The Supreme Warrior *2014 ABNA Contest 2nd Round*

CHAPTER 15.2: Inside the Purple Pony

On the first day of the Harvest Festival, Cal rode to the armiger’s town, rather than make the trek to the City. He looked for the Purple Pony. He was simply too bemused by Kallia and the jubilant mood filling the air would not let him forget her.

All morning, farmers came into the large village from surrounding fields. By mid-morning, celebrants packed the streets, and amateur musicians seemed to occupy every corner. Robust melodies collided from multiple sources, spreading a cheerful dissonance across the town.

Just past mid-day, Cal managed to fight through the crowds and found the Purple Pony---which was a large inn set near the eastern edge of the town square. Inside, the inn displayed a medley of wooden structures: high above rose a sharply angled thatch ceiling traversed by thick trestles, red oak paneling covered the white stone walls, while well-worn maple boards provided secure and level footing. Long elm-wood tables and benches cluttered the main common room, all hewn by rough carpentry.

In contrast to the room, the patrons wore colorful festival clothes. Their attire was not fancy, at least by court standards, but the cloth was tightly woven and well-tailored. Most of the crowd sat at the tables, eating and drinking and laughing with their families and neighbors; but some capered in the empty spaces, dancing to tunes played by a handful of hearty musicians cramped into the northeast corner.

Soon after Cal walked into the room, Kallia spotted the young squire's frame. He dwarfed the wiry peasants that surrounded him. She cheerfully waved him over her family’s table. As Cal drew closer, the red-faced armiger recognized him, and said, “Calidon. Si’down and hav’ some ale.”

A bulky young man handed a tall mug to Cal that he gratefully sipped. The rich, nutty flavor that rolled over his tongue surprised him. Cal’s delight must have been easy to see because Riorlon chuckled and said, “Laddie, don’ look so surprised. We don’ waste our good stuff on strangers.” The armiger hesitated a few moments, glancing at his suddenly sheepish daughter, and added, “Well...not usually.”

Mamma, clearly charmed with Cal’s appearance, added, “Please sit down, Calidon. No...not there. Move over Krista...”

The last was directed toward a buxom woman in her mid-twenties, seated next to a man who was obviously her husband. Cal, seeing no little girl at the table, grinned and said to Krista, “You certainly look big for a four year...”

“So I left out twenty years,” blurted Kallia. “But I was right about one thing. Soldiers are all...”

“Kallia!” shrieked her mother. “He’s your guest, and he’s a guest in our town....”

“Mom, please.”

“Don’t ‘please’ me, girl. Good manners are never out of place...”

“No. They just stop you from having any fun,” finished Kallia.

At this last retort, Krista issued a stifled laugh, hugging her swollen belly under the table with her hands.

“Calidon, these are my brothers: Mallor, Kalkos, and Fretegan,” continued Kallia, indicating three uniformly large and big-boned young men ranging in age from seventeen to twenty-five. Cal nodded, and vaguely remembered seeing them working in Riorlon’s shop.

“And that’s Griorg, Krista’s husband. He’s a mason,” finished Kallia, nodding toward the short, widely-built man seated next to her sister.

Griorg picked up the conversation. “Calidon, I hear Riorlon fit his best suit of armor to you. A special rush job.”

“Yes,” answered Cal neutrally.

“Did he tell you he worked on that suit for over seven years? It was his showpiece.”