A Feast of Dragons

chapter THIRTY

Erec galloped through the back streets of Savaria, racing to the tavern. He was eager to pick up Alistair, to rescue her from this place and to ride off with her. He was exhausted from the day’s battle, covered in bruises and cuts, weak from hunger and thirst—but still, he could think of nothing but her. He could not stop, could not rest, until he had her with him.

Dressed in his chain mail, Erec pulled up before the tavern, jumped off his horse and hurried through the door. It burst open and he walked in expecting to see Alistair there, waiting for him.

But he was baffled to see that she was not. Instead, he saw only the bartender, surly, standing behind the bar. Ten large, seedy types sat at the bar before him.

Erec looked everywhere, but saw no sign of her. The patrons grew quiet, however, and the room grew thick with tension. Erec did not understand what was going on.

The bartender nodded to an attendant, who turned and ran through the door to the back room. A moment later, the innkeeper exited, waltzing out with a swagger, and a crooked smile on his face. Erec did not like the look of this.

“Where is my bride?” he demanded, stepping forward.

The innkeeper strutted out towards him.

“Well well well, look who it is,” he said.

As he marched towards him, Erec noticed several of the burly miscreants get up and follow in behind him.

“If it isn’t the knight in shining armor himself,” the innkeeper mocked.

“I’m not going to ask you again,” Erec said. “Where is she?” he pressed, his anger rising.

The innkeeper’s smile broadened.

“Well, it’s funny you should ask. You see, the large sum of money you handed me gave me an idea. I figured if Alistair was worth something to you, maybe she was worth something to somebody else, too. And I was right. Probably one of the better business deals I’ve made,” he said, licking his lips and laughing, as the men laughed around him.

Erec was seething, turning a shade of purple.

Through clenched teeth, he growled: “This is your last chance. Where—is—she?”

The innkeeper smiled, reveling in the moment.

“Well, it seems she was worth even more to someone else than she was to you. I sold her to a slave trader, willing to buy her for five hundred pence. He had been coming through town, looking for some whores to add to his sex trade. Sorry. You’re too late. But thanks for the idea. And I’ll be keeping your sack of gold anyway, as compensation for insulting my friends the other night.”

The innkeeper stood there, grinning, hands on his hips.

“Now you can be on your way,” he added, “before we all do you more harm than you wish.”

As Erec studied this miscreant’s self-satisfied eyes, he could unfortunately see that everything he was saying was true. He could not believe it. His Alistair. Taken away from him. Sold into slavery, into the sex trade. And all of this because of this disgusting human being before him.

Erec could stand it no longer. He was overwhelmed with an urge not only to fight, but for vengeance.

The innkeeper’s men lunged at Erec, and Erec wasted no time. He had been trained to fight with multiple men, on multiple occasions, and was used to situations like this. These men had no idea who they were attacking.

As a huge man grabbed him, Erec tucked himself into a role, grabbing his arm, and throwing him over his shoulder. Without hesitating, Erec spun around and back-kicked another in the groin, wheeled around and elbowed one in the face, then leaned forward and head-butted the fourth, the bartender. The four of them fell to the floor.

Erec heard the distinct sound of a sword being drawn, and looked over to see three more miscreants coming at him, swords drawn.

He didn’t waste any time: he reached down and extracted a dagger from his waist, and as the first man lunged at him with his sword, he plunged into his throat. The man screamed out, gurgling blood, and Erec reached over and grabbed the sword from his hand. He spun around, chopped off one man’s head, then turned and plunged the sword into the heart of the third.

The three men fell, dead.

Seven men on the ground, not moving, and the innkeeper, the last one left, looked at Erec now with fear.

He stumbled back two steps, realizing he had made a big mistake—but it was too late. Erec charged, jumped into the air, and kicked him so hard he went flying back, over the tables, crashing to the ground.

Erec took a wooden bench, lifted it high, and shattered it into pieces over the man’s head. The innkeeper collapsed, blood coming from his head, and Erec landed on top of him.

The man tried to pull a dagger from his waist, but Erec saw it coming and stepped on his wrist until he screamed, then kicking the dagger away with his other foot.

Erec leaned down and choked him. The man gurgled.

“Where is she?” Erec demanded. “Where exactly was the slave trader going?”

“I will never tell you,” the man gasped.

Erec squeezed harder, until he turned a shade of purple. He took his dagger, held it between the man’s legs, and began to press harder and harder, until the innkeeper screamed, a high-pitched noise.

“Last chance,” Erec warned. He pushed even harder, and the man screeched, and finally yelled out.

“Okay! The man was heading south, on the Southern Lane. He was heading towards Baluster. He left early yesterday morning. That’s all I know. I swear!”

Erec scowled down at him, satisfied he had told the truth, and pulled back the dagger.

Then, in one quick motion, he thrust it into his heart.

The innkeeper sat up, eyes bulging wide, gasping for air, and Erec turned the dagger deeper and deeper, pulling the man close, and looking into his eyes as he died.

“That is for Alistair.”