[Lyra Greenleaf]

"I believe I was telling you about the time I drank Damrod 'the Mûmak' under the table, then spent the evening in the company of his two lovely daughters. I believe the huge man became a fixture to the Dark Sail inn, out cold for two days they say!"

Sammael laughed along with Zasfal and listened to his tale. He was obviously putting a shine onto the truth, but that was only to be expected. Sammael grinned secretly at the thought that this “Mûmak” was probably the size of Damodred. It was what he would do himself, except that he appeared to have a knack of getting into trouble and his tales needed no embellishments. Still, despite his misgivings he clapped Zasfal on the back.
“A tale well told” he said with a grin. “When we get the chance we shall see which of us can drink more, yes?”

"And what of you! you and your protective friend must have a tale or two to tell?"....
A slow smile spread over Sammael’s face as they stood in the growing dark.
“Indeed we do. But Damodred would not be any good at telling them, his descriptions are dry, his facts are too honest and his sour face spoils the whole effect. So if you do not mind I will tell you a tale to make your hair curl” he added with a grin at Zasfal’s long curly hair. It was an affectation Sammael had never liked, it got in the way when you tried to fight.
Zasfal indicated his assent.

“Very well” Sammael began with a flourish and cleared his throat loudly. “I am sure you think I’m a fool” he said and looked directly at Zasfal. An expression flickered through the other man’s eyes that convinced Sammael he was right.
I think no different of you, he added internally.
“Once upon a time” he continued aloud “Damodred thought the same.”
”Who says I changed my mind?” the old man muttered with a grimace, but there was a twinkle in his eye. He knew what tale was following and the message it contained, and if Damodred himself didn’t come out of it looking too rosy then so be it.

“My tale begins seven years ago. It ends, also, seven years ago for it took but one night. I had been employed by the Dark Citadel then too, and I was sent on a mission with the old man. The purpose of the mission is immaterial; suffice to say we received glory and honour on our successful completion of it. On the way we stopped at a little tavern in Near Harad, full of farmers and traders. The two of us were got up as traders too, with fabrics, ribbons and some of those fancy baskets from the south. We were in the common room, I with one of the tavernmaids on my knee and Damodred getting blind drunk on his own. As far as I can make out he was drowning his sorrows at being paired with a fool for such a dangerous journey.

Anyhow all of a sudden I heard a commotion from the other end of the room. It appeared that the old man had challenged one of the locals, a big man who would make your Mûmak look like a mouse, no doubt. I decided to leave him to it, being naturally of a more trusting nature and being also otherwise engaged. The men were crowding around waiting to see the old man get pummelled, but of course he was fine. He used some of those wrestling moves that he has learnt from the Eye knows where. They may not be quite fair but it gets the job done.

Well the only problem was that the locals were not too pleased about the result and a number of them pulled knives. It was at that point that I regretfully had to leave the wench Amarya, who was a lovely girl, fair in the manner of Near Harad- fair of skin and hair, that was, for we have women here who are far more beautiful. I pushed my way through the crowd to Damodred.
‘The two of us can take them, right?’ I said to him.
‘Oh yes’ he answered, a gleam in his eye.

So I drew my long knife and held in front of me, while Damodred sat down to put on his boots, having taken them off to do his wrestling tricks.
‘Who’s first?’ I asked, full of bravado. ‘And who will take on my companion?’
That was then they began to laugh and, seized with a sudden fear I turned around. There was the old man, head down on a table, fast asleep! That was when I began to worry. With a sigh I picked the old man up and put him over one shoulder, having first shaken him to see if he would wake. Once again I lifted my knife.
‘So it looks like it will be one at a time, then’ I said. ‘Who’s first?’

A young man stepped up, with curling hair like yours halfway down his back. He drew a shoddy sword. It took me but a few moments to knock it from his hand, then I picked it up awkwardly and pinned his jacket to the wall while he fumbled for his belt knife. The next man was more skilled and it took a while to beat him. During the fight I hit Damodred’s head on one of the walls a few times, which is why his brain is less developed than it should be. After a while, though, I did manage to get the knife into his cheek. The only problem was he had his back to me at the time. I don’t think he sat for a while.

The next few men were easy to beat, farmers not warriors. One I cut along the face and gave him a fine scar to show his friends, the other I pinned to a table as I had the first boy. He, incidentally, had got away and slunk off, ashamed no doubt, by this time. Finally the fifth man approached me roaring with mirth. He could barely stand for laughing. As he got closer he clapped me on the shoulder which did not have Damodred on it and said ‘Enough! I have not been so entertained in years’. It turned out he was the innkeeper, Amarya’s father, and we stayed there that night. And the next too, for Damodred had such a headache the next day he could not stir from his bed. I would like to visit again, for I have never met that girl’s like.”

With a wistful look on his face that was not entirely feigned Sammael ceased his tale. He remembered that night, and what followed, very well- and there was not one word of a lie in what he had said. If Zasfal did not believe that he had bested four men with Damodred on his shoulder that was his choice. He would see soon enough that Sammael could hold his own in a fight. To the side he could see the woman from earlier was watching. He winked at her as she stood in the shade of a huge pillar. As he continued to glance around he saw that more than one man had been listening to his story, but now their attention was taken by men of the Citadel bringing out tables and food. Then a cart rumbled into the courtyard carrying barrels of ale. Sammael’s eyes lit up.

“Come, Zasfal. Shall we see which of us can eat more before we drink?”
Without looking to see whether the other man followed Sammael walked over to the tables of food. He bowed his head and crossed his hands over his chest, the sign of respect to the Eye. Half turning he saw Zasfal looking at him askance. Few men made the sign of respect before eating, but Sammael believed it had helped his luck, for he was surely blessed with that! It was just sense anyway, especially in the Dark Citadel. You never knew who had been watching and seen that. Sometimes you had to make your own luck.