The inn they happened upon was one of those off the main road meant for the unsavory characters who couldn’t show their faces with the larger world for fear of the king’s men.


    The experienced Anthanasius led the other two into this den, admonishing Luke to not let on he was a soldier. Though it was after midnight when they ducked into the inn, several men sat around a table boasting; some snored loudly with their faces resting directly on the smoothed boards and an empty cup in the other. More sat or slept individually around the fringes and others sat near the embers of the great fireplace, oblivious to the talk and jeers around them. Evidence of a thick smoke still hung in the air from poor ventilation and half-choked them upon first entry.


    Anthanasius prodded the innkeeper, who sat dozing with his feet up and ordered three pints of ale. They sat as apart from the others as they could and soon the innkeeper brought their ale, blinking sleepily and wanting payment. ‘So ya’ don’ try ‘n’ slip off i’ I sle’p,’ he said.


    They paid the score and sat brooding while listening to the rough voices around them. The largest man at the table pounded on the table with a great fist and called to the innkeeper to bring him another glass. One of his ears was missing entirely; evidence of poaching. This look gave more menace to his person, if he needed more beyond his scarred angry face, wild eyes, rough hair, and tattered clothes.


    Ulric pulled his hood low over his face suddenly and whispered to his comrades, “I know that loud fellow; it’s Viktor Blackwell. We kept him in the king’s gaol a few years back for many murders and poaching deer.”


    While he said this, Viktor took to loudly abusing the innkeeper for his slow service.The listless starer about the fireplace didn’t take any notice of this, as if Viktor commonly behaved this way.


    Just then as they prepared to leave, a small conniving man Luke noticed watching them from a corner by a window slipped into the open seat at their table and grinned around with a few teeth.


    “My frien’s, don’t be going so soon.’ he said in a creaking, laughing voice. “This reelly is a jolly plac’ and I’d fain see yah stay long’r.”


    “We have places to be and cannot tarry,” Anthanasius said in a rough voice.


    “Oh dear me, oh dear me. Three traveling a’ night’s dangerous business,” he began, mostly to himself. “Whate’r are ye runnin’ from, and witho’ horses if mine ears din’ misgive me?” he finished with a questioning chuckle.


    “Are there horses in these parts?” The jailor, Ulric, asked in a disguised voice.


    “In sooth, I’m jus’ the man you thre’ need. Ye’ shou’ bless yer stars Cyran the Just was near and offer’d his priz’d young nags to ye’ fer on’y...” here he took to coughing and wheezing all three thought was fake, and kept it up until Luke pushed his half-full cup to him in agitation. He drank it rapidly and sighed.


    “Ah, I than’ ye fro’ me hear’ fo’ tha’ kin’ness, frien’d. For an old man whos’ spent ‘is lif’ fer oth’es a mere goo’dr’nk’s har’ ta come by. When ya lay on yer de’thbed I pray tha’ the good saints rem’ber the help ya’ ofr’d to poor Cyran the Just an’ make yer pass’ge tha’ much mor’ painless,” he continued on, biding his time and eyeing they over carefully, trying to gauge how much they would willingly pay. And how hurried they were. He rambled on; “Once I, must a be’n nigh a score a ye’rs past, walk’d fo’ two whole days’n ni’hts wth’ou so much a,” here Ulric interrupted him.


    “You have three horses here?”


    “Bless ya man, I do indeed.” He again took to coughing pitifully until Ulric finally slid his cup to the man, who drank it greedily. Anthanasius finished his drink at the same time, making sure Cyran saw all the drink at the table was gone. At the end of his second drink he sighed again as he did at the first but looked mournful at Anthanasius’ empty cup, but quickly recovered at the next question.


    “Are they for sale?” Luke demanded.


    Here was the chance he waited for. The three men desperately required haste. Not only that, but their faces spoke of a different life. One with more gold. He always relished taking advantage of people who sought to deal with him, especially if they held the short end of the stick.


    Cyran feigned taken aback, “Wha’, all thre’? Ya’ do me hur’ I ca’t refuse. Now how’ll po’r me take me goods to market. Hors’s good a’ these don’ come oft to a king’s co’rt. If I sell me’ young nags, I might r’in mysel’. Anoth’r po’r…”


    Anthanasius saw through the man’s stories and doubted the horses wouldn’t be worth even half what was requested. Cyran continued on with many more laments trying to pull the strings of their hearts until he interrupted him.


    “We’ll  give you two silver coins each and that’s more than they’re worth.” he injected bluntly.


    The man acted horrified and whined pathetically, “Bu, but, m’ hors’s ar’ so youn’ and fit fer knights o’ leg’nd. I can’t le’ them go at such a…”


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    Anthansius stood up; it was now his turn to play the miser, so he said to his friends, “If we can’t afford horses, then we need to continue now.”


    The others stood up and made to leave but Cyran wouldn’t lose so easily; two silver coins each he knew was well over what they were worth, but he made one last flattering pinch.


    “Sers, ye se’m in right tr’uble an’ I wan’to ‘elp ya out; I’ll sell ya thos’ three bea’tiful horses ah mine with th’ harness an’ trap’ings an’ baggage includ’e fer four sil’ers each.”


    “We’ll give you seven for the lot including harness but you can keep your baggage.” Anthanasius replied while walking to the door. He knew well from Cyran’s personality the baggage would be absolutely worthless, and didn’t want it even if there happened to be something valuable in it.


    Viktor Blackwell and his crowd grew progressively more rowdy and he wanted to get at least Ulric out the door. He opened the door to keep Cyran’s desperation up and let Ulric out.


    Just then from the table they heard a booming voice, “We’ll all have another one on them.” Cheering erupted as the inn suddenly woke from the stupor.


    Anthanasius grabbed Luke’s arm as he was walking out, “Get the horses ready and keep sharp ears.” He released Luke and handed him the necessary money to pay Cyran who eagerly followed him out. Anthanasius stood alone at the door with the crowd inside calling for him to buy them all more drinks.


    “What do you look to a footsore traveler for? I just gave my money to buy horses from the small man outside,” he said.


    Viktor Blackwell and another large rogue with him acted as spokesmen for the group and strode forward.


    “Well, maybe he’ll want to buy us some too,” Viktor said as he and his friend each produced a short sword.


    The idlers pounded on the tables and hooted mockingly as Anthanasius pulled his own sword from under his cloak. Viktor was half a head taller than Anthanasius and his friend was nearly of equal height. They didn’t expect to find their victim resist, though, and this set them looking sidelong while the innkeeper scurried forward to usher them outside.


    “No, gentlemen, no. Please take this outside if you must, but not in here; I won’t have my inn messed.”


    Anthanasius needed no second urging and began moving from his corner cautiously to give himself more room to use his weapon. He didn’t doubt he could best the two giants before him, but he didn’t trust them to fight with honor and they also might not follow him where his friends waited.


    But before he could, they lunged on him. He parried both cuts in one smooth motion and kicked Viktor’s friend a hard kick in the ribs. Enraged, they pounced again and pushed him back a ways, but not without cost. Viktor took a grazing cut across his forehead which set blood flowing into his eyes. Viktor staggered back in surprise but gathered himself quickly for another raging dash.


    Anthanasius took this second to back through the open door, barely dodging an empty cup thrown at his head.


    “Ha! Is a pint of your blood worth a pint of ale!” he taunted once he stood in the moonlit clearing.


    To Anthanasius’s surprise, they charged through the door followed by three more large friends. Luke drew his own sword and ran to his aid. Perhaps it wouldn’t have gone so well for them, but their five assailants’ heads swam from overmuch ale and only knew the training of barbarity to pit against the two sober and battle-tested defendants.


    The horses waited while Ulric sat atop one and held another rein on each side. Cyran disappeared as soon as Ulric paid him as if fearing someone might make a design on his money and that left eight men out in front of the disreputable inn.


    Anthanasius dodged left and ducked under a sweeping cut from one of the new arrivals, giving him a slice to remember in his side. The man roared and fell to the ground clutching his gaping wound. Three others turned swiftly and bloody Viktor led the assault. The drunken man made up for his lack of swordsmanship with wild rage and hatred. Blow after crushing blow they rained down on Anthanasius’s sword so fast he barely managed to move into fresh positions.


    They pushed him back with terrible blows. Neither party gave a wound but Anthanasius visibly began to tire.  He called loudly for Luke and fell on his back.


    Luke only faced Viktor''s first friend who proved a worthy match. He lept deftly from side to side dodging but couldn’t get within his area of guard. Finally Luke saw an opening for a fraction of a second and thrust his blade at his opponent’s sword arm. Blood flowed down and dripped on the ground in large red drops. Both knew Luke’s victory was near when Luke heard Anthanasius call his name. He delivered a blow which would have ended the fight if he pursued it, but turning from his stunned enemy, he saw Anthanasius fall to the ground beset by three others.


    Luke ran wildly to his friend’s aid while crying a warrior’s yell and covered the score of paces in no time. Viktor turned to Luke and dodged out of his way barely in time to save his head. Luke wheeled around and defended his friend from overtop until he could stand back up.


    With both friends on their feet and together, another enemy soon fell wounded followed by another who fell dead from a cut in his neck. At this Viktor Blackwell, dripping with blood from many additional cuts, backed off and glared at them with hatred before going into the inn and slamming the door.


    In the end, Anthanasius and Luke didn’t escape unscathed; each received a number of small cuts from lack of armor, but nothing serious. Ulric didn’t take part in the battle for freedom but, as he had been the king’s official jailor just hours before, he instinctively took a prisoner and bound him with his belt.


    Anthanasius chuckled at this and said they couldn’t bring anyone with them, so they released him to join his other surviving friends for a miserable recovery in the inn. The three took flight on their horses before he reached the door of the inn and clattered off in the night.