A place where foolery gets you dead

My mother sought just my neck

And in that dreadful moment of fate

My dream of free will started to break

The door to the Tavern of the Three Pigs flew open with a gust of cold wind to admit the lean, dark, brooding youth. The inside of the tavern was smokey but well lit and very roomy with two hearths, one at each end. It had a bar that ran the entire length of the main room and the kitchen right behind it. It looked as if tonight it was filled with all of the usual patrons. Times had turned hard for Tharpe, with such high taxes, so business tended to be slow.

Damon headed for his usual spot to the side of the rear fireplace. His hand hurt and one of the knuckles continued to swell from the impact of the blow to his mother's face. He shouldn’t have struck her, but she had crossed the line in what she had said about his beloved and after tonight intended. Damon did not know what had got into his mother. She usually would toe the line with the rest of them. He pretty much ran the town, bringing in more money from extortion and theft last year than the Temple had for the past five.

He and his soul brother Faldo had their fingers everywhere, from smuggling in un-taxed liquor for people like Phil here in the tavern to demanding ‘protection money’ to keep gangs off shopkeepers back that was paid by Faldo and Damon. Everybody knew you did not cross him and if you did there was always a price to pay, most of the time your life.

Damon stormed across the floor, muttering oaths to every foul demon he could think that had ever existed and some that he just made up, somehow wishing that the moment tonight when he would ask Cariline to marry him would hurry and get here. He and Faldo had stolen this ring set purposefully. It dated back to King Rodrick I and was worn by his first wife before she was beheaded to make way for the King’s second wife.

The Lady Thewar had picked it up for a fortune on her last trip into the Federation, and word reached his ears by one of the many servants in her house that he paid. He and Faldo would have stolen it regardless of whether they were giving it to Cariline or not.

He spotted Faldo over at the bar and angled over towards him. His big friend was waving enthusiastically at him. Faldo stood two heads above everyone else in the room and had a booming voice two levels above everyone else in the room too. The big man wore his blonde hair chin length, and he had sky blue eyes that sparkled mischievously usually. Faldo was jovial, outgoing, a bit of a dandy, and to all outward appearances, a fool but he was no one's fool.

He was as quick and agile on his feet as Damon and better with a sword. Damon could outthrow him with knives and was a better brawler than the big man, as Faldo found out when they were children. The two balanced each other out, Faldo lacked blood lust preferring to steal and leave quietly at that. He would move on, leaving someone alive if he could, but as Damon had often pointed out, dead men’s tongues could not wag. Faldo kept Damon’s lust for blood somewhat under control and helped to boost the younger partner’s eye for wealth. They worked well with each other.

Faldo stood with everyone’s favorite tavern wench, Aliesa. One night with her left men swearing they were in love. He had his arm secured protectively around her and from the look of the pouch on her waist had already secured her services for some time that night. He stood tall enough that the petite redhead could walk unhindered under his arm. They strolled up, side by side, her body lithely tantalizing in her black satin dress.

“Ah! Damon my boy, I was wondering if all the girls were mine tonight. One must be careful to do battle with the right one though, for you can only sheath your sword once right.” He said with a knowing wink at Aliesa. If he was trying to embarrass either, he failed. The woman gave Damon a mischievous smile.

“Well inexperienced boys do tire in battle and need to put their swords in the sheaths quickly before they fall from exhaustion, but you can weed out the experienced men, for they whip their swords back out of the sheaths and do battle again.”

Faldo’s face grew heated with embarrassment. Obviously, the money on the woman’s waist was for services rendered already.

Damon let out an exaggerated sigh, “Yes it’s a shame, for when one is learning to use his sword, his body does tire, and his sword will fall if he has sheathed it once already, doesn’t it Faldo? For are you not an experienced swordsman?”

“Bah! I know from experience if you use a sword too much you lose its edge.” Faldo retorted without thinking.

“So Heather has told me,” Aliesa giggled, “but a little advice from a master-at-arms, it only loses its edge for those who are too afraid to stroke it with a stone to keep it honed and ready for battle. Well, boys, I have men to recruit to the army.” She dislodged herself from Faldo’s arm and walked away, working her way through the crowd. She would stop on occasion whispering in the ear of a man tantalizing thoughts to try to stir business.

Damon turned to Faldo with a completely straight face and pointed “Your sheath is walking away.”

Faldo's face grew rueful as he replied, “At least I have found where the sheath is tonight my friend.”

“Ah yes, but then the night is young, and children must be off to bed. Give my best to your father and kiss your mother for me.“ Damon replied dramatically with a mock look of sorrow on his face as he turned Faldo around and patted him on the bottom towards the door.

Faldo swatted Damon’s hand away and turned around to glower at him. Then, with childlike humor, Faldo stuck his tongue out at him.

“ Oh go stroke it with that wet stone.” He said pointing at Damon’s hand, “ You use that pig sticker you call a sword too much these days.”

Faldo’s head snapped forward as someone smacked him hard and a shrill voice piped from behind him, “Hey I am not a pig. And it is not that small, and from what I hear from Heather, yours ain’t exactly a long sword yourself.”

They turned and saw Cariline standing with her fist on her hips and staring hard at Faldo, with a pouty lower lip. Her auburn hair had just been neatly combed and her dress had just been freshly changed. She crossed her arms and tamped her foot staring hard at the big man.

“What?” Faldo held out his hands questioning. She burst into giddy laughter at his puzzled look and ran past Damon into Faldo’s expecting arms. She reached up and gave Faldo a peck on the cheek.

“Do you have any of that for me?” Damon asked teasingly.

“No,” She said coming over and rubbing her hands down his lean muscled torso.

“No why?” Damon said breathing in deeply.

“Because you haven’t been a good enough boy.” she purred continuing her explorations of his body.

Damon took a sharp gasp as her hands reached lower, “Dammit woman, that’s not what you said last night.”

“Well my love, that was last night, and this is tonight.” suddenly she pinched him hard causing Damon to yelp in surprise, and spun around back of him pointing an accusing finger at Faldo over Damon's shoulder, “And this brigand has insulted your woman and your --um-- armament, all in the same sentence. Defend my honor and your sticker.” She demanded imperiously.

Cariline’s green eyes twinkled mischievously and locked with Faldo’s deep blue orbs. The big man cocked a silly grin back as he took off his leather glove and stepped to Damon. He lightly slapped him on each cheek and threw his glove down to the ale-stained floor below.

“I say you and your inadequate --um-- armament are not worthy of such a fine and noble lady as she,” He said with a flourished bow to Cariline, “ and I challenge you to a contest on the field of the tavern. If you dare pick up my mettle and match me.” Damon looked amused at his big friend and his woman. Both jested at each other lightly and were enjoying this foolishness, and it was taking his mind off the matters at hand. He reached down, lightly picking the glove up, and smacked Faldo as hard as he could, staggering the big man backward.

He leaned forward and whispered low, “That’s for getting a kiss before I did.”

“First, my lady does that fit for winning your honor back?” Damon asked looking at Cariline with dramatized dignity, who shook her head. He sighed and continued in mock regret, “Then I accept Sir Dimwit. I will, with a heart heavy with sympathy, do battle with you. Though, fighting simpletons who tire in battle quickly is of no challenge. What shall it be this time, jousting with mops? Or maybe a pint at ten paces? Perchance we might even be daring and see who can stand closest to old-timer Ron? I hear this is his off year for a bath.” Damon said the last pointing towards the corner where an older man sat by himself. He was dirty and caked with grime. People gave the man a wide berth, usually using their sleeves as they walked by.

“Nay fine sir, If we use pints, then we shall surely use mops! For the liege of this fine land does like his cleanliness. If we use mops first, then he shall look to profit off our tourney and turn it to peasant laboring. And I be a peasant not!” Faldo looked down his nose in disdain at the nearest person comically. This brought a round of laughter from those who were watching nearby, “I dare not go near the old-timer, for he is worse than that of a dragon and his stench is worse than any of your offense.” Faldo pondered for a moment, “ A wager perchance?”

Damon’s black eyes glowed with excitement. He loved nothing more than a good wager, “A wager, name the stake.”

“If you win, I shall apologize to you in front of all these good peasants for the remarks I have made and never again question the report of the less than adequate size of your weapons kept on your persons. I shall also apologize to the fair lady for her offense. If I win you buy me two rounds and while I enjoy those two consecutive rounds you will show everyone the grandness of your weapons rack.”

“I only add this sir, if you lose you pay me double what it costs for your rounds.” Damon added, “A recompense for your insulting wit.”

“Agreed,” Faldo said, “Now the wager, We throw three throws, each one in turn. The best of three wins. Should any knife fall from the target, it no longer counts.”

“Done, gentlemen to the knives!” Damon exclaimed to the crowd that had started to gather. He enthusiastically cleared people and items from the wall that had the target he had convinced Phil to put up two years back. Damon couldn’t turn down a good wager, that was what the small youth loved about his chosen line of work. Damon wagered his wit against the law that he was better than the guard and he usually was. The small youth walked around politely asking the few lingering patrons in harm's way to move and watch the entertainment. Not that he cared if someone got stuck with a stray knife because they could not recognize a throwing contest, but Philian tended to be a little more cooperative if his patrons didn’t get stuck.

Damon backed up to the white line that was at fifteen paces and drew his knife. He eyed the center of the target and pivoted his body forward with a fluid motion flicking the teak handled throwing knife into the target, just touching the bullseye. He turned to Faldo with a little smirk and wink

“Good sir, I have drawn blood methinks. I can accept surrender now if it is in your heart.” Damon said playfully extending his hand towards the line in an invitation. Faldo, with no less ease than breathing, drew his knife from the brace on his leg and threw it in one motion. It hit right beside Damon's with such force that the other's blade jarred loose, falling to the floor with a metallic ring. The spectators gave a yell of enthusiasm.

“It seems my good sir, that your little knife has seen too much use,” Faldo said shaking his head, “Tsk Tsk, ’tis a shame when a man's knife can’t rise to the occasion. If you be a good enough fellow to take good advice, your blade seems in need of a proper sharpening. I know of a few good lads with an excellent report.” He left it off with a suggestion and a shrug. The crowd around jeered at the insinuation. Damon grinned impishly, fingering his next blade, and gave it an idle toss toward the target. The knife struck the exact center. The crowd cheered wildly. In the background, you could hear side wagers starting to be made for and against the outcome of the contest.

“Sir Dimwit, The size of the blade matters not. For the smallest blade may find its target and bring it to bay. Where even the sharpest, largest blades if never used, shall never conquer.” He plucked Faldo’s next knife from his brace, “’Tis a shame, if you bothered to use your blade more you would realize it is falling into disrepair and will soon be worthless.” He tossed it back to Faldo, who snatched it out of the air and flipped it towards the target. The quick toss landed outside the center bringing the score to one for one. The bets started coming fast and loud now, the crowd near shouting at one another to be heard.

Faldo looked at Damon with a huge grin. “Seems our tourney has brought in gambling to our Liege lord's lands,” he cocked his head at his small friend, “Do you think we have been a bad influence on the peasants?”

“Nay, I say a game of chance warms the blood against the cold. Say you we flip for the honor to go first?” Damon asked.

“No good sir, you would win that one for I am not an acrobat. I say we go by age and beauty. I win on both accounts for I am both the fairest and eldest.” He said fluffing his hair. Faldo's preening elicited a round of laughter from the crowd.

“Aye you are the fairest, for many of man has asked me for that big blonde wenches hand. Please, by all means, throw first, fairest of damsels.” Damon said with mock regret.

Faldo grinned ruefully, “Prepare thy pig sticker for show and tell good sir.” The big man drew his dagger and took a conservative stance, eyeing the target. Cariline eased her way around Damon. She knew Faldo would try to win. They were exactly like brothers and happened to be very competitive. They never missed an opportunity to embarrass one another. One time last week, Damon had snuck into the back bath and stole Faldo’s clothes, making the big man walk home naked. The guard was still teasing the big man about his nude walk and she knew Faldo would be looking for revenge.

Faldo reached back to throw, and as he started forward, she reached down and goosed his posterior. He let out a yelp, and his throw veered off. Another yelp let out from across the room, and every eye turned and then laughter erupted. Faldo’s knife had pinned poor Phil’s seat of his pants to one of the vertical support beams by the bar.

“I’ll be keeping this until you do me some of that mopping you were talking about earlier, boy!” he said pulling the knife out, bringing the already rowdy crowd to a deafening roar. Faldo was hopping around on one leg, howling like a wounded animal, rubbing the offended cheek. He fell to the dirty floor, writhing.

“FOUL!” Faldo decried from a tangled heap on the floor, “I am mortally wounded and sentenced for a crime of not my DOING!”

Damon had sat on the ground next to screaming Faldo, holding his midsection with laughter. Tears were streaming down his face. He struggled for breath and finally got back to his feet with the help of a few patrons who were slapping him on the back in congratulations. Several dark looks were shooting around the bar also, for foul play had ruined their wager.

Damon idly tossed his knife landing directly next to his other and turned to Faldo on the floor with his hand out. Faldo reached into his pouch and drew out the copper that he owed his small friend, still muttering under his breath. He got up rubbing his bruised cheek. Damon decided to try to massage his bruised pride too. He went over to Phil, who was trying to fix the hole in his pants, and paid for two rounds of ale. He brought them over and gave them both to Faldo, who looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Damon cracked a grin.

“ You are mortally wounded, remember,” he said with a chuckle, “I thought it was a tradition to bring those on their death bed gifts.”

“So it is, so it is,” Faldo said licking his lips.