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Ben found the others at the boarding house tucked into a first-floor room that overlooked the yard. He surveyed their injuries.

 

Lansal was by far the worst. He looks like a really big gutted catfish, except he does not bleed. People aren’t supposed to see each other’s insides. Pylor had been struck in the leg and head, but was able to function only mildly hindered. Anna had a fairly deep gash in her shoulder, but she had seemed in good enough spirits to make a joke about it not marring her pretty face. Sir Anthony had been also struck in the forearm, but he was glad that it was not his sword hand. Rokef had a flesh-wound to his chest, but it had been bandaged and was not bleeding. Shullas, Tarduunal, Korgol, and Gadalla had escaped uninjured.

 

Stayten knocked on the door, but entered without waiting to be invited. “There are men from the granary in town looking for you. They said they have to find someone named Lansal and Edwin and keep them to be questioned by a man named Tworlock.”

 

Gadalla looked at Ben and shook his head. “What’s that got to do with us? Oh, wait, seems like those guys showed up in the middle of the fight yelling orders to each other?”

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Copyright 2018, 2019  —  Bill Snodgrass