That was it; that was all his ForeSight showed him. But it was enough. When his eyes cleared for the third time, he saw the three men beginning to make their way towards the bar.

Ha. Another drunk approached, got one look at his face, and flinched away. Alberich shoved him aside, straight-armed another, shouldered into a third.

And when the three would-be robbers reached their goal, he was already there, waiting.

They only saw one more temporary obstacle in their path, and moved to clear it.

They weren’t very good with their lead-weighted clubs, which was probably why the clubs were weighted in the first place. And they hadn’t practiced fighting as a team either. He managed to get the first two to tangle each other up for a moment, by grabbing the first and shoving him bodily into the arms of the second. They weren’t expecting anyone to reach for them—

While the first two were shouting and tripping over each other, he stepped in toward the third, came in low, and laid out his target with a brass-laden right to the point of the chin.

His fist connected solidly, with a satisfying impact that snapped the fellow’s head back and sent him sailing across the floor to land over a table. It didn’t break, of course. The tavernkeeper didn’t want the expense of replacing furniture every moon. The Boar’s tables and chairs would stand up to a charging bull and the bull would come away second best.

Now he felt it, that heady pleasure—which would be a guilty one, later, when he came to think about it—that rush of energy and unholy glee that only came during a fight. Fighting-drunk; that was what Dethor called it, for it wasn’t the berserk rage that wiped out thought and sense. On the contrary, it made him sharper, and he enjoyed it. when he was fighting in a way that would make him feel a bit ashamed of himself later. But now, it widened his manic grin and filled his veins with lightning.

When the first two got clear of each other, he grabbed them both and shoved their heads together with a crack that echoed even over the noise of the brawl. One went down; the other didn’t.

He was stunned, though—stunned just long enough.

Alberich grabbed his shoulder and spun him around to face forward; pulled back his fist, and delivered a gut-punch that made the fool’s eyes bug out as he toppled to the floor.

He looked around for the trio’s friends, the ones he’d seen in his vision, but they, seeing that the cash snatchers were down and out and there was no reason to continue the fight any further, began breaking free of their little knots of combat and scuttling away.