Page 7 of Brighter Than Gold

When the meal was served, we tucked into our plates and ate in near silence. The soups and roasts were decent, and despite what the travel had taken out of us, the nourishment lifted our spirits ever so slightly.

After several carafes of wine, the younger guards regained a bit of their impish disposition and began challenging one another to a limerick contest. The game mostly revolved around insulting each other’s mothers or fucking each other’s sisters, but a few clever digs had me chuckling.

“Me next!” Nyx shouted. He cleared his throat and prepared himself, bowing and facing Callan.

“There once was a surely old guard,

Who thought himself quite avant-garde.

When he took girls to bed, they wept as they said;

His sword’s the only thing that was hard!”

A roar of laughter erupted from the table, and Callan smiled and nodded, taking his licks in turn. He waited for the laughter to die down before turning to Nyx.

“There once was a young lad named Nyx,

Who was full of witty limericks.

But half of the time he needed to mime,

Because his mouth was full of Kings dicks.”

Nyx tossed his head back and cackled, the other guards hollered and smacked the table with delight. I pinched my eyes closed, fighting hard not to laugh at my friend’s expense, but a snorted laugh escaped anyway.

Suddenly the front door crashed open, startling everyone into silence. A tall man in a wide brimmed hat walked in, hand on his hilt and an ugly grin on his face. He took slow, deliberate steps, his boots echoed against the wood as he eyed the inn and the people inside. Behind him, followed another eight or nine burly men, just as evil looking.

Callan grabbed my wrist and pulled me forcefully into his lap locking me between his body and the table. He wrapped his arm around my waist and held me down in case I tried to pull away.

“Don’t move,” he uttered so quietly only I could hear him.

Panic flooded through me. Who was this man, and why had Callan grabbed me?

“Don’t let me stop the party!” the man with the hat suddenly bellowed. He paced about the room as the other men followed him inside, shutting and barricading the door with a heavy wooden beam.

Everyone in the room was frozen with fear. My eye caught Callan’s hand moving beside me, quietly signalling to his men across the table. They stayed seated but ready; hands slowly finding the hilts of their swords. They were outnumbered, and out muscled.

“No need for that, now,” the man said, noticing one of the young guards readying himself. “Why don’t you put your hands on the table for me.” The man in the hat lowered himself down to the palace guard. He had piercing blue eyes and sickly pale skin. “Pretty please?” he oozed.

The guard stared back, unblinking and slowly complied, placing his palms on the table.

In a flash, the man unsheathed a small dagger and slammed it down through the guard’s hand, nailing him to the table. The guard let out a pained cry, and Briar screamed. The palace guards on either side of him burst from their seats, one was immediately run through with a broadsword from one of the bruisers behind him. The other guard’s neck was slashed open before he could reach his sword, blood shooting out across the table and spraying myself and Callan, whose grip was like iron around my waist. I began to tremble. There remained only him and the injured guard at the table, who sucked in each pained breath through his teeth.

“Is there no fucking service in this place!” the man hollered, ignoring the dead bodies on the floor in front of him.

Slowly the old woman stepped forward, not meeting his gaze.

“What are you waiting for! Fucking feed us!”

She hurried off into the kitchen.

The man in the hat turned slowly back to the room full of terrorized people. “Hello,” he said smoothly. “How are we this evening?” He sauntered through the room as he spoke, walking over to each table and eyeing the people who sat there. No one met his gaze, they stared shakily at their dinner or the floor, petrified.

“You’re a pretty thing,” he purred eyeing a young woman. She sat with her parents and two younger brothers. Her father seethed as the man spoke to her.

“My name is Lazio,” he said kneeling in front of her. “What is your name, sweet girl?” He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand.

“A-Aurelia,” she stuttered.

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