Read Online The Improbable Adventures of Scar and Potbelly: Ice Terraces of Crystal Crag by Brian S. Pratt - Free Book Online
Authors: Brian S. Pratt
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man will do when corrected, then turned back to Scar and Potbelly. “How can I help you?”
Pointing to the girl sweeping the foyer, Scar said, “She said you might know of a couple horses that we could purchase?”
“That depends on how much you’re willing to pay.” Setting the last skewer in place, he began to turn the handle that would rotate them and spin the meat over the fire for an even cook.
“We don’t want to be cheated,” Scar warned.
“It’s not about being cheated,” he replied. “No one in Alsworth has extra horses. So in order to purchase two, and there aren’t that many here in the first place, you will need to offer more than you normally would.” He looked from one to the other before adding, “Everyone needs their steeds and if they sold those they have, they would then need to travel to Castin to get more. And shouldn’t they be compensated for their inconvenience?”
“Okay, we get it,” Potbelly said. “Now, do you know of anyone with two, who for the right price, might be willing to sell?”
“I have two out back as a matter of fact.”
Scar’s eyes narrowed. “How much?”
“How much are you offering?”
Bristling at the thought of being taken advantaged of Scar was about to say something to jinx the deal when Potbelly said, “A hundred golds?”
The man laughed. “My time is more valuable to me than that. Say maybe two hundred…each.”
“What?” exclaimed Scar. His hand went to his hilt and Potbelly placed a hand on his to prevent him from drawing it.
“We have no choice,” he whispered. He held onto Scar’s hand until his friend calmed.
“Shall we say a hundred twenty-five each?”
“Perhaps I could part with them for a hundred eighty.”
Potbelly got him down to a hundred forty-three each. He produced two gems. “Will you take these?”
The man took the gems and held them up to the light. “Very nice,” he said as he gazed at first one, then the other. “Yes, very nice indeed. You have a deal.”
“Robbery,” mumbled Scar.
“Not now,” urged Potbelly.
Master Collins called one of his workers to come and take over the rotation of the skewers while he led Scar and Potbelly out the back to the stable.
The horses in question had seen better years, but were still far from being put out to pasture. Both were stallions, one a strawberry roan the other a red.
The innkeeper threw in the bridles and saddles for which Potbelly was thankful. He knew Scar was on the edge and having to pay additional for them may have pushed him into doing something reckless and stupid.
Once saddled and mounted, they thanked the innkeeper and headed east out of Alsworth.
The hours flew by as they made quick time along the trade route. Ruts lined the road and traffic upon it was a little better than sparse. Wagons loaded with goods, riders and a few groups of those on foot came and went as the day drifted toward dusk.
By the time the sun hit the horizon, Alsworth was long behind them. Questioning travelers coming from the east revealed that the next inn was still hours away. They opted to ride on through the night until they reached it. A gibbous moon rose just before the world grew dark so keeping to the road was less problematic.
It was full dark when the lights from the inn and dozens of campfires scattered about the area came into view. Several caravans camped in the field adjacent to the inn, their men taking their ease around the numerous fires.
The inn itself was lit brightly. From two poles out front hung lit lanterns that bathed the area with light. A boy loitered out front and when they approached, came forward.
“See to your horses?” he asked.
Scar eyed him suspiciously. “What are you going to do with them?”
“Certainly not steal them,” he assured them. “My ma runs the inn and if you plan to stay the night, I will be happy to take them around back to the stables.”
Potbelly exchanged glances with Scar. “I’ll wait here and you see
Pointing to the girl sweeping the foyer, Scar said, “She said you might know of a couple horses that we could purchase?”
“That depends on how much you’re willing to pay.” Setting the last skewer in place, he began to turn the handle that would rotate them and spin the meat over the fire for an even cook.
“We don’t want to be cheated,” Scar warned.
“It’s not about being cheated,” he replied. “No one in Alsworth has extra horses. So in order to purchase two, and there aren’t that many here in the first place, you will need to offer more than you normally would.” He looked from one to the other before adding, “Everyone needs their steeds and if they sold those they have, they would then need to travel to Castin to get more. And shouldn’t they be compensated for their inconvenience?”
“Okay, we get it,” Potbelly said. “Now, do you know of anyone with two, who for the right price, might be willing to sell?”
“I have two out back as a matter of fact.”
Scar’s eyes narrowed. “How much?”
“How much are you offering?”
Bristling at the thought of being taken advantaged of Scar was about to say something to jinx the deal when Potbelly said, “A hundred golds?”
The man laughed. “My time is more valuable to me than that. Say maybe two hundred…each.”
“What?” exclaimed Scar. His hand went to his hilt and Potbelly placed a hand on his to prevent him from drawing it.
“We have no choice,” he whispered. He held onto Scar’s hand until his friend calmed.
“Shall we say a hundred twenty-five each?”
“Perhaps I could part with them for a hundred eighty.”
Potbelly got him down to a hundred forty-three each. He produced two gems. “Will you take these?”
The man took the gems and held them up to the light. “Very nice,” he said as he gazed at first one, then the other. “Yes, very nice indeed. You have a deal.”
“Robbery,” mumbled Scar.
“Not now,” urged Potbelly.
Master Collins called one of his workers to come and take over the rotation of the skewers while he led Scar and Potbelly out the back to the stable.
The horses in question had seen better years, but were still far from being put out to pasture. Both were stallions, one a strawberry roan the other a red.
The innkeeper threw in the bridles and saddles for which Potbelly was thankful. He knew Scar was on the edge and having to pay additional for them may have pushed him into doing something reckless and stupid.
Once saddled and mounted, they thanked the innkeeper and headed east out of Alsworth.
The hours flew by as they made quick time along the trade route. Ruts lined the road and traffic upon it was a little better than sparse. Wagons loaded with goods, riders and a few groups of those on foot came and went as the day drifted toward dusk.
By the time the sun hit the horizon, Alsworth was long behind them. Questioning travelers coming from the east revealed that the next inn was still hours away. They opted to ride on through the night until they reached it. A gibbous moon rose just before the world grew dark so keeping to the road was less problematic.
It was full dark when the lights from the inn and dozens of campfires scattered about the area came into view. Several caravans camped in the field adjacent to the inn, their men taking their ease around the numerous fires.
The inn itself was lit brightly. From two poles out front hung lit lanterns that bathed the area with light. A boy loitered out front and when they approached, came forward.
“See to your horses?” he asked.
Scar eyed him suspiciously. “What are you going to do with them?”
“Certainly not steal them,” he assured them. “My ma runs the inn and if you plan to stay the night, I will be happy to take them around back to the stables.”
Potbelly exchanged glances with Scar. “I’ll wait here and you see
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