The nervous soldier across the table from the lord rose quickly and threw his body into the path of the knife. He grunted quietly as the knife ripped into his flesh. His body fell onto the table, sending food plates and cups of ale flying.

A soldier closer to the door leaped to his feet and drew his sword. As the assassin turned to flee, the soldier shoved his sword into the door, slamming it shut. Another soldier drew his sword and attacked the stranger. With his back to the closed door, the assassin had nowhere to flee. The soldier’s sword struck the assassin in his left eye. The stranger slammed backwards into the door and tumbled to the floor.

Marshal Berman leaped onto the table and ran towards the front door. He shouted orders to secure the entire building as he raced across the room. Soldiers immediately seized the innkeeper and the other travelers in the room as the marshal knelt next to the assassin and searched his body. Marshal Berman rose with a disgusted sigh.

“Throw the body outside,” commanded the marshal. “I will not have him fouling the air in here.”

Two soldiers opened the door and tossed the body outside while the marshal marched back to the table of Lord Oktar.

“I owe you an apology,” Lord Oktar said softly to Marshal Berman as two soldiers lifted their wounded comrade off of Lord Oktar’s table and placed him on the next one. “I could not imagine such an attack. How could he have possibly hoped to survive?”

“Overconfidence?” shrugged the marshal. “I really cannot fathom what goes through such a mind. There was nothing on his body to identify him in any way. He had a small pouch of gold and nothing else. We don’t even know what clan he hails from.”