Free Golden Fool by Hobb Robin Page B

men proceeded to stuff more wood into the firebox while another slopped more water on the stones. Steam rose in a wall, and the roar of competing conversations suddenly filled the room.
    Two old men followed them into the room, moving more slowly, obviously not a part of the first group. Their scarred and gnarled bodies were testimony to their long years of service. They were deep in talk, some complaint about the beer in the guardroom. They greeted me and I grunted a reply before turning aside. I kept my head down and my face turned away from them. One of the older men had known me when I was just a lad. Blade was his name, and the old guardsman had been a true friend to me. I listened to his familiar oaths as he roundly cursed his stiff back. I would have given much to greet him honestly and share talk with him. Instead I smiled to myself to hear his abuse of the beer and wished him well with all my heart.
    I watched surreptitiously, to see how our Buckkeep guards would mingle with the Outislanders. Oddly, it was the young men who avoided them and gave them suspicious glances. The guards old enough to have fought in the Red Ship War seemed more at ease. Perhaps when one is a man-at-arms for long enough, war becomes a job, and it is easier to recognize another man as a fellow warrior rather than a former enemy. Whatever the reason, it seemed to me that the Outislanders were more reluctant to socialize than the Buck guards. But perhaps that was only the natural caution of soldiers disarmed and surrounded by a group of strangers. Staying to watch longer would have been interesting, but also dangerous. Blade had always had a sharp eye. I would not invite his recognition by lingering in his company.
    But as I rose to go, a young guardsman shouldered into me. It was not an accident, or even a well-feigned one. It was but his excuse to loudly exclaim, “Watch yourself, man! Who are you, anyway? What guard company?” He was a sandy-haired fellow, perhaps of Farrow stock, well muscled and belligerent with youth. He looked about sixteen to me, a boy aching to prove himself before his more experienced fellows.
    I gave him the glare of tolerant disgust, veteran to green soldier. To be too passive would only invite attack. I simply wanted to leave as swiftly as possible, attracting no more attention than necessary. “Watch your own step, lad,” I warned him genially. I moved past him, only to have him shove me from behind on my left shoulder. I turned to confront him, loose but not yet aggressive. He had his fists up ready to defend himself. I shook my head tolerantly at that, and several of his companions snickered. “Let it be, lad,” I warned him.
    “I asked you a question,” he snarled.
    “So you did,” I agreed benignly. “If you’d cared to favor me with your name before you demanded mine, I might have answered. That used to be the custom at Buckkeep.”
    He narrowed his eyes at me. “Charl of Bright’s Guard. I’ve no need to be ashamed of my name or company.”
    “Nor I,” I assured him. “Tom Badgerlock, man to Lord Golden. Who expects me shortly. Good day.”
    “Lord Golden’s serving man. I might have known.” He gave a snort of disgust and turned to his fellows to confirm his superiority. “You don’t belong in here. This place is for the guardsmen. Not pages and lackeys and ‘special servants.’ ”
    “Is it?” I let a smile crook the corner of my mouth as I ran my gaze over him insultingly. “No pages or lackeys. That surprises me.” All eyes on us now. Hopeless to avoid notice. I’d have to establish myself as Tom Badgerlock. He reddened to my insult, and then swung.
    I leaned aside to let his blow go past, then took a step forward. He was ready for my fists, but instead I kicked his feet out from under him. It was a move more befitting a brawler than a noble’s guardsman, and it obviously shocked him. I kicked him again as he went down, driving the air out of him. He fell gasping, to