8th Day of Fireseek, 565 CY
Grandien's Gaming House, Willip, Furyondy
The ivory dice felt warm and sweaty in Argo's hand. The crowd's combined body heat had pushed the temperature far past the comfortable range for the ranger, especially considering he was still wearing most of his ragged, damaged plate mail. The odors of sweat, tobacco, and things best left unthought of permeated the air. He tried to clear his head again, and concentrate on what he was doing. The fact that his right arm was in agony all the way from his shoulder to his wrist was not helping at all. Nor was sitting on the hard wooden floor, facing the large wooden box with the low sides that was used for this game. More than anything else, he wanted to be at home, in his comfortable bed, with his wife nestled in his arms.
"Dey ain't getting any luckier, swamp-boy! Trow dem bones!" yelled a burly sailor, whose name Argo had forgotten but simply referred to as Annoyance #1. The man's forearms were almost grotesquely swollen and festooned with lewd tattoos. He was about four inches shorter than Argo, but about the same weight. His clothing was dripping wet from sweat. His chin was one of those that always held several days of stubble yet could never grow a beard. A pipe stuck out from his nearly toothless mouth. Argo could see in his squinty eyes that this man probably had very few areas of interest in his life. Sailing, boozing, bedding, smoking, eating and gambling was probably a pretty complete list.
However, the ranger had to admit, the man sure could arm-wrestle.
"Aye, come on, swamp-boy! We're not gittin' any younger!" This came from the other sailor, whom Argo had designated Annoyance #2. A little smaller than his companion, but otherwise a pretty close match, this man seemed to be a toady of sorts for #1, fetching pipeweed or anything else his larger companion desired. Argo had to wonder how miserable your life had to be to look up to Annoyance #1 as someone to emulate.
Argo rolled the dice. One die came to rest with two pips facing up, the other with six.
Almighty Zeus, this day started with a lousy breakfast, a fight that almost killed me, my armor mangled and a dragon attack. As Argo moved one of the dice aside and picked up the other one again, he couldn't help but think.
How did it manage to go downhill from THAT?
He knew, of course. It had all been his own doing. He had been sitting on his bed in his house with Caroline beside him. After grudgingly allowing Aslan to heal him, he had practically barked at the paladin to leave. Aslan looked affronted as only he could, but had left without a word. Now Argo sullenly looked around him, then turned to eye his wife, who was dejectedly removing her leather armor and tossing it aside. Ignored, Grock kept trying to stick his face in his master's lap for some attention.
"I'm rusty, Caroline. It's been too long," he sighed. "I need to train again. However, that's a moot point, since I don't have the money." He waved an arm towards the door. "And whatever we can scrape off of Dak or even Bellicose won't be enough, not after we've divvied it up with Sir Stuck-Up and his Merry Band." Caroline actually laughed out loud at that. Argo himself didn't think the jest had been all that funny. Nervous energy, he supposed.
After composing herself, Caroline went over to the chest of drawers by their bed. She rooted around in one of them for a while, then came up with two jeweled necklaces and a small leather pouch that the ranger knew contained fifty platinum paladins. Argo shook his head and held up his hand to refuse them, but she pushed his arm down with one hand while pressing the jewelry and pouch into his other hand. He looked seriously at her.
"You know these are for you, Caroline. In case something ever happens to me."
She sat down again next to Argo and smiled at him. By the gods, how he loved that smile.
"Something has happened to you, Argo Bigfellow Junior. You're despondent, and that just won't do. Not as far as I'm concerned. Trust me, you're miserable company when you're upset."
Argo raised an eyebrow in mock surprise.
"If you're really all that obsessed with it, you can replace them once we find Bellicose's hoard. I don't care. For now, take it. Besides, if you're training up, you'll hardly be able to refuse me when I need it," she said, a hint of mischief in her smile. Argo took Caroline's arm, and kissed it where he had earlier grabbed it roughly. He then again regarded the items she had given him. He looked up again at his wife, with a sad expression on his face.
"I know your intentions are good Caroline, but this isn't enough. I doubt it's even half of what the training would cost."
Caroline looked thoughtful for a moment, then opened up the pouch and took two platinum pieces out of it. She rubbed them together between her thumb and forefinger and leaned in close to her husband's face. Her smile grew from mischievous to flat-out naughty.
"Practice being a father, Argo. Make them multiply. Make them grow."
It took the ranger a moment to process the twin lines of communication his wife was giving him. When he did, he returned Caroline's smile and took her in his arms as gently as he could, considering his plate mail. They kissed, and then, between bouts of giggling, kissed again as they tried to maneuver into a better position while simultaneously removing his armor...
Outside, Tadoa was approaching the Bigfellow house. Everyone else was too busy to pay much attention to the child, so he thought he would go see if Grock would play with him. Just outside the door, he heard a dog bark, and then a thud, as if two people had fallen out of bed. There was silence, and then the elf could make out two voices.
"How's that for luck? I got my armor off just in time, and I fell on something soft!"
"GET... OFF!"
There followed laughter and- other noises. Tadoa sighed and turned around, heading back towards the Brass Dragon. Maybe he could try to talk to Wescene again.
Argo again looked at the playing box. On three of the four sides, there were two compartments. One was marked Hit and the other Miss. On the thrower's side (Argo's), there was only a Hit box. Currently, this held five gold wheatshaffs that Argo had just put down, plus his silver sheridan ante. Annoyances #1 and #2, required to at least match, had each put down at least twice that in their Hit boxes. The third player, a skinny young man with dull blond, greasy hair and oily skin, gazed at the ranger under half-closed eyelids. He was wearing the clothes of a nobleman, but they had seen better days. Better years, actually. He was also bereft of the jewelry that the upper classes always carried, wearing only a talisman of three bones hanging around his neck. He said nothing, but slowly counted out five wheatshaffs and placed them in his Miss box.
The game was run by possibly the most sinister looking halfling Argo had seen in his entire life. The hobbit's skin was ghostly pale and pockmarked with many scars. The yellow in his eyes matched his teeth, and he twirled his rather long and thin mustache as he watched the dice roll. He was dressed all in black-shirt, trousers and boots. A dagger hung at his belt, and the ranger was sure other weapons were hidden on him. Carrying a sack in one hand, he marched continuously around the table, counting bets and announcing odds.
"Two to six! Mark is three wide! Even money, hit or miss! Bet one, win two! Bowman raises five gold, five gold to match!" He peered into all the compartments, making sure all bets were big enough, the turned and grinned mirthlessly at Argo, as he had done during the ranger's entire losing streak.
"Shoot, Bowman!"
If I had a crossbow and a Bless spell, I would, you midget vampire. Argo cleared the thought from his head and, once again praying to Tyche, rolled the one die he held in his hand.
Six.
"Six! A miss! Bowman misses, we have one winner here!" The halfling scooped up Bigfellow's wheatshaffs and sheridan and gave them to the youth. The sailors' coins wound up in his sack, which was fairly bulging by now. Annoyance #1 slammed one meaty fist into another, causing an audible shockwave. He glared at Argo.
"Damn you, swamp-boy! Whas de matter wit you? You losin' me all my 'ard won money!"
Argo eyeballed him. "What are you complaining about? It was all mine an hour ago! You don't like my luck, do me and my nose a favor and sit out!"
The sailor and his companion, apparently unable to devise any kind of a response, settled for both making rumbling noises in their throats and clenching their fists at the ranger.
Argo really loathed those two, but he couldn't waste time on them now. The rules of the game demanded that the Bowman shoot ten consecutive throws, or else forfeit his ante of one sheridan per throw to the House. He had shot eight times so far and lost seven. The last throw was actually the least he had bet yet, in some vain hope that a cautious wager might reverse his unlucky fortunes, but that obviously hadn't happened. He was down to a total of about two hundred gold, and he knew it was going to take some incredible luck to make up what he had lost, let alone win him enough for his training.
He took a deep breath, and put down his next ante...
"Aslan! May I have a word with you?"
The paladin had just left his house after changing from his plate mail into a regular change of clothing. He was going to assist the Sir Dorbin party in their clean up efforts when Argo's voice made him turn. The ranger was approaching him from his house. Oddly, he was still dressed in his damaged plate mail. Aslan couldn't imagine why Argo would still be wearing it. In addition, Bigfellow was still fully armed. This just didn't seem right to the paladin. He knew Argo too well not to know something was up. He folded his arms and waited for the ranger to reach him.
"Hello, Argo," Aslan said as his friend approached. "Did I miss a spot?"
Argo made the motion of waving a flag in the air. "Truce, my friend." A remorseful look settled on the ranger's face. "Several things. First and foremost, I've come to apologize for my behavior earlier. I know I get on your back every so often, but you deserved better than that, especially when all you were trying to do was help."
Very true Argo, but that's neither first nor foremost why you're here. Aslan put on a neutral expression that he hoped would make Argo show his hand. "Apology accepted. Now, is there anything else? I was about to-" and he gestured towards Sir Dorbin and the others.
Argo looked Aslan dead in the eye. "I won't lie to you, Aslan. I do need a favor. I would have asked for it anyway, but now, considering my inexcusable behavior earlier, I have to beg for it." He took a deep breath. "I'm rusty, Aslan. I've been out of practice since we've retired. I just didn't realize how much until now." He looked at the paladin with what he hoped was a defenses-down look. "I need to train up, Aslan. Like you've always said, we're a team. Well, a chain is only as strong as its weakest link, and I'm not going to be that link if I can help it. That wouldn't be fair to you, to the others; and to Caroline." he finished, looking back towards his house.
Bringing your wife into it to tug on my heartstrings? This must be a giant of a favor, Argo Aslan thought. He continued to eye the ranger without expression. "Do you have the money that would require?" Argo nodded slowly, taking out two jeweled necklaces from a large belt pouch and showing them to Aslan.
"A while back, when we had more money," the ranger grimaced, "I gave Caroline an emergency stash for her in case something ever happened to the rest of us. This is just some of it," he said, indicating his belt pouch as he returned the necklaces to it. It should be just about enough." He looked up at the paladin again. "She insisted I take it."
Hmm. Knowing Caroline, that's probably true. Aslan continued to scan Argo's face for clues. "And how do I come in?"
Bigfellow shrugged. "Very simply, my friend. I just need you to transport me to Willip, where I can get this training."
Despite himself, Aslan's eyebrows shot up. That's it? There has to be more. But what? Trying to keep both suspicion and curiosity out of his voice, he asked, "Why do you need me? Would taking Gylandir be that much slower?
"Not much slower, but far more conspicuous. I'd like to set this up today, if possible. Training will take about a week, but I don't know when I'll be able to start. I'll let you know how long I plan on being gone, and you can return here tonight. I still want to keep this as low profile as possible. We still don't know if Dak and Bellicose were working together or not, and Nodyath's status is still a question mark."
Aslan was silent for a long time, considering. Then he spoke.
"Can you wait two hours, while I mindrest? I don't want to return home depleted in Talent."
Argo smiled. "Of course, my friend. And again, thank you."
Aslan returned the smile. "Not at all, my friend. As long as you're completely honest with me, I'm glad to help you out in any small way that I can." He turned and resumed walking towards the others.
Bastard. He knew that would gnaw at me. Trying to keep his mind off Aslan, off everything else but the game, Argo threw the dice again. Two pips and four pips.
"Two to four! Mark is one wide! One wins six on a hit, five wins six on a miss! The creepy halfling leaned in close to Argo, looking to see what he would bet. "Your wager, Bowman?"
I'd wager you haven't had a woman in a century, you freak. Argo knew he was starting to get seriously distracted, and that would not help him at all. He thought for a moment, and then put half of his remaining gold into his Hit box, in ten stacks of ten coins each. It barely fit. There was an audible gasp from the crowd around the box. Arrow was not a dice game that usually generated such large wagers. It was originally for that purpose that Argo had chosen it. He had hoped to slowly but quietly win what he needed. Oh, well. Another plan shot to hell in spectacular Bigfellow fashion.
The halfling actually licked his lips. "One hundred! One hundred gold to match!" He looked at the three players. Annoyances #1 and #2 slowly put their wagers in their Hit boxes, as well.
Argo couldn't believe it. "What the hell are you doing?" he shouted at them over the din of the club. "Do you honestly think I'm going to roll a three? I've got no choice! I'm desperate! You can make an easy twenty gold on this roll just by betting on a Miss!"
The bigger Annoyance blew on his pipe, then took it out to regard the ranger.
"I need a big win fast too, swamp-boy. The way I figger it, you're due to git real lucky soon. I sug-jest you do."
"Aye," piped in the smaller Annoyance. "Real lucky-like."
The blond youth considered, stood up, gave what might have passed for a smile, and walked away, mumbling softly to himself.
The halfling twirled his mustache and leered at Argo. "Shoot, Bowman!"
Argo gave him his famous pained smile, although for once, he actually felt as pitiful as it made him look. He picked up one die, and tossed it.
Aslan and Argo appeared in the Gardens district of Willip, as per the ranger's request. Not that anyone would have recognized Aslan. On his own initiative, he had utilized his Talent to appear as an elderly man of about seventy or so, more or less aging his own features to do so. Argo was relieved. He really did wish to be recognized by as few people as possible, and this would help. He turned to the paladin.
"All right, my friend. I have a few stops to make, and then I'm going to the church of Zeus. With luck, Melinjaro can arrange my training without delay, if he has someone available. I should be back in an hour or two, three at the most. I'll let you know then how long I'll be gone."
The elderly Aslan nodded, and shuffled over to a wooden bench and sat down. A young priestess of Ehlonna was spreading mulch over a garden plot. She smiled at him, and then continued her work. Aslan smiled back.
Argo watched this. Poor Aslan. He needed a woman all his life, and now he's too old to enjoy one! Chuckling to himself, he set off towards the church of Zeus.
He was not chuckling forty minutes later. He had gone to the moneychangers first, and now had over two thousand gold worth of coins in his backpack and belt pouch. That alone made him uncomfortable. Then, he had waited over twenty minutes at the temple of Zeus only to find out that the High Priest Melinjaro was not there and would not be back until tomorrow. Ukansis, the assistant to the High Priest, had apologized to Argo, but they were very busy right now. Grumbling, he was now heading towards the Dockyards neighborhood. Twilight was fading into night, and the ranger wasn't exactly sure which establishment he wanted. It took him over an hour to find it.
Grandien's Gaming House. Not too high-class, not too much of a dive (well, that was pushing it). They did not sell drinks, concentrating on keeping their customers sober. Besides, gambling drained funds a lot faster than drinking did. Argo took a deep breath and opened the door. A wave of warm, smoky air washed over him.
The place was packed. A small bar in the far left corner was not selling drinks, but other miscellaneous items such as pipeweed, pouches and gaming supplies. A sign across the wall proclaimed, "NO SPELLCASTING." Most of the floor was taken up with various dice games, some of which Argo recognized, but most of which he did not. Each of three large circular tables was crowded with patrons involved with card games. A row of smaller square tables was set up along the right side of the door from which the ranger had entered. They seemed to be used mostly for ad-hoc games of chance run by customers, rather than the House.
On one of those small tables, two people were arm-wrestling. One was a stocky sailor- salt air, among other scents, always seemed to diffuse from their pores- with enormous forearms who seemed to be enjoying grinding the knuckles of his opponent, an olive-skinned gentleman with short brown hair who wore crystal goggles over his eyes, into the nearly worn-out piece of fur glued to the table for a pathetic attempt at comfort.
Someone tapped Argo on the left shoulder from behind. He turned and had to look up to a giant of a Suel man. A barbarian from Rhizia, he guessed. "Weapons," the man grunted. "Check 'em. One wheatshaff each." He moved behind a small bar set up to the left of the door. A box behind it was filled with an assortment of weapons.
The ranger was a bit unsettled. This man had to have some ogre in him. He was easily pushing seven feet tall. Now I know what Aslan feels like when he talks to me, he thought. As usual, I'm already in over my head. May as well be unarmed while I'm at it. Sourly, he handed over his sword, dagger, bow and sling, along with their ammunition, to the man, along with four gold pieces. Argo then returned his attention to the arm-wrestling that was going on. That appealed to him. He had no idea if the House games of chance were rigged (if they checked weapons at the door, it was a safe bet to assume at least some of the patrons thought so). Argo knew he was stronger than most and had arm-wrestled quite a bit back at the Lone Heath. He headed towards that table.
The goggled man was rubbing his right arm. "I want a rematch," he said to the sailor in a gravelly voice. "Just give me a minute to heal what you've done to my arm." He took a small vial of black liquid from his belt pouch, uncorked it and swallowed the contents. Argo saw this, but concentrated his attention on the winner, who was lighting up a corncob pipe with pipeweed he was taking from another sailor he was obviously pals with. "Good evening, my friend. Are you up to facing a real opponent?"
The sailor, whose face seemed to be frozen into a perpetual squint, eyed Argo through the puffs of smoke he was generating. "You from Aerdy, boy?"
What, is this guy racist? Argo crossed his arms and asked, "Why do you ask?"
The sailor slowly took the pipe from his mouth. "I doan like dat damn Overking, nor anybuddy what says udderwise. You got a problem wid dat?" he glared at the ranger.
Argo smiled with relief. "I assure you, my good man, that I detest the House of Naelax as much as you do, if not more. I am from the Lone Heath, where those who are in rebellion against Ivid's reign dwell."
The sailor almost smiled. "Da Lone Heath, huh? Okay swamp-boy, you wanna wrestle? Fine by me, long as you lose dat," he said, indicating Argo's gauntleted right hand.
Argo nodded and slowly removed his gauntlet. "For how much? Say, fifty gold?" He knew that was a high wager, but he wanted to gauge this man's reaction. The sailor paused to consider this, his eyes drifting.
"Excuse me, sir." The rough voice of the goggled man drew Argo's attention. "I may not have the strength of our maritime friend here, but if I may be so bold, I doubt you do, either. I'll take you on gladly for fifty gold."
Argo eyed him. An easy fifty gold seemed like a good place to start. His eyes, wandering over the man, came to rest on his belt pouch.
Wait a minute! That flask- that was no healing potion he drank! Some kind of strength potion, no doubt. This guy's a shill! Argo smiled smugly to himself. Nice try gentlemen, but I'm no babe in the swamp, myself. "No offense my good man," he said heartily, "but I think I'll go right to the top here." He turned to the sailor. "Ready?"
Argo won. It wasn't easy. The sailor had started to push Argo's arm down, but then the ranger had slowly swung him the other way. It had taken about a minute, but he had made his first profit. He rubbed his arm. I don't think I'm going to make all of the five thousand I need arm-wrestling, but it's a good start. The sailor, not surprisingly, seemed in an ill humor. "Dubble or nuttin, swamp-boy!" he had growled.
Bigfellow smiled. "But of course."
He won again, although the sailor did drip tobacco-stained drool on his arm at one point. This guy is really annoying, Argo thought. Still, he'd ride this wagon as far as he could.
Argo won his next four matches with the sailor. He was on a roll, although his arm was starting to burn. His opponent was now shooting daggers from his eyes, but Argo was more concerned about his funds. He was now 1600 gold up from when he started. He figured his arm was up to one more match. May as well make it even bigger, though. "One more? Say, for five thousand?" he asked the sailor, who scowled at him. By now, a good portion of the game room crowd was pressed around the two of them.
"Ain't got it to bet, swamp-boy. You'd better-"
"Excuse me" cut in the goggled man, placing five rubies on the table. "Your determination has impressed me, my seagoing friend" he stated with just a hint of a smile. "I am willing to cover your bet, with say, twenty-five percent to you upon your win?"
The sailor eyed the man, and then shrugged. "It's yer money."
Argo put his money on the table as well, keeping an eye on the goggled man to make sure that he didn't try to cast a spell or anything else suspicious. He did nothing though, simply standing there quietly. The ranger locked hands with the sailor one more time.
The instant the match began, Argo knew he was in trouble. Big trouble. The sailor, grunting and groaning far more than he had in any of their previous matches, immediately began to push Argo's arm down, slowly but surely. In disbelief, Argo spared a glance at the goggled man, who now wore a very self-satisfied smile, indeed.
By Hermes, I've been set up! This was the way they wanted it all along! Argo mentally slammed himself as his arm continued its slow motion topple. Very clever Argo, 'noticing' that vial like that. Just like they knew you would! He wanted to cry as he saw his hand heading for the table.
Just call me "Babe"...
Five pips showed on the die.
"Five!" the halfling crowed. "Bowman misses! The House wins!" He quickly scooped everyone's winnings into his sack, and then, grunting and groaning, lifted it over to the Suel barbarian, who silently took it and handed the hobbit another empty sack. Annoyances #1 and #2 both looked like they were ready to leap over the box at Argo.
The ranger really didn't care. He was very, very angry now. This had all gone hideously wrong. Some small voice in the back of his head was telling him to get up and leave now with the one hundred gold he still had left, but the ranger pushed it aside. All right, then. When the going gets tough, a Bigfellow gets tougher!
He turned to the pallid halfling and announced, "Blind Shot!"
The crowd murmured amongst themselves. The Bowman was allowed to call Blind Shot on only one of his ten throws, and since this was going to be Argo's tenth and last throw, he was going to make it one to remember. On a Blind Shot, three dice were tossed simultaneously, the arrow and the two markers. All bets were placed prior to the throw, and the players could only wager on a Hit. However, a hit paid off at ten to one. Argo put all of his remaining funds into his Hit box. He barely noticed as both sailors did the same. He had the faint sense that they were muttering threats at him now, but he didn't care. They were idiots. They had been up five thousand gold earlier. If #1 had been so far in debt that five thousand gold wasn't enough to save him, that was his damn fault. He also ignored the halfling announcing the bets, settling instead on a pleasing image of a wriggling sack being tossed into the Nyr Dyv. The room seemed to be swirling faster and faster around Argo now. The ranger's blood was pumping as the halfling added another die to the two in his trembling hand. Argo looked at the new die. He could have sworn the pips on it were dried blood, but that didn't matter either. The only thing that mattered was winning this throw. Just one, he whispered. Just one win. Please, almighty Zeus, Tyche, and whatever other gods might be listening, just let me win this once.
The dice rattled around the box, bouncing off themselves and the walls, then came to rest.
Argo never even saw the arrow die. The two markers both seemed to grow until they filled his entire field of vision.
Each one had three pips. There was no target for the arrow to hit.
"No mark! No mark!" the halfling almost screeched. "House wins!" He practically leaped for the ranger's wager.
Argo almost exploded onto his feet, then staggered over to the barbarian. "My weapons!" he shouted, but they were already stacked on the bar, waiting for him. The ranger clumsily grabbed them all, then burst away from the yelling and the cursing and the laughter, away from it all, out the door into the cool night air...
Cursing aloud like a drunkard, Argo had gone several blocks before realizing he had no idea where he was going. He thought for a moment, then began stomping his way back towards the Gardens, to meet up with Aslan. His white-hot rage cooled down somewhat, but he was still in a foul mood, mostly at himself. He had been a fool. He had thought himself clever and sensible enough to handle himself in a place like Grandien's, and clearly, that wasn't the case.
Well, what now? he wondered. He knew the answer to that question, though. He would come back to Melinjaro tomorrow and ask to be trained in exchange for a religious quest. Argo really, really didn't like the idea, because he would have absolutely no say in the matter as to what they would ask of him. However, he could see no other options. The ranger concentrated on slowing his pace, his heartbeat, his breathing. He didn't want to come home to his wife in this mood. It was ironic, he mused, that Caroline would probably completely forgive him for losing her money. She always forgave him in the end. She was better than he deserved, but he had no intention of telling her that. He was glad that Caroline had not seen him tonight. Soon, he thought. Soon, I'll be home again.
Aslan was still where Argo had left him. He had no idea if the paladin had gone anywhere in the last two hours or so, and no interest at all in asking him. Trying to reign in his still simmering anger, he simply said, "Let's go home Aslan."
The paladin eyed him curiously. "Argo? Are you all right? What happened? Did you set it up yet?"
Aslan's voice was grating on Argo's nerves. In this old form, it was more high-pitched, almost like that accursed halfling. Argo was trembling now with the effort to remain calm. He had absolutely nothing left for subterfuge or playing games. He eyed Aslan directly.
"I didn't have enough, Aslan. Okay? I didn't have enough money for the training, so I went to a gambling house, and I lost it all! Are you happy? Does that make you feel better? I'll come back tomorrow and ask Melinjaro for a religious quest. Can we just go home now?" he finished with a glare at the paladin.
Aslan stared at Argo for a moment, then slowly walked right over to the ranger, and then suddenly he was his normal self again. Argo barely noticed; he was too busy meeting Aslan's harsh glare.
"You were gambling, Argo?" Aslan asked, his voice a mix of anger and sadness. "You lied to me about having enough money, then had me bring you here to Willip so you could gamble?" His voice was stern, the lecturing paladin now. "You know how I feel about gambling, Argo. About why I won't allow it at the Brass Dragon."
Argo could feel, ever so minutely, his hand creeping towards Harve's hilt. With his last vestiges of self-control, he spoke through gritted teeth in a patronizing tone. "Well, we're not at the Brass Dragon now, are we Aslan?"
Aslan crossed his arms. Despite being much shorter than the ranger, he seemed to glower down upon him. "Correction, Argo. You're not at the Brass Dragon!"
"Err- what?" Argo couldn't quite follow that.
Aslan sadly shook his head. "You made this bed, Argo Bigfellow Junior. Tonight, you sleep in it."
And he disappeared.
Argo could swear he could hear the thud of his jaw hitting the ground below him. He left me. By Zeus, he actually left me! Shock had replaced most of his anger now. No, he really wouldn't leave me here. Would he? He began to turn around, calling out. "Aslan? Aslan? Come on, my friend, I know you're just trying to teach me a lesson! All right, you win! Whatever you want! Lecture me all night long if you want, let's just get out of here!" He listened intently. "Aslan?"
Behind him, he heard bushes rustle.
About time, he thought and turned around.
Annoyances #1 and #2 came creeping out of the bushes. Each now held a large, spiked club in each hand. #1 leered at Argo.
"I'm bettin' yer in trubble now, swamp-boy."
"Aye," added his companion.
They both raised their clubs and charged.