Louis ran as fast as he dared down the icy streets, drawing quizzical looks from those who were braving the freezing temperatures outdoors. He slipped as he approached the Happily Ever After Inn, landing flat on his face. Tasting blood, he scrambled to his feet and rushed in through the front door and looked around frantically, but the landlord was nowhere to be seen.

Louis took the time to carefully knock the snow from his coat and boots before slipping on a pair of house slippers. “Mister Weaver!” he called as he ran to the kitchen. Empty.

“Mister Weaver?” he called again as he rushed up the stairs.

He ran to the end of the hall where he found the landlord in his room, kneeling in front of his bed before the giant kite shield that hung over it. His eyes were closed, and he had his hands clasped together in front of him as he whispered something under his breath. Louis tapped his foot impatiently as Winston slowly bowed his head low and then straightened himself. The landlord sighed deeply before opening his eyes.

“Louis?” he said, finally noticing the boy, “What happened to your lip?”

“Never mind that,” Louis snapped, “I have big news.”

“Let’s hear it then,” Winston said as he got to his feet.

“Carson is on his way over,” Louis beamed.

“Oh,” was the only response he got, “So he’s arrived with three days to spare.”

“That’s not all,” Louis said, practically skipping with excitement as he followed Winston back down the hall and down the stairs, “He has a noble with him and they’re accompanied by six guards.”

That news made the landlord pause momentarily. “I suppose they’ll be wanting to stay here. I will go inspect the rooms.”

Winston stopped in his tracks as the bell that hung over the front door tinkled. “They’re here already!” Louis gasped as he went charging down the stairs. When he reached the ground floor, he saw a broad shouldered man standing at the door. A polished steel cuirass peeped out from under his pristine white cloak and wore sword at his side.

“Is the master of this establishment in?” he asked gruffly.

“I am,” Winston announced as he descended the stairs, “How may I be of service?”

“My Lord, the Duke Shaun Krastor wishes to speak with you,” he announced.

“I will be delighted to host him here if it pleases him,” Winston replied. His voice was calm, and he looked as unflappable as ever.

Louis on the other hand stood frozen at the foot of the stair, feeling like his heart was about to leap out of his chest. What was a noble, a duke no less, doing in this two bit town?

“Louis, why don’t you check on dinner and clean yourself up,” Winston suggested, seeing through his apprentice’s distress.

“At once Mister Weaver!” he cried before fleeing gratefully to the kitchen. He checked his reflection in one of the steel pots and saw that his lip was caked with blood. He dabbed at it with a damp towel and stirred the cauldron that hung above the cooking fire before rushing to the doorway to spy on the proceedings.

“This tavern could count itself as one of the finest in Hulva,” a deep voice boomed from the door. Standing there was a tall, broad shouldered man wearing a thick fur coat over a richly threaded red shirt. His fingers were weighed down by heavy gold rings that rested easily on a sword hilt that was filigreed with gold. To Louis’ surprise, his men were all waiting outside. “An incredible find out here in the middle of nowhere… Are you the master?”

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“I have that honour, My Lord,” Winston confirmed, bowing his head low.

“My Lord if you would please exchange your boots for house slippers,” Winston suggested as the Duke was about to step past the foyer.

Louis winced when he saw the guards bristle from outside the door. They were stopped by a roar of laughter from their lord. “Well, you are the Master of this house, so I suppose that gives you the right to set the rules.”

“I appreciate your understanding, My Lord,” Winston said as he took his place behind the bar, “Will you and your men be lodging for the night?”

“Indeed we will!” Shaun declared as one of his men came in to help him out of his riding boots.

“And to what do we owe the honour of hosting such distinguished guests today?” Winston ventured.

The duke waved a hand, and to Louis’ surprise, the guard retreated back outside, leaving his master alone in the main room with Winston. A broad grin twisted the Duke’s lips as he strode arrogantly to the bar. “I just wanted to meet the man who bought a 719 Dunrow Plantations from under my nose.”

Winston raised an eyebrow. “I must compliment My Lord on his most impeccable taste,”

The Duke placed both of his meaty hands on the bar top and looked up at the top shelf. “You are quite the connoisseur yourself. Tell me, do the people of this town drink any of that?”

“I’m afraid not, My Lord,” Winston admitted, “The people here are of more… humble tastes…”

“It’s just as well,” Shaun grunted, “If they did, I would have had to instruct Sir Brian to audit the town very carefully indeed.”

“May I offer you a drink, My Lord?” Winston enquired politely.

Shaun smirked. “A glass of the Fencora 731, please.”

“Excellent choice, My Lord,” Winston said, nodding his head with approval. He climbed ladder to retrieve the bottle from the top shelf.

Shaun’s eyes did not leave the bottle as Winston climbed down the ladder and handed it over to him. “I’ve always wanted to drink one of these,” he said as he licked his lips in anticipation.

“Shall I pour you a glass, My Lord?”

Shaun nodded and watched as Winston deftly opened the bottle and with great grace, poured the rich, burgundy liquid out into a long stemmed glass.

“Hulvan crystal,” Shaun said approvingly as he examined the glass. “Tell me, how did you afford such a collection?”

“Oh, a lifetime of service combined with a frugal lifestyle,” Winston answered simply.

Shaun laughed and held up the glass. “This is no habit for the frugal.”

“Oh, I’ve been quite fortunate in buying vintage liquors,” Winston remarked, “This wine, for instance, cost me a pound and a half of gold, or about a hundred and sixty five gold coins six years ago. When I last checked, it was worth three times that.”

“Your information is out of date, Master,” Shaun said with a sardonic smile, “It is now worth four times what you paid for it.”

Louis sucked in his breath from the kitchen. That something so valuable was just sitting out there in the open. Why, two nights ago he’d even forgotten to lock up after they’d closed.

Winston smiled politely. “I will pretend I didn’t hear that. Think of it as thanks for you and your men lodging in my humble abode.”

“A princely thanks indeed!” Shaun exclaimed with a broad smile, “Done!”

He paused to smell the wine and smiled broadly. “It’s a miracle you’ve stayed in business as long as you have, being as generous as you are.”

“I believe kindness is often repaid ten-fold,” Winston replied.

“That is a naïve way of thinking,” Shaun remarked. He paused and looked at the sign behind the bar. “The Happily Ever After Inn…”

Winston smiled and waited patiently for the Duke’s next question. “Did you fight in the wars?”

“Both of them, yes,” Winston replied, “As a lowly foot soldier.”

Shaun raised an eyebrow in surprise as he leaned on the bar. “I would have thought you were a great hero, to name your bar something like that.”

“Oh I was no hero,” Winston replied evenly, “I shed blood, sweat and tears, saw friends die… Too many. I apologize if you find the name presumptuous…”

“Not at all,” Shaun said with a wave of his hand, “The common soldier sacrificed just as much, if not more than even the most renown heroes from that war.”

Shaun’s head dropped, and the two men stood unmoving opposite one another in contemplative silence. After a minute, the Duke suddenly barked an order. “Pour yourself a drink, I wish to make a toast.”

Winston obediently poured a whiskey from the middle shelf into a crystal snifter. “To fallen friends!”

“To fallen friends,” Winston said. They touched their glasses creating a pleasant ringing note.

“Remarkable,” Shaun beamed as he looked at his glass in admiration. At length, he turned his gaze back at Winston, “What is your name, sir?”

“Winston.”

“Winston…” Shaun’s voice trailed off and he looked at Winston expectantly.

“Weaver,” Winston replied without missing a beat, “Winston Weaver.”

Then, the smile vanished from Shaun’s face, and his eyes hardened. “Weaver… That was the Kingslayer’s surname, wasn’t it?”