Tales of the Vangen: The Dead King of Danic (Book 3)

Chapter 15: And Fire Shall Mark his Return

"Kaylon Vausk. Does the name ring a bell to anyone?" A woman dressed in shimmering black armor turned her pike of a face around the inn, piercing the crowd with her razor sharp gaze. Silence fell over the cramped building as a mountain of meat strode past her, its barrel of a body wrapped in similar armor, ribbed mace slapping against its thigh. With one massive paw, it stole a man's cup of ale and swallowed it down with one gulp.

"Olaf," Regis murmured through the side of his mouth. "What the fark do we do?"

The man in question said nothing, his stature rigid in the bench, one finger to his lips as his eyes went glassy and pale.

"Come now, good citizens of Danic," the woman continued, putting a little snarl to her voice this time. "The man's practically a legend where I come from. Wanted for treason against the crown. Spreading rumors of rebellion and all that. Surely you've seen him somewhere? Skinny fellow. Bald patch on his head. A nose any hawk would be jealous over."

Regis glanced down. The man shivering in fear beside him was all three of those things and more. Nido's tits, but he was up to his eyeballs in trouble again. Here he was trying to blend in and lay low and he'd up and started a prophecy he didn't even know existed. Truly this was Aurora's doing, paying him back for all the years he'd neglected her.

Goddess bless him, but he was getting tired.

"Please, Lady Jaina," the innkeeper piped up, all eyes turning towards the man as he cowered behind the bar. "I can assure you, no one in The King's Jewels would ever harbor fugitives against the crown. King Erik is our one and only sovereign lord, and any who would dare speak ill will of him are not welcome to set foot in my establishment."

Jaina smiled, a crooked, mocking sneer. "Such patriotism. It's so rare to hear such words these days." She flicked her gaze at the mountain of meat beside her. Before Regis could even blink the man smashed his cup over the innkeeper's head. He dropped like a sack of potatoes before he was picked up by one massive paw and hauled bodily over the bar. Blood pooled from a gash in his head, the only sound a gentle pattering onto the floorboards.

"But I'm not here to listen to men verbally tongue the High King's arse all day." Jaina bent down, producing a knife at her side and pressing it under the innkeeper's nose. "I'm here for Kaylon farking Vausk. And if I don't start getting answers soon, well, I may find reason to give that little face of yours a new decoration."

Regis felt his heart quicken at the sight of violence. His hands ached as he gripped them tightly together, his knuckles bone white against scarred flesh. He wanted to get up, pull out his hammer and give that bitch an honest fight, but he couldn't risk it. Life had proven time and time again that acting before thinking always led to trouble. It'd nearly killed him six years ago, and had cost him his friend's life to know better. Now he was out of friends and out of time, and he wasn't about to press his luck. So he loosened his grip and puffed out his cheeks, hoping the storm would pass and he could get back to killing his brother.

Olaf, however, had other ideas in mind. "There's no need for that," he said, his deep voice commanding the room. Both Regis and Vausk froze in their seats, realizing too late as the three armored warriors turned to look at him.

"Who the fark are you," the rat man with the crossbow spoke first, his voice an ugly, guttural chitter.

"Merely a frequent patron of this fine establishment," Olaf continued, taking on a weary undertone. "A man who's fought in too many battles and seen far more in his dreams. One who has little to do but drink and forget."

Jaina stood up, drawing back the knife. "Less stories and more truths, old man. Give me your name."

"Ah, you've seen through me already. Walfrun is my name, my lady, but ask anyone here and they'll say they've known me as Walfrun the Windbag for all my life." As if on cue, nearly every head in the inn nodded in unison. "I can assure you, as I've given up ever trying to leave this place till the day I die, that no man by the name Vausk has ever set foot in this fine, sovereign loving building, nor ever would, nor ever will, so I say to my grave."