"I saw you when I was wandering around feeling sorry for myself, before I decided to go back and watch things, see if I really was just being petulant or if my gut was right and something was wrong."
"I'm glad you listened to your gut. I told you that you had flawless instincts."
"That's why I went back," Lee replied with a small smile. It collapsed in the next moment, though. "I hope they're all right. I just don't understand…"
Cimar pursed his lips. "It's certainly not the method I thought they would employ. Grayne must realize that his chances of winning the duel are minimal, even with cheating."
Lee smirked at that. "Poor Hellhound, worried he might not be the baddest beast at the ball."
"Oh, shush, you," Cimar said with a laugh.
The levity faded as they neared the street corner where the inn was located.
On the surface, nothing was amiss, but something nagged at him, something that snagged his subconscious but hadn't quite reached his conscious mind yet. "Where were you watching them?"
"Here," Lee said, and rolled his head to one side, signaling Cimar to follow him. They ducked into a narrow ally that smelled of piss, shit, and things Cimar preferred not to think about. "You're definitely cleaning my boots later."
Lee heaved a sigh. "Like I didn't already know that. Come on." He scaled a wall at the back, the uneven brickwork making it a relatively easy task.
From the roof of a house that was leaning heavily into its neighbor, they had an excellent view of the inn and everybody who came and went. Up high, able to see the whole inn without the interference of the busy streets, Cimar could finally pick out what had been bothering him before.
Mercenaries, six of them. All dressed to look unremarkable, no obvious weapons in sight, but he knew soldiers when he saw them. "Mercenaries, at least six outside, probably the same inside, if not more. They're prepared for a fight, but why? Did they think you'd force your way in there to confront your lovers? What are we missing? Something isn't adding up. Would these mercenaries know what you look like?"
"I don't know. I doubt it, though. I recognize most of the local sword-hires, and these guys all look to be from out of town." Lee said. "I also tend to come and go pretty quietly, minimize the rumors that are stirred up. There are a handful of people that would recognize me as a regular, but not really more than that."
"I see. So… if you'd shown up to see them, and the only person you really saw or spoke to was the bartender, and he gave no indication of who you were, these guys would never know their target had come and gone. Does that sound feasible?"
Lee's eyes widened as the ramifications struck him. "They sent me away to protect me. They're still in danger."
"That's what I'm thinking."
"Damn it, I'm stupid for—"
"Not having the experience to think of such a scheme," Cimar interrupted. "Don't punish yourself for things you didn't do. You had the sense to come to me for help, Lee, and now you'll know what to look for should this, gods forbid, happen again. Come on, let's go save your lovers."
"What are we going to do?"
"Normally I'd suggest a quiet approach to get the lay of things, see if we couldn't sneak them out quietly. I don't think that will work here, unfortunately. They'll recognize me, if only by reputation, and by now they must realize something is amiss that you haven't arrived yet when you clearly were expected."
Lee perked up at that. "So we go in swinging."
"Yes. Reckless, but I think in this case it'll give us an advantage. They're braced for something quiet, the way they're spread out. They don't know who they're looking for, but they think it'll be a single person showing up for an afternoon tryst. Not a pair of soldiers. Come on, then. Just keep a couple of them alive so we have proof it's Tekker behind this."
"Understood."
They retraced their steps to the alley entrance. "We'll be facing at least twelve, but I'd assume twenty," Cimar said. "Our best chance is to surprise the group out front and take them out quickly, then deal with the remainder as they come out of the inn. We'll need your particular skillset to pull this off. Are you up for it?"
"Yes," Lee said.
"You take the left, I'll take the right. Once we've cleared the yard, focus on the stable entrance, and I'll focus on the main door."
Lee nodded and made certain his sword could be easily drawn, then flexed his fingers, sparks of rainbow light catching at the tips briefly.
Cimar loosened his sword in its scabbard, secured the folds of his cape so it would stay out of his way in the fight, and headed off, Lee to his right and slightly behind.
He lifted a hand as he drew close. "Evening, gentle sirs. Happen to know what they're serving for dinner tonight?"
One of the mercenaries stared. "You're that one. The Lindworm Slayer. Aren't you?"
"I suppose I am," Cimar said with a sigh. "I wish people were this excited about the indexing system I created for the archives. I'm much prouder of that than who or what I've killed. How do you know me, good sir?"
"Who doesn't know you if they've been in town more than ten minutes?" another mercenary muttered. "It's all they bloody talk about."
Cimar made a face. "I apologize, and I mean that sincerely. That sounds utterly tedious, and I have as much ego as any knight."
Beside him, Lee snorted.
One of the men looked at him, expression sharpening.
Cimar drew his sword and slammed the pommel into the man's nose, then kicked his feet out and turned on the man who'd first spoken, grabbing his head and slamming it into the wall behind him.
Nearby, out of immediate sight, he could hear Lee engaging more of the mercenaries.
Cimar managed to take out one more, this one regrettably fatal, before even more came surging out of the inn and, as he'd feared, still more from the stables. Though he hated to leave Lee to his own devices, no matter how well he could handle himself, they'd made a plan, and he wouldn't break from it because he wanted to fret like a parent.
Instead he slammed a gauntleted fist into the face of the young, stupid man that rushed him with little thought beyond 'charge.' The next couple were far more experienced, but still no match for Cimar. These bastards should try working in a library for a single day.
After he'd cut those two down, he moved on to the next. And the next.
There were screams and shouts around him, but all he focused on was the next sword, the sound of movement coming too hard and fast, the stench of blood filling his nostrils, the sweat sticking his hair to his face and stinging his eyes.
By the time the fighting ceased, he was battered, bruised, and utterly exhausted. That was just one thing the ballads always left out: how fucking exhausting fighting was, even for the best trained knights.
He wiped sweat from his brow with a relatively clean bit of tunic and looked around for Lee—and stopped short as he took in the scene by the barn.
Ice. The puddle that had been there, left over from an early morning rainfall, was iced over, and it was clear more than one mercenary hadn't realized that until too late. He looked up, saw Lee standing nearby, slumped against a wall looking as wrung out as Cimar felt. "Since when can you do ice?"