"I hope you are hungry, my newfound allies," Bobtart Towne said, smiling. "Bretta has fixed a fine meal of meat and mush. Enough for all, I’d say, and then some."
As if on cue, his wife and three boys entered, precariously carrying enough bowls of meat and mush for all between them. They quickly passed the bowls out and ended up at the table where the final five bowls were placed before the chairs. Bretta then returned to the kitchen, emerged with a tray of filled-to-the-rim glasses, which she passed out. Once this was done, the Towne family gathered around the table and sat.
"Enjoy," Bobtart Towne said to his guests, and he and family began eating.
Hungry, the Party followed suit and to a man, and women, found the meal quite tasty.
Orlon had not been sure he could eat his entire overflowing bowl of meat and mush, but after the first bite, he dug in! He paused for a drink, frowned at the glass' dark brown contents. Was it tea? He took a sip. Yes, it was tea—sweet tea, and it was not only nicely cool, it was delicious…. On he ate and drank heartily, and was soon finished, both stuffed and satisfied.
When all were done eating, Bretta and her sons gathered the bowls and glasses, and took them to the kitchen. Bobtart Towne strolled to the fireplace, rested an arm on the mantel and smiled at his guests.
"We don’t get many visitors," he said.
"Gee, I wonder why," Tarl, who sat on the floor next to Orlon, murmured.
Orlon shot him a frown.
"Where are you going?" Bobtart Towne went on.
"The cork of the vintage wine bottle released! Powder applied to the flea infested dog! I, Ty, the Parson, and the Party have sprung forth to protect the One on his quest to rid our world of the ever multiplying threat spreading forth from the mountainous lair of evil Tibtarnitallimardarian," Ty the Parson said, his flailing limbs not only battering Sharna and Grash but rocking the sofa to bang repeatedly into the wall.
A frown creased Bobtart Towne’s brow. "O-kay," he said. "So when will you be leaving?"
"We would leave in the morning," Shing quickly said, quieting the Parson. "That is, if we may spend the night in your humble abode."
"We’d love it," Bobtart Towne smiled, then looked a trifle downcast and said, "Though we don’t have the accommodations to offer you more than this room to rest in."
"That will be fine," Shing said. "We thank you."
Bobtart Towne bowed his head and looked at the rocks on the mantel, lost in thought.
The moment of tense silence that followed was broken when Orlon gave voice to the question that had burned within them all since they entered the house.
"Why do you and the Barlowes throw rocks at each other?" he asked.
To a man, and women, the Party cocked an ear.
"Ah, little one," Bobtart Towne said, bringing his eyes to the Midget, "that is a battle that has gone on since the Townes and gutless Barlowes settled on this land generations ago… Why, we were friends—traveling partners when we journeyed here." He picked up a silver streaked rock from the mantel, eyed it. "Then the first rock was thrown."
"Is that it?" Orlon asked.
"No," Bobtart Towne said flatly. "This is the rock that brought down Bartart Towne, my second greatest Grandfather. He was the first of the Towne family to die in our feud with the witless Barlowes." He reverently placed the rock back in its spot on the mantel and picked up the smooth gray rock beside it. "This," he passed a hand over it, "is the rock that brought down his wife in her effort to protect the family."
After replacing the rock, he went to the blanket covered wall, ripped the blanket away. What it concealed sent a jolt through them. The inside wall mirrored the outside rear wall, with door framed by windows. But one thing told the tale of why it did not match the outside of the rear wall as well. The window panes, one of which was no more than a circle of jagged shards, masked plaster…. The dust and cobwebs that covered windows, door and wall showed the plastering of the outside wall had happened long ago.
"Bartart was hit while standing in the window," he continued, "and his wife died while plastering that window." He sighed. "Many a Towne was severely injured to complete the task." He smiled. "Many a Barlowe paid a price for that as well."
A moment of silent contemplation passed.
"So…so the Barlowes started it?" Orlon scratched his head.
"Who knows," Bobtart Towne said with a shrug.
He secured the blanket back in place, strolled to the mantel and, again, was lost in thought.
A confused silence followed.
"Since we are telling tales of rock throwers," Grash said, bringing himself to his feet, fingers twirling an end of his handlebar mustache, "I will share one."
Everyone jumped, eyes darting to the aged warrior.
"I was leader of a squad of twenty brave young soldiers," he continued. "We were ordered on a little mop-up operation after a victorious battle won mere hours before. Undoubtedly a simple task, we thought, having fought in that battle and sure the enemy was totally destroyed…. You can imagine our surprise when we stumbled onto a squad of five enemy swordsmen and fifteen rock throwers trying to refortify a devastated fortification."
While Orlon’s eyes brightened with the tale’s beginning—even Tarl appeared minorly interested—the Party sighed and looked away, some tapping their fingers softly on the floor where they sat. Grash took no notice of this as he went on:
"I saw that they were no more in number than us and that only a fourth of their number were swordsmen, and I skillfully devised a cunning plan to end this confrontation quickly. The battle was fierce. The enemy swordsmen put up as valiant a fight as their army had before them—and they fell just as their army fell before them, too.
"As for the cowardly rock throwers, they took cover in the fortification, and it was with them we found ourselves in a bit of trouble. Oh, the hail of rocks laid down on us was incredible. So many injuries were incurred as we faced those cowards hiding behind cover…. It was with great cunning I devised a plan to bring those scoundrels to bear for their action, and my men busted through the fortification in good order and struck those rock throwers down." He gave a definitive twirl to his mustache. "And the area was secured!"
Silence followed his exclamation.
Thrilling as Grash’s story was to Orlon, it also left him wondering. He felt certain it mirrored a story he had skimmed through while thumbing through his book before starting chapter one. Yet the just told tale differed from the just remembered tale. By his recollection the leader of the mop-up operation in the book led his squad to victory through sheer clumsiness and dumb luck more than skill and cunning…
"Which reminds me of another tale," Grash suddenly said. "I was—"
"Farewells when long unseen relatives leave! The fighter sits in the corner between bells to recoup his strength! The time for telling tales has come and passed for this day. Now is the time to recuperate from today’s ordeals so that we may begin our quest anew, fresh and rested and ready at daybreak," Ty the Parson said, battering those sitting beside him with restless arms and legs.
He rose in a dance of limbs to face Bobtart Towne, stated flatly, "We thank you for use of the room to rest overnight."
"You are more than welcome," Bobtart Towne beamed.
Orlon looked from Grash to Ty the Parson to Bobtart Towne and back again and back again and back again… And each time he did he grew more upset. He had wanted to hear another tale from the aged warrior. There was time for it. It was only mid afternoon, for crying out loud.