Excerpt: Two feet Adventures

It was noon; Meal time at the great house, which meant the rest of the village was practically deserted. The sheep were corralled for the mid-day break, the cats were set to guard their homes, and the people were filtering in from all corners of the fields. That was how Bacchius first found the place, nearly empty. These people ate earlier than what he was used to, so he was always late to their Meal and came in after the affairs had started.
But that village fringed with hills was inviting to travelers and bards, and Bacchius liked the folk well enough to forgive them their quaint habits. He knew they wouldn’t grudge a man his daily Meal just because he was late to the hall, and made his way confidently up to the front doors of the building at the hub of the small village. This was a happy enough population, Bacchius knew well enough; so he was surprised upon entering the hall to see somber and pale faces adorning a crowd robbed of its warmth.
A man stood on top of the high table, his tankard over his head as he spoke bracing words of encouragement to the men. Something was wrong.
“Bacchius,” a voice near him whispered, and the young man looked toward that voice as the whisper rippled out from its source. The man on the table lost the thread of his speech as he too spotted the newcomer and leapt down from his perch. He was older, with a grey beard of some length to show his status among his fellows, and spoke with the authority that such a status grated him. He had taken the name Prilious when the spot of Elder was given to him.
“Good bard,” the Prilious said warmly, shaking Bacchius’ hand with both his own, “you come to us, as ever, late in our proceedings.”
“As ever, my apologies,” Bacchius nodded, hitching a smile on his easy face despite the tension of the room. “But what has robbed all of their merry welcome?” His eye scanned the room again even as he shook the Prilious’ hand still. In answer, he was led back outside, where his mount and luggage waited. “Elder Prilious, what is wrong in this town?” He asked, speaking more freely to the grandfather now that the eyes of the town were not on them.
“Coyotes, my boy,” the Prilious sighed, shaking his head, continuing to walk slowly away from the hall. “They’ve been coming closer and closer to our boarders every night. The sheep have been keeping everyone up with their cries.”
Bacchius paused at this, thinking back to his last nights’ travels. “Yes, I heard them,” he nodded, “they woke me after I had bedded down along the wold. Still a days ride from your place.”
“They have much reason to give their full cry,” the old man sighed, reaching a hand out to pat the forest deer that was the bard’s mount. “I was trying to bolster the men just now. I fear a pack will come into the town tonight, and if not, then the men will go out looking for them.”
“Is there a hunter among them?” Bacchius asked, skeptical of such a band a farmers and herdsmen.
“But one,” a new voice joined the two, from the mouth of a neat young man with dark hair. He held his house out to Bacchius and called himself Libbard. “I am the only hunter this village has produced.”
“Yes, I know you,” Bacchius smiled, shaking the hand warmly.
“Have we not met before?” Libbard asked, knitting his brows together at this comment.
“Not many Libbards get songs written about them for killing leopards,” Bacchius chuckled, “I know many people through song and epic.”
“I see,” Libbard nodded, not completely gathering the bard’s humor.
“In any case, my sons,” the Prilious intervened, “my men need encouragement, more than I can give and more than our one hunter can assure.” He faced Bacchius more directly, “you come to us at a sorrowful time, Bard, but perhaps that is to your advantage. You could sing us a song of might and bravery to console my people.”
“A thousand at the tip of my tongue, Elder,” Bacchius smiled, ready to perform at once. He was used to performing before his Meal in this town, as he was always late for first servings. The Prilious seemed content with the answer, and led the two young men back into the hall through the front doors. The folk had begun the chatter and let themselves grow more frightened while their Elder was gone, but like a flame the noise was snuffed out with the simple breeze of opening a door.
“My children and sons,” the Prilious began as he parted the crowd for their guest, “eat well your Meal this day and enjoy it in the company of the words of Bacchius, a great bard and friend to us all.” A round of mild “huzzah” replied, some tankards tipped in the Elder’s direction, but the mood stayed dim.
The bard ignored his congealed welcome, and made his way to the highest table at the middle of the room, lifting himself to stand upon it with great difficulty, for he was a short man of his age, and began at once to sing.