“Another round, barkeep,” Richard said, placing his mug back on the counter. As he waited for the drink to be served, he turned to Grace. She was his oldest friend, though that might not have been clear to any who overheard them arguing. Richard had been travelling with her for years, the entirety of the time he had been in the Afterlife of Wardom.

They had just finished another job, one of the boring ones that had become the usual for them. It had been menial and simple, but the pay wasn’t bad. It was enough to last them the few weeks it could be before they found another employer. Things were slow in Camelot for mercenaries like them at the moment, and jobs were few and far between. And the work was mundane compared to what they had been doing a few years ago.

Richard had been in Wardom for eight years now, same as Grace. He was still younger than he had been when he died, that being in his mid-thirties. Like everyone else, his age had been reset to a twenty year old version of himself when he had arrived. It took a while to get used to it, but he managed fine.

Richard pushed his dirty blond hair back from his face. He was average height, and slim. His muscles were trained for wielding a sword, not brute force. Grace was taller, and his elder by a dozen weeks, her head crowned with flaming orange hair like the sunset.

Grace continued their current argument as the refilled mugs were placed on the table before them. “It would be of great benefit for Caedan to capture Camelot,” she said.

“Of course,” Richard said. Everyone knew how much Caedan wanted to expand his Lorric Empire. “But he can’t risk it. King Arthur can keep ships from landing on these shores for a long time, long enough to force any army the Lorrics put into the water to retreat.”

“I disagree. He just needs to get one boat to land, one dock under his control, and the land would be filled with Lorric soldiers.”

“That is a big risk to take, knowing the fight Arthur will put up to keep the land.”

“It’s a big risk, but I would not be surprised if he takes it. Holding Camelot leaves him free to attack in any other direction knowing his north is protected.”

“I still don’t think Caedan is one to take that risk.”

“What about the Kroanians, then? They are crazy enough to try it, knowing the fact that they would then be on two sides of Lorr.”

Richard took a deep drink from his mug. “It is useless to try and guess what Ulrik will do. Sometimes, I think even he doesn’t know what he will do until he has to give the orders.”

Grace nodded. “Fair enough.”

The door to the tavern swung open behind them. Richard paid it little attention, instead reaching for his mug. The ale was awful here, but it did the job.

“There they are!” a voice boomed from the doorway. Richard swung around on his stool. He cursed silently. Half a dozen brutes had entered the tavern, and they all stared at him and Grace. They held twisted weapons in their hands.

“Remember me, mercenary?” the leader barked as he walked towards the counter, a large club in one hand. Richard couldn’t place the man, but he doubted he was here for a friendly visit. “We were part of the group you stole that job from out in Woodlaine, when you came in with your fancy swords and kingly talk. I’m here for my money, boy.”

Richard remembered Woodlaine. They had taken a job there a few weeks back, a simple guarding a transport gig. Their employer had saved some money by hiring them instead of a group of brutes, and the transport hadn’t needed much protection in the end anyway.

“I’m sorry you feel slighted, but the money’s ours,” Richard said. “We worked for it. If you have a problem, take it up with the man who employed us.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” The leader stopped just in front of them, his gang behind him. Grace still ignored him, sipping her ale with her back to the brutes. “The trouble we’d be in for messing up a rich man would make the money useless. Nah, we’ll get our money from you instead.”

“Why don’t you take this outside?” the barkeeper said.

The leader grinned. “Sounds like a good idea. Let’s go outside.”

Richard looked at the group, and he didn’t like what he saw. He and Grace had swords compared to their crude weapons, but their blades would do little good inside in such a tight space. And outside would be no better, being as outnumbered. Also, though neither Richard nor Grace were small, they were nothing compared to the leader. He was a mountain of a man with tree trunks for arms and a barrel for a chest.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Richard stood up. He took a long swig from the mug in his hand, keeping his eyes on the brutes. Grace still hadn’t moved. The leader laid a hand on her shoulder, prepared to force her to get up. In the blink of an eye, Grace had slipped a knife out of her sleeve and turned. Her hand darted upwards, and the knife went straight into the leader’s eye.

The leader fell to his knees, his club dropping to the floor, his hands going to stop the stream of blood flowing out of his empty socket. Richard reacted instantly. He smashed the mug into the head of the nearest brute. He reached back and picked up the bar stool. He swung with both hands, shattering the stool against the next man. He was left just holding one of the stool’s legs, which he smacked into another attacker before dropping it.

Richard dodged a brute’s wild swing, twisting around to smash his fist into the man’s face as he went past. Richard felt arms close around him and he couldn’t stop them.

He was thrown across the room. He smashed through a window and tumbled out into the street. He jumped back to his feet as Grace was thrown onto the street after him. He pulled her back up. Brutes surrounded them from all sides. It seemed the leader had even more friends waiting outside. Some of the group were jumping out of the window after Grace and Richard.

Richard drew his sword and Grace did the same. They went back to back and looked around. It didn’t seem good. They couldn’t handle that number of people, and even if they did there would be some very angry people if they killed anyone.

“Ready?” Grace asked behind him.

Richard grinned. “Let’s not wait for them to act,” he said.

“Stop that!” a voice shouted suddenly from down the street.

Richard hesitated. He looked down the street to see a group of people running towards them. They wore old battered armour, but they all held swords in their hands. Richard knew them instantly to be the city guard, and he couldn’t help but feel relieved.

“Throw down your weapons, everyone!” the lead soldier ordered.

The brutes that surrounded Richard and Grace obliged grudgingly, glaring at Richard. Richard waited until all the brutes had dropped their weapons before he placed his sword on the ground in front of him. The soldiers pushed their way through the brutes, forcing them to the side of the street. Richard and Grace were pushed to the other side.

Richard sighed. They may have managed to avoid a full fight, but their troubles weren’t over yet. The scene inside the tavern wouldn’t be a good show of innocence on Richard’s part. He was forced to sit down against the wall.

As Richard waited, a man rode towards them. He wore shining armour, and a cloak of deep blue hung from his shoulders. Black hair framed his head, coming down to a thick beard beneath his chin. He was a few years older than Richard, a little taller too. His helmet was on the back of his horse. Richard recognised him as Sir Lancelot du Lac, one of the seven High Knights of the Round Table. He was subject to only King Arthur himself.

“What is going on here?” Sir Lancelot asked as he approached.

“Just a tavern brawl, my lord,” the lead soldier said. “Nothing for you to be concerned about.”

“Indeed. Are you in charge here?”

“Yes sir. Captain Mason, my lord.”

“Come over here, Captain.” Lancelot dismounted his horse and strode off to the side of the road. Mason followed him. Richard strained his ears to make out what they were saying. “I need soldiers, Captain,” he heard Lancelot say. “How many can you spare?”

“Not many, my lord,” Mason replied. “We are undermanned as it is. If you give me a day, I could get you maybe a dozen.”

“I don’t have a day, Captain. I need them now. I am wasting too much time as it is.”

“I’m sorry, my lord, but I don’t think we have any to give. Normally, we might have some, but Captain Jarin had to travel to Galekorn and he took quite a few soldiers with him. He needed protection, you see. You know what the roads are-”

“Soldier, this is a matter of utmost importance to the King.”

“Well, I can maybe give you three or four,” Mason said, thinking hard. “But they would have to return soon, my lord.”

“My lord,” Richard said, standing up. Two soldiers instantly moved in front of him, but he ignored them. “My lord, I couldn’t help but overhear your plight,” Richard said to Lancelot. “I think I can be of some assistance.”

Lancelot looked at him. “Really?” Lancelot asked, waving the soldiers aside. Richard approached.

“Yes, my lord. My companion and I are skilled with the blade, and we can help you in whatever your task is.”

“But you are criminals!” Captain Mason exclaimed.

“We are not, my lord,” Richard said, focusing his comments on the knight. “We were attacked by these brutes, and we did what we had to do to defend ourselves.” It was at that moment that the injured brutes from inside the tavern were brought out, the leader still having a hand clamped over his empty socket. Richard didn’t know if they helped or hindered his case with Lancelot.

Lancelot glanced at the injured brutes before turning his gaze back to Richard. “What’s your name, mercenary?” he asked after a moment.

“I am Richard Snowthorne, my lord, and this is Grace Redhelm.”

Lancelot nodded. “You will both come with me.”

“But, my lord, they have broken the law,” Mason said. “You cannot take them!”

“Either you round up a dozen troops in the next few minutes, or I take them,” Lancelot said.

Mason looked around, squirming a little. “Of course, my lord, you can take them if you must,” he said quietly after a moment.

“I thought as much. Get four of your soldiers ready to come with me. And you two,” Lancelot said, turning back to Richard and Grace. “Your crimes have not been forgotten yet. Only if you perform well in my task will you be free. Understood?”

Richard looked at Grace, who grinned at him. He turned back to Lancelot. “Understood.”