In this segment, a local inn owner reports Woodwind's arrival to the local militia chairman.  Her xenophobic remarks illustrate a common attitude toward foreigners in the Republic of Tamaria.

    "I'm telling you, he's a spy!"

    Heinz Neergard, the local militia chairman for Deiter, a small town on the Tamarian frontier, had only two weeks of tenure left at this position and longed for it to end. As autumn drew to a close, the level of paranoia in this sleepy, agricultural hamlet had risen dramatically. More often than he cared to remember, some concerned citizen had pounded on his door at daybreak with news that couldn't wait until after breakfast. Standing unshaven in his nightclothes and bare feet, growing colder in direct proportion to the time he spent with his front door open, the tall, gray-haired gentleman listened patiently to the frantic tale of Winnie Mikkelsohn, the elderly proprietress of a tiny but luxurious bed and breakfast establishment on the south end of town.

    "He came in last night after dark. Franz would never have let him in the door because he looked an absolute mess, but he was cold and I felt sorry for him. Then I got to thinking straight," the old woman explained, gesticulating pointedly as if her skinny, vein and sinew shrouded hands could paint a picture where words failed. "He's got this huge sword and looks around at everything like he wanted to steal it all. Spoke the vulgate, he did, then gives me this worthless foreign coin for his room!"

    The old woman produced a heavy golden disc from a pocket in her musty, moth-eaten, knee-length coat, waving it in the kindly man's face. He backed away from her wrinkled, liver-spot covered hand, which, despite the cold, reeked of mentholatum.

    "Is it real?" Heinz queried.

    "Well, the old dwarf says so, but his eyes aren't so good anymore and I'm not sure he's not in cahoots with them anyway."

    The old dwarf, a life-long resident, had eyes sharper than Winnie Mikkelsohn's had ever been, in spite of his advanced age. Heinz recognized the prejudice, but didn't comment on it. "If the dwarf says it's good, then it's good," the shivering man replied. "If it will set your mind at ease, my boy and I will stop in and see this man after breakfast."

    "You'd better hurry," she warned, sensing that he wasn't taking her as seriously as she deemed the situation required. "If he leaves before you get there, I’ll hold you responsible!"

    Heinz smiled, sensing an opening. "Why don't you delay him until we arrive. Give him an extra-large breakfast and draw him a hot bath. If you treat him well, he won't suspect you've spoken to me this morning."

    Mrs. Mikkelsohn's thick glasses nearly bounced off her face as she nodded. "You know, that's exactly what I'll do. He won't suspect. No sir! We'll stop these foreigners yet!" The old woman began to waddle home, continuing the conversation all by herself.

    "Thank-you for stopping by," Heinz called, closing the door with relief tempered only by the grim realization that he'd have to see and smell her again after breakfast.

    Rheanne, his sixteen-year-old daughter, appeared from her room. "Daddy, what was that all about?"

    Heinz drew his arm around the girl and kissed her forehead affectionately. "Mrs. Mikkelsohn has another spy," he replied. "Tell Wolfie to get up and eat. We have to pay a visit to her guest and save the Republic from tyranny."

    Rheanne smiled mischievously, skipped over to her brother's room, opened the door, and shouted: "Get your slovenly behind out of bed! Half the day has already gone by, mother's been hard at work in the kitchen since daybreak and daddy mistakenly thinks he needs your good-for-nothing help defending the country against unbathed, lice-infested foreign spies, of which you, by virtue of extreme laziness, are probably in treasonous collaboration!"

    The girl quickly pulled shut the door to avoid being hit by an empty, wooden urinal hurled from the bed. "He's coming, daddy," she said with a smile.

A Song of Victory