Hannah - A Fantasy Tale

Many, many years ago I wrote this fragment of a fantasy tale about Hannah the mercenary. I planned the whole story, thought about sequels but only wrote the beginning.

"What are we going to do?"
"What do you mean, what are we going to do?"
"What do you mean, what do I mean?"
"This is getting ridiculous."
They stared at each other over their empty glasses standing between them on the table that was so dirty even the rings of spilled beer had a sheen of dust on them.
Hannah leaned back against the wood-panelled wall and folded her arms across her chest.
"I said, what are we going to do?"
Ronda leaned forward, putting her elbows on the table. "And I said, what do you mean? Do now? Do tonight? Next week?" She pushed a strand of hair that had escaped her braids behind her ear. "I say, we get another beer."
She pushed herself up from the table and walked over to the bar, her sword slapping against her thigh.
For a moment Hannah could see her companion as she must look to the few other patrons who populated the tavern this early in the day: all leather and weapons. Very different from the good towns-people in their simple but colourful clothes. Even her dark hair set her apart from the regular patrons who were all light-haired and fair-skinned. Which meant that she herself must look even more foreign. Like Ronda Hannah was black-haired and even darker skinned than her companion.
And there was of course her scar. Automatically, Hannah stroked the knobbly skin on her neck, stretching from her right collarbone to the edge of her jaw. If Ronda must be worrying the population than she probably gave them nightmares.
To the towns-people, the two of them must be a scary presence in this quiet, peaceful place where they had probably not seen any mercenaries in years. They presumably had not seen anything more belligerent than the city guards. And the city guards, Ronda had said disparagingly, but nonetheless correctly, she'd could probably take out single-handedly. Not that they had any intention to do so. If they could help it there would be no trouble at all, with the guards or anybody else. Judging from the wide berth the other patrons of the bar gave them, this should not be a problem. Though, Hannah knew from experience that there were all too often idiots who thought that anybody different deserved to be given trouble.
Hannah sighed and turned her mind to the question she had asked Ronda. What were they going to do?
With their contract fallen through they were thoroughly stranded. Ronda's pessimistic maxim that anything this good was bound to either not happen at all or include a drawback that more than balanced out the good had been proved correct once more. And this contract, with conditions so sweet it even made Hannah wonder what the hidden sting was, seemed to do both: not happen at all and leave them with more then a few problems. But, dammit, she could not just take on contracts that were obviously dreadful, in the hope that the opposite of Ronda's maxim may come true and produce surprising benefits for them.
Hannah swore loud enough for some of the other guests to turn into her direction. Perhaps public swearing was not permitted here? The gods alone knew. As this delightful place - and it was delightful, Hannah had to admit despite herself - had not been anywhere near where they had intended to go, she had only the vaguest idea about its laws or customs.
Another beer would definitely be welcome. What took Ronda so long?
For a moment Hannah was unable to locate her partner, and a sudden, intense fear caught hold of her: fear that somehow Ronda had disappeared. Then Hannah spotted her leaning against the bar, talking to the tall man behind it.
Goodness, she was getting spooked by the slightest thing. As if Rona could be spirited away just like that. But somehow this seemed to be a day when everything that could go wrong, would go wrong.
She should just get up, get Ronda and leave town. Something was terribly wrong.
Hannah was startled by the intensity of the feeling of imminent danger that came over her. She looked around wildly, as if she expected a troop of enemies or a giant monster to leap out from under one of the dusty tables.
There was indeed movement, behind the table next to her, one of the chairs scratched back apparently moving on its own. But before Hannah had time to react, a small, scrawny looking boy emerged behind the table and looked at her with big eyes.
They stared at each other for a long moment. Hannah could feel her blood pulsing against her collar and felt rather ridiculous to be so frightened by nothing more than a little boy.
The boy looked as if he was quite scared himself, but curiosity obviously got the better of his fear.
"Who are you?" he asked in a hoarse and thin voice.
"Me?" Hannah replied, to give her a few more moments to calm her heart that was still beating far too quickly.
The boy nodded, a quick, jerky movement.
"Who I am, or what I am?"
The boy frowned. "I know what you are." He sounded aggrieved, petulant, as if he was fed up with not being taken seriously. Perhaps she was reading too much into the tone of his voice. Hoarse as it was it was difficult to tell.
"Fine." Hannah said. She wondered how old the boy was, but it was hard to say, he could be anything between six and twelve, he could be small for his age or just badly fed. In the dim light of the tavern, it was hard to say. Her experience with children wasn't exactly extensive.
"My name is Hannah."
The boy nodded. He scratched his ear, his eyes still fixed on her. "Hannah what?" he asked and then coughed, a short hacking sound, that he quickly tried to stifle behind his hands.
The feeling of an imminent threat returned with renewed force. Something, no someone was about to attack her.
Hannah looked around again, but apart from the boy, nobody paid them any attention. Ronda was still talking to the barman but gave a small wave in her direction when she saw her partner look at her.
The boy? Hannah could hardly credit the thought. Though, as she knew from bitter experience, danger did not always come in shapes that made it easily recognisable.
"Hannah what?" The boy repeated.
Perhaps it was the cough, Hannah reasoned, some horrible plague the boy was carrying that was behind her anxiety, but her feeling was of a danger that was specifically aimed at her, at her and Ronda. An intentional threat, not an illness. Moreover, she doubted that the barman would let the boy be in the tavern if he was seriously ill.
But who did the boy belong to? The barman? The owner of the tavern? He looked too badly fed and clothed to be one of theirs.
"If we are going to get acquainted, why don't you come here?" Hannah patted the chair next to her. "I promise I won't bite."
The boy grimaced and made a sound that was probably supposed to be a derisive snort but instead turned into another hacking cough.
Hannah decided that the boy must be at least nine or ten. Or did children become weary quicker in these parts? She wouldn't have thought so. It looked like such a fat and prosperous place.
"Or are you afraid?"
The old taunt worked. The boy shook his head and walked around the table he had kept between them.
As he came closer, Hannah tried to determine whether the threat was coming from the boy, but her feelings were not becoming clear. Instead, they became more muddled and contradictory. Somehow the danger seemed to be connected to the boy, but somehow whatever the danger was it seemed to recede as the boy got closer.
It did not help that another strong feeling rose in Hannah when she was able to see the boy better. She felt angry. If this town was a prosperous place, it was obvious that not everybody shared in the prosperity. The boy was not just skinny, he looked half-starved. The tunic and trousers he wore were not only old and faded, they looked as if they had not been washed properly for a long, long time. Prosperous or not, his family should be ashamed to let him out onto the street like this. He did not even wear shoes.
Something of her feeling must have showed on her face, as the boy stopped and seemed to wonder whether he shouldn't run away.
"Sit, sit," Hannah said, making a valiant attempt to give an encouraging smile. She felt mad at everybody, even the barman that he allowed a child to get to this state.
After a moment's hesitation, the boy did sit down on the chair next to her, but he still seemed dubious whether it was safe.
"There," Hannah said.
The boy smiled at her. From close up, Hannah could see that he had sandy brown hair, with cobwebs distributed generously in it, as if he had crept in the dustiest and dirtiest corners of the tavern. His eyes were pale brown and sparkling with intelligence. Somehow Hannah was convinced that he had not always been starving or neglected. If he had lived in abject poverty all his life, it would show, wouldn't it?
She held out her hand. "Hannah Gunda's daughter."
The boy took her hand and shook it. Then he asked with a grin, "Your mother's name is Gundas?" When he let go of her hand, he dropped it under the table again.
"Gunda," Hannah corrected, "and was."
The grin slipped off his face immediately. "My mother's dead, too," the boy stated, confirming what Hannah had already guessed.
"And your father?"
"He died when I was very little." The boy shrugged. "I cannot remember him."
But he remembered his mother, and it was probably her death that had left him destitute. But wasn't there other family? Somebody to look after him?
"Would you like something to eat?" she asked and immediately regretted it.
The boy shook his head violently. He suddenly looked scared, and for a moment Hannah thought he would run away, but for some reason, he remained where he was.
"No? You look as if you could use some."
"I'm not supposed to take food from strangers," he told her. "I might get poisoned." There was no fear when he said this. It was more as if he were a statement that had been made to him over and over again.
"Indeed?" Hannah wondered whether the instruction had come from his mother. Judging from the state of his clothes his mother must be dead for a while and she wasn't sure whether he would still remember her instructions, particularly when hungry.
The boy nodded. "Nobody does anything for nothing," he declared with the solemnity befitting an article of the law.
Hannah laughed. "That is true. Most of the time at least. You see, I am here with my partner Ronda." The boy looked to where Ronda was still talking to the barman - what on earth did are they talking about, Hannah wondered - without Hannah pointing her out. But then, she knew herself how conspicuous they both were. "And I was thinking," Hannah went on, "that it might be nice to have some food. If you wanted, you could join us."
The boy looked back at her.
"Since the barman would prepare the food, you would not really take food from stranger, right?"
For a moment the boy considered this. "He doesn't cook. Cook cooks."
"But they don't feed you."
The boy looked surprised. "They can't."
What in hell's name was going on? Was the boy outcast? Hannah looked around, but none of the other patrons or the barman seemed to mind her talking to him.
"They can't," she repeated, but the boy did not oblige with any further explanation.
"But why?" he asked instead.
"Why do I want to buy you something to eat?" When the boy nodded, Hannah leaned back against the wall again and declared. "It's my good deed of the day."
There was only a blank look on the boy's face.
"You don't have that in these parts, I take it."
The boy shook his head.
"We do," Hannah explained. "It is good for your soul if...."
Then, all of a sudden, the feeling of danger, of an approaching, imminent threat was back, for a moment it was very strong, then it abated again. It had not been completely gone, but it had receded while she was talking to the boy, now Hannah felt as if a tremor had run through the atmosphere. Her hand automatically dropped to her sword.
The boy had felt it, too. She had seen him start at the same moment when the threat felt most intense.
"You felt that?" she asked, half surprised and half worried. More than worried actually.
The boy nodded. He looked around the dimly lit room, and suddenly Hannah realised that she had not even asked his name yet. Nor had he offered it.
But before she had time to ask, he turned to her, took hold of her left hand that was still lying on the table and said. "Look at me."
He leaned forward and stared into her eyes with an intensity as if he were trying to read her mind, or her soul.
"What?" Hannah asked.
The boy’s fingers held her left hand and his eyes bored into hers. He definitely isn't just a little beggar boy, Hannah thought, and a shudder ran through her, when unbidden she remembered the stories of the screa, soul-sucking fiends inhabiting unassuming forms that prayed on the gullible.
"Look at me," the boy repeated, his voice making it an order.
If he were a soul-sucking fiend, Hannah thought, it was too late anyway, so she did as he said. For a moment nothing happened, then a strange tingling feeling enveloped her, first the hand he held in a tight grip, then the feeling spread quickly all over her body. The boy's eyes seemed to shine like candles, and briefly Hannah thought that he would really suck her soul out through her eyes.
With a suddenness that took Hannah's breath away, she could feel everybody in the room. It was as if an additional eye had opened in her head, and while her real eyes were still caught by the glowing eyes of the boy, her new eye saw everything else in the room. It wasn't really seeing, she realised, the people in the bar were glowing presences, but she could still see them, see for want of a better word: the barman leaning forward to talk intently to Ronda, three men playing gripple, a harassed looking couple having an argument, a lone older man, drinking by himself.
There was more, her new perception was not restricted to the room she was in. She could see, or feel people and even animals outside, passing in the street, occupying the houses around. And there was something else, four shapes, that were not glowing like the others but were of an impenetrable darkness. It was from these shapes that the threat emanated. They were approaching fast.
"Damn it to hell," the boy exclaimed and dropped her hand.
When the skinny fingers of the boy dropped away from hers, the strange new perception left Hannah as quickly as it had appeared. She stared at the boy, too surprised for a moment to speak.
The boy gave her a lopsided grin.
"What are these things?" she asked, when she finally found her voice again.
The boy shrugged. "They are shielding themselves."
"Shielding?" Hannah felt completely out of her depth. What on earth was going on? "Are they after you or me?" she asked.
The boy shrugged again. "Both?" he ventured.
"We better get away," Hannah stated. The feeling of threat was back and it stayed. What has she gotten herself into, herself and Ronda. Hell and damnation. Who or what would want to hunt down this strange boy and herself? They had just met, for crying out loud. She didn't even know his damned name.
Hannah was about to yell for Ronda, when she suddenly noticed the boy's hand that still rested on the table and the two thick golden rings that loosely encircled two of his fingers. One of the rings had a great red stone set in it. That alone would be worth enough to feed the boy for a year. In fact, staring at his hand and the rings that looked so incongruous on his skinny, dusty fingers were tied to his hand with some string. If not for that they would have no doubt slid over his skinny knuckles.
When he noticed her stare, he quickly dropped his hand to his lap again.
"Who are you?" she asked, even more perplexed than before.
The boy laughed, though it was a mirthless sound. "I am the king."
"What?" Hannah stared at the boy, so surprised she thought if he had turned out to be a soul-sucking screa it would have felt normal by comparison. The strangest thing was that she believed him.
"The king," he repeated, and this time his grin was genuine.
"But what…?" Hannah started, but the next moment, with the suddenness that Hannah thought seemed to be a part of his life, he whipped round towards the dark, unoccupied part of the room and shouted, "Down!"
With an astonishing speed, he poured his skinny form from his chair and under the table.
"Ronda!" Hannah yelled, as the feeling of threat rose to a new pitch.
She rose to her feet trying to slip under the table like the boy had, when the wall at the end of the tavern exploded inward. The blast whipped Hannah of her feet. She felt herself somersaulting over another table and crashing onto a chair that broke apart under her weight.
Smoke and dust swirled through the dim room, frightened shouts and the clatter of the debris settling down after the blast filled her ears.
"Hannah!" Ronda's voice sounded oh so sweet in Hannah's ears. She struggled to her feet, ignoring the pain in her back and legs, and drew her swords.
Daylight streamed in through the break the blast had created in the tavern's back wall, but Hannah could see no attackers. Please don't let them be invisible, Hannah wished fervently.
Ronda appeared at her side, reassuring and solid. She raised an eyebrow in question, but when Hannah shook her head, she asked no further.
There was no sign of the attackers, at least none that Hannah could see. But she was sure they were there. It was through the gaping hole in the wall that the attack would come. She was sure of that and though she did not know why they were being attacked and what the attackers wanted she was sure that everybody in the vicinity was in deadly danger.
"Get the people out of here," she told Ronda.
Ronda nodded and turned around. "Out!" she yelled. "Get yourselves out of here, if you value your life!"
"What's going on?" somebody shouted back, but Hannah paid no attention to what happened behind her. What was before her that required all her attention.
Where were the attackers? Hannah stepped gingerly over a fallen beam. If she had planned this attack, she'd been through the breach before the dust had time to settle. Unless, she had planned to bring down the whole building.
She stopped again to listen, but there were no ominous groans to indicate that the structure of the tavern was damaged. There was no sound at all from this side of the room. Behind her she could hear Ronda urging the patrons to leave, not that it sounded as if they were reluctant to do so. Only the barman protested.
Hannah's left leg hurt like hell, but she had not time to worry about this.
The only reason she could think off that made this delay in the attack sensible, was that they either hoped to lure them out into the street or to give them a false sense of security, made them think that the blast was the entire attack. Hannah intended to do neither. She intended to get away from here, alive and with her companions, which also included the strange boy who said he was the king. Where the hell was he?
"Boy!" Hannah shouted. She felt faintly ridiculous, but she did not know his name. She could hardly yell 'king!' could she?
She took another step forward, trying to keep an eye on the open gap in the wall and to look under the tables to see whether the boy was still hiding.
"Gods damn it," she cursed as her left leg wobbled and she almost fell over, just catching herself on the edge of a chair.
Ronda appeared at her side again. "What was that?" she asked, but before Hannah had the time to even admit that she had no idea, the attackers arrived.
Four monstrous shapes appeared in the gaping hole torn into the tavern's wall, like smoke coalescing into form or as if they stepped out of a thick fog. Shielded, the boy had called it.
For a moment the four creatures just stood there, silent and menacing, armoured and armed to the teeth. Hannah could not determine whether they were human or something else. Then, sill without uttering a sound, they rushed into the tavern their weapons glinting in the light of the lamps. They made straight for Hannah and Ronda, jumping over the debris the blast had made of the wall.
They stepped apart, to gain more room to fight, and their attackers split into two pairs.
Swords met with deafening clamour. Hannah parried her two attackers' first assault without a problem, but she knew that the longer the uneven fight lasted, the more likely was it that she'd be the one dead on the ground in the end.
The two creatures wore black leather armour and fought with some skill, but they were clumsy, slower than either herself or Ronda as if they were tired. Even as close as she was to her opponents Hannah could not decide whether they were human or not. She had no trouble holding her opponents at bay but against two she could do no more and she knew it would only be a matter of time before one of the creatures would be lucky to catch her at an unfortunate moment
I need a lucky moment, she thought fervently, and as if answer to her wish, one of the attackers suddenly grunted in surprise and turned away from Hannah. She swung her suddenly liberated sword against the other creature's arm. It was the first proper hit she had scored. He swayed a little to the side, but his attack did not slow down.
Hannah took a step to one side, to see what had made one of her attackers to break away, for the moment content to only deflect the blows from her remaining opponent.
A strange smelled wafted into her nose, and with an audible woosh, the distracted creature burst into flames. At first only his back burned, but within moments he was entirely engulfed in flames. Behind him, clearly illuminated by the flickering flames, stood the boy, a broken oil lamp in his hand.
A high-pitched screech echoed through the tavern, but it was one of the creatures attacking Ronda not the burning one who had uttered this first sound. The burning creature stumbled around, trying to beat out the flames that burned as brightly as a pitch torch.
Hannah forced herself to concentrate on her opponent, now was the moment to kill him, everything else had to wait until she had accomplished this. When the creature attacking her swung his sword against her in an almighty blow, she let herself be spun round by the force of the blow. Her attacker, encountering less resistance than he expected, stumbled a step forward and straight onto the dagger in Hannah's other hand.
For a moment, he seemed to stare at where the blade entered his body. Hannah pulled the dagger out of his body, and he collapsed onto the floor.
The room was filled with the noxious fumes of the creature set alight, a smell like burnt hair. Ronda, Hannah noticed with a quick glance, was only facing one attacker, the other one was after the boy.
Hannah sprinted across the room, as quickly as her wobbly leg and the clutter of broken chairs and tables allowed it.
The boy was no match for whatever these beasts were, but he made a good effort to stay out of its reach. He ran the length of the benches along the tavern's wall and when the creature jumped across one of the remaining tables, he disappeared under it and was out the other side before it had time to turn around and came running towards her.
With the wildest and loudest war cry she could muster, Hannah lunged against the creature. Their blades crashed together, sparks flying off their edges. Fury drove her, gave her strength and made her forget the pain in her leg. With every stroke she drove the attacker back, never mind now that he was more than a head taller than she was. He - or it - finally stumbled over one of the over-turned chairs. Hannah leapt after him and drove her sword right through his throat, feeling how the blade hit the ground beneath the fallen creature.
"Watch out!" the boy yelled from somewhere, making Hannah spin around, just in time to block the sword of another attacker.
Another creature? Where did it come from? She was certain that nobody else, nothing else had come through that gaping hope in the wall.
Hannah, parrying the blows of this new attacker, saw Ronda driving her attacker backwards towards the bar. Against one she had the upper hand. Of the others one lay on the ground behind her and the one who the boy had sat on fire had finally succumbed and was lying on the ground to her right, motionless but still burning.
Great Heavens, this must be the one she stabbed through the chest.
It can't be, she thought as she hacked at the creature, only keen to finally kill it. The thing ought to be dead. And if this one is not dead...
She chanced a look around to where her last foe was thankfully still lying on the ground. The boy was standing on one of the tables, trying to prise another oil lamp from its bracket in the wall.
"Do you want me to take him for questioning?" Ronda asked. "Or shall I just kill him?"
Hannah could see she had disarmed her attacker and held him in check, backed up against the wall, with her sword.
"Kill it!" Hannah yelled, parrying another sweeping blow. If there was a way to kill these things.
"Shouldn't we question him?" Ronda's question made perfect sense, but Hannah doubted they would get any information out of them. There were also more important things, getting out of this cursed tavern alive for one.
Her breath had become ragged and her leg hurt like hell. How was she supposed to kill this thing that had stood up from being stabbed through the chest and if anything was faster and stronger than before.
Every swipe and thrust of her swords were parried, as if the creature had somehow learned her way to fight.
"Just bloody kill it!" she managed to shout. But how could it be killed?
The boy. The damned boy had set one of them on fire, and he was still on the ground.
"How do you kill them?" she shouted the question at the boy.
"How do you kill them?" Ronda asked incredulously, letting her sword sink away from the creature's neck.
"No!" Hannah yelled at the same time as the boy shouted, "cut off his head!"
The creature lunged at Ronda, but thank the heavens, Ronda's sword was up, and with one powerful stroke she severed the creature's head from his shoulders.
Hannah, perhaps with relief, perhaps simply from exhaustion felt suddenly light-headed. Her opponent pressed her closer and she stumbled a step back. She was surprised by her own weakness. Faced with only one attacker she should get the better of him, should she not?
Ronda was coming to the rescue. If only she held the creature off for another moment.
But she did not have another moment, she realised, there was somebody behind her. She could feel a presence and before she had time to react a sharp pain exploded in her back. Her own scream echoed in her ears. From somewhere she could hear Ronda scream, then something hit her head and as she collapsed on the floor, her last thought was that she had never expected to die in such a dismal place.
 Hannah woke up with a hammering headache. For a long moment she was not sure where she was or what on earth had happened. What was she doing here, lying face down on something extremely uncomfortable. Her entire body seemed to be covered in bruises, as if she had been in a battle, or possibly a brawl.
A confusion of voices assaulted her ears. People were all around her, talking loudly and hysterically. Something had happened.
Carefully opening her eyes, the only thing she could see was a dirty floor. Not surprising considering that she was lying on her belly.
Fire crackled somewhere behind her, and suddenly she remembered it all: the sweet contract that had so spectacularly fallen through, the town of rich houses, the skinny boy, and the fight with the creepy creatures.
She also realised that somebody held her to the ground, a hand was firmly pressed on her back. Before she had time to wonder or worry about this, she recognised Ronda's voice in all the confused babbling. Though she could not make out the words there seemed to be an argument going on.
Hannah could feel blood pooling on her back, a sharp pain where Ronda's hand pressed down. She had been stabbed in the back, Hannah realised, and hit over the head. But if Ronda was arguing with somebody the creatures must be dead, and she must think Hannah's wounds were not too serious.
The worst was the throbbing pain in her head that made it almost impossible to concentrate on her surroundings. If only she were able to turn round, but when she tried to move her arms to heave herself off the ground, Ronda's hand dug harder into her back, sending a new flash of pain through her shoulder and down her arm. She did not want Hannah to move. Somehow the flash of pain cleared her head, and she was finally able to understand what went on around her. Or perhaps it was because Ronda was shouting.
"I don't give a rat's arse what you think." Ever the diplomat, Hannah thought wryly.
"You brought those creatures with you," a voice exclaimed from somewhere close by.
"The fuck we did." Ronda exploded.
The world around Hannah slowly came into focus, even if it were only a stretch of dirty wooden floorboards and a pair of shiny boots standing close to her head.
"They must have followed you here," another, quieter voice said. "They did not attack anybody else."
The boots shifted in front of Hannah's eyes, as if their owner was looking around the tavern.
They had attacked the boy who claimed to be king, too, Hannah realised. The boy who knew how to kill them.
"If we brought them here, why should they wait for us to come into town?" Ronda asked, her voice full of exasperation. "They would have had it much easier if they had attacked us in the open country."
"Unless that was your plan," the first voice stated, almost hissing with hostility.
Hannah would have liked to know who these people were but with her face on the dirt floor she could not see much beyond the pair of shiny boots.
"And what the hell would we gain from that?" Ronda wanted to know.
Hannah shifted her head a little, trying to see a bit more of what was going on around her. All she was able to see now was the underside of the bench running along the wall of the tavern and stuffed in on corner a bundle of dirty rags. Or so she thought at first, then the bundle resolved itself to be the skinny boy.
A renewed firmer push of Ronda's hand against Hannah's back reminded her to lie still.
What was he doing there, Hannah wondered. Hiding himself, that much was obvious, but why?
The boy had squeezed himself under the bench in the darkest corner of the tavern. His legs pulled up to his chest and hiding his face against his knees.
"I don't know, but then I am not a mercenary," shiny boots said.
"Then let me tell you, as a mercenary, that if we had known that these things were after us, we would have found a better place to confront them than a tavern."
"Indeed." There was a long pause, then the man asked, "is she dead?"
"No," Ronda replied in a sharp voice.
"Johanson," the smooth talker turned around, "do you have any complaints against these women, apart from the damage that was done to your tavern?"
"No, my lord," somebody replied, the owner of the tavern. "I don't think they are the ones the harlots were after."
Harlots, Hannah asked herself, what on earth…
"Indeed?" The shiny boots move out of Hannah's field of vision. "And why do you think that?"
"His grace… I mean, Ascilon was here."
"Was he now?" There was a strange note in the smooth voice of shiny boots, but Hannah was not sure what it meant.
"The harlots went after him as well," added the tavern-owner.
Hannah wished her head would stop pounding, perhaps then she would understand what they were talking about. Surely the creatures that had attacked them were not really called harlot. Then she realised that the tavern owner, Johanson, had referred to the boy as 'his grace'. So it seemed that the boy's claim to be the king had some foundation in the truth.
The shiny boots moved across her field of vision again, past the bench under which the little boy hid.
Not that it was proof, Hannah told herself, the boy could just be the son of some impoverished noblemen. She did not know who was to be addressed as 'his grace' in these parts.
"For the moment, woman," the man with the shiny boots said, "I am not going to press charges against you. But," he raised his voice to drown out the complaint of the other man who had spoken, "I want you to leave town at once. We don't want your kind here." He paused and added, “The next time I see you or any of your company, I will have you arrested."
Fortunately, Ronda refrained from answering.
Hannah stared at the boy where he was lying in his dirty corner, wondering what was going on, and what they had gotten themselves into.
Footsteps receded, as shiny boots and several of his companions left. Ronda's hand eased away from Hannah's back.
"Hannah." Ronda almost whispered, her voice shaking with worry. "Can you move?"
"I think so." Hannah groaned and with Ronda's help she was able to sit up. The next moment she wished she had not. A wave of nausea hit her, and it was only by swallowing convulsively that she avoided throwing up.
Ronda was fumbling with the lacing of Hannah's jacket. "Hold still," she whispered.
Hannah nodded though what she really wanted was to lie down again or at least hold her head. It was not only pounding with the worst headache she remembered ever having. The room swam before her eyes, and she felt as if she were spinning around.
"You have to leave," Johanson said his voice seemed to come over a long distance.
"Now?" Ronda asked and as from a distance Hannah heard herself say, "My head hurts."
"You heard what the Master Counsellor said," Johanson replied and added, "You, too."
Hannah wished she knew what he was talking about, but then a small hand settled on her arm. The boy, she thought.

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