A Feast of Dragons - By Morgan Rice Page 0,14

men chanted.

The innkeeper, dazed, stumbled to his feet and charged for Erec with a shout.

This time Erec did not wait. He stepped forward to meet his attacker, raised an arm, and brought his elbow straight down on the man’s face, breaking his nose as he charged.

The innkeeper stumbled backwards, then collapsed, landing on the floor on his rear.

Erec stepped forward, picked him up, and despite his size, hoisted him high above his head. He took several steps forward and threw the man, and he went flying through the air, taking half the room down with him.

All the men in the room froze, stopping their chanting, growing quiet, starting to realize that someone special was among them. The bartender, though, suddenly came rushing forward, a glass bottle held high over his head, aiming right for Erec.

Erec saw it coming and already had his hand on his sword—but before Erec could draw it, his friend Brandt stepped forward, beside him, drew a dagger from his belt, and held the tip of it out at the bartender’s throat.

The bartender ran right into it and stopped cold, the blade just about to puncture his skin. He stood there, eyes wide open in fear, sweating, frozen in mid-air with the bottle. The room grew so silent at the standoff one could hear a pin drop.

“Drop it,” Atme ordered.

The bartender did so, and the bottle smashed on the floor.

Erec drew his sword with a resounding ring of metal and walked over to the innkeeper, who lay moaning on the floor, and pointed it at his throat.

“I will only say this once,” Erec announced. “Clear this room of all this riffraff. Now. I demand an audience with the lady. Alone.”

“The Duke!” someone yelled.

The whole room turned and finally recognized the Duke standing there, by the entrance, flanked by his men. All of them rushed to take off their caps and bow their heads.

“If the room is not clear by the time I finish speaking,” the Duke announced, “each one of you here will be imprisoned at once.”

The room broke into a frenzy as all the men inside scurried to vacate, rushing past the Duke and out the front door, leaving their unfinished bottles of ale where they were.

“And out with you, too,” Brandt said to the bartender, lowering his dagger, grabbing him by his hair and shoving him out the door.

The room, which had been so rowdy moments before, now sat empty, silent, save for Erec, Brandt, the Duke, and a dozen of his closest men. They shut the door behind them with a resounding slam.

Erec turned to the innkeeper, sitting on the floor, still dazed, wiping blood from his nose. Erec grabbed him by the shirt, hoisted him up with both hands, and sat him down on one of the empty benches.

“You’ve ruined my business for the night,” the innkeeper whined. “You will pay for this.”

The Duke stepped forward and backhanded him.

“I can have you killed for attempting to lay a hand on this man,” the Duke scolded. “Do you not know who this is? This is Erec, the king’s best knight, the champion of The Silver. If he chooses to, he can kill you himself, right now.”

The innkeeper looked up at Erec, and for the first time, real fear crossed his face. He nearly trembled in his seat.

“I had no idea. You did not announce yourself.”

“Where is she?” Erec demanded, impatient.

“She’s in the back, scrubbing the kitchen. What is it that you want with her? Did she steal something of yours? She is just another indentured servant girl.”

Erec drew his dagger and held it to the man’s throat.

“Call her a ‘servant’ again,” Erec warned, “and you can be sure I will cut your throat. Do you understand?” he asked firmly as he held the blade against the man’s skin.

The man’s eyes flooded with tears, as slowly he nodded.

“Bring her here, and hurry about it,” Erec ordered, and yanked him to his feet and gave him a shove, sending him flying across the room, and towards the back door.

As the innkeeper left, there came a clanging of pots from behind the door, muted yelling, and then, moments later, the door opened, and out came several women, dressed in rags, smocks and bonnets, covered in kitchen grease. There were three older women, in their sixties, and Erec wondered for a moment if the innkeeper knew who he was speaking of.

And then, she came out—and Erec’s heart stopped in his chest.

He could hardly breathe. It was her.

She wore