The tavern was much quieter now. The crowd had nearly dissipated completely, a few of the more slovenly patrons had passed out in their seats at some point during the night and the musical troupe had long since left. Behind the bar, the innkeeper dozed peacefully.
Elandar sat quietly in his chair at the far corner of the room. He glared at the two men as they descended the staircase.
"You certainly took long enough," the old man said.
"We were talking," Zanadar replied.
"Oh? Did Tenderfoot explain about the bloodied up drunk?"
"Yes he did."
"I'm right here, you know," Morgan cut in.
"Give me your key," Zanadar said to the ranger, "I'll go put them back."
Morgan handed the big man the key to his room. He quietly stepped behind the bar and walked just past the sleeping innkeeper, to where a small row of metal rungs hung from the wall. Zanadar hung the keys up and then silently crept back to the others.
"Its bad luck to beat up a drunk," Elandar scolded.
"There was no avoiding it," Morgan explained, "I tried not to hurt him too badly."
"Oh, I'm sure you tried valiantly. As soon as the meathead is ready we can go... if we pass any small children or old women on the way, try not to beat them up."
"I've been ready to go," Zanadar said.
"Then what are we waiting for? Let's get this over with."
"Fine by me, lead the way old man."
Elandar huffed and leaned on his staff as he stood up. His joints creaked audibly as he walked out the door, causing the old wizard to leave a foul string of curses in his wake.
Zanadar cringed as he looked to Morgan. "That's what we have to look forward to. Depressing, isn't it?"
"I heard that!" Elandar yelled from outside.
The early morning's streets were nearly empty, as they would remain until dawn. With the sun would come workers, merchants and travelers of all sorts - but for now, the city was quiet. They made good time due to the sparsely populated streets, passing the occasional guard or street urchin.
Soon, Grodek's smithy sat plainly in view. A faint glow emanated from the dirty windows and the familiar call of metal striking metal pierced through the crisp ocean air. Zanadar stopped short, causing Morgan to almost run into him.
"That's odd," the big man said.
"What?" Morgan asked.
"Grodek doesn't normally work before sunrise."
"Maybe he's still working on your sword?" the ranger offered.
"Maybe." Zanadar replied. He did not sound convinced. "That'd be awful out of character for him though."
"He's probably just drunk and doesn't know what time it is." Elandar said.
"Now that would be much more like him."
The big man had barely finished speaking when a series of loud crashes rang out from the building. A deep, haggard voice screamed viciously from inside. It was human, but primitive, like a cornered animal fighting for its life.
"That's Grodek," Zanadar said sharply. He dropped his bag and took off running towards the entrance.
Morgan started to speak, but decided against it and ran after the big man. He had trouble keeping up with Zanadar's long strides. Despite his armor and gear, he was surprisingly quick. Morgan could hear more shouting as he raced closer to the building.
Zanadar lowered his shoulder as he neared the heavy wooden door. He let out an angry yell and crashed through it forcefully, bringing the door and sizable part of the frame with him. With a tremendous blast, the door was ripped savagely from the wall. It splintered loudly and crashed onto the floor of the smithy. Zanadar rushed in after it, not losing a step.
It was dark inside, the only illumination the dull pulsing of the embers from the forge. The inside of the building had been thrashed. The long table at the center of the room lay overturned and many of the racks and shelves lining the walls had spilled their contents onto the floor below or sat broken on the ground. The smith's tools were scattered about the floor in disarray.
An overbearing tension hung heavily the room. A man lay face down next to the forge, unmoving. A large sword sat broken on the ground beside him.
Next to it, Grodek stood hunched over, his back to the wall. The stocky man's head was dirty, and bleeding. He gripped his hammer tightly, teeth bared. His muscled arms glistened with sweat, reflecting the orange glow of the forge. They rose and fell with his broad shoulders as the smith breathed deeply. He grinned weakly at the big man.
Four other men also stood in the room, and were staring at the door with startled looks on their faces. They were dressed in dark clothing and wielded a variety of simple cudgels and small blades.
Zanadar stopped, and considered the area coolly for a moment. Morgan slid in behind him, peering wide-eyed at the tattered door fame.
"There are a few possible outcomes to this situation," the big man explained calmly. "And I'll be honest, none of them are terribly pleasant for you gentlemen. But if you run away right now and you promise me I'll never see any of you again... I may let some of you continue to breathe." He reached down and slowly picked up a large wooden board from the broken door off the ground and patted it suggestively. "What's it going to be?"
One of the intruders, a short grimy looking man, pulled a jagged knife from his belt and sent it flying through the air at Zanadar.
"They're the ones!" the man screamed.
Zanadar stepped aside easily as the blade sailed past and smacked against the wall behind him. He grinned dangerously and gave the man who had thrown the knife an amused look.
"I was hoping you'd say that."
The short man fumbled with his belt as Zanadar charged, trying desperately to draw another knife. But the big man was too fast, he drew back and with a rumbling growl he swung the large board upwards. He connected with a devastating blow directly under the man's chin, lifting him off his feet. He landed on his back with a heavy thud and lay still.
The entire room then suddenly began to move at once. A wild-eyed, bulky man brandishing a cudgel rushed towards Morgan. The two other men were larger, each wielding sharp looking short swords, they closed on Zanadar slowly.
Morgan leapt out of the way as the bulky man lunged at him with his cudgel, narrowly missing him. He stumbled back and let his pack fall to the floor, there would be no time to get his weapons from inside of it. Morgan scanned the area around him, trying to find something he could use to defend himself.
He grabbed a large iron hook off the wall and brought it up just in time to beat away another blow. The strike sent vibrations reverberating up the hook and through Morgan's body. He fended away another attack, and then another. He was losing ground quickly. He needed to find an opening.
"Catch!" he heard Zanadar's voice call out.
The bulky man ignored the yell and raised his arms above his head, readying to strike again. For a brief moment a large dark shape appeared over the attacker. Morgan braced himself as the bulky man spun around just in time to see the body of one of the other intruders come crashing down upon him. The two men tumbled to the ground hard, in a mess of knees and elbows. The wild-eyed attacker clawed violently at the unconscious man on top of him, trying to wriggle free.
Morgan looked across the room over to Zanadar. The short man still lay on the floor unmoving. The larger was picking himself up off the ground, a vengeful look in his eyes. He leapt up and swung his short sword at the big man in a blind rage. Zanadar effortlessly stepped out of the blade's path and brought his board crashing down upon the man's head. A loud snap shot through the room as the wooden board splintered in half.
The big man met the ranger's gaze, then grinned and shrugged innocently. He dropped the now useless piece of wood as the intruder toppled to the ground in a heap.
The wild-eyed attacker finally managed to pull himself out from under the unconscious man and jumped to his feet, ready to fight. He surveyed the room for a moment, then dropped his cudgel and ran towards the door.
"Don't let him get away!" Zanadar yelled.
Morgan took careful aim and threw the metal hook at the fleeing attacker. It rapped him sharply on the back of the knee, buckling his leg. He stumbled and fell through the empty door frame, his head meeting the hard ground outside. He turned over wearily and reached for the knife in his belt but instead met with the end of a worn old staff, which thumped him painfully across the forehead and into unconsciousness.
Elandar, carrying the big man's saddlebags, stepped in over the body and eyed his surroundings.
"That was easy," he said snootily as he tossed the bags onto the floor. "What a bunch of amateurs."
