"I don’t see what harm there is in pausing to enjoy the music," Orlon found himself saying.
"The child behind the mask on the night of candy giving! This may be a minion of evil, an innocent duped and sent here to stop us," Ty the Parson said confidentially, arms and legs twitching.
Orlon blinked, and when what the Parson implied sank in, he stopped dancing. He looked at the music maker, who merrily winked at him. The man did not look evil…. Then again, would he, if he were duped by Tibtarni—whatever. And he thought of the music’s mysterious hypnotic power, literally making them want to stay here and dance. He blinked again. Ty the Parson just might have a point.
"We’d better go," he said.
Ty the Parson opened his mouth to proclaim…
"We know, we know," Tarl said with an eye roll. "The One has spoken."
Ty the Parson gave him a curt nod and stated down the road. Led by Shing and Grash, and Marcol, the Party followed. And the music followed them in a way none would have suspected. The flutist arose without breaking a note of his song and followed them. Close on his heels was the boy, his "dance" reduced to a skip in his step and sweeps of his spear.
They reached the next hill, walked up it and stopped at its peak. All turned a questioning eye on the music man.
He, in turn, brought his song to a flourishing end and, after running a tongue over his lips, smiled and said, "Got any musical instruments you wish played? Maps you want interpreted? Books you wish translated?"
"We lost our supplies," Marcol shrugged. "All we have with us is…us."
"Oh." The flutist turned and headed back to the tree, instrument at lips, new song begun.
All turned a questioning eye on the boy. The warriors kept hands near hilts.
The boy leaned on his spear and said, "Where you going?"
"We journey to stop a growing evil that threatens our world," Shing said.
"Will there be any fighting?"
"There might," Shing said.
"Then I, Shibtarr, will go with you," the boy said, bringing his spear to his shoulder.
"Muscles of the long bedbound redevelop strength through time consuming therapy! Highly active scavenger hunters pause to catch their collective breath! Our number, our strength needed to protect the One in the quest to combat the evil that threatens the world, reduced through ill fate, gains in number and strength by one. Desperately needed time to accomplish our goal escapes us through inactivity. We must begin our journey anew. Immediately."
With that limb flailing proclamation, Ty the Parson pointed his staff ahead and started down the hill, and all but one followed.
That one was Orlon. He stood on the hilltop, looking back at the flutist, who had resumed his place under the tree, playing away. The Midget smiled with the thought the music maker turned out not to be a minion of evil, duped or not, as Ty the Parson intimated. The man’s music had been entrancing only because he was a great musician. His smile faltered with the sad realization they would be leaving the music behind when they continued their journey… His toe began to tap.
"Orlon!"
Snapped from his reverie, he looked around to find himself alone on the hill and looked down the hill to find Sharna, arms akimbo, at its bottom. His smile rejuvenated itself in the form of a sheepish grin, accentuated by the crimson crawling up his cheeks. He shrugged in answer to her questioning look before hurrying to join her, and they hurried after the others.
Music forgotten, Orlon turned his attention to what lay ahead. They were within a few paces of catching up to the fast moving Party, and beyond them he saw the road ran due south for a couple dozen yards before plunging into some woods, wherein it could be seen to turn west. To the east of the road before the woods stood a building, to the west were woods overshadowed by a mountain. But what lay to the west went unnoticed in lieu of that to the east.
There was no mistaking what the white walled, thatched roofed building was: an inn. An iron pole, jutting from the wall above its entrance, supported a wooden sign upon which was carved an image distance made impossible to make out. That was of little importance to them, as the sight of an inn reminded them of Bretta’s biscuits, which led them to thinking how nice it would be to have a drink to wash them down with.
While the thought of liquid refreshment crossed Orlon’s mind, he also contemplated what an inn meant in terms of drinks available. Inns offered "hard" drinks to all who could pay. Or so he had been warned by his parents when it came to the Plow Share Inn of his own community, which was why he avoided it. Liquor clouded the mind, so he did not partake of it…. He just hoped this inn offered something he could drink, if they did stop there.
Tarl, on the other hand, thought a good stiff drink would be perfect to wash down his biscuit. He scratched his head when another thought struck him about the inn before them, and he gave voice to his wonderment.
"Who in their right mind would build an inn out here in the middle of nowhere?" he said.
His question went unanswered—unnoticed, as simultaneously Ty the Parson had signaled them to follow and started down the road. The Party hurried after him, all hoping the Parson intended to stop at the inn. As they grew closer, the image on the sign grew clear to them. It portrayed a frothing dog on its hind legs, a spoon in its forepaws, stirring the contents of a pot over a blazing fire.
The Stirring Dog Inn.
When they reached the inn, Ty the Parson stopped at its entrance, grew statuesque, lost in thought. The Party looked from him to the entrance, barred only by batwing doors, and back again. And they looked from Ty the Parson to Orlon and back again and back again. Orlon flinched under their stare, knowing what they waited for. Would the One want to stop here? In fact, he was awaiting Ty the Parson’s verbose inquiry on that very topic…
Without a word, Ty the Parson shot through the batwing doors, leaving them to frantically flap like their namesake in flight.
This caught everyone off guard. They stared after him with wide eyes.
"Let us refresh ourselves," Shing said.
"Let’s," Grash nodded.
Each stilled a flapping door, and they entered the inn shoulder to shoulder. The rest followed in ones and twos.
Last to enter, Orlon and Tarl were brought up short to avoid colliding with those before them. The batwing doors swung in, slapping their behinds. They absentmindedly rubbed the offended part of their anatomy, both upset at the situation. Orlon could not help but be eager to check out something he had never seen before. Tarl just wanted to check out the barmaids. Yet all they could see was their fellow travelers' backsides…though Tarl did not mind eyeing Sharna’s backside on bit.
Shing and Grash searched the dimly lit common room for Ty the Parson, spotted him seated in the front left hand corner booth. "This way," they said in unison.
They followed the two warriors to the booth, giving the Midgets their chance to look around the inn. They did not. Their attention, like the rest, was captured by their destination, the normally flailing and verbose man sitting there, statuesque, lost in thought. The Party seated themselves around the booth, apparently unnoticed by the Parson.
A moment of silence passed.
And Orlon took that moment to take in the common room. It was lighted by an eight candle wheel-shaped chandelier hanging from the ceiling’s center by three stout chains. There were four tables surrounded by four chairs each below the chandelier and a booth in each corner. On each side wall hung a crimson, gray and black drape, and along the back wall, framed by doorways, were three shelves lined with bottles of various shapes filled with what must be the "hard" drinks he had been told about. Set before these shelves was a long counter he seemed to remember was called a "bar".