Ballard Has a Surprising Amount of Game

"Ink stains!" Roderic reiterated, sloshing ale over his hands as he gestured with his cup. "No knight worth his spurs runs around with ink stains on his hands, let alone his clothes. As if the spectacles weren't bad enough. You'd think he'd have the decency to try and make up for them." Roderic gulped at his ale to comfort himself.

"Egan, eh?" said Ballard, who was less than interested in Roderic's plight. He had a wench on each knee already--both apple-cheeked and giggling--and looked to be eyeing a third across the tavern. "Tall, skinny fellow? He's got nice reach with those long arms of his. Can take a beating too. Saw him fall off a parapet once without taking more damage than a sprained wrist."

Roderic frowned. "That's impossible."

"Mayhaps," Ballard shrugged. One of the wenches started braiding his beard. "Drink your ale, Rod."

Roderic obeyed. "If he's clumsy enough to fall off a parapet, I don't see why I'm taking him hunting for a dragon in the mountains. There are cliffs! And ravines! That's why the dragons like it!" Roderic paused in his tirade as a thought occurred to him. Maybe a dragon would push Sir Egan off a cliff, then Roderic could avenge his sworn brother's death. The bards would like that...

"Egan is not going to fall off a cliff. He earned his spurs long before you and the King thinks he's the right man to go haring off into the mountains with you so that's an end to it. Now finish your cup, pour another and find a nice wench to help you take your mind off it."

"I need no companionship but that of my brothers-in-arms!" declared Roderic, thinking about the epic speech he would make after Egan took his dragon inspired tumble down a ravine.

Ballard shrugged again. "Well, if that's what you prefer, I'm sure the girls could point you in the direction of a like-mined man."

"What? No!" Roderic colored spectacularly. The wenches on Ballard's knees were giggling again.

"As you like," said Ballard, philosophically. "But I think would do you some good."

"Drink your ale," said Roderic, hiding his red face in his own.

Ballar was only too happy to oblige.