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Moniker: @obrian-of-the-surface-world

Book Title: Excavatia: From Dust Arise (Book 1 of the Excavatia Series)
Audio Link: Chapter 12 – Days of The Warrior Kings – Scene 1 (The Bruel)
Duration: 4 minutes 15 seconds

Text: Words: (635)

The rain had just begun to fall when the Xarmnian troop leader, called a “bruel,” kicked in the door to the Inn and the main dining hall.  The door was unbolted, but the bruel didn’t care.  He wanted a show of violence to punctuate his entry.

An olive-skinned woman, matronly plump, yet by no means obese, came out of the kitchen area wiping her hands with a dish towel.

“Now what is this?” she demanded, seeing the Xarmnian bruel standing like an imposing shadow in the door way of the Inn, rain hissing behind him on the threshold.  The door swung against the inner wall, its hasp and catch splintered by the kick inward.  A pool of water ran in rivulets into the room, blown through the rudely opened doorway.

“Where is the keeper of this Inn?!” the bruel demanded.

The woman quietly dried her hands and draped the dishtowel on the serving counter, before answering.

“He and the missus are out.  It’s the off-season.  Annual restocking trip.  Can I get you and your men rooms for the night?”

She looked past the man at the broken latch and the heaving door, then back at the man.

“Was that necessary?” she asked, but the man did not respond to her question.

“Ale!” the bruel demanded.

“Just as you please,” said the woman, rounding the bar, reaching under the counter and bringing out a tall metal flagon and turning towards a tapped barrel along the back wall.  She eyed the handle of a small dirk, lying just under the lip of the barrel rack, barely visible to anyone not standing just so.

The wind behind the man tugged at the open door and knocked it against the wall post.

“Mind getting the door, luv?” she said, with a slight grimace, her face averted.

When she turned with the filled flagon, the bruel had moved closer to the bar and had unsheathed a long knife, laying it horizontally along the surface of the bar, under his cupped hand.  The woman’s eyes flicked to it, and then looked past the cruel man, daring her to meet his eyes.

She started to set the flagon down on the bar, and the man’s other hand flashed out catching her wrist in a cruel and tightening grip.

The woman winced as the pressure increased but she did not drop the flagon.

Quietly, her teeth gritted against the crushing pain, she said, “You want the drink, or not?”

“Set it down on the bar,” the bruel growled, glaring at her, waiting for her to look up and meet his eyes.

“You’ll have to release my hand,” she said, swallowing, eyes fixed on the wooden bar.

Suddenly the pressure subsided, but the bruel’s other hand flexed around the handle of the knife, his fingers curling under the prone handle.

The woman shakily sat the flagon down, the foam almost spilling over the rim.

The bruel took the handle of the flagon and raised it to his lips, turning his head slightly to keep an eye on her.

“To your health,” he growled the threat, as he took a long draught, downing the contents, keeping his eye on her for any sudden movement.

Finished he sat the flagon down on the bar with a slight knock, then wiped his mouth and beard with the back of his hand, this time lifting the knife off of the bar.

Four Xarmnian soldiers stepped into the dining hall from the open doorway behind him, their clothes dripping wetly from the outside rain, two holding long pointed throwing spears, the others bearing swords tinged red with fading gore.

“Now I’ll ask you again,” he said, carving the air in front of her, waving the gleaming blade from side to side across the bar, “Where. Is. The Inn keeper?”