Both boys nodded in agreement, and Seth and Garret met eyes a moment. Both of them had noticed Ashton’s face when he realized Garret would be paying for him as well. Both twins came to the conclusion that he must not have much money with him and they agreed silently to save him any embarrassment by paying the majority of the way for their new found friend.
All three companions sat silently a moment, their eyes flickering around the room. It wasn’t long before the woman returned with her unremarkable smile, this time carrying a tray covered with mugs plates and bowls. The mugs were filled to the brim with a light colored ale that after a few tastes was evident that it had been watered down a bit. The bowls were filled with a fragrant steaming melody of beans and cabbage that tasted delicious if not rendering the consumer thirsty after every flaming bite. The plates too were piled with thick cuts of pork roasted and peppered, and each plate also held a toasted half loaf of bread. Eyeing all the food, unsure how any normal sized person could eat so much, Garret paid the plump smiling woman two silver and instructed her to keep the remaining twenty five copper for herself. She thanked him graciously and handed him a key with the number eighteen engraved upon it. The boys sat stuffing all the delicious foods into their ever reddening faces, attempting every so often to quench the heat with a large mouth full of ale. The trio was lost in their meal, oblivious to the room around them when as if the world had ceased to exist the room went unnaturally silent, then almost in unison all the inn’s gathered patrons inhaled as if expecting some great event. The three boys looked around in sudden wonder as to the commotion, or lack thereof rather, and seen immediately the cause for the rooms disruption. All eyes were locked on the old man in the corner. He had stood, as if to leave, the only really significant thing he had done since the boys arrived. Instead of leaving however, the old man glanced around the room, his gaze falling on, and pausing briefly when he looked to the boys. As if he was appraising their worth, as if he hadn’t seen them arrive. He stepped then nimbly to the bar beside the three drunken men, turning his back to the great polished stone slab that was the bar placed his hands behind him, each to one side and rested them palms down on the edge of the stone surface. Despite his apparent age, despite his withered features, he lifted himself gingerly to sit upon the edge of the stone surface with grace beyond that of those around him. The room still stood silent, everyone fearing to move or make a sound as if they might scare the old man back to his seat. The white haired man looked around the room again as if remembering where he was, and then inhaled silently to speak. Everyone in the room leaned nearer as if his ancient lips would not be able to make a sound big enough for them to hear. He spoke then in a melodious tone to the dozens of unworthy human ears.
“Would you be so kind as to let me recite a tale both old and glorious?” It was as if music escaped his lips when they parted, the entire audience already enthralled just sat silently waiting for him to continue, and he did.
“Once was a man blessed with powers so grand,
The women could not help but adore.
Unite his race was the mission he had,
Given to him by his god Gorandor
It took him no time to travel the land,
His body’s size of a man times four.
Yearning to save his race of man,
Whose conditions of life were so poor.
Though peace he wanted, he did understand,
To save them he must make war.
Many armies he crushed beneath his heel,
Improving man’s life with his sword.
Banners rose, his cause gaining strength,
His race was united once more.
It would not be long, he was assured
Armies would march with him by the score.
They cleared the lands of the evil it had,
And brought peace to his world’s doors.
His quest fulfilled, but man not safe,
For evil is like a festering sore.
Needing to ensure the safety of his race,
Knowing all too well their ancient lore.
He built a great city, named after his fathers,
Then arose from the stone, castle Valdadore.
For many hundred a year peace was protected,
The King now growing old and sore.
He passed his Kingdom to his only son,
Known now as King Sorantore.
Evil again strikes at our borders,
Always into the shields of Valdadore.
But each day the evil grows stronger,
As dark armies amass once more.
It seems the dark ones test our defenses,
Anxious to settle the score.
Too soon it seems our world again,
Will be drenched with the blood of war.
It falls to you, the young and the strong,
Blessed by the gods at your core.
To pick up the banners, and the cause,
And fight for your King Valdadore!”
The song was of the like that none of the boys had ever heard its equal, and the entire room sat enthralled hanging on every word the old man sang. Even the drunkards at the bar had quieted their clamorous jests to listen to the old codger’s song. Finally, when the man’s song came to an end many a man in the room lifted his mug and shouted 'Long Live Valdadore!'
The old man scrutinized the small crowd, most of them still sat with their jaws still agape. It seemed to him his words had the effect he intended, and so with effortless grace he launched his body down from the bar and strolled straight across the room and out the door.
A few moments had passed since the old story teller had departed. Most of the people within the inn looked from one another in astonished glances, not feeling the warning the grave tale had told them. People started talking again in hushed voices at first repeating parts of the tale. The large room grew louder and louder as the twins and Ashton looked across the table at one another knowing all too sure that if the tale were true, The Choosing would be much more uncomfortable than anticipated. The boys still sat facing the bar, oblivious to their surroundings, discussing the old man’s tale when a loud thud followed by a bone shattering crack broke the tension in the room. Across from them, at the bar, stood one of the drunken men, holding one of the Inn’s stools in his hand. Next to him on the ground lay another one of the drunks writhing in pain clutching his face as blood spilled out between his fingers. Several men in the inn stood up. The barkeep, large as he was, ducked behind the counter as if to hide. The large burly drunk scanned the crowd measuring up those who had stood to intervene. Still holding the stool raised above him in one hand he turned back to the bar as the barkeep returned from behind the counter. The barkeep was now holding a small crossbow, drawn and loaded. If the drunk persisted he would drop where he stood.
“It time to call it a night John.” Stated the barkeep coolly. “Why don’t you go home, we can square up your tab tomorrow?”
The drunk, apparently named John, looked the barkeep in the face, and then glanced down at the crossbow. Hesitating momentarily, John lowered his stool then let it drop to the stone floor with a clatter. He looked at the man at his feet, turned and walked to the door muttering something about not gonna fight for Valdadore anymore, and how someone was gonna answer for his ruined night, then he strode, somewhat unevenly out the door slamming it behind him. Everyone in the room watched him go, everyone but Ashton. The gangly blonde bounced
