"You're sorry," Skharr insisted and forced him to look him in the eye. "Or will be."
The man tried to nod but couldn't. His head was still in the warrior’s unrelenting hold, which turned him to look at the woman instead.
"I'm sorry," he whispered and tried to look sideways at the huge barbarian.
"Mean it!"
"I'm sorry!" the pilgrim cried and tears appeared in his eyes. "I…I acted dishonorably, yes! I would never have… I should never have… Please…I'm so sorry!"
Skharr released him. "Eat. Then leave."
None of the five bothered to fulfill the first order. They stood immediately, hurried out of the inn, and picked their unconscious friend up on the way. They realized now that the rest of the establishment was one foul word away from attacking them as a group.
The silence in the room was palpable as the warrior scowled at his hand. He felt a dull ache where bone had connected with bone. It wouldn't even bruise and would disappear by the next day, but it still hurt.
The innkeeper had found his feet but looked dazed, supported by a couple of locals who were likely his friends and who inspected the bruise that had appeared over his eyebrow.
"No need to puff ya feathers. The show's over!" the man shouted as he straightened with impressive determination. "Minstrel, give us a tune!"
The man did as commanded, played a lively introduction, and drew the attention of the crowd away from the fight that didn't happen.
Skharr returned to where his platter still waited for him—although it was now a little cooler than he would have liked—when he heard footsteps following him. The weight behind them spoke of the innkeeper and the maid in his wake.
"I must thank you, sir," the man said once the music started again. "Not only for ensuring the safety of Miss Trudy here, although that too is appreciated. Her father is a good friend of mine—our town's baker and I would have seen more sawdust than flour in the loaves he sends me had he heard of the incident worsening, see ya?"
The warrior scowled deeply and took a bite from the slice of dark bread—which was quite good, he had to admit.
"Well, I suppose you preventing things from turning worse is also appreciated," the proprietor added and spoke in lower tones. "Folk around here would have retaliated had either one of us been hurt, but them's all in their mugs all evening, and it would have turned the place into a godsdamned mess. Your quick action kept things quiet and civil as we like them."
Skharr still had nothing to say. He had acted in his interest as he lacked the coin to pay for another meal if he lost the one he'd paid for.
"If you're not in a hurry to go anywhere come the rising of the sun, I'd like to float you an offer, see ya?" the innkeeper continued. "These pilgrims are… Well, those you encountered aren't the best, but they isn't the worst either. I’m of a mind that if you feel the need to remain among us for the next few days, you'd find yourself lodgings—a room for you and a stable for your horse—as well as food during your stay and something extra for your journey when you should find yourself on the road once more. The coin I've lost keeping up with the newcomers has left me…well, fairly desperate."
Skharr's eyebrows lowered over his eyes. "Got rooms now?"
"Well, we always keep a few available should they be needed, either for me and the staff or for some drunkard who needs to sleep it off after a night of revelry. If you take one of those, you'll have yourself a job keeping the peace 'tween my walls for as long as you'd like it."
He tilted his head in thought. The idea of a bed to sleep in instead of hay did appeal to him, as well as taking time away from the road with his room and board earned instead of paid for.
"Things still with the horse," he noted. "Eat and move them to the room instead."
"Of course. Trudy would be happy to show you to the room when ya've a mind to retire, see ya?"
The speaking mannerisms of the innkeep were a little annoying, but Skharr merely nodded as he turned his attention to the food.
The boar was quite tasty—likely hunted that very day—but as he suspected, the soup was bland. Still, it was warm and filling and the ale was thick and frothy. All of it left him with a full belly as he enjoyed the last musical performances from the minstrel, who turned his attention to other displays of entertaining skill.
A quartet of brightly colored balls was produced, and he proceeded to juggle them quickly and soon asked for more items to be added. A bowl joined the balls, then an empty mug. Other items were tossed at him and he caught a few more and added them to the performance before he finally dropped one of the balls.
The crowd cheered and called for more.
Skharr, however, had seen and heard enough. It had been a long day and it didn't look like anyone would cause any more trouble. It was about time he got some sleep and the prospect of a real bed called to him.
He slipped out of the inn, felt the cool air and wind that contrasted sharply with the warm staleness that had been prevalent inside, and wandered to the stables. His gaze searched for the boy who had led his horse in. Maybe the lad had already gone home, having earned enough for the day.
As he opened the door, his hackles rose immediately although, for the first few seconds, he couldn't tell precisely why. It was difficult to judge what unsettled him, but after he studied the interior of the building, he could tell that something had happened there. The hay was strewn about and stamped down. Stools were knocked over and the doors into the stalls had been left ajar and swung on their hinges.
More importantly, the horses looked spooked and stamped and snorted in the limited area of their stalls as if to find an opportunity to run.
His expression darkened but it was clear that whatever had transpired there had already passed, which left him in no immediate danger.
He moved through the building, scrutinized his surroundings, and tried to identify the source of his unease. A soft whimpering sound caught his attention. He froze in place and peered into the interior, trying to find the source.
Small feet in battered shoes were visible from one of the empty stalls, and Skharr approached it slowly, trying not to startle the child.
Still, the whimpering intensified, and the boy tried to pull deeper into the stall where his horse was as the barbarian approached.
"Take a breath, little'un, I mean you no harm." Skharr spoke softly and lowered onto his haunches. Even in the gloom, he could see the darkened skin around the boy's eye where he had been struck. "Tell me what happened."
"There were five of them." The youngster shook as he tried to breathe, still unable to stop a few sobs from breaking through. "They was on their way out, grabbing their horses, and then they saw yours. Said you's owed them for the food they didn't eat and they took everything, although I tried to stop them. I tried, honestly, but they beat me down and would have kept on had your horse not started to kick and raise a fuss fierce enough to bring the stable down."
As if on cue, the stallion leaned closer to nudge Skharr with his nose. He almost toppled the warrior from his precarious position before he moved on to the lad, nibbled at his unruly red curls, and drew a laugh from the boy who reached up to scratch under Horse's chin.