Read In Service Of The King (Book 2) for Free Online Page A

to look as a raucous bout of laughter burst from a group behind him.
    “... of course she wouldn’t marry you, Petersen. What, with a big scar like that on your face,” one of the men said, making the others at the table laugh. “Magistrate’s boy or not...
    The man with the scar stood up--a little shakily--facing the speaker with ire on his brow.
    “You laugh, Rob,” he retorted, loudly. “But, I beat the man who did this to me... cut him into a thousand pieces! A filthy barbarian who ambushed us! He jumped out and I thrust him through!” He stabbed out into the air with his mug of ale, spilling some out onto the floor. The other men laughed harder, pointing; this seemed to be the nightly spectacle. “The coward cut me; a lucky strike!” Petersen continued, touching his scar. “But, I buried his lifeless corpse!”
    At this, Joseph laughed... loudly. Whipping around, the scarred man glowered at him.
    “Stranger!” Petersen called out.“It is foolish to laugh at the son of the Magistrate!”
    “It is foolish to tell outlandish tales in the presence of honest folk,” Joseph returned, coolly. “That scar is straight. Barbarians carry curved blades.”
    A murmur of approval rose up from the group’s table at this. Some of the men sat up a little, trying to get a better look at the scar. Petersen’s face took on wrathful look.
    “I’ll show you what I did, you ignorant peasant! I was an officer in the King’s army!”
    “No great feat,” Joseph returned, sipping his ale. He met the scarred man’s angry gaze. “I still say you’re a liar.”
    Petersen threw down his mug and pulled a dagger from his belt, taking a step closer to the stranger. His fellows got to their feet, a strange eagerness present in their features. Joseph slowly stood well; glancing at the counter, he found Tyrus watching him. Taking a step towards Petersen Joseph pushed back his hood, letting the flickering firelight light his face.
    Petersen’s eyes grew wide with recognition. Clenching his jaw, the man gripped the dagger’s hilt until his knuckles showed white.
    “Wretched blacksmith!” he screamed, hurling the dagger towards Joseph. His aim was wide, and the dagger clattered on the wooden floor. Joseph shoved the table forward, catching Petersen in the stomach; the drunken man stumbled forward and only to be felled by Joseph’s right fist. He sank like a stone between the tables and lay motionless on the floor. In a body the other men rushed forward to assist.
    Outside the Inn Tyrus strolled towards the town square in the darkness, calling out loudly:
    “Help! There’s a fight in the Inn! Where is the Magistrate? Riot at the Inn!” As lanterns began to light in the nearby windows, Tyrus heard a voice behind him.
    “A riot? I have not seen a good riot since... well, when was I last in Paludosus?”
    Tyrus turned towards two cloaked figures, standing a few feet away.
    “Well,” came another voice, more gruff than the other, “I’m impressed with the lad. Been in town less than five minutes and he’s got a decent fight going.” As he spoke, the Inn’s front window casement smashed out. A man lay still on the ground amid the pieces of glass and wood-bracing.
    “Can we go in and assist?” Dunner asked, eagerly cracking his knuckles. The door crashed open, as a man flew out through the air head over heels. He landed in the dust a few feet away.
    “Perhaps it would be wise to let him just... soldier on,” Hezekiah remarked, watching as the man on the ground groaned and tried to get up. A few more blows sounded out before the shouts and noise within the Inn ceased.
    Joseph appeared in the doorway. Spying Tyrus and the others, he walked up to them.
    “Dunner, Hezekiah,” he greeted, with a nod. The men nodded back and stood--in the quiet night air--for a moment. “It’s a clear night,” Joseph said, at last, plaintively rubbing his knuckles.
    “Superb,” Hezekiah responded. His grin showed white in the weak