Kyra watched, relieved and surprised. Slowly, she relaxed her shoulders and loosened her grip on her staff.

“Why should you pay for our food?” Dierdre asked.

“Your father saved my life once,” the man said to Kyra. “I owe him. Now you can tell him we’re even. Plus, I hear a rumor that your father has killed some Pandesians,” he said. “Rumor has it that war is brewing in Escalon.”

Kyra looked back him, her heart thumping, wondering how much to say.

He summed her up, and nodded to himself.

“I suspect that is what your journey’s about,” he said. “And by the looks of you, I suspect you may have already shed some Pandesian blood yourself.”

Kyra shrugged.

“There may have been one or two who crossed my path,” she said. “But nothing unprovoked.”

The man’s smile widened, and this time he leaned back and laughed.

“Anyone who kills Pandesians is a friend of mine,” he said heartily. “Don’t worry, girls, you shall not be harmed here. Not by me or any of my men!”

Kyra began to feel a sense of relief—when suddenly a dark voice boomed from across the room.

“Speak for yourself!”

Kyra turned, as did the rest of the men in the room, to see a brute of a man appear, twice as wide as the others, and flanked by several friends. They all wore chain mail, covered by dark brown cloaks, and had a yellow hawk insignia branded on them. They stared darkly at Kyra and Dierdre as they approached.

The other men stepped aside as they walked across the tavern, floorboards creaking, menace in their eyes, hands on swords and daggers. Kyra’s stomach tightened; she sensed this was real trouble.

“I don’t give a damn about who your father is,” the oaf muttered, coming closer. “My land lies far across the sea, and I don’t give a damn about Pandesians, or Escalons, or any of your politics. I see two young girls, traveling alone. And I am hungry. My men are hungry.”

He stepped closer, smiling widely, missing teeth, stinking, his face grotesque as he smiled, with his elongated jaw. Kyra’s heart thumped madly as she tightened her grip on her staff, sensing a confrontation and wishing she had more room to maneuver in these close quarters.

“What do you want?” Dierdre asked, fear in her voice.

Kyra silently fumed, wishing her friend had remained silent; the fear in her voice was evident, and that, she knew, would only embolden them.

“Many things,” the man replied, looking at her, licking his lips. “The gold in your sacks. And even more—the money I will get for selling you. You see, where I come from, two young girls demand a very high price.” He grinned a wide, creepy grin. “I will be many, many times richer than I was when I woke this morning.”