Eric Andrews walked into the noisy tavern,
looking about furtively. None of the inhabitants took notice, a fact
for which he was extremely grateful. It didn't matter to him that
he had never once been spotted or otherwise interfered with - he was going
to do his best not to relax his guard. Not for his sake, of course,
but for the sake of the one he protected.
Chrystle Andrews emerged from the shadows outside
of the building, moving to the side of her brother and looking up at him
expectantly. "Is it safe?" She asked. Her voice queried gently
and none too loudly, but betrayed a hint of having to ask this very question
too many times.
At length Eric nodded, and sat down at a nearby
table. He waited until Chrystle was seated next to him before he
relaxed, if only slightly. "I am not sure if we're likely to find
a place to stay tonight" he said, more to himself than to his sister.
"especially not here."
"I think you could...." the younger Andrews sibling
spoke, quietly reassuring.
With a sigh and a smile Eric turned to her.
"You're probably right - after all, it was your idea to come here in the
first place, and you're usually correct about these things."
Chrystle smiled at the compliment, her violet eyes
sparkling. Eric shuddered inwardly at the gaze of those eyes - he
loved his sister dearly, but every time he saw her eyes he was reminded
of what he was trying to forget.
Of course, he had the eyes as well - a deep violet
that seemed to peer into ones soul. On those unfortunate occurrences
when he caught sight of a mirror, he could verify that fact for himself.
They were a constant reminder of the deed he was atoning for now, and a
constant reminder that, as much as he should try, he would never be able
to do so.
The movement of an elderly man toward his direction
awakened Eric from his moment of reflection. The shabbily-clad man,
his back stooped as much by disease as old age, was shuffling toward them,
his eyes gazing suspiciously. Eric tensed himself immediately, though
what he hoped to do he did not know himself.
"Ye aren't from around this area, are ye?" the man
inquired in a scratchy voice. Though repulsed by every aspect of
the man, the elder Andrews managed to keep himself composed.
"No sir," he began, "we are travelers who seek only
food and shelter for the evening and nothing more."
The old man nodded. "Ah yes, travelers.
I am Barlon, the keeper of this tavern, and I have a place for you to stay,
if you should have the means to afford it. Otherwise...." his gaze
darkened as he continued. "I'll have to ask ye to leave. And
if ye don't like those terms, then I'm afraid that they-" the innkeeper
gestured toward where two much younger, much stronger looking men stood
"will have to show ye out. And I'm sure ye wouldn't want neither
yourself nor the young lady harmed."
Successfully managing to keep his hatred of the
man from his voice and actions, Eric withdrew a small golden coin from
the small purse at his side and showed it to the man. "Will this
be sufficient for a night's worth of lodging and meals?"
The innkeeper's eyes widened as he beheld the money
being offered to him. "'Tis not often that I see the monies of the
Great Kingdom as far away as here." the old man commented. "This
is more than sufficient, as ye well know. I shall return with the
key to ye'r rooms." the man shuffled off, chuckling to himself.
A moment of silence passed as Andrews sat back in
the uncomfortable chair, closing his eyes and trying to relax. It
had been a hard day, and he was trying to clear his mind of its frustrations
without much success. As he opened his eyes, he saw his sister looking
inquisitively at him.
"Eric, why did you let that man cheat us?" she asked.
Her voice was not accusatory at all, merely curious. Eric sighed.
"I simply lack the energy to argue. We are
not short on money, after all." With that, he closed his eyes once
more. Chrystle, he thought to himself, was a very perceptive person.
She knew as well as he that the one coin he had given the innkeeper was
worth enough to buy the tavern itself, more than likely with money left
over. Since the fall of the Great Kingdom, they were exceedingly
rare. Eric had more of them on his person than he cared to think
about. They were, after all, another reminder.
A loud slamming noise brought Eric back to full
attention, his eyes opening and his head turning toward the source of the
sound. The door through which he had entered had been thrown open
rudely against the wall, and a man who nearly seemed to occupy the entire
doorframe entered the tavern. Not bothering to close the door, he
walked purposefully across the floor. Wearing a black breastplate
which complimented the rest of his armor, and holding a dagger in one hand
while having no less than two swords sheathed at his side, the warrior
was an imposing figure indeed. The innkeeper, who seemed to be on
his way back to the Andrews' table, was frozen in his tracks by the sight
of the man, while the other inhabitants of the tavern ignored him in a
manner which suggested that they did not want to be the object of his attention.
After speaking with the innkeeper for a moment and
handing over a fair amount of money, the armored man walked to an uninhabited
corner of the tavern and sat at a table, glaring at any impudent enough
to look in his direction. Chrystle's gaze turned frightfully to Eric.
"Don't worry, my sister. He has not even seen
us." The elder tried to calm Chrystle, but without much success.
She gazed at him meaningfully, and a chill spread over him as he realized
why she seemed afraid.
"I must accomplish something tonight... and
it involves that man, am I correct?" Eric managed to keep the trembling
out of his voice, but Chrystle caught onto it anyway. She nodded
slowly, and extended her hand to him. He held hers reassuringly,
and caught sight of the Innkeeper, who was just now recovering from having
talked to the warrior, and was slowly meandering back toward the two.
"Innkeeper, who is that man?" Eric inquired, as
soon as Barlon was close enough to hear his hushed whisper.
The innkeeper looked over his shoulder frightfully
at the warrior lurking in the corner before turning his attention to Eric's
question. "That thare's Tyrant Knight Blackend. That ye's no
knowledge of him is doubtless because ye've come from somewhere else.
Be thankful ye've no traffic with him! He's an animal, truly.
He's been coming here once e'ry week to ask about that slave girl of his
that's gone missin. Scares my customers away! But, tonight
at least, we'll see him satisfied." The innkeeper placed keys, presumably
those to the room, on the table in front of Eric and turned, giggling under
his breath.
Alarmed, Eric grabbed at the man's shirt.
The innkeeper turned irritably around to face him. "What is it!?"
the old man snapped crossly.
"What do you mean, you'll see him satisfied?
What's going to happen?"
The innkeeper giggled hoarsely again. "What
does it matter to ye?" When Andrews did not let go, he sighed and
continued. "Blackend's always been sure to describe the slave girl
who ran away. Spared no detail, for he wanted that wench back with
much eagerness. There's those that say she ain't a slave at all,
merely some woman that the Tyrant Knight desired and so kidnapped.
But it matters none to me. Ye see, she arrived today, and paid me
well for my silence, but Blackend pays more." The innkeeper's sickly
grin at this nauseated Eric. "She wished a place to stay safely,
and I told her to return this eve. So we'll finally have that man
happy, instead of driving my customers away!" With that, the man
jerked himself from Eric's grasp and shuffled away, looking back and muttering
occasionally.
Eric shivered and looked to his sister, who looked
back hopefully.
"Yes." the elder said, before Chrystle could
say anything. "I'm going to help."
Chrystle Andrews relaxed visibly, and squeezed her
brother's hand reassuringly.
Time passed slowly, as Eric kept his eyes on the
doorway. He paused only once, to quickly procure some juice for his
sister. All other times, his gaze was upon the door or the man who
would threaten him.
Tyrant Knight Blackend paid no attention, thankfully,
busy as he was studying the blade of his dagger. Other patrons, sporadically
leaving the tavern, had noticed, and gave Eric vague whispered warnings
as they left. Eric did his best to ignore them.
He knew that he would have to confront Blackend
before the end of the night. It wasn't himself he was worried about,
but his sister. Chrystle, a mere 11 years of age, was more than likely
not capable of defending herself. She had never been tested - Eric
had always been there and, so long as he existed, he would always be there.
He was only 10 years older than she, but - thanks to his background - he
was much more than able to defend them both. It was that background,
of course, he was always trying to forget.
A blast of cold air from the outside alerted Eric
to the entrance of another patron - a raggedly dressed woman who seemed
both exhausted and nervously frightened. As her gaze took in the
tavern, she froze.
Eric and Blackend rose from their seats in unison,
as the woman turned and began to flee. The knight ran across the
tavern, his knife reflecting the lights within coldly. Eric swiftly
leapt in the path of the warrior, as the woman disappeared into the darkness.
"Out of my way, interloper!" Blackend demanded,
attempting to push past Eric.
Despite the other's size, Eric was able to hold
his ground. "I'm afraid not, sir-"
Eric was cut off by a growl of rage from Blackend.
"You defy me!? You, of no nobility and no rank, defy me? I
am a Tyrant Knight, of the Tye'lar service, and I will not be denied!"
With this proclamation, he leapt forward, stabbing the glittering knife
into Eric's chest.
Pain suddenly glared into Eric's body, and he fell
to his knees involuntarily. Struggling, he looked up at the smug
and triumphant form of his attacker, who was preparing to slash his opponent's
body. Meeting the eyes of the Tyrant Knight Blackend, Eric uttered
one word.
"Stop."
All of Blackend's movements came to a sudden halt.
The villain no longer even drew breath. His eyes, however, showed
him to still be alive as they glowered with anger.
Shakily, Eric managed to get to his feet.
Standing uncertainly, he looked into the eyes of the knight once more.
"Forget her." he ordered, his wavering voice betraying the condition
of his body. After looking into his subject's gaze to make certain
that the man had understood, Eric added only one more command. "Go."
Blackend exhaled, his arms falling to his side,
his dagger forgotten. The knight blinked, as though unsure what was
going on, and then left the tavern. The shocked gazes of the patrons
followed Eric as he painfully walked toward his sister, who had by now
run out to help him.
"Let's go... to our room." Eric sputtered, depending
on his sister for support as he walked toward his table. The innkeeper,
both alarmed and incredulous, ran to the two of them.
"What th' hell was that all about?" he demanded,
his voice screeching with badly-veiled hysteria. "Ye're lucky ye
aren't dead right now."
Ignoring the man, Eric took the keys to the room
and went upstairs, his sister supporting him the entire time.
Two hours later, Chrystle was sound asleep in her
bed, while Eric stood watch at its foot. The pain was gone from his
body - indeed, it was as though the battle never happened. Healing
came quickly for him now, especially because he could not truly be harmed,
save for by a few tricks of old magic. He had saved that girl's life
today, that was certain, and he had a small amount of satisfaction at having
accomplished something. More than once he had failed. Not so
tonight, however.
A pall of worry still hung with him though.
They would have to leave in the morning, so as not to attract attention.
The Tyrant Knight would be back to the tavern at some point, that was certain.
Not for the girl - Eric's suggestion was powerful enough to keep her out
of the man's mind for several weeks - but to find out what had become of
Eric himself. If his timing was right, he'd be gone before the knight
ever arrived. So Blackend would always be wondering. Eric could
picture it now, the knight waking in the morning with only vague memories
of a battle the evening before - a battle he had lost. As the day
wore on, Blackend's memories would increase in clarity... A fight, where
he had stabbed some impudent fool. But that fool is not what he would
seem - of this the Tyrant knight is sure. He has been certain, in
fact, ever since he pulled his blade from its sheath, and discovered not
a drop of blood upon it.
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