Golden Box Book Publishing GBBP Magazine, June, 2017 | Page 35

“Good morning, m’lad,” he said in a thick brogue.
He was about sixty years old, had a scarred face, one broken
horn and large-knuckled hands. A former champion hoof-boxer at
the Crimson Sand, he often posed as a blind beggar, but in reality
was a wealthy and high-ranking member of the Court of Miracles,
Valdar’s secret, subterranean kingdom of beggars. He also owned
the Hoof and Horn Club, a private retreat, rest home and infirmary
for human and halfling veterans of the arena. Like most of the
Muthologians living in the kingdom of Rojahndria, he originally
came from the land of Khanya-Toth. His name was Praxus Odetti,
and he was like a father to me.
“I’ve woken up to many an unpleasant sight,” I said to him,
“but your face tops them all, you old goat.”
With a quiet laugh, he flicked a speck of lint from his
otherwise immaculate red jerkin. He was sitting in a chair beside
my bed. His legs were crossed, and I could see the blue, knee-
length britches he wore, and his hairy goat legs. His hooves were
nicely polished.
“It’s lucky you are that you woke up at all, lad.”
I was in a private sick room in the Hoof and Horn Club’s
infirmary. Through the open door I could see centaur physicians
and dryad nurses passing back and forth in the outer corridor.
Then a familiar figure entered the room, his polished breastplate
and helmet gleaming in the lantern light, his long, purple cloak
trailing behind him. His handsome black face, big smile and
perfect white teeth brightened the room. But I’d never tell him
that.
“He’s right, you know,” said Captain Cham Mazo,
approaching my bed.
“Another pretty face,” I said. “All right, when is this
nightmare going to end?”
The smile vanished from Mazo’s face. “Maybe it just started.”
I sat up in bed, and a sharp pain lanced through my skull.
“Easy does it, lad,” Praxus said. “You’ve had a nasty fall and
nearly broke your crown.”
My eyes crossed and uncrossed. “Is anyone going to tell me
what happened?”
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