by Justin Wayne
***
Thom congratulated himself for his superb performance and decided he had earned a treat. A reward, he reasoned. He left Jiff hitched outside the little tavern and made his way inside.
Within was a small room with six tables and a bar adorned with empty mugs. The keeper looked up from his work wiping the oak down, and then continued polishing. The men at the tables paid him no heed and rambled on about their war stories and impossible feats of strength. Thom laughed inwardly at the inept boasting and knew he could easily dupe these rubes.
He ordered a pint of ale and sat himself in the center of the room where he could garner the most attention, completely assured that the guards had stopped the bounty hunter from entering.
With a deep gulp of liquid courage, he summoned his bravery and picked out the largest man in the room who told the most ridiculous stories and still kept the men at bay out of fear. Eyeing him, he caught the big man’s attention.
“Ya’ got a problem there, boy?” he growled. The man reeked of alcohol and had a surly look about his unshaven face. “Cause yer about to.” He made no move to get up however and simply stared at the hobbit.
“Indeed, I do, sir. You see, I don’t find your tales any more impressive than that of a child’s.”
The man gripped his mug so tightly that the glass shattered, spilling down his lap. He leapt in a rush of anger. “Look what ya did!” he roared and made his way toward Thom.
“Ah, relax. Here,” He waved for the keeper and ordered him another mug. He needed him as drunk as possible. “All better eh?”
The man stared at him in disbelief. The little one’s bravery unnerved him. He looked about at the others who were all waiting for the inevitable fight to break out. He contemplated it.
“Have a seat, and I shall tell you a real story of bravery and might!” Thom announced, and motioned for the man to sit. He did so hesitantly but saw no way it could harm him or his standing. If anything it left the hobbit within his reach. “There now. Where to begin? Ah, I know. The beginning.
“It was an ordinary day of running my shop a few towns down into Burleville, where I sell weapons and armor made by the dwarves. I had just set out my finest pieces, a mythril set of plate polished like the sun, when the shadow of a man appeared behind me. I turned and came face to face with the biggest Warrior I ever laid eyes on.” Thom looked about and saw he had their undivided attention.
“He had arms bigger than my torso and stood over eight feet tall. I thought he was one of the giantfolk so I steps back and asks him what he wants with me. But he just looks at the armor and admires it, asking me the price. So I says to him that it's a small fortune and fit for a king. He tells me that’s perfect as he is one, and will take them. Disbelieving him, I ask him his name and kingdom, and he tells me he that he is King Balin Heavyaxe of Dweanther to the south. Then he says he’s never been beaten and won his title by challenge.
“So I asks him what kind of challenge. He says a test of strength, where two men grip a stave and wrestle to get one end to the ground and keep the other from getting theirs down. So I grab a heat-strengthened stave from my shop and challenge him for right of his royalty. This angers him and he growls acceptance.” The men’s eyes were wide as they listened, imagining the little one before them going toe-to-toe with a Warrior king. “We wrestled with it for over an hour, going back and forth. My height causing him to bend low, and his enormous hands giving me little room of my own, we were evenly matched. But he was getting on in years and I could see his tree trunk sized arms beginning to shake with strain. I pushed harder than ever, gritting my teeth so hard they’re now flat, and drove my end to the ground.
“The king shouted in a rage and left without buying anything or giving me his crown. I accepted it without a grudge, for how could he have known of my strength? And I went back to work, knowing I was the rightful king to Burleville.”
The men were dumbstruck with the story. Of course they didn’t believe it one bit, but the alcohol clouded their judgment and multiplied the sureness of Thom’s confidence.
But the big man across the table began to howl with laughter.
“You lie and you jest as poorly as a man without a brain or ears! I could crush you with one hand.” The man jumped to his feet and swayed as the alcohol-soaked blood rose to his head. He sat back down to steady himself.
Thom smiled. “Then a test! Your one arm against..” He paused in a show of thought. “My one itsy bitsy teeny-tiny little finger!” and he raised his stubby index finger to the sky.
The men were leaning forward in their seats now, all of them riveted to the hobbit with gall that put them all to shame. Even the keeper who had heard thousands of tall tales throughout his life here was solely focused on the little thief. He took no stock of any who entered. Not even the man who had to duck his head to avoid hitting the ceiling’s rafters.
“You’ve got a deal!” The man slammed his elbow onto the table and held his arm ready. Thom closed the man’s fist and turned it with the back of the hairy hand facing him. Then with just his pointer finger, hooked it around the man’s fist, and began to pull down.
The man’s arm clenched tightly and muscle bulged as he fought the light tug. But unbeknownst to the men within the tavern, Thom had learned this trick years ago. The pendulum of the man’s arm was at a poor fulcrum to pull against any weight for long. And less than a minute later, the man’s knuckles were about to touch the table when Thom laughed.
“I am victorious.” And he released the man’s hand.
All the built up power of the man’s pulling was suddenly uncontested by an opposing force and his fist slammed into his own face, blackening his eye and knocking him to the ground. The tavern erupted into a raucous of laughter as the men cried and slapped their knees at the sight.
Several complimentary ales were passed to Thom from those grateful for the laugh. He sipped it thankfully and shook many hands. “Thank you, gents, it’s been a real pleasure.” he dipped his head and toasted with his mug. “To the town of Delvin and its fine citizens!” All around they cheered and drank deeply.
Then the big man was up and grabbing at Thom with a ferocity only brought by drunk humility. His thick hand gripped the thief’s shirt while the other reared back to strike him. Thom squeezed his eyes shut.
But the blow never came.
He opened them again and gasped. A hand that dwarfed the drunken man’s swallowed it and snapped the wrist back with a loud crack. The man began to yell in pain when he was lifted off his feet by the other hand and choked.
“Silence, maggot. No one should have to endure the wailings of a poor loser.” And with that, Dradewen slammed the man through the table which splintered beneath the weight and collapsed in pieces.
The room was dead silent, every man stunned with eyes wide and jaws dropped couldn’t tear themselves away from the spectacle. The Warrior dusted off his hands and turned to Thom. “You are coming with me.”
“Me? I’m thankful and all but I don’t think I’ll be needing any—“
“You have no choice in the matter, whelp. My father commands it.”
Thom gulped nervously as he recognized Dradewen; having worked for his father several times in the past. “And he is?” he asked dumbly to waste time.
Dradewen stared down at the hobbit who was now quivering with fear. “Dunawar, Chief of the Bear Tribe and leader of the Heavywinter Clan. I believe you have something that belongs to him.”
Thom waned and realized he had more people after his life than he could ever have anticipated. “I don’t have it!” he squeaked.
“You lie.” Dradewen gripped his collar and pulled him close. “Do not lie to me.”
“I’m not, I swear, I’m not! The bounty hunter took it!”
The Warrior’s face began to flush with his temper. He rubbed his temples slowly, calming himself. “Explain.”
“He found me in Rusk and took me to Journ as well as the dagger. But I escaped and came here.
”
The enormous man shook his head slowly, raven hair brushing against his shoulders and sighed. “Where is he now?”
Thom wanted to scream in frustration but hid it carefully. “Should be at the gate or in the jail. I told the guards he was a wild bandit after me, I did.” He tried to smile but was cowed to submission by the glare he received.
“This does not bode well for you if he is gone with it.” Dradewen motioned for Thom to walk ahead of him, not bothering to tether him, and followed him to the door. “Do not try to run.” he said simply but effectively.
The gigantic claymore upon his back was worth a thousand words.
Thom stepped through the door and waited obediently on the street a few feet away for an order of which direction to go. But when he turned around, he saw Dradewen crumple to the ground in a huge heap, his head bleeding just above the eye where a bruise was already swelling purple.
And as the Warrior fell, Outsider stepped out from behind him.