But Pepe was indeed sweating, he was drenched. His opponent seemed immune to Pepe's punches so he decided to switch tactics. He feinted a punch to the head and instead tackled the huge brute and wrestled him to the ground. The brute shoved Pepe away and started getting to his feet, however, Pepe grabbed the brute by the ears, and slammed the man's head into Pepe's knee cap.
Another brute was laughing at his comrade's bad luck when he suddenly stopped and fell over unconscious. Pepe picked up another tankard, and threw it at a groggy contestant, he too fell over unconscious.
Someone at the opposite end of the barroom threw a chair, the apparent opponent ducked, but the chair slammed into Pepe's side, causing him to stumble. Someone bumped into him and sent him sprawling under a table.
Shaking his head to get rid of the dizziness, he tried to stand up and bumped his head on the table with an oath. Kneeling, Pepe braced his arms against the walnut table, and slowly began to rise. Finally standing with the table braced above him, he heaved. The effort was tremendous, the table landed on a group of five competitors, knocking them all out.
"Now he's tired," noted Telina with a bit of disappointment in her voice.
"Pepe probably has a high strength-endurance level, but if he starts lifting really heavy things he gets tired. People like that are usually great fighters, although they don't look it," admitted George. Fool! I should have realized that when I first saw him.
A huge logger had seen Pepe's feat, and had begun throwing every piece of furniture he could get his hands on.
"Copy cat," Pepe shouted, throwing a chair at the logger and missing. The logger in return threw a table at Pepe, but the young man rolled forward, so the table crashed into a pair of wrestling miners. The logger picked up a table missing three legs, but before he could throw it Pepe had raced across the room and kneed the logger in the groin and punched him in the forehead.
Stumbling a bit, the table started to fall forward, the logger tried to correct the tilt, but then it tipped off to the one side, the remaining table leg catching him in the side. he lost total control of the table, and it came down hitting him in the head with a solid thunk.
Pepe tried to scramble out of the way, however, the remaining table leg hit him in the side, pushing him underneath the falling logger. And the table.
"He's pinned," said Telina. "Does he win if all the other competitors somehow get knocked out.?"
"Yes, I suppose he does," smiled George, "but I doubt that, since there's an uneven number of competitors left." His logic didn't make sense, but it didn't really matter because someone was bound to notice Pepe and knock him out for George.
"I wonder who....?" she started to say, but stopped to stare across the room. "Well, will you look at that?"
Breaking the remaining table leg off, Pepe jammed it under the logger and a broken tankard. It was a suitable lever, and very slowly, as he pushed down on the table leg, the weight on top of his back eased off until he could move again. Careful to keep the lever in place, he maneuvered his legs to safety, and carefully rolled to freedom.
He heard one of the barmaids shout as he dusted himself off, and turned to face her and George. She was rather pretty, short blonde hair, dark doe eyes, and freckles that made her look almost child-like.
She was pointing behind him, so he immediately ducked and narrowly missed being hit over the head. He couldn't, however, turn quick enough to prevent being tripped. he sprawled forward, rolling over the table he'd just been trapped under.
The broken table leg had come free of the makeshift lever and rolled out from under the table. Getting to his feet, Pepe scooped it up. There was only a logger, a mercenary and, of course, himself left. From Pepe's point of view they'd made an unspoken agreement to get rid of Pepe. George was probably thanking the Lord above right now.
Ever so slowly they began to corner Pepe. Finally backed up against a wall, Pepe realized what he had to do. George was grinning from ear to ear.
Pepe threw the table leg at the mercenary, it was not meant to hit but as a distraction. It smacked into the merc's knee cap with an audible crack. The logger stared at the mercenary as the poor man stumbled to the floor
"Hey you, down there!"
The logger looked up to where Pepe stood amongst the ceiling rafters, and gave a startled cry when Pepe jumped. George swore out loud, but no one but Pepe noticed. Stepping over the inert body of the logger, Pepe drew back his arm and punched the mercenary full in the face.
George wanted to disqualify Pepe, throw him out, anything that would prevent him from going back. But he was still a man of honour, and was bound to his handshake. Instead he just fumed, trying to think of some legitimate excuse for not leaving. If only the passes south were closed already!
Telina, of course, ran straight for Pepe, flung her arms around him, and smothered his face with kisses. Pepe didn't mind, but his Pavolian manners forced him to decline and force Telina away.
"Congratulations," George almost snarled. He hoped Pepe had received a bash to the head and forgotten their wager completely.
But Pepe hadn't forgot. "We leave for Pavol tomorrow morning," he said, retrieving his dagger from the bar where he'd left it for safekeeping.
Telina was, of course confused, but she shrugged it off and insisted on escorting the winner to his room.
Pepe was up bright and early with a satisfied expression on his face, George guessed that Telina had been... No wait! George halted in mid step and turned around. Didn't he just walk right by Telina? She was slouched down in the corner behind the bar, weeping into her hands.
George knelt down beside her. "What happened? Did he hurt you?" he demanded.
"He refused," she wailed, putting her head back in her hands and continued to sob.
"He what?" This was impossible, Pavolians were very formal in public, but they almost always jumped at such a chance when they were in private. It was very rare that a man Pepe's age was so confounded old fashioned!
"He said it wasn't proper for a squire to make love without properly courting me!"
"He's a squire?" George was more interested in that fact. It made sense though, Pepe was from Pavol and trying to explain that to Telina would have been like teaching a sailor how to ride a horse. "Don't cry Telina! What he said was a compliment where he comes from," George half lied, hoping the small fib would calm her down.
"Okay," she mumbled, and calmed down a bit, giving George a weak smile.
"I understand you refused Telina," stated George, sitting down across from Pepe who was happily shoving fried potatoes in his mouth. "Aye," he commented between a mouthful. "Why?" George had to ask.
"I like her, but I also respect her," mumbled Pepe. "Besides, I love someone else, though my chances with her are next to nothing."
"Who?"
"She's a high ranking noble, let's leave it at that," Pepe said angrily.
George didn't pursue the subject. Pepe's chances of marrying a noble were just as Pepe stated, next to nothing. "Telina said you're a squire. Who's your Lord?" he asked.
"My lord is dead," said Pepe bitterly. "Nevertheless I am a squire in the service of the Council."
"Do you know why I've been summoned?"
Pepe didn't reply immediately, he simply stopped chewing and his eyes grew vaguely distant. Finally he mumbled an "Aye."
"And what is it?" George pursued.
"That's not for me to say."
George leaned back in his chair, defeated. He knew he wasn't going to get much information out of Pepe. He'd have to slowly get bits and pieces along the ride to Pavol. Actually the thought of going to Pavol thrilled him now. Perhaps Pavol had changed during the twenty years since he'd left and there was only one way to find out!
Pepe had brought everything, road rations, tents, two trained war-horses and one pack horse so there'd be no excuse for George to stall more than he need to. The knight only needed his armour. He couldn't believe it, he was actually excited to be wearing the heavy metal plates again. It had been twenty years, and he admitted he'd gotten out of shape, if anything he figured he was bound to lose some weight on this trip.
"You might be surprised," said Pepe with a grin. "Pavol's changed a lot in twenty years." That sounded promising to George, but Pepe's probably talking about the outer look, the walls, the streets, the crime, it was the bureaucrats and politicians that interested George. Had they changed?
"Telina, take good care of the place while I'm gone. Don't have too many parties on my expense," George said to the sad-looking girl. He leaned over in the saddle and whispered to Pepe. "Could you at least kiss her? I'd feel better if she was in good spirits while I'm gone."
Pepe nodded, slid down from the saddle and turned to face Telina. At first George thought he was going to kiss her hand, but instead he grabbed the maiden around the waist and gave her a crushing kiss on the lips. Leaving her a bit dazed and startled, Pepe gave her a smile and mounted, took the reins of the pack horse in his free hand and spurred his horse forward.
The mountains were a truly wondrous place to ride through in the autumn. The Empire's highways and passes were safe and free of bandits, the cool mountain air with a slight breeze to remind you that winter was coming, the majestic mountains thrust upwards into the sky with heights so great they disappeared into the clouds.
Birds were already heading south and the few maple and poplar trees that graced the highway had turned into yellowish orange. A brief layer of frost covered small areas of the road, giving the horses' hoofs a crunch when they moved. George was savoring the sights and smells all day, knowing it might be a long time before he came back.
They stopped that evening in a dried out riverbed, George stirring up a hearty meal out of nuts, spices, and a pound of salted caribou. The night grew dark quickly and the stars began to shine. A cloud bank to the north suggested it might rain tonight or tomorrow. Pepe offered to take first watch. George didn't argue, it just meant he could break the fast at the same time he kept watch.
In the middle of the night George awoke from his slumber, Pepe's hands shaking him roughly. "Get up!" the Pavolian said urgently. "I can see wolves!" George snorted awake, and sat up. Poor Pepe was from the big city and needed to be taught a little about woodsmanship, that much was obvious. "Pepe," he said, rubbing his eyes. "I'm going to tell you a secret about wolves, so listen closely. Okay?"
"Whatever! Just get up!"
"I'll get up, but only because it's time for my turn at the watch. Now listen up! Wolves don't attack bears because they know better. Thus they won't attack anything that stands on it's hind legs. In twenty years no wolf in the peaks has ever attacked a human, and I've never heard of it before then. Now think, you're a wolf wandering through the woods looking for an evening snack, you see light up ahead and decide to investigate. When you see that it's something like a bear, you decide that you don't want to wake him up because you know bears are tempersome old brutes." George snorted in disgust as he stood and stretched. "You have a lot to learn lad," he said with a grin, clapping Pepe on the back. "The only time wolves ever attacked is if they are provoked. Otherwise the superstitions about wolves is because they usually attack cattle, which really annoys the farmers."
The young man blushed to the roots of his red hair and sat down across from the fire. He looked up at George and smiled weakly. "I must look like a complete and utter fool."
"No, you look like someone who hasn't spent much time in the woods. Now tell me," said George sitting down across from him. "How's the Council going? Any major troubles recently."
"I'm not supposed to answer that and you know it." The squire looked away from the fire and George and into the woods.
He's not comfortable talking with me, the knight realized, I should have brought some brandy with me. He decided to change the subject to something else. "So how'd you get up into those rafters so quick?"
"I wasn't always a squire," Pepe muttered in reply.
"A burglar," George guessed.
Pepe blushed, but turned away angrily. "I'm no such thing."
"I saw that lad, you're a burglar all right! Or at least a thief of some kind. You were raised on the streets and learned how to fight there too right? Don't worry, I ain't going to turn you in. Haven't got any proof in the first place," smiled George. Although it might work, and George could go back to Windpeak. But not now. He knew now that he had unfinished business back in Pavol that desperately needed to be done, before it is too late. "So how'd you become a burglar?" he asked.
Pepe looked up at him as if deciding whether he could trust George enough. "I was a street bantling, a pick-pocket if you prefer. I robbed a burglar, but he managed to catch me and in exchange for his money back he taught me some tricks of the trade. Later we went into business together, an apprenticeship if you will, and he later taught me how to fight."
"He taught you well," George said with a smile.
"Aye," muttered Pepe, "That he did."
Even though George's back side was breaking out in blisters, he was enjoying the ride so far. They had left the mountains, and entered the plains. The knight had always found the plains to be a safe, out in the open kind of place.
"So... tell me what's changed in Pavol in the last twenty years," suggested George, he always felt he needed to be doing something when he rode across the plains, something to keep him from falling asleep.
"It is no longer the city of strife and chaos, if that's what you mean. It is now a place of commerce and study," replied Pepe, leaning back in the saddle and stretching his cramped muscles.
"Pavol has always been a city of commerce, and will probably be for another thousand years," George stated. "Does this mean they've blundered into an economic boom?" he asked.
Pepe glanced at him, a bit confused at such words coming from an innkeeper coming from the peaks. "Vastly, the government ordered a canal built, and produce from all over the empire is able to be shipped directly to the city now. That happened fifteen years ago, since then the empire has built cities as far away as the Qualin jungle in the far south seas. The produce coming from those places are then sent to Pavol and from there distributed across the empire." Pepe took a deep breath and continued. "The army is kept busy by conquering more land, thus creating a demand for weapons, supplies and food, driving the prices up and increasing the profits the tariffs make. There..."
"I didn't ask for a lecture on economics," interrupted George, frowning.
"I thought..."
Again George interrupted. "Has the bureaucracy changed?" he asked.
"No," Pepe replied, "Not that I can tell." Well, that answers that, it hasn't changed, or is Pepe referring to what he knows about the subject, which might not be much.
George changed the subject, feeling this line of questioning wasn't up his alley either. "Has the knighthood changed?"
"Not for the better," Pepe half-snarled.
"And what of the imperial monarchy?"
Again Pepe snarled. "The Emperor has become frail, hot tempered and stubborn as a mule!" he spat.
"What about the rest of the monarchy?"
"His wife died thirteen years ago, his son is married and waiting to be crowned Emperor, his daughter still unmarried since his Highness rejects every suitor, and his youngest son is constantly being bailed out of prison for troublemaking," Pepe snorted. "The lad stole his own father's crown just for the fun of it!"
"Spoiled rotten, eh?" laughed George.
"Ya, spoiled rotten," said Pepe, his eyes distant.