Chapter 28 #2
"You were there that night," the man said, walking towards Kellan. He put his face dangerously close to Kellan's—so close that he could smell the ale on his breath and the reek of his teeth. "He was with the king when they killed our men."
Several other men stood from the table.
"Lettie, leave now," Kellan ordered her. His voice was wrought with tension.
Lettie didn't move.
Kellan tsked. He looked at the man in front of him. "I don't want to fight."
The man shoved Kellan in the chest. It rocked Kellan back a step. Kellan didn't raise a hand. He didn't reach for his weapons. He didn't even square his shoulders. He just stood there with his shoulders hunched.
The conversations in the tavern collapsed. Every patron was looking at them, some with scorn, others with pity.
The man stepped forward again. "You don't want to fight, eh?" He laughed an ugly laugh. "You should have thought about that before."
"I didn't give the order." Kellan's voice was forced calm.
"But you were there."
"Yes."
The admission poured oil over fire.
"My brother was there," the man said. Pain cracked through his voice—raw, unhealed pain.
Kellan felt something sink in his chest.
Lettie slowly stood.
Kellan saw it from the corner of his eye. "Lettie..." His voice came out strained. "Please."
The man jabbed his finger in Kellan's chest. "My brother begged."
Kellan closed his eyes. Of course they had. They all had. He remembered the rain, the mud, children screaming, men on their knees under Reis's sword, the knowledge that if those men had been left alive more children would have died.
The killings weren't easy. They were necessary.
The farmer shoved him again, harder this time. Kellan took the blow. Several other men were now behind him.
"Kellan—"
Lettie's voice. Too close.
"No."
"The king's dog isn't so brave without his sword," another man said. Several patrons chuckled.
Kellan didn't react. That only infuriated them more.
The farmer swung. It crashed across Kellan's jaw. He staggered before crashing into the table. The table collapsed with him. Ale and stew toppled and spilled to the ground and marked Kellan's cloak.
Blood filled Kellan's mouth. Still, he didn't fight back.
The farmer advanced. "Fight me."
"No."
He kicked Kellan in the stomach. Kellan collapsed on the ground.
"Kellan—" Lettie's plea was desperate.
Kellan looked at her. Fear covered his face. Not for himself, for her. "Lettie." His voice was rough. "Leave."
The farmer grabbed Kellan by the front of his tunic and hauled him upright. "You don't get to walk away."
Kellan's expression darkened. "You really should let go."
The farmer shoved him into a table. Wood cracked. Kellan fell on the floor.
Several more men had started moving now, not toward the farmer, toward Kellan.
Lettie began to panic. There were too many. Another man kicked him in the ribs.
Then there was a flash of silver. Lettie looked up in horror. There was a man, a wily-looking man, weaving through the crowd with a steak knife clutched in his hand, straight toward Kellan. He was only a few paces away.
Too close.
Time seemed to slow.
Kellan saw him too. Terror crossed his face.
"Lettie!"
She didn't have time to think.
She looked at the bar, saw an iron skillet and grabbed it. Then she took two steps forward and swung.
It crashed across the man's head, ringing a hollow sound. He collapsed on the floor beneath the weight of it.
Lettie's hand jerked. The pan fell to the floor as searing pain lanced through her palm.
Lettie hardly noticed. The man lay face down on the floor, knife still clutched in his hand, motionless. Completely motionless.
"Oh, gods."
The tavern went deathly still.
"Oh gods," she said again. Her voice was broken.
Kellan was moving before he could think. He shoved himself off the floor and crossed the distance between them.
"Lettie."
She didn't hear him. Her gaze remained fixed on the man.
"Kellan—" Her voice cracked. "Kellan, I—"
She looked at her burned hand. She had felt it. The blow, something breaking beneath it.
Strong hands grabbed her. At first she didn't notice. "Lettie."
Her gaze didn't leave her hand as it started to shake.
"Lettie!"
She finally looked at him. Blood ran from his mouth. A bruise was already darkening his jaw.
"Kellan." Her breathing hitched. "I hit him."
"He had a knife."
"I hit him, Kellan, oh gods!"
The tavern had gone quiet around them. Nobody moved. Nobody dared. For a moment there was only horrified silence.
Then the tavern door burst open. Cold air rushed inside. A man stood under its arch, cloaked in black.
His gaze swept the room in a practiced motion—the overturned table. Kellan bleeding. Lettie crumpled in his arms. The man on the floor. The skillet. Lettie's hand.
Then it landed on the farmer. His fist bloody. His expression reeking of cocky defiance.
He went utterly still, the kind of stillness that came just before violence.
Dane's voice was deadly cold. "What happened Randolf?"
The farmer crossed his arms and cocked his head at Dane. He even had the nerve to smirk. "He was there, you fucking traitor," he growled. "I wanted payment."
Silence.
Dane stared at him wide-eyed for a moment.
Then something in Dane shattered. All the restraint in him vanished. Fire landed in his eyes as he furiously crossed the room.
"They tied my sister to a post!!" Dane roared into Randolf's face.
Randolf took a step back.
Dane kept coming, his face white-hot fury.
"She was eight!!" His voice was all raw and pain. It shook the walls. The entire tavern seemed to cower beneath it.
Dane heaved. "My father helped them!" Dane turned to the tavern, his eyes seemed to trace fire over them. "My neighbors helped them!" His gaze darted between the villagers. The people he grew up with—wives of husbands that were now long dead, people that were supposed to protect them.
Randolf's jaw tightened. "They were scared."
"Scared?" Dane rounded on him. "Do you know what she asked me?"
Dane was close enough that Randolf could feel the fury of his breath.
Dane pointed toward the door. "Do you know what my little sister asked me while they tied her to that damned post?" His voice cracked.
Randolf didn't answer.
A tear tracked down Dane's face. He didn't seem to notice.
'"Will it hurt?"'
He looked back at the tavern. "She thought they were going to kill her," he announced incredulously. Then his voice dropped into something deadlier. "Because they were." His voice seethed and dripped with venom.
Randolf swallowed.
"Every man Reis killed, not one was innocent!"
The young warrior's gaze swept the room.
Every face.
Every lowered head.
Every guilty expression.
"My sister is alive because Reis arrived."
Silence.
"My mother is alive because Reis arrived."
Silence.
"I am alive because Reis arrived."
His eyes landed on Randolf.
"You want payment?" Dane shoved his finger into Randolf's chest. "Then go dig up the men who helped tie children to posts and demand it from them."