"It was, but it presents a few…new difficulties," Sera whispered and leaned against a nearby wall. "A few of those who control Verenvan feel as though a power vacuum has formed, and while they deal with it, they would prefer that things be as peaceful as possible."
"Peaceful?"
"They were too…ah, polite to say it outright, but the point is that many folk would see killing you as a stepping stone to taking the power left by those you killed."
"Polite?"
"I did mention they were folk of power in the city, yes? Did you think they would be street urchins like the undercouncil?"
"Did you call your sister a street urchin?"
The guard captain grinned. "I thought you might miss that and yes, I did."
"So, what did the overcouncil think I could do about those who want me dead for political reasons? Did they want to join the hunt?"
"No. In fact, they want you out of the city as soon as possible so they can resolve the situation."
There was an undertone to her voice that Skharr couldn't quite place for a moment. When the thought crystallized, a smile touched his face and he ran his fingers lightly through his beard. She was worried, and not only for the safety of her city. Sera was worried about him.
He leaned forward and placed a light, tender kiss on the top of her head. "I'll be gone by first light tomorrow."
The fact that she hadn't hit him or stabbed him already was probably a good sign. It might even be an indication that she wouldn't in the immediate future.
"Well," she retorted. "That was an unimpressive kiss."
He lowered his head. "So you’ve been kissed many times on the head, have you? Enough that you are able to decide which are acceptable and which are not?"
"I merely assumed you had horrible aim," she answered with a smirk and a wink before she turned away and stepped into the street. He could only hope she had left enough coin to pay for her drink in the common room, although he found his attention drawn to the figure that receded quickly into the blackness of the evening.
"I'll need a cold bath," Skharr whispered, shook his head, and entered the inn. The common room seemed the same as it had been when he left and his food and drink remained untouched on the table where he could still catch hints of her scent lingering in the air. He closed his eyes and leaned closer to his food, where at least the heady scent of spices covered almost anything else.
The food was good—better than what was served on most other days—and he wondered why Ansen didn't have Kora cooking every day. Perhaps the woman had work elsewhere or a family that needed tending to. It was unfortunate that he knew so little about these people.
He finished quickly and the warmth of the food filled him as he mounted the stairs to his room. A cool bath would certainly help him to forget the scent that seemed to trail him through the building.
As he reached for the latch to his door, he paused, narrowed his eyes, and tried to determine what precisely was wrong.
The latch was all the warning he needed, of course. It had been pulled to the other side of the wood and not returned, which meant the door was open. He hadn't opened it so someone else was in the room waiting for him.
Skharr took a deep breath and paused at the threshold. No lamps or candles burned inside and he needed to allow his vision to adjust for the darkness he would likely encounter when he entered.
By now, they would surely know he was outside. The stairs needed attention and creaked faintly with every step and the sound was multiplied when it came to a man of his size.
Without giving them too much warning, he barreled into the door with his shoulder. The hinges snapped and gave way as he rushed through it.
The heavy wood catapulted into a figure hidden behind it. Unable to stop himself in time, the warrior tripped over him and the man groaned in pain when the full weight of both barbarian and wood landed heavily on him.
Skharr reacted to the faint suggestion of movement to his side and rolled away. A glint of steel reflected some of the moonlight that filtered in through the windows. He rolled again, this time into the hallway that was thankfully bathed in the soft light of a handful of candles.
The two assassins followed him out. Both were dressed in light armor, and while the one who had been pinned under the door did look a little the worse for wear, he chose not to give the intruder the opportunity to recover.
"A little gentle exercise it is, then. Have at it, you mangy toad-fucking goblin spawn." He laughed and rolled his shoulders as both men advanced on him. Their daggers flicked forward, one aimed at his unarmored chest and the other at his gut.
He took a step back and swayed out of the sweep of their strikes. The one who stood to his left checked his motion, maintained his balance, and withdrew while his comrade stumbled forward. He’d put a little too much power into the thrust and couldn’t stop until his victim hammered his fist into his jaw.
The blow was delivered with sufficient force to make him stagger into a nearby wall. It shuddered on impact, and the barbarian grasped the man by the shoulder and twisted him sharply. He drove his opponent’s head into one of the nearby doors before he dragged him to the railing that allowed the folk upstairs to look down into the common room. Not many had noticed the sounds of fighting from above thanks to a group that had broken out in song on the ground floor.
A second later, the second man lunged forward to try to help his comrade—or perhaps to take advantage of Skharr's distraction. The attempt was futile. The barbarian jerked around and powered his elbow behind the man's ear with enough strength to launch him over the railing. The assassin plummeted to land on one of the tables that was being cleaned by the staff below.
Plates and mugs inevitably shattered, followed by shouts from the patrons who realized what had happened. He ignored them all and slid his arm around the other man's neck. He started to resist but the warrior simply squeezed tighter as he pulled him around.
Ansen approached the table and tilted his head to look at his large guest, who stood over what was undoubtedly his newest victim.
"Is there a problem, Skharr?" the innkeeper asked as he continued to struggle with one of the assassins.
"Uninvited godsbedammed troll-ass vermin in my room," he answered and thumped the second assassin's head on the railing.
"Well, send the other one down. We'll dispose of the both of them."
"Are you sure it won't be any trouble?"
"As long as you pay for the table, no."
He nodded, lifted the man, and hurled him over the railing to where, thankfully, his comrade was there to break his fall.
Once both men were down, he picked through his coin purse and after a moment's thought, tossed two silver coins down.
"For the dishes," he explained and shook his head as he moved into his room. From what he could hear, a few of the patrons were taking care of his assailants.
Although he had already decided not to remain in the city for too long, it seemed as though someone wasn't willing to let him leave. Or perhaps they didn't know he planned to leave and wanted to make sure he wouldn’t be a problem.
Either way, Skharr would have to leave the city as unobtrusively as possible before more of them had the same idea.
With a sigh, he lit a few of the lamps in his room and proceeded to gather the rest of his belongings.