The setting sun lit up the tops of the hills with a golden glow that stuck in the eyes and left bright patches behind the eyelids of the beholder. A short gust of wind set a sussurus in the treetops above and then died away just as quickly. Galdor lowered his hand from his eyes and sighed. There was still an hour to the place where they were headed, and the tight forest path did not make the journey easy at all. He turned back and headed through the underbrush towards the sounds of the horses.
His two companions were bickering about a silly game of dice again, but they fell silent the moment he emerged from the muggy shade of the undergrowth on the side of the path. Horge, the bigger one, eyed Galdor's beautifully embossed leather vest with greed, while the other one, Slit, grinned and repeated his question for what was now the twenty third time (Galdor had been counting them).
"'id you see 'he place of magi', 'hief?" The man's slit lips made him lisp heavily, and produced a smile that could curd milk. Being treated to both has been Galdor's fate for the last week as they made their way north from the river.
"We're almost there, Slit, almost there. Come on, we'll get out of this oven and into a bath in an hour." The last part drew happy exclamations from both of his bodyguards as he mounted his black horse and pressed on through the forest.
***
The inn was half hidden between the trees, but it's high roof stood out above the highest leaves and shone bright and red in the sunset. Is that one of the omens too? Thought Galdor as they left the horses tied under a shed on the side of the building and walked in. The common room of the Night's Rest inn was filled with tables and chairs, but only a few travellers appeared to call it home at the moment. Home, he thought. What wouldn't I give to be home with Tinka. But I must do this for her.
He put his hand on the hilt of the falcata at his side and picked his path between the chairs towards the bar. The innkeeper, a heavy set and slightly cross-eyed man, watched his approach warily.
"A lone call is answered." Caldor spoke the code phrase given to him by an old sooth sayer in the slums of Oppara. It will bring out the keeper, the old man said. Convince him or defeat him, but bring back the magic that he protects, and maybe you'll have your woman back.
A shiver passed over the innkeeper's body, as if a chill had spread through him. Galdor looked into his eyes that were no longer crossed, but staring straight at him with a manic glint.
"What do you want for the magic?" Galdor's voice was no longer tired and worn. He put behind it all his power of will, the power that kept scores of thieves and brigands in check with just a glance and a nod, the skill of a master rogue and the cunning of a bandit king. His body was suddenly strung as a bow drawn to a breaking point, ready to react, to attack, to kill. Behind him the sound of drawn swords showed that his guards has taken the que as they were taught to.
"I want you!" A voice rasped from the innkeepers mouth, though no human throat could make such a screeching, ugly sound. The words spurred Galdor to action and the falcata materialized in his hand, sweeping upwards, a spark of blue energy running the blade. The innkeeper's head fell unnaturally to right, the broad blade passing close enough to shave the face, and taking cleanly away the ear. As the falcata fell to finish the job the keeper's hand struck forward into the leather of Galdor's armour. At the touch of the crooked fingers the silhouete of the rogue blurred and dissipated into rivulets of color into the air.
The Keeper stepped towards the two grunts, now rooted to the spot with terror, and rasped, "No free drinks for you!"
***
Welcome to the Night's Rest inn!
