“Really?
How’s that?” Before she could answer, a man shouted across the inn.
“Oi, girl!
Could we get some fucking ale here?
Tonight?
We’re thirsty!” …
Laughter and whistles followed the man’s shout.
He turned to see a group of soldiers sitting across the room.
Red-faced and full of an energy that made Clark’s skin crawl.
He couldn’t place their banner, a white catfish in front of several colors.
To her credit, the girl didn’t even flinch.
She simply nodded to the group and looked back.
Her smile was gone.
“You actually look at me.
You talk to me.
Lords yell like him.” Clark glanced at the man who shouted and then back to her.
“He’s no lord.” She picked up the pitcher.
“He acts like one.” And with that, she strode over to the table of laughing soldiers.
Clark sipped his ale and watched, he hoped, inconspicuously.
She handled them well.
Or at well as she could.
She didn’t apologize.
She just went about and filled their cups.
Comments were made.
More than one of the men grabbed her ass, but she promptly ignored it and moved on, her face a mask.
This was obviously routine.
Clark turned back to his cup.
It was tough enough to watch this stuff on the show.
Now it was in front of him and he couldn’t do anything about it.
At least not now.
All he could do was be less of an ogre than the average man.
Not a high bar, he guessed.
The rest of the night was fine.
His meal came, the girl smiling again and Clark knew better than to ask if she was all right.
He just thanked her and ate.
An hour later, all full, the rye bread in his rucksack, Clark sat on a bench outside the inn.
He couldn’t bring himself to start walking yet.
The fatigue was beginning to get to him.
He had never hiked continuously this long before and certainly not under emotional duress.
So he sat on the bench, under the night sky, looking at the stars.
The second night on the road, he tried looking for Orion.
He hoped that the different world didn’t mean a different solar system, but apparently that was the case.
It saddened him.
Orion was the only constellation he could pick out every night when he got home from work.
He’d parked his old Acura, look up and see the ancient giant huntsman.
It calmed him and allowed him to get through one more day without telling his manager to go fuck himself.
But Orion was gone and so Clark stared at the sky, hoping to find a new calming constellation.
At least he had plenty of stars to choose from.
Or more he could actually see.
No light pollution made for a spectacular night sky.
His musing was interrupted by the door banging open.
He turned to find the soldiers staggering out, heading to the stables.
He bowed his head and stayed on the bench, perfectly still.
The men walked by him, not paying them any mind.
Or at least that’s what he thought.
“Oi…oi you!” Clark looked and saw that one of the soldiers had staggered to a stop and was gazing at him.
It was the one who had yelled across the tavern.
Fuck.
He forced himself to remain calm and debated whether or not to stand.
Standing would leave him more options to either run or defend himself.
But it was also an escalation.
Plus sitting was a good power move, so he kept his ass on the bench and spoke.
“Yes?” The soldier stepped forward.
Clark did not like his eyes.
“She liked you…she was a mighty cunt to us, but she liked you…” And it had escalated anyway.
Clark stood up.
Slowly.
The rest of the men were back, all thoughts of retrieving their horses forgotten.
The soldier stepped forward.
“You see…I wanted a little cunny tonight.
You understand that, right?
Just a sniff…she wasn’t too busy…time for you.
Why not time for me?” Clark looked at the soldier.
The man was shorter but had more muscle than he did.
Plus he had backup.
Five other men.
Clark was sober and they were all piss drunk.
That didn’t fill him with too much confidence.
He sighed internally.
Maybe he would avoid the whole moral dilemma of this bizarre occurrence and be killed before he attempted to change anything.
The soldier was speaking again.
“Time for you…makes sense though…you’re pretty, aren’t you…” The other soldiers laughed.
Clark used the laughter to make up his mind whether to fight or flee.
He decided just in time before the soldiers’ laughter subsided and braced himself.
“Thank you.
I’m flattered,” he said, allowing a small smile.
“I’m afraid I don’t like boys though…and even if I did, I wouldn’t want your ugly ass.” There was a dead silence.
As drunk as the men were, they all knew exactly what Clark just said.
The soldier stood dumb, not quite believing what he just heard.
Once he put it together though, Clark was sure he would come swinging.
So he leaned forward and spoke to him softly.
“You’re drunk,” he said.
“You don’t want to do this.
No shame in walking away.
Just laugh.
Call me a cunt.
Go to your horses.
And leave.
That’s your only warning.” A few seconds passed, the only sounds being the cicadas outside and the patrons inside the inn.
Clark kept his eyes on the soldier, praying he’d not call his bluff.
Unfortunately he did.
The soldier lifted his fist and Clark resigned himself to be beaten senseless.
However, as the fist came toward him, Clark found himself stepping to the side, on some instinct he didn’t recognize.
The soldier’s fist flew by his face and he stumbled, falling onto the bench headfirst and knocking himself to the ground.
There was another silence, as both Clark and the other soldiers looked to their man on the ground, clutching his skull.
Clark brought his eyes up and found the soldiers each making eye contact with him, one by one.
Oh fuck gang mentality.
He braced himself again for fists and worse, as the rest came at him, two at a time.
He braced…only to find that the same foreign instinct that helped him dodge came back.
He never threw a punch, but he never let one land either.
The five soldiers punched, tried to tackle and otherwise beat the shit out of him, but they couldn’t touch him.
Clark ducked, he weaved, he stepped to the side.
The worst he did was hold his foot out for a trip or two, sending one to the ground and one other into his staggering comrade.
That left two soldiers and Clark’s consternation was giving way to annoyance.
He was just so tired, damn it.
All of a sudden, he reached out for a passing thrown punch, grabbing the arm and swinging the soldier into the last one, their heads colliding.
Both fell down.
And there was quiet.
Well, not quite.
There was moaning but Clark stood still and tall, over six fallen drunken sods and he was not going to question this right now.
He walked over the first one, still clutching his head.
He grabbed him by the collar and threw him to where the other ones were beginning to crawl and gather.
He couldn’t read their expression.
It wasn’t fear, but whatever it was, it was enough.
“Take your friends and get the fuck out of here,” he said quietly.
“I’m tired and I want to go to bed.” The soldiers stared for a split second before heading to the stables.
They didn’t run.
Clark remained standing and didn’t relax until they were riding across the front of the inn and onto the Kingsroad.
He sighed in relief as he saw them turn right, heading south.
Clark let the silence wash over him.
Slowly the tension leaked out of him and he found himself quivering.
Adrenaline was coursing through him.
He breathed and forced himself to calm down.
He needed to get going.
He turned to retrieve his rucksack and hat, only to find that the serving girl was outside, watching him.
Meeting her eyes only for a second, Clark walked over to the bench and picked up his rucksack.
“Guess I should thank them for fighting you outside and not breaking any tables,” she said nonchalantly.
He looked at her again.
She was in the light from the inside.
Her arms were crossed and her eyes were full of intent.
He looked down.
“Are they here often?” She shrugged.
“Often enough.
They ain’t the worse I deal with.
They can be bad but they ain’t the worse.” “I’m sorry.” “What for?” He didn’t have a response for that.
She exhaled through her nose.
“Will they remember me, you think?” Clark asked.
She smiled.
“Aye, they will.
Not fully.
But they’ll keep most of it intact.” He took a swig from his waterskin.
More just to do anything than actually being thirsty.
“I should go then.
If they come back for revenge, I’ll need to be far away from here.” Her eyes pierced his.
“If they be coming for revenge, it’ll be tonight.
They’ll be riding up the road looking for you.
In the morning, they have to go and report to Lord Shawney.
I heard them talking.
Should be safe then.” He sat down on the bench.
“I can’t pay for a room.
Not with what I have and how long I have to go still.” The cicadas were very loud now and laughter rang from within.
“You can sleep in my room.” …
In the Game of Stones, you either win or you wait.