《SPRING OF PLENTY》


 Prologue: An Atumn Night

    The falling leaves swayed back and forth around Arnold Billingham, as he walked along the top of the wall that protected Castle Lorahn. The sun was close to setting on the horizon, as the last ships docked on the port of Cirulia, the Sunken City. From his post on the southwest side, he could look down onto the bustling streets, and watch as shops turned off their lights, and wandering merchants closed their stands and packed up for the evening.


    People got ready to either head home or head into the many taverns and bars that kept their lights on, to get a well-deserved rest and wind off. As the crowds dispersed, Arnold could not help but think that in about thirty to forty minutes he would be joining them, along with some of the guard, once he was done working. He was close to the end of a damned long shift, at the end of an even longer week. The preparations for the arrival of the guests had been exhausting.


    As he was stretching and yawning, he heard steps coming from the staircase that led to his post. Worried that he might''ve been found out by his superior, he instantly straightened his posture and began walking from one side to the other, in an incredibly well rehearsed manner.


    "One would even believe that you were working if they found you like this" Arnold relaxed once he heard the voice of one of his friends in the guard, Lawrence, coming to switch with him and relieve him of his duties.


    "I thought I still had some time left" answered Arnold, smiling and ignoring his remark. "Have you come to take over?".


    "Yes, the captain told me you seemed exhausted, and that it would not be a good idea to leave you here any longer" said Lawrence as he reached the top of the stairs, putting a hand on Arnold''s shoulder.


    "We are all exhausted" Arnold backed off and sat on the edge of the wall, looking out on to the city. "I just don''t understand what the need for all this watch is, just for some rich dignitaries that aren''t even arriving today".


    "The Sa-har family are not simple dignitaries, Arnold" said Lawrence with that tone that Arnold had come to endure, the one that made it seem like he knew nothing of the world. "They are the richest and most powerful merchant family in the west of Eldoris. And if they are coming to speak with the Counts, perhaps that means an era of wealth for this region, and even the resurgence of Cirulia. The court of Lorahn need to impress them, at the very least, and if the possibility of a raise means we must not allow a single bit of crime to go on within the city for a week or two, I''m willing to work harder. Aren''t you?".


    "Yes, I guess I am" Lawrence was right. It would not hurt the city if Cirulia (and it definitely wouldn''t hurt Arnold''s pockets) if commerce would boom once again, even if it was with the arrival of foreigners from a strange land. He decided to sit and chat with Lawrence for a while. Even if that prick could come off as a "know-it-all", he''d helped Arnold out of tough times, and that deserved a bit of respect.


    As Lawrence told him about the time him and his family visited the Makari Desert, home of the Sa-Har family, they watched the streets of the port with renewed interest in the arrival of the dignified guests.


    The sun had already set when Arnold decided it was time to leave. He got up from the edge of the wall, and, after saying goodbye to his friend. Headed for the stairs. It was then that he saw a cloaked figure crouching on top of the wall, about thirty feet away from them. ''How has nobody spotted them until now?'' he thought to himself, unsheathing his sword and turning to alert Lawrence.


    What he saw, however, was Lawrence standing still, mouth gaping open, with a short blade poking through the front of his neck. Too stunned to speak, he watched as another cloaked figure took the blade out of his comrade''s neck, and Lawrence''s limp, motionless body fell to the ground, but made no noise.


    Desperate, he tried to back away and call out for help, but no sound came out of his mouth when he did. He swung the sword at his opponent, but the figure was now gone, and his neck was being held by an armlock, the arm being as big as both his legs.


    Held in stasis, unable to move; he saw the first figure walk up to him as he felt a blade being pressed against his neck. The figure gestured to the one holding him, and he heard a voice saying: "No more death than necessary". The blade retreated from his neck, and the figure touched his forehead with two fingers, muttering something in a language he did not recognize. He felt a wave of peace washing over him, like all his worries, pains and preoccupations disappeared from his mind. Then, he felt his consciousness slip away, his eyes closing, and fell into a deep sleep.


    Count Vilahir Lorahn awoke suddenly in his chambers, hearing commotion in the halls just outside. Looking out of his bedroom window he could see that the sun had long ago set and thinking that the noise was uncharacteristic for the hour, he decided to step out to tell off whoever was causing all that ruckus.


    He got out of bed, groaning and feeling the past few years on his back and legs, and walked slowly over to the door. With the window open, he felt the fresh autumn breeze hit his bare back as he approached. With his hand now on the handle, he heard the sounds on the hall getting louder and louder, until they stopped all together. After a few seconds, he had almost decided to not open the door, seeing that the noise had stopped. But then, he felt a strong vibration on the other side of the door, like a heavy object hitting the oak wood, but no sound came out.


    Feeling pissed, he opened the door straight away, and began walking out into the hall. Before being able to, though, his sight was drawn to a familiar object that had been supported by the door hitting the floor by his feet. A helm, with the symbol of his house engraved on its side. The head that had once worn the helm was a few feet away, cut off from its body, which laid at the end of the hall.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Just outside the door were two cloaked figures, still and silent. One held a thin and long blade on his right hand, while the other walked toward him. Count Lorahn tried to speak out, to wake up and warn his wife, or call for help, but his voice wouldn''t work. He turned and ran to the bedside, the figure with no blade walking into the chamber after him, slowly. As he ran, he noticed that his footsteps made no sound.


    Vilahir Lorahn grabbed a sword that was mounted on the wall right above his bedside table and turned to face his attacker. Even though the count''s age showed from his long, gray hair to his somewhat slow movements, and the pain on his back; he had once been a great warrior, commander of armies for the Lost King, and his sheer size and frame made up for his recent lack of speed. He had been involved in the training of his guard, defeating in duels opponents far younger than him.


    He swung the longsword with one hand, catching the approaching figure by surprise. They managed to turn and evade it, but not before getting cut on their shoulder. As they dodged, their hood fell, revealing a metalic mask that covered their face.


    Count Lorahn swung the sword again, expecting an even better result, but the figure was faster this time. They ducked, and the sword arched past them, hitting the frame of the bed and getting stuck on the wood, where the countess slept peacefully, unaware of the danger.


    The count tried desperately to pull the sword back, but it remained stuck in place. He let go of the weapon and tried to punch the masked attacker in the gut, with a force that would''ve been sufficient to leave a normal man kneeling on the ground, winded. The attacker dodged though, and reached a hand out toward Vilahir''s face. The count braced, expecting the feeling of a blade across his neck to come right after.


    But it didn''t. Instead, the figure put a hand on his forehead, and he felt all of the energy and strength leaving his body. He wanted to fight back, but his legs were giving up, and his eyes closing as he fell to the ground. He looked at the door, and saw the other figure standing there, no intention of approaching. Then, when he turned his head, he saw the first figure walking towards his sleeping wife.


    He once again tried to call for help, to warn her, anything, but no sound would leave his throat. Right before losing consciousness, he thought of his son: ''Elia, please...'', and then his eyes closed.


    When the count opened his eyes for the second time that night, he awoke to find the figure with the blade being fended off by another individual. The other one, the one that had walked into the room and knocked out Vilahir, had disappeared, leaving no trace. Sound seemed to have returned to the world.


    The masked attacker wielded his thin blade, and was fighting a man, who had his back turned to the count, and had in his hands the count''s sword. The clanking of metal blades hitting against each other made a rhythmic pattern, characteristic of a fight between skilled individuals.


    The count could not see the face of the man that was defending him and his wife, who was now awake and watching the scuffle with a wide-eyed, scared look on her face; but from the fact that he wasn''t wearing a guard''s uniform and his short brown hair with the recognizable streak of white on it, he could make out who was the one who had come to their aid.


    "Father!" screamed his son, Elia, parrying his opponent''s blade with impressive mastery. "Are you alright?"


    "Y-yes..." to the count, his own voice sounded raspy and uncanny. He got up off the ground, where he''d been laying, and took another blade that was hidden beneath the bed. He walked over to his son''s side, careful not to disturb the flow of his combat. "Thank you, son! For coming to our aid."


    The very act of swinging a sword around a couple of times made him feel weak and winded, and he started cursing his age under his breath. Nevertheless, he used the short blade that he had now acquired to aid his son in combat against the figure. The attacker parried and dodged attacks with incredible speed, but between the fighting ability of both nobles and the fact that it was a two on one, he could not afford to strike back.


    Slowly, the count and his son forced the attacker back, until his back was practically touching the window. Elia, in his mid twenties, was faster than his father, and was able to strike the opponent on the thigh, making a deep cut along his leg. When the count got ready to strike, he saw the determination in the attacker''s eyes, whom, seeing as he had no other choice, parried Lord Lorahn''s blade, jumped back, and fell out of the window, into the lightless, silent patio.


    Both the count and his son looked out of the window, trying to figure out if the masked figure had survived, but the dark of the night and the lightless lanterns gave no information.


    Then, they both leaned on the edge for a while, catching their breath after the battle. The count looked at his wife, terrified and still in bed, looking back at them. "We are alright" he said, "we are fine, dear."


    He sat on the edge of the bed, and held the countess''s hand, both trembling from adrenaline and fear. His son sat beside them, after putting away the weapons than he and his father had been using.


    "Son" the count said, putting his hand on his son''s shoulder. "I don''t know what could have happened if you hadn''t been here".


    His son was breathing heavily and sweating, but he didn''t seem scared. "You don''t have to worry about that, father, it''s all right now".


    "I am immensely proud of you, Elia, you don''t even know how much. You have saved your mother''s and my lives. I thank you for that."


    "Thank you, father."


    "We should head downstairs and assess the damage" declared the count, looking back at his wife and squeezing her hand. "See how many men are dead, and how the assailants got inside the castle".


    "Father" his son interrupted him, "Assailants? Do you mean there were more of them?".


    Count Lorahn looked confused. "When I fell unconscious, there were two attackers. One was inside the room, and the other one just jumped out of the window. I had assumed you had dealt with the other one before."


    "When I came in, there was just the one hooded individual, father, and he had just come into the room. That was what allowed me to take him by surprise. I did not see any other figures in the room or in the hall".


    "That... cannot be..." the count''s mind was fuzzy. What had happened to the other attacker? Had he jumped through the window once he''d heard Elia coming over? It was hard for him to think.


    "We must go downstairs, and assess the damage" the count insisted, but it was now his son who laid a hand on his shoulder.


    "Father", he said, "stay here with mother, please. I will deal with all of this. I would rather you be safe, and you seem exhausted."


    After a while of complaining, count Lorahn finally gave up and let his son take the lead. Elia kissed his mother on the forehead, and he wished them a good rest of the night.


    After his son had closed the door, the counts could still hear them out in the halls, giving orders to the guard. "Listen, I want two soldiers posted on my parents'' door all throughout the night. I don''t want to give the attackers another opportunity in case they decide it''s a good idea to come back. The rest of you, come with me, we must go meet with the captain". With that, at least half a dozen pairs of boots were heard going down the stairs, and the noise subsided.


    The counts were now back in bed, and Vilahir could feel his body, asking for sleep. After reassuring his wife once again that the danger had passed, and reminding her of the reliable son they had, she calmed down as well, and they both fell fast asleep.

 ONE: THE MERCHANTS OF MAKARI

    Ludea Sa-har was tired of traveling. The space given by the carriage she had been bestowed with was enough for any human to lay comfortably in, but after many hours of journey through the Serpent''s Tail, the canyon that connected her home in the Makari desert with the plains outside of the city of Cirulia, what had once felt like a moderately comfortable room to read and relax in, now was feeling more like a wooden carcass, and the lack of space to stretch her legs was stressing her out.


    It was nearing the fourth complete day of traveling when they finally left the shade of the towering sandstone walls that lined the sides of the narrow path and were met by the sunny fields that surrounded the beautiful coast of Eldoris. The sun rays of the early afternoon peaking through the window hit her face, and awoke her from her state of doze, her sudden movement causing the book she''d been reading: "A travelers'' guide to the mysteries of Cirulia, by Sir Penroth Gustac", to fall from her lap.


    She had finished the book already, and reminded herself of the boresome complete mess that it was as she picked it up. Her friend, Eloise, had lent it to her, saying that "she hadn''t gone to Cirulia yet, but after reading it, she felt like she already had". With that statement, Ludea had expected it to contain interesting historical information regarding the funding of the marvelous city; as well as a detailed explanation of The Landfall, the natural catastrophe that, about two hundred years ago, had caused the eastern part of the biggest city in the world to collapse, and sink below the waves.


    When she read it, though, she found a messy, badly written and put together articles about the current state of the city, and some of its important landmarks. She did not care about the Siren Square or the Market of Wonders, and certainly not about any of the hundred-year-old buildings that were half eroded by the wind. If she ever met this "Sir Penroth", she thought to herself, she would give him a few pointers on how to write a good book.


    Soon enough, the ever-running fields gave way to a small farmer town, which she assumed was where they would stop to lunch. After a few minutes, the sudden stop of her three-carriage company next to a tavern confirmed her suspicions. She heard knocking on her carriage door and gave a firm but gentle "Yes?" in response, to let her steward know that he could open it.


    "Lady Ludea" she heard as Ruthen, the personal steward for Sa-har''s children, opened the door and poked his head in with a smile. Ruthen was a bald, tall and thin man in his forties, dressed in simple black clothing laced with green and gold, the colours of the family. "We have arrived at a town, the horses need to eat and rest, and your father thinks it would be a good time to... how did he word it... ah, yes, to ''stretch the legs and fuel the body''".


    Ludea had no idea how Ruthen did it, talk about someone like her father with the utmost respect, while letting everyone who saw his expression know what he really thought about Lord Sa-har.


    "Tell my father I will be right out, Ruthen, thank you".


    "As you wish, lady", Ruthen closed the door to the carriage slowly, and Ludea heard steps heading to her parents'' carriage, in the front. She then put away the book, fixed her hair and clothing, and opened the door herself to get out of the vehicle.


    She walked down the few steps and started heading to the opposite direction that the steward had gone in, towards her siblings'' carriage. It was then when she heard a deep, growl of a voice from the other side.


    "I hope you are not trying to sneak out again, lady Ludea. It would greatly upset your father if anything were to happen to you." A tall, tan and greatly muscular man stood next to the back of her carriage, silent and well hidden for his size.


    From both sides of his waist, mounted onto his belt, hung two short but impressively wide curved swords, with handles two small to be held with two hands. His whole torso was bare, to let anybody see the hundreds of tattoo marks that he bore all around his body, representing the enemies he had killed in battle, as was typical for Kodrak barbarians. He kept his thick black hair tucked back with a wide headband, and on his left arm bore another band with the Sa-har family crest imbedded on it.


    "That is why we''re lucky to have you, Mogr. You would never let anything happen to me." As Ludea looked back at her family''s beast-like bodyguard, her eyes were drawn to the symbol that was imprinted on his armband, that represented his contract to her house. The winged snake with emerald eyes stared back at her, deviously.


    She had never liked her family''s symbol, between a not so pleasant encounter with a pit of snakes in her youth, playing with Eloise on the dunes outside of her hometown in Ka''Firad; as well as the general dislike people often bore for the animal, she had suggested to her father to change the crest more than once. Her father, of course, had denied her request, and had since added to the crest a pile of gold, for the snake to lay on top of, as if to spite her.


    Mogr said nothing, and just continued his everlasting vigilance as she sauntered over to the last carriage of the three. She knocked on the door once and waited for a response. It did not come. She knocked a second time and heard only silence. Starting to get worried, she was about to call Mogr over when she heard faint sounds of giggles within the vehicle.


    "You little..." she laughed as she opened the door, to see her younger brothers, El''id and Maddil, hunched over in the corner of the space, covering their mouths with their hands, laughing. "Guys, come on... father said he wants us out now!" she said as she tickled their sides. There was a noticeable age difference between her and her siblings, since she had long become a beautiful young woman, while her brothers were still in their early teens and developing, as she often said to them, ''their non-existent brains''.


    It was not uncommon for families in the Makari Desert to have their children a few years apart, since the weather conditions and the many-seasons-long summers could make it difficult for parents to support their children during the harshest times. But since her family was more than well-off, it had always surprised Ludea that her siblings had been born ten years after than her.


    When she finally got her siblings out of their carriage (forcefully), they all walked over to the front of the commissive, followed closely by Mogr. As they reached their parents carriage, they saw Ruthen talking to Maera Sa-har, Ludea''s mother, while her father had already walked over to the door of the tavern and seemed to be engaged in conversation with a thick old man, probably the tavern''s keep.


    "I''m telling you, lady Sa-har. I do not approve of the town choice. When we were arriving, I saw a bunch of odd-looking fellows walk into the tavern, and I don''t think it would be safe for you and your children to..." Ruthen''s voice quieted down when he realized that the children had made their way over to them.


    "Nonsense, Ruthen. You worry too much." Lady Sa-har, who was wearing a similar expensive dress to her daughter''s, waved her hand in front of the steward''s face. As she talked, she gave each of her hands to her sons and began walking towards the front of the tavern, to her husband. "If dear E''ad thinks it is safe, then it is safe" she said, with a tone that indicated clearly that it was the end of the conversation. Ruthen sighed audibly.


    "Is everything okay, Ruthen?" asked Ludea, as they too walked to the building.


    "It''s probably nothing, lady Ludea. You do not have to worry."


    When they were closer to the door, Ludea heard his father''s conversation with the owner.


    "Sir, my family and I would like a ''more private'' table, if you''d be so kind" E''ad Sa-har talked softly, and rarely ever raised his voice, but his tone was imperative nonetheless. He easily towered over the other man, which stumbled over his words as he watched their expensive carriages, horses and clothes.


    "O-o-of course sir, I will give you the best table we have, if you would please accompany me..." as he said it, he did a half-reverence towards Ludea''s father, which she concluded to be the custom of the land. He opened the door to the tavern and held it there, gesturing to the guests to go inside.


    "In all my years of running this place, I have never seen such a display of wealth from one family" Bernard Custoa, the owner of the Miner''s Foot, was now inside the kitchen of his tavern, talking to the cook. "I know this kind of people, Tolen. If we treat them right and give them good food, they''ll drop coin".


    Tolen, the cook of the tavern and only other member of staff, was not pleased with the idea of his food being judged by a bunch of rich stuck ups that probably had their own professional chef. The Miner''s Foot was not a place of fancy, Tolen normally served the same beef stew for lunch five days a week, and the usual clientele of crooks, mercenaries and wandering merchants never complained.


    Their ''exquisite'' clients had been sat at the big table, in the back corner of the tavern, and Bernard had made sure that whatever patrons came in would avoid sitting close to that side of the establishment. The older man had brought them out a bottle of their best wine, and they had sat their steward and the three coachmen on a smaller table by them.


    "Sire, are you sure your, uh... muscle does not want to come in?" Bernard asked the man with almond skin. Tolen looked outside. Sure enough, there was a huge, dark-skinned man standing right outside the tavern door; arms crossed, looking at the street.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    "Oh, don''t worry, my dear man" the rich man gave Bernard a warm smile. One could clearly see that the gigantic figure outside deeply bothered the owner of the tavern, since he was shifty and unsure, but once the reassuring tone of his client reached his ears, his whole body relaxed. "Mogr is worried for our safety, but since I don''t think anything can happen to us inside - as he gave Bernard an inquisitive look -, he will stay outside and keep watch just in case."


    "As you wish" Bernard, as if wishing for that response, smiled back at the client and began taking their order.


    "Father, they don''t have anything good to eat here" the youngest kid whined. ''I swear, I despise such entitled people'', Tolen thought, watching from the kitchen. ''I would let no child act in this manner, rich or not-'' Tolen''s train of thought was interrupted by the mother''s voice.


    "Now, Maddil, what have we talked about? Things might be different here than at home, but that does not mean that we won''t treat people with the respect they deserve, right?" When the woman finished talking, Tolen found himself surprised, and quite pleased. "Please, sir, we will each take a bowl of your beef stew, thank you".


    When Bernard made his way back to the kitchen with the orders, he found Tolen already hard at work, chopping up vegetables and putting them into a pot of boiling water. He cut the meat, carefully choosing the best bits and pieces to add to the meal, with the utmost care.


    "They surprised me too, Tolen", Bernard said, setting his notepad down on the counter. "With those clothes, jewelry and that general display, I expected them to be entitled and bothersome. Instead, when the man talked, I felt a calming sensation all around my body, nothing like I have ever felt before, Tolen, I swear."


    Tolen could hear the owner''s thick eastern accent that came out whenever he was excited and could practically hear the man counting coin in his head. Instead of adding anything, he simply nodded and kept working in silence.


    Soon enough, the big table at the back of the room, as well as the smaller table by them, were filled with plates, food and utensils, and the people sitting in them were eating peacefully. The man and his wife seemed to be engaged in an important conversation, which, with the now noisier tavern, Tolen could only hear pieces of; as a big group of travelers had walked in a while ago, and they were causing a bit of a ruckus, moving chairs and tables to fit themselves into the space.


    "E''ad, dear, I don''t really understand what you seek to gain from establishing relationships with the counts of Cirulia." Tolen heard the woman tell the man, as their daughter silently listened. "The city has been in a trade crisis since The Landfall, and less and less produce is delivered there with every passing year."


    "Maera, it''s not the produce coming in that I care about, it''s what can be distributed from it", so, Tolen realized, they seemed to be some kind of merchants, and important ones at that, if they were looking to meet with the counts. It was true that Cirulia and the surrounding lands were not going through the best of times, and it was even clearer there, in the outer towns, but the counts were still fairly powerful and controlled a good part of the entry of substances into the country.


    "With our recent incorporation to the Estratine Council - the man, E''ad, continued ¨C we now have access to materials that were impossible to imagine before. If we can get lord and lady Lorahn on our side, we could possibly negotiate a deal that gives us exclusivity of commerce from the ports of Cirulia, even if needing to give a much smaller contribution to the city, at least in comparison."


    Tolen had never heard of an ''Estratine Council'' before, but it was probably an important thing seeing as the richest people he had possibly ever come across talked about it in such high regard. As the conversation continued, Tolen could not gather much, as the noise coming from the front of the tavern increased. He turned and looked over to see Bernard struggling to take orders from what seemed to be a rough band of mercenaries that had just been sat around a bunch of tables. ''What a striking contrast'', Tolen thought, as he began preparing the stew with the pieces of meat that had been left over.


    When Bernard took the bowls of stew over to the mercenaries, he turned around and headed over to the back of the tavern to check on his ''prized clients''. He then realized that a bunch of the mercenaries had taken notice of the rich family in the back, had gotten up from their tables and were talking to them.


    Three of the most corpulent men in the group were hanging around the table that seated the steward and coachmen, one of them with both arms around the shoulders of two coachmen and the other two had their hands on the shoulders of the other coachmen and the steward, which was looking to his master for instructions. Another two men, lower in stature, were hovering over the family on their table and were talking to the father.


    "You bunch look like you''re missing some protection, y''know?", one of the mercenaries said, fidgeting with a small knife on one hand. "These lands can be dangerous, regardless of what you might''ve heard... wherever you''re from."


    It looked to Bernard like the man had no idea where this people might have come from, but so didn''t Bernard. The other mercenary picked up some sort of package that the wife had left on the table. It was neatly wrapped in black and brown leather, lined with emerald green and gold threads, and it was the size of one of the heavy textbooks that Bernard had used during his school years, to study the history of Eldoris. From the struggle on the man''s face and the veins popping on his forearms as he picked it up, it looked to be much, much heavier than any book.


    "You see" the other mercenary continued, looking straight into the father''s eyes as he slowly dragged the knife to the table. "For a hefty price, me and my friends ¨C he gestured over to the band of mercenaries that were still seated at the table ¨C could accompany you in your travels, and make sure that you come to no harm".


    Between the five men that were in the back of the tavern, and the ones that were eating at the front, there was about twenty mercenaries in total. Even if the big bodyguard were to come in on time, Bernard did not see how he could get his masters out of the trouble they were on.


    Bernard didn''t know what to do. Fights broke out in the tavern every now and then, but normally it was between two drunken low-lives with as much to lose as to gain from them. It had never occurred to him that bringing these richer-than-life people into his establishment might cause them some harm.


    But the man seated at the table did not look worried. In fact, not even the young children looked scared, as they continued to eat the stew that remained in their bowls. The wife was staring at the package that the taller mercenary held in his hands, and the daughter was the only one with a changed expression. One of anticipation.


    Bernard could see the steward fighting the man that was holding him for dominance, trying to break free, and when he reached a hand down to a blade that seemed to be hidden in his boot, the servant caught his master''s eyes, and he stopped his efforts altogether. Tolen stepped out of the kitchen in a hurry and yelled out to the mercenaries to get back to their seats or get out of the establishment.


    "Shut up, old man! This isn''t any of your business" said the shorter mercenary, waving the hand with the knife towards Tolen. The cook had a large frame, but his years made him look way smaller. The mercenaries at the other end of the room, having already finished their food, got up and started to approach the table. Bernard wanted to stop all of it, to move and do something, and then the man spoke.


    "Now, dear friends", the man''s (E''ad, Tolen remembered) voice, that had once been soft and tender, now reverberated all over the room as Tolen''s ears heard a whoom. When he spoke, he made sure his voice was heard: "Please stop". His command was short, his voice clear and strong. Once he finished talking, Tolen thought ''is this man crazy? He''s going to get his family killed!'', and prepared to help them, before realizing that he could not move.


    When he tried to turn to look at the other mercenaries, his body wouldn''t respond. Out of the corner of his eyes, though, he could make out the silhouettes of the men that had been walking towards them, also frozen in place. Bernard, that was a few feet in front of him, had been seemingly stopped in time, with his hand raised to grab one of the mercenaries'' shoulders.


    The other five mercenaries'' movement had also seemingly been halted, and the knife that had been in one of the shorter man''s hands fell to the floor, rattling a bit before stopping.


    For a few seconds, it seemed as if time had stopped, and the building was entirely silent. Then, the family and servants got up off the table, dodging the bodies of the mercenaries. The mother grabbed the package out of the crook''s hands and placed it inside of a bag carefully while passing it over to her husband. The two boys walked around the men a couple of times; curious but accustomed to the view, and the daughter waited for her father to leave the table as well.


    "Maera, kids, please wait for me outside" when the man spoke again, his voice had returned to the softness from before. Tolen still could not move.


    "Father, please..." the young lady pleaded to her father, the recognition of intention in her eyes.


    "Ludea, you heard your father. Let''s go, now" her mother grabbed her by the arm and led her and her siblings out, the steward and coachmen closely behind.


    Once they had left, it was only the twenty mercenaries, Bernard, Tolen and the man, E''ad, in the tavern. The door opened once again. Hunched down, the seven foot mountain of a man that had been, until then, standing outside the door, walked in slowly.


    "You know what the problem with you younglings is?" asked E''adto the shorter mercenary. If the other man wanted to respond, it did not matter, as none in the room but E''ad and his bodyguard could move. "That you think you have everything, and everyone figured out. It is a dangerous thing to assume you can overpower somebody with simple numbers in this day and age, y''know?" He said, imitating the mercenary''s enunciation in the last word. The gigantic man walked close to his master, now standing next to the shorter crook.


    "I think that a lesson is afoot, don''t you, Mogr?" the man stepped back.


    "Yes, lord Sa-har", answered Mogr, and swung his arm back. The mercenary was breathing heavily. With impressive speed, the giant punched the mercenary right on his chest plate. The impact of his fist flung the other man back, hitting the wall and breaking right through it, until his flight was stopped by the wall of the alley behind the tavern, about twenty-five feet away from the bodyguard. The body of the mercenary fell to the ground, his chest plate now with a bump the shape of a giant fist on it, and remained there, immobile. The heavy breathing had stopped altogether.


    "Oh", said E''ad, and looking like he did not expect such force to kill a grown human. "Well, let that be a lesson to you all", he finished as he began walking out. Once he was close to the door, it opened for the third time, and his wife''s head poked out of it.


    "Dear" his wife said softly, "aren''t you forgetting something?" There was a look of realization on the man''s eyes as he turned and headed for the bar. Tolen was terrified, thinking the worst was about to happen, when the man reached into his bag and took out a sack, the size of his fist, and put it on the wood. Tolen heard the familiar sound of metal stacking against each other when the sack of coin hit the bar.


    "Alright, thank you for your hospitality", as E''ad Sa-har turned around and left with a smile; Tolen and Bernard, still trembling, opened the sack that he''d left on the countertop. They watched the door close behind the winged serpent laying on a gold pile, as they counted the one hundred and fifty gold coins that were in bag.