Despite the crowding below the Crimson Wyrvern did have rooms to let. Most of the crowd, as Bonnie sonorously informed them, were locals who came to drink but had their own places to sleep. Given Beren’s meager supply of coins they opted for a single room which turned out to contain a down mattress a small table with a pair of stools and a somewhat lumpy looking couch. The window looked as though paint had closed the frame forever several generations back and dust had taken care of the rest. During her time at the Mythrim Jocasta had slept on a palette behind the counter at her small shop, so ironically this was something of an upgrade.

 

“I’ll take the couch,” Beren offered, eliciting a knowing snicker from Bonnie who, mercifully, didn’t wish them a goodnight. Jocasta clambered gratefully into bed and promptly fell asleep, the stress of a long day filled with almost lethal encounters obviously taking a toll, he soft snoring filling the room almost immediately.

 

[i]Canithrid screamed his defiance as his brothers dragged him from the wooden hall of Omynith, spittle flying from his lips as his father glared imperiously down at him, the circlet of broken thigh bones making him look far more slender and far taller than a man should be, even with the Cloak of the Moon Bear around his shoulders. The old man had long favored his younger sons over his eldest, having despised his first wife as a seeress and witch woman he had been forced to marry due to clan politics. Canithrid was a constant reminder of the woman and her weird warnings that his ambitions would be as ash and his death would be an inglorious one. The young man had her look, the fine gold hair, the strong brow and the eyes of the icy north. The old man spoke the words, denying his son before the stars and the Blood Moon, cursing him to wander forever as a beggar as his brothers dragged him to the edge of the stream. The youngest brother Glynfian, only sixteen but already cruel and filled with hate, picked up the stone mallet that was customarily used from breaking open clams. Two of the older brothers stretched his right leg over the breaking stone, shards of clam shell cutting deep into the skin. Glyfian lifted the hammer and swung it down with all his might…

 
[/i]
Jocasta awoke with a sneeze that cleared dust from her sinus and made her hiccup ever so slightly. She sat up to see if she had disturbed Beren but he remained supine upon the couch, the soft tremble of breath across his lips visible in the fraction of moonlight that managed to penetrate the window. Jocasta lay back and tried to go back to sleep, but found oblivion elusive as she tossed and turned. She wasn’t the type to sleep long hours, her mind too active to allow her to sleep deeply for more than a few hours at a stretch, even after a few cups of wine. She lay in bed staring at the rafters and thinking. Eventually she got up and headed down to the kitchen. It was lit only by the coals of the cook fire. The innkeeper was curled up on a platte beside a barrel of ale, snoring like an angry thunderstorm. There were more sounds of snoring coming from the common room beyond, where those who chose not to pay for a room slept where they could, under tables or against the walls. Jocasta found what she was looking for against the far wall. The apron which Bonnie had been wearing. Crossing over to it she examined it closely and removed three strawberry blonde hairs she found there. Her primary goal accomplished she took a small bottle of brandy from beneath the bar and lay one of her few coins in its place. Carefully she wrapped the hairs around the neck of the bottle and then thrust it into a pouch before creeping back up the stairs. Reaching the room she pushed open the door, frowning that she had forgotten to close the door when her precious manuscript was…

 

There was only a fraction of a second warning as something dark and solid whistled through the air. Jocasta epped and dived forward, the only direction her momentum would allow, past a shadowed figure whom she suddenly realized was in the room. The cudgel bounced of the ancient plasterboard with scarcely a sound. Jocasta grabbed her shortsword from beside the bed where she had left it. Irritatingly the scabbard clung to it and she swept it like a club at her attacker, who deflected it with his own weapon with a deft flick that sent it spinning from her hand. Desperately she grabbed one of the stools and swung it at the man with all her might. He caught one leg in his palm with a meaty slap.

“I’m only here for him, but I can do you too if you shout,” the stranger grated. He held the stool between them effortlessly.

“Rather a pathetic effort,” he sneered, sensing his superiority and drawing his club back. Three of the legs coiled around his arm like the tentacles of an octopus. He let out a shriek of disgust and realed back. The fourth leg struck him across the nose like a man disciplining a pup.

“What the fuck!” he shouted in horror, staggering back and trying to shake free the animate chair that was clinging to his arm and batting at his face. Incredible Beren was still sound asleep, untroubled by the ruckus going on around him.

“B…” Jocasta began to shout but was cut off as the intruder swung his arm, chair and all, like a club, she ducked under the blow and one leg of the chair grabbed at a rafter, momentarily pinning the thugs arm. Jocasta jumped onto his back, wrapping her arms around the intruders neck and her legs around his waist.

 

“I will fucking kill you!” the thug roared, ripping his arm away from the rafter with such force that the leg holding him to it ripped free. It waggled organically for a moment and then stiffened into inanimate wood once more.

“I hear that alot!” Jocasta shouted as the second stool jumped to its feet and charged across the room like a newborn foal. The intruder kicked it into the wall as he spun, trying to dislodge Jocasta. Lacking better options, she bit his neck as hard as she could. He roared in pain and grabbed for her with his free hand, getting a hold of her hair and yanking painfully, throwing her over his head just as the charging stool reached him. Somehow it had gotten a hold of the leg of the first stool and whacked the would-be assassin hard across the shin with its improvised weapon. Jocasta landed on Beren’s lap, driving one knee into his chest to break her fall and driving the air from his lungs.

 

“Give him one for me!” she shouted in breathless encouragement as the stool as it continued to bludgeon away with its baton.