“Whotcher be a-needin’?” the wizened old man asked, his cheek bulging with something he was chewing on.
“Pair of horses,” Torresson replied pleasantly.
“Ain’t got none,” the antiquated stableman stated.
Torresson pointed at the row of animals contentedly munching their morning hay. “What do you call those?” His voice, although still level, now showed a ragged thread of frustration.
“Dem be harses, be ye blind?” He spat onto the straw-strewn floor, wiping the drizzle on his chin with the back of one gnarled hand.
“Then you do have horses, and I’ll have two of them.”
“Nay, yer will not!” the stableman shot back. “Dem harses be spoked for an’ ye can walk, same’s all th’ rest!” His stance was aggressive; his eyes blazed with his determination, once again daring Torresson to differ with him.
Torresson looked at him for a long moment, then walked down the row of animals, pausing before the pair he and Jornn had brought with them, then led a horse from the stall and began saddling the beast.
“Hey now, young feller! Oi’ll call th’ watch!” he shrilled, pointing in the general direction of the castle’s guard house.
“Fine!” Torresson snapped. “You call the watch and I’ll call the king and we’ll see who ends up with the horses.” (From The Siege of Kwennjurat, by Scott Ashby) http://tinyurl.com/nw4lfsb