do the brother's sing at all?"

"Some monasteries are partial to music and have choirs. Ladona doesn't have a choir. Just lots of silence."

"No wonder you got out of there." Iber took a long drink from his mug. Saratin choked on his first sip. Iber laughed merrily and almost fell out of his seat.

"This is a little stronger than they have at Ladona."

"So I gathered. Look, they're going to start the dancing."

The proprietor stood in front of the stage, and quieted the crowd with a whisle.

"As most of you locals know. Theera, or dancing girl, twisted her ankle two nights ago, so I regret to inform you that there shall be no dancing tonight." A chorus of boos rang out among the patrons. Again the proprietor calmed them down. "Now never let it be said that The Cat's Claw never entertained its customers… so to the best storyteller, I will award a free meal, and all the ale a man can drink!" A cheer went up in the crowd. "Who will start us off?"

A man staggered up to the stage. With a drunken smile, he began on a lengthy recitation that was actually 5 different popular ballads pasted into one song. On the fifth verse, he fell asleep. The crowd applauded heartily as the man was carried of the stage.

"That was quite silly. He had 5 different sources for one poem. Are they all like that?"

"All of what?"

"The storytellers… do they all make no sense?" Iber raised his eyebrows mischievously and winked.

"My good friend Saratin would like to tell a story!" Iber shouted. Saratin looked him with surprise. "You're a librarian… you should know lots of stories. Even ones that make sense" Iber said as he motioned for Saratin to stand and join the proprietor on stage.

"I suppose I do." Saratin approached the stage and turned to face the wild audience. He had no idea what kind of story to tell. He stood up there for a long moment and pondered what to say. The audience grew restless.

"Are you going to speak, or just stand there like potato? One of the men picked a potato out of his strew and tossed it at him. Saratin sidestepped it.

"What story to do you want to hear? Name a book and I shall tell you its story." The audience considered this new proposal. One of the men laughed.

"Any story, brother? Any book?"

"Yes. I'm pretty good at that sort of thing," Saratin said to the rather chubby balding man at one of the better tables.

"Then tell me the story of The Knight Kinsbreed of Valor, as written by Hargill Meetrat. The man clumped his ale mug on the table for emphasis.

"The first or second edition?" The man looked stunned at such a question. Saratin waited earnestly for the answer. He knew there were several major differences between the two versions, having read both two years ago." The bald man waved his hand indifferently.

"The second," he replied.

"Very well then. `In a time when Galadin was the center of the realm of the High Mages and magic still flew easily from their fingertips, there lived a Knight of Valor, by the name of Gable Kinsbreed. His noble king gave him three tasks to complete. The first was the killing of a red dragon named Meelocks, the second was killing a wicked sorcerer, and the last was winning the hand of his third daughter."

The bald man laughed loudly. Iber stood up, but Saratin motioned for him to retake his seat.

"What, sir, do you find amusing. This isn't a particularly funny story. I know a few funny ones if you'd like."

"No," he said. "I'm laughing because you have the story all wrong. First of all his first name was Girble. Secondly, the dragon was blue, not red, and the king only had one daughter." Saratin thought seriously for a moment. He searched his thoughts for any mistake, but he was quite sure he was correct."

"You're mistaken, sir. The dragon was red. His name was Gable, and he had four daughters."

"He thinks he's right! The man shouted stood up addressing the crowd. "He just doesn't know how wrong he is!" The crowd laughed at some inn joke that Saratin did not understand… but as the minutes flew, the more sure he became that he was right. He could see the words on the page forming inside his head.

"I am correct, sir."

The man laughed again at his private joke. He pulled a book out from his pocket and flashed it around the audience. "And look what I have here? Would it be a copy of the book? And is that? Oh yes it is… my name written on the front."

"You are Hargill Meetrat?" Saratin questioned.

"Yes, indeed I am."

"Then it should be easy to settle this. Read the first paragraph on page five."

The bald man flipped arrogantly to the page five in his book. He cleared his throat loudly. `In a time when Galadin was the center of the realm of the High Mages and magic still flew easily from their fingertips, there lived a Knight of Valor, by the name of…" He looked up astonished. "It says… oh all right, so his name was Gable after all." He went on. ". His noble king gave him three tasks to complete. The first was the killing of a blue dragon."

"It says red."

"No it doesn't. It says blue." One of the men standing behind him read over his shoulder.

"Wow, it does say red, and he did have four daughters… says so right here. The brother know the book better than the guy who wrote it. If that doesn't desserve a prize, I don't know what does."

The whole crowd cheered his decision.

"Then to the brother it goes!"

"Really?"

"Yes. Of course."

"Then you may give my meal to someone who is in need. And my ale too. Thank you for your gift and your hospitality. I think I can reward you for generosity by sharing with you a my favorite poem.

"We shall be glad to hear it brother."