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from the keg and set it on the bar in front of Boltac. Then she asked, “So, did you loan him the sword?”
    “No,” snapped Boltac, foam flying from his lips as his blissful first sip was interrupted by the memory of the recent inanity. “I hit him over the head with a club, dragged him across the street, and left him unconscious on the bench out front.”
    Asarah’s eyes grew dark with anger. “How
could
you?”
    “It was easy, actually, I just took my… Look, woman, when you pick up a sword you pick up a lot of other things with it. And if the lad wasn’t ready to deal with the ambush of a shopkeeper with a trick knee, then he certainly wasn’t ready to deal with whatever dangerous and vile thing he meant to bash in the head of to preserve the Honor of his wench.”
    “That word again. Wench. I thought you said she was a Priestess.”
    “Oh, come on, it was a Sleeping Beauty. They were roping him.”
    “You don’t know that. It could have been True Love. True romantic Love. The kind that you only hear about in songs.”
    “Yeah, you only hear about it in the songs, because ain’t real.”
    “Your heart is full of money,” said Asarah. “Money and mistrust.”
    “No,” said Boltac, “It’s not full. There’s room for more money.” Asarah rolled her eyes. “Besides, that’s not the point. It’s not about my heart. My head is filled with common sense. Say he’s not being conned–which is unlikely, but what the hell–so I give him the sword, and he goes and gets himself killed. Then that’s on me, and for what?”
    “But that’s how she will know. The only way she can know!”
    “Know what, he’s an idiot?”
    “The girl, she’s in danger right?”
    “I think it was something more along the lines of a fight for her Honor, but sure, let’s say she’s in danger.”
    “Danger. She’s been kidnapped, let’s say. And she’s being held captive at the bottom of horrible dungeon.”
    “Certainly are plenty of horrible dungeons around Robrecht,” said Boltac, looking around the room for another subject.
    “It’s so romantic. And he goes to rescue her and when he
does
rescue her that’s how she
knows
.”
    “Eeeeyeah. You keep saying that. Knows what?”
    “That he
Loves
her. When he risks everything he has, when she sees that he’s willing to give it all up, that’s how she will know he really, truly Loves her above all others.”
    “That’s how she’ll know he’s a muscle-headed idiot who’s good with a sword.”
    “But he can’t because some fat, greedy Merchant wouldn’t loan him a sword.”
    “No,” said Boltac, struggling with his anger, “I could loan him a sword and armor and everything else in my store, and it wouldn’t make a difference. He can’t because he DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO USE A SWORD!”
    “Keep your voice down,” hissed Asarah. “You’re disturbing the other patrons!”
    “Patron,” quipped Boltac as he gestured toward the nearly empty common room with his empty tankard.
    Asarah slammed another ale down in front of him and said. “There’s no romance in your life. No passion. No wonder you are alone. I feel sorry for you Boltac.” And then she stormed off into the back.
    “Safer that way,” Boltac muttered into his beer.
    Behind Boltac, the door opened and an unseasonably cool wind filled the inn. A man in a black robe with a silver torque around his neck seemed to float across the common room as the door shut behind him. He took in the room with a raised eyebrow of disapproval then made his way to the bar. He sat and asked Boltac, “Do they have lamb tonight?”
    “They usually do.”
    “Hmm, good. Good.”
    “So stranger, what business brings you to our fair city?” asked Boltac.
    “Hmm, city?” asked the man, with a shake of his head, “Ashtantis, that’s a city. Squalipoor, Yorn, those are cities. This is a fish-drying village with delusions of grandeur.”
    “More like delusions of Glory,” said Boltac as he raised his ale,