BOOK 2: Harsov the Harsh Chapter 1
The young man scowled bleakly. He had entered the town hoping to purchase a few supplies. His needs were simple, he did not require much. Yet it seemed even that little was to be denied him.
"Look boy," the slender merchant said, "I don't barter. If you want to buy from my shop, you need silver. You know, coin of the realm!" Here he patted his coin purse, which jingled heavily.
Recognition sparked in the youth's eyes. "You mean the shiny bits of metal? I have seen such things before."
"Yeah, I'll just bet you have," replied the merchant. "So why don't you just wander off and "see" if you can find some, huh? Oh, and don't come back until you do! Only paying customers here, I don't give handouts!"
As the youth walked away, the merchant shook his head. You meet all kinds of crazy people in the marketplace, he thought to himself. Like this lout. Big, dumb, and wearing some kind of wooden armor. Shrugging, the merchant turned away. He had customers to attend to. The paying kind.
Harsov glanced around, eying the passing townspeople speculatively. According to Adam, wandering merchants were fairly common in most towns. Such people typically had large coin purses, which contained more bits of metal than they knew how to spend. Taking these bits of metal from them and giving to others was a good deed, Adam had explained.
Shrugging his shoulders, the powerful youth slowly strolled through the small town. Human ways were beyond his understanding, but if he were going to live among them, he should do his best to fit in. Ah, there was a merchant now.
From his friend Adam's description, you could always tell a merchant by his appearance. They wore fancy clothing, were overweight, and reeked of the "cologne" Adam had loved so much. The person approaching fit this description exactly. A large money purse hung heavily from his belt.
Time for him to do his good deed, he supposed. Sliding his bone knife from its wooden scabbard, he nodded a greeting to the passing merchant as he grasped their money pouch firmly in his left hand while slicing through the restraining cord with the bone knife in his right.
The heavy set merchant stepped back in horror, then began shrieking hysterically for the city guard. Harsov cocked one eyebrow in puzzlement. This was something new. When Adam demonstrated the proper method of distributing these shiny bits of metal, his merchant had not responded in this fashion. Perhaps there was some vital step he had inadvertently skipped.
Bowing slightly, Harsov said, "I thank you, sir merchant. Have a nice day." He punctuated this by drawing the elven sigil for goodwill in the air with his bone knife.
The merchant spun on his heels and ran as swiftly as his swaying belly allowed, huffing and puffing loudly. Every few moments he would let out another shriek for the city guard.
Harsov considered this development a moment, then shrugged his shoulders and walked away. Humans had such odd actions. Lorash was right, there was no predicting or understanding them.
A moment later there was a chorus of shrill whistles. Harsov supposed it was the humans attempt at music, rendered very poorly indeed. There was a slight resemblance to bird song, but far more harsh and strident. Altogether, it was a rather pitiful performance. It was no wonder the humans always seemed on edge, if this was their only means of relaxation.
Abruptly Harsov found himself surrounded by warriors armed with spears and garbed in hide armor. Behind him he could glimpse the plump merchant whose heavy burden he had helped to lighten. "That's him! That's the one," the merchant squalled, pointing at him.
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