The Lost: Part III

"What do you want, heh?" The redhead who had spoken the words that had grabbed Ian's attention stared up at him through heavily blood-shot eyes. From the looks and smell of him he was at the tail end of a nightlong carouse and was a mean drunk to boot, judging by the tone of his voice. Ian glanced at the other's companions and noted whose hands were reaching for their weapons.

"Nothing much. Just a few questions..."

"Just a few questions, heh? Oh aye, I wager you have!" He shot a leer at one of his companions, another redhead and kin by the identical set of nose and jaw. "Hear that, Harry? His Lordship here wants to know about his daughters." The other just looked at Ian, paled and swallowed hard.

"I think you should just tell the man what he wants to know, Merry, truly." The third man, a scruffy looking dark-haired fellow, shifted a bit in his chair, his arm dropping lower.

"Aye, please, just tell me where you saw them? Were they healthy? Did they seem happy?" Ian reached up and rubbed at the back of his neck in a weary gesture.

Merry cackled. "Well enough, I suppose. But you'll never know, will you, for you ain't never going to Isle! You don't have the token! And that uncle of yours, they say he has plans for those young 'uns!"

"Token? What do you mean..."

Before Ian could finish, Merry jumped to his feet and overturned the table towards him. At the same time, the dark haired man reached for his dagger. He was not fast enough. Ian already had the dagger from the sheathe behind his neck drawn and thrown before the other realized what hit him. But the throw gave Merry and his kinsman a chance to escape. Blackthorn made a lunge for the closest, grabbed a rough-woven tunic, swung the man around and back towards the upset table...and cursed. It was the wrong redhead, Harry.

"Damn!" He pushed him aside, ran out the entryway, then looked up and down the street. A glimpse of a cart going around the far corner made him move in that direction, but the mud made it impossible to gain any ground, and by the time he reached the corner the cart was lost from view. He mucked back to Grace's, cleaned his boots yet again and stepped inside. The two men were not where he left them. Instead, they were being held in headlocks by a huge man wearing a much-dented horned helmet.

Blackthorn nodded. "Hello Korys."

Korys glowered at Ian. "Grace not like bleeding on floor!"