It was sundown when the Red Company entered the inn. The mistress nearly fainted when she saw all of the scruffy soldiers standing in the entrance way. There were twenty four of them. Enough to fill most of the rooms. The innkeeper thought they weren't going to pay for the night. All it took was a flash of gold coin to shut him up.
The inn was a large mansion that had been remodelled after the owner died and had no heir. The first floor was a tavern and the second floor was all bedrooms. The place was decorated in regal colours. Deep purples and reds and blues. It was from another time, back when the Empire had a king. This was his favourite place to go for a drink, or so they say.
It had been a long hard march and the men were dead tired. They all filed into their rooms and slept. No one had the energy to spend the night drinking at the bar. All they wanted was rest. All but Rook. He brought his officers with him and took a table at the bar. He ordered a pitcher of ale for the lot of them but no one touched it.
"We need to talk business," He began. The men just nodded. There was nothing to say.
"Soon we are going to be leaving the reach of the Capital. The concentration of wildmen is much higher past the Hord River. We need to be aware of our surroundings at all times. I want each of you to choose the most reliable men from your squad to scout ahead and provide us with regular reports," Rook said, shifting his gaze between the men.
"Yessir," They all said simultaneously.
"Ok, I want --" Rook was interrupted by Flint grabbing his arm. The old man subtly pointed to a table across the room. Rook peered over. At the table were four men, all staring at Rook and his men. There was nothing remarkable about their manner of dress except for the clasp holding their cloaks around their shoulders. It was a silver eagle. Not the mascot of any house Rook recognized but all four of the men were wearing it. He knew it had to mean something.
Rook made eye contact with one of the men. They stared at each other for a while. The man seemed as if he was sizing Rook up. After what seemed like an eternity the man stood. He picked up his mug and downed what was left inside of it. He wobbled over to Rook's table. He was clearly drunk.
He pointed a finger and said, "Don't think we don't know who you are!"
Rook stood to face him and replied, "Alright, who am I exactly?"
"Your a goddamn blighter from that mercenary band. The goddamned Hand! You bastards are the Chancellor's dogs. You make a mess for the rebels wherever you go. And the sorry townsfolk always have to clean it up! You won't be making a mess here!" The man spat, slurring every other word. He swung his fist at Rook's head. He saw it coming though. He turned out of the way and grabbed the mans arm. He yanked him forward, sending him staggering into another table. He tripped and fell forward, smashing into A pitcher of ale and the flagons around it.
The man was drenched as he slowly got up. He turned to Rook, a rage burning in his eyes.
"Don't just stand there! Get them!" The man yelled, spittle flying from his lips. On cue the three other men advanced on Rook and the others. Tucker jumped out of his seat, eager for a fight. He was clapping his fist into his palm, awaiting the first idiot to come for him.
Flint stood up slowly, a look of disgust on his face. He didn't want a fight, but he would help his brothers in a brawl any day. The twins got up as well, ready to crack some skulls.
Their attackers bounded down on them, swaying side to side. They were all drunk.
"Drunken fools," Flint muttered under his breath.
A fist flew towards Rook's face. He ducked and drove his shoulder into the man's stomach. The man staggered back, holding his hands over his gut. Tucker ran at him and leaped, tackling him to the ground. The man hit his heard hard against the wooden floor and didn't get back up.
Flint didn't give his assailant a chance to make the first move. As soon as he was in range he punched him right in the nose. He could feel the cartilage give way as the man's nose broke. Blood began to flow, spattering Flint's hand. He swung his other hand into the man's gut, doubling him over in pain. He drove his elbow into the man's back. His opponent crumpled to the floor, writhing in pain.
The last two men looked at their fallen companions and then looked at Rook and his gang. They sobered up for a moment and made the smart decision. They ran, right out the door and into the night.
Tucker laughed and clapped his hand on Rooks shoulder.
"Sodding fools," Flint said bitterly.
Rook walked over to the barkeep and flicked him a gold coin.
"Sorry about the mess," he said as he led his men up the stairs so they could speak in peace.
YOU ARE READING
The Hand
Fantasy"It has a firm grip and is attached to a very long arm," - An old saying of soldiers from The Hand. Rook only ever wanted to be a Lawkeeper, but when the rebellion started he quickly became a soldier. Follow him and his men on their adventure to end...
