The World of Myth Magazine

The Monk and Donkey tavern was busier than usual, Three-eyed Anthony was struggling to keep up with the empty goblets, or at least near empty. The barkeep made sure that there were always plenty of dregs in the bottom of each cup to keep him from thirsting. Most of the patrons were the usual motley cast, poorer merchants, farmhands who had come back to the Capitol after a busy, thankless day on the land, professional beggars for whom the Slums district was home. There was one stranger though that sat at the bar and would not let his goblet go. He looked as though he had traveled a long way, certainly not dressed like a commoner from the Capitol. He had booked out one of the last rooms that The Monk and Donkey had available, offering a strangely marked coin. The barkeep had bitten it as he did every coin and then gave it to his wife, One-Eyed Sheryl. She in turn had given the little, hexagonal piece of silver a scrutinizing glance before giving a nod of approval.

“Silver is silver, gold is gold, and diamonds are diamonds wherever they are found,” Sheryl suggested. “I’ll go up the stairs and ready the room.”

“Thank you, my love,” mumbled Three-Eyed Anthony, the hint at diamonds was not missed by him. He had forgotten their recent anniversary, and his wife was taking every opportunity to remind him of this. Not that One-Eyed Sheryl expected diamonds, even when business was going well. What she had expected was flowers, and when none appeared she was only happy to supply Three-Eyed Anthony the same amount of dinner that same evening.

“Do not drink too much while I am gone,” the plump love of his life called over her shoulder while the wooden stairs announced her ascendance.

“I’ll do as I please, woman,” Three-Eyed Anthony muttered into a goblet before taking a swig. He did not dare say it too loudly though just in case his wife overheard.

“Let me take that from you, and pour you another,” the barkeep then suggested as he made his way past the stranger.

The goblet was still half full of ale, but the drink was certainly not cool by then. Three-Eyed Anthony grasped the top of the cup, but the stranger refused to let go.

“I don’t understand,” the stranger mumbled. “Why won’t the king see me?”

Gingerly Three-Eyed Anthony released his grip on the wooden goblet and then lightly patted the stranger’s shoulder. The man wore clothing made from animal skins, but the types of skins that animals shed, rather than those whose skins hunters tended to scalp as prizes, or for pay.

“Our king is a very busy man,” Three-Eyed Anthony suggested. “He cannot make time to see just anybody.”

“What I have discovered…” began the stranger. “No, what me and my brothers and sisters have discovered… The king needs to know… It will affect the fate of our whole world…” the stranger then said, correcting himself.

“Are you from a big family then?” asked the barkeep.

“So many brothers and sisters, some winged, some fury, some blessed with scales…”

“I am certain some of my wife’s family are animals, or worse,” mused Three-Eyed Anthony.

“Animals are the very best family,” the stranger argued, his grip on the goblet tightening. “You just need to learn how to speak their language, although it is far greater a lesson to learn instead how to listen to them.”

Three-Eyed Anthony nodded, pretending to understand.

“I wish that more people would listen to me,” the barkeep suggested.

“Talk, listen, it matters not,” said the stranger. “Not now, now that we are all doomed.”

“Now steady on…” said Anthony in surprise. “Doomed is surely a far-fetched conclusion.”

Empty goblets were being waved in the air, but the barkeep ignored them. Either this stranger was loony or what he had to say really did matter… Three-Eyed Anthony left a purposeful silence, waiting for the stranger to fill it with more information.

“Let me tell you what I know, what me and my friends from the forest have discovered,” said the stranger as he looked up from his half full goblet. “Once you know what I have come to tell the king, well then you be the judge as to just how far fetched our conclusion seems to be.”

The doors to the Monk and Donkey swung open, revealing a tough looking stranger who seemed to own naught but a coin purse and some leathers. Wild eyes looked for a seat, unfortunately all of the tables were full, all with the exception of where the stranger that was dressed in animal skins sat and Three-Eyed Anthony awkwardly stood.

“Name’s Bull,” stated the latest arrival.

“We have no rooms,” suggested Three-Eyed Anthony. “No space to fit Gander, Sow, Fish, or Bull.”

“What does it matter?” asked the one with the half-drunk goblet. “He can share my room if he so wishes, as I don’t think I’ll be needing it for too long.”

“Thank you friend, fear not, I’ll be gone before you tire of me,” stated Bull.

“We will all be gone, and soon too…” laughed the stranger. “Too soon, too late was I…”

“A couple of those goblets full of your finest, if you please,” ordered Bull.

Fishing about in his coin purse the barbaric figure found a tiny speck of gold dust.

“Hopefully, this will cover it,” Bull added.

“Yes, yes… Of course,” stammered Anthony. “No beginning your tale without me though,” he then added, directing his plea towards the still unknown man.

It took the barkeep a half hour to pour the two goblets and then a third cup that Three-Eyed Anthony poured for himself. The other patrons, many regular drinkers at the Monk and Donkey demanded that they get first service, some demanding a free drink, a concept that Anthony laughed at. One-Eyed Sheryl then came down the flight of wooden steps with a list of jobs that was twice as long as Anthony’s arms were broad. The barkeep groaned but knew better than to argue with his wife. One by one he ticked off the jobs in his mind, always keeping an eye and ear on the two strange men at the table in the center of the floor. They seemed to just be chatting amongst themselves, patiently waiting for their host to return. To buy himself a moment Three-Eyed Anthony poured an extra round for all, told Sheryl that the cot bed would need to be rolled out for a man named Bull, and then showed her the gold dust.

“I’ll get to it immediately, husband,” cried One-Eyed to Three. Anthony could see his wife’s face flush with happiness.

After casting his eye once more about the room, Anthony finally brought those promised drinks to the central table.

“Now, please, begin with your names, gentlemen, nothing funny, just the truth,” said the barkeep, he liked to know all of the gossip, and he had a strange feeling this gossip was going to be gold.

“Tale is told,” laughed Bull, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Of all my years managing this tavern, I’ve learned to know when I am being lied to, even when it is just in jest,” growled Three-Eyed Anthony, though he gave the stranger named Bull a grin.

Bull took a sip from his goblet and smiled back at the barkeep in return.

“You caught me out, friend,” said the barbarian. “I’ve not been able to get anything more from this one than you could.”

“My name is Fox,” then began the stranger. Although a full and cold goblet sat before him, he chose to sip from the cup that was lukewarm.

“That explains the long face,” suggested Bull. “But your nose is flat like mine.”

In a flash the seat contained a regal creature with wiry fur, patches of orange, brown, and white, finished with the fluffiest of tails. Just as quick the creature was gone, and the man returned.

“My nose is not always so flat,” Fox suggested, as if that explained what had just happened.

“In Luna’s name,” whispered Three-Eyed Anthony and Bull together, the barkeep turning to face in the direction where the Moon’s temple lay, both men making the sign of a crescent upon closed eyelids.

Three-Eyed Anthony cast a quick eye around the Monk and Donkey but discovered the stranger’s transformation from man to fox and back to man had seemingly only been witnessed by the barkeep and the barbarian named Bull.

Three-Eyed Anthony opened his mouth to ask if the one named Bull could transform as well, but the man full of muscle seemed shocked to what they had witnessed. It seemed Bull was such only in title.

“I fear that we may just be beyond the help of all the gods,” moaned Fox. “And if you promise to listen I will tell you why.”

Silently, both Anthony and Bull nodded and settled themselves to listening.

It took another three goblets of ale, all paid for by Bull, before the stranger stopped and looked at the two men. Fox’s story had proved to be a long one, not helped by Bull and his questions.

“You can talk with animals?” Bull had asked early on.

“Be quiet, friend, please just let Fox talk,” Three-Eyed Anthony had grumbled.

In reality the barkeep had been annoyed that Bull had asked the question first, it was another something that surprised the barkeep, and he had wanted to know more.

“There is a whole forest full of shape shifters like you?” Bull had interrupted with next.

When Fox mentioned his attempt to meet with the king, Anthony expected Bull to interrupt again but, surprisingly he didn’t.

“I was not even able to make my way into the palace,” sighed Fox. “Instead, I was sent to some barracks where soldiers reside, what are soldiers going to do with the news I have?”

“They could use it to sharpen their wits, more so than their blades,” laughed Bull. “I am surprised that they even let you into the Capitol.”

“Well, how is it that you were allowed entry, friend Bull?” Fox hot back, eyebrows raised in a questioning manner.

“Are you questioning my sense of fashion?” Bull asked, taking no offense.

“I must say that the gate guards normally arrest those who want to show off their muscles,” suggested Three-Eyed Anthony. “Even wrestlers who perform feats of strength and battle each other for the people’s entertainment must be properly clothed while going about their daily lives.”

“Perhaps the Capitol is becoming more open to the dress of other cultures?” suggested Fox.

Three-Eyed Anthony laughed as he shook his head.

“It will take a hundred years and then perhaps a hundred more, so unlikely is it that the king and the people of this kingdom will so willingly embrace the customs of others,” the barkeep suggested.

At that precise moment Bull noticed a familiar face walk into the tavern, in fact one face that was very familiar and one vaguely so. Three-Eyed Anthony also witnessed the two new arrivals.

“No! No!” the barkeep quickly stated. “We do not serve the likes of your kind here!”

The orc placed a clawed hand upon the hilt of a wicked looking short blade, but the beautiful young woman who stood beside the creature placed a delicate hand upon the muscular, hairy arm and the weapon remained in its sheath.

“Good sir, do you wish to offend me?” asked the beauty.

“Of course not, you are most welcome to dine and drink at the Monk and Donkey, fair one,” reassured Three-Eyed Anthony. “It is the company that accompanies you that we shall refuse to serve.”

“We should go,” Bull murmured towards Fox, but the strange man he sat with had already transformed into his namesake. “Or we could stay and wait for the chaos,” Bull added, half rising out of his seat.

“We refuse to seat trolls, orcs, half-orcs, goblins, associated goblinoid species, anything with a rat-like face…” continued Anthony as he counted his fingers to make sure he covered off all unwanted species.

“Now?” asked the orc to the woman of beauty.

“Yes, now you may kill him,” announced the fair one with a dismissive wave of her hand. “In fact, why not kill them all.”

At this the Monk and Donkey went silent for the briefest of moments before, as one, the entire patronage stood up from their seating, fumbling for weapons.

“Now see here!” exclaimed Three-Eyed Anthony in alarm.

“No, you see here,” commanded the beauty.

Without a chance to resist, the barkeep glanced into eyes that flashed a mysterious green and he was entranced.

Bull’s fist then caught Three-Eyed Anthony across the jaw and with a sickening crack the trance was broken just as quickly as it began.

“I know you,” muttered the woman, seemingly only then noticing Bull for the first time, “The Orc King wishes to have a word with you.”

“At least there is one king who requires my company,” chuckled the barbarian. “That’s one more king than Fox can claim.”

With a feat of strength Bull pulled Three-Eyed Anthony away, just as that same aforementioned Fox leaped from a tabletop, his full, transformed weight hitting the woman square in the chest and causing her to crash into the next table over. At that moment, the orc freed its blade and stabbed at the forest creature. Fox narrowly sprang aside, able to avoid the worst of the strike, getting away with the merest of scratches. The orc hooted and hollered, calling for others of its kind. Outside of the tavern, waiting just beyond the doors came a number of replied growls and then another half dozen of the brutes burst in, wielding spiked clubs.

Bull saw One-Eyed Sheryl, halfway down the stair, wisely she took in the scene below before turning around and hurrying back up the stair again.

“Is there another way out of here?” Bull asked the barkeep, but Three-Eyed Anthony was quite groggy and did not reply.

Fox had the same idea as Bull, and the barbarian saw the forest dweller scoot across the tavern floor, headed for the kitchen.

“Try to stay alive,” Bull suggested to Three-Eyed Anthony. “If your tavern is still standing when all of this is over, me and my new friend will return for the night.”

Allowing the big barkeep to slide from his grasp, Bull then attempted to make his way after Fox.

“Look into my eyes, and please tell me you are staying,” begged the beautiful woman.

Bull was not foolish enough to fall for that simple trick though.

“So sorry lady, but you and the orc king will both just have to meet with each other tonight,” suggested Bull, looking everywhere except for those eyes that flashed a mysterious, mesmerizing, magical green.

“Grab him!” the beauty then ordered of her companion.

This time Bull did use his eyes, his eyes, his fists, and his head. The orc grunted and groaned as the barbarian pummeled his sword wielding foe.

“Wait for me, friend!” Bull then called as he shot over the bar and ran towards an open doorway, one that had to lead to the kitchen.

Fox and Bull had both assumed correctly. The room beyond the tavern floor was in fact a place with two ovens and a large pantry, a storeroom for wooden barrels of wine, mead, and ale. Fox wanted little to do with any of this though, his only hunger at that stage was for escape. The two orcs that blocked the closed door that lead to a back alley looked ready to take on a little fox. What they did not expect to see though was such a fox transforming into a man. This was just the distraction that Bull needed to send a half-full keg of wine across the room, it smashing into one of the monstrosities.

“Hey!” grunted the orcish pair.

”Not hay,” suggested Fox. “Wine…”

“Me no whine,” said one of the orcs to the other. “What him meaning?”

“Now you both whine,” Bull announced as he jumped forward, landing his big boots, one on each of the orcs’ bare feet.

Fox smashed a cask of ale upon the dry orc’s head, the creature sighing sweetly like a child before crumpling in a heap upon the kitchen floor. Bull mashed his fist into the other orc’s snout and heard a satisfying crunch. Not wishing to discover how the foes faired, both Fox and Bull were through the door in no time at all. The crisp stillness of twilight was a welcome reprieve to the pair, the back of the Monk and Donkey free of any orc sighting or smell.

“It seems for now that the path is a clear one,” suggested Fox.

“Indeed, for now,” agreed Bull, familiar with the habit of orcs for often appearing where and when they were not wanted. “I would therefore suggest that if we are going we both go now.”

“Both together?” asked Fox. “The two of us headed the same direction?”

Bull had not planned anything further than getting out of the tavern. Hoping that Fox had more of an idea he merely nodded.

“I’ll follow you,” the barbarian suggested with a shrug of his bare shoulders.

Fox nodded before casting his eye down the back alley. Quickly spying what he was looking for, the stranger rattled off a trill of notes. At the end of the alley there came a similar call in reply.

“This way,” urged Fox. “Hurry, be swift.”

“Are you kidding me?” muttered Bull under his breath. “We have escaped from a bar-brawl with only a few scratches to then place our entire lives in the hands… no wings… in the wings of a street sparrow.”

Fox nodded.

“Try to keep up, they are notoriously fast.”

“I’ll do my best,” sighed Bull.

The barbarian had a feeling that the night was far from over.

-