Inside the tavern, the loud voices began to fade as the sound of rain outside grew more intense. The knight heard hurried footsteps echoing through the hall just before the windows closed. The wind ceased. Adam gripped his tankard of beer with both hands against his forehead. Too much noise.
Beside him, men laughed, talked, spat, and bumped into each other. Women couldn't stop laughing, talking, spitting, and bumping into each other. The lanterns hanging from the ceiling were starting to still, but the shadows darting around the tavern were a spectacle of turmoil and disorder. Far away, a muffled thunder foretold the storm that had started earlier in the day behind the mountains was finally arriving. The drops fell harder and harder on the roof. Adam brought his tankard to his lips and took a gulp of beer. It was strong and cold, just the way he liked it. He felt the liquid go down his throat and travel through his belly, cold, then returned his hands, pressing the tankard to his forehead. He could feel his temples throbbing, his forehead boiling and pulsating. His urge was to scream as loud as he could, to tell everyone to shut up and hope that silence and beer would heal his pain, since neither silence nor beer alone had managed to do so. But the knight had already exerted himself too much in times past. Since he was a child, in the capital, he liked to show off for others. He jumped, shouted, smiled, fought. His father told him that even before he could bring the spoon to his mouth, young Adam wielded a sword better than most other men.
"Do you want a refill?" The tavernkeeper carried a glass jug that was almost spilling beer. The man looked closely at the boy. The young one had a frighteningly pointed face, his nose and ears were thin, his jaw perfectly chiseled, sharp, and his eyebrows seemed like thick lines guarding his blue eyes. The boy shook his head in refusal.
In one gulp, Adam finished the tankard and slammed the wooden mug hard onto the stone counter, then tossed two coins onto it. In a swift motion, the tavernkeeper pulled the two coins into his pocket and removed the tankard from the top. Adam walked towards the exit, pushing through people who got in his way, but a few steps from the door, he bumped forcefully into someone and felt the cold of the beer wetting his face.
"Great!" A male voice shouted as Adam wiped the beer from his eyes. Before the boy could fully clean his face, he felt his collar tighten and lift him almost off the ground. "You're going to pay for another mug, blind idiot." The man looked like a bull, his massive neck revealed lively red veins under dark skin. His head was shaved on the sides, his beard large and thick, and his breath was terrible. Adam felt his head tighten even more, his veins seemed about to burst.
"My fault. Take two!" The boy pulled four wooden coins from his pocket and held them up to the man's dark eyes, who let go of the collar and took the coins.
As the man turned away, Adam noticed his black leather clothes and the immense hammer he carried on his back, a barbarian hammer. The barbarians, as far as Adam remembered, were northern warriors in exile, those who didn't seek battles were content to serve as guards on some farm. Regardless of what they were, they had the strength of a lion in their arms and the blood of their victims on their hands. They weren't friendly. As he walked, the barbarian hardly needed to make his way through the crowd of drunks in the tavern, people cleared the way as soon as they saw him.
"Four coins, just four wooden coins," thought Adam. They weren't much after all, at worst he would have to drink less at the next tavern he stopped at. "Nothing more than four coins." The young man took a deep breath in an attempt to alleviate his headache, but he could feel them pulsing as loudly as the rain falling heavily outside. As he made his way through the drunkards, the pain grew louder. "My coins."
In one swift motion, Adam's blue-black sword was unsheathed by the youth and raised above the crowd. Some hesitated, but reason prevailed over alcohol. Drawing any weapon indoors was forbidden in Ard Jabal. The crowd recoiled, in an instant all eyes were on the bluish blade. In the distance, another thunderclap boomed in the sky.
"You, thief." The young man pointed at the barbarian. The boy's wet fringe fell over his bright eyes. The lanterns continued to sway slowly near the walls of the tavern.
"No, no, no, no swords here, no tools can be drawn." The portly innkeeper had a stained apron and a cloth over his shoulders. The man was short and strong, his sweaty bald head gleamed.
"What are you looking for, boy?" The barbarian emerged from the crowd to where the sword was pointed. White teeth gleamed in a smile hidden by his black beard.
In an instant, everyone in the tavern squeezed into the corners and opened up a wide space where the innkeeper, Adam, and the barbarian stood out.
"Give me back my coins." Adam's face of disdain and his eyes fixed on the barbarian made his face appear gray and dead, even with the yellow light from the candles falling on him.