As Cort charged out of the room and back towards the stairs, Ashen had slipped out from the collar of his shirt and perched on Cort's shoulder. The ermine had to cling tightly as Cort dashed, but he could still speak to the young man in a calm whisper.
"Master Cort, please be careful," Ashen said. "There are at least ten people down there arguing and you don't know how many of them are armed."
"One of them said 'kill' Ashen," Cort responded. He slowed down his dash at the edge of the corridor, right before it opened up to the stairway back to the main floor. "I just want to make sure they don't burn down this bar with us in it."
"Very well. I'll be staying out to watch your back, then."
"Come on, Ashen," Cort whined. He loved his dear butler, but sometimes the old man doted too much.
"There are a large number of them, master." Ashen's voice had taken its stern tone, and Cort reverted back to the child being scolded for sneaking sweets. He nodded to the ermine on his shoulder, then peaked his head around the corner to check out the tavern.
The same five men that had entered the tavern before Cort were still there. The largest one of them was being held back by his friends and the bartender near the bar itself. He looked furious as he tried to tug away from the human restraints glaring across the room at the other group near the door.
The other group was composed of thirteen men. A dozen of them were in the same uniform, iron armor with half-half helms and hiding it under dark green cloaks. They all wielded spears, holding them point up to the tavern ceiling. Their helmets obscured their faces, so Cort could not tell from his distance if any of them were matching the emotion of the men at the bar. They stayed in their formation though, six standing in a line on each side of the thirteenth man.
He was a prisoner, that much was obvious to Cort. He was in tattered, filthy pants with a visible muscular torso. His hair was a matted mess of thin, dirty, blonde strands that went past his shoulders and hid his face. His hands were bound by heavy looking iron shackles, the chain connecting them less that four inches long.
"I don't care about this Han guy!" the man being held back at the bar shouted, spitting as he yelled. "You get that sharp toothed bastard out of here!"
There were barks of "calm down" and "stop" from the shouting man's group. The soldiers and their prisoner held steady for a moment and then one of them stepped ahead of the line.
"This man is ours," the lead soldier said. His voice was gruff, but nothing Cort had not encountered before. He started walking slowly down the stairs, keeping a wary eye on the spears in the room. The man continued talking, masking the minor squeaks of each step.
"We are looking for a man named Han Gerald. Our prisoner lied to us when seeking passage through the forest to the south."
The men at the bar were struggling to hold the man back. He cursed them some more in a language Cort did not know, but he could see the fingers loosening around the angry man's arms. He broke free of his group, charging across the room. Cort saw two of the soldiers step forward and lower their spears, and decided then was the time to intervene.
The wood beneath him creaked in pain as Cort darted from the last step and intercepted the charging man. The man's anger gave way to surprise for a moment, and Cort hit him in the chest with an open palm. Hard enough to stop him, gentle enough that the man was still standing as he caught his breath.
"I think you and your friends should leave," Cort told the man. He coughed in reply, struggling to raise his arm to point a single finger at the prisoner. Cort pushed the arm down, and shoved him back towards his friends. There was little time for extended banter, as Cort heard shouting from behind and the rapid footsteps of two soldiers charging him.
Cort sidestepped the attack, letting the two spears stab at empty air where he had been. Cort heard some noise from the men at the bar again, mainly their footsteps as they finally took his advice. This was no place for anyone but the warriors.
Cort drew his sword and took a low stance, preparing for the next onslaught. The soldiers were denied their first prey, but would settle for a meager interloper. They struck again, more in earnest as they slowly realized they were dealing with a warrior. Cort, meanwhile, was attempting to apply years of fighting monsters to battling with humans. He had encountered bandits on the road, but they were nothing compared to the proper trained soldiers trying to skewer him or bash his head in. Not to mention the remaining ten soldiers easing their way forward.
It was a delicate art, parrying the stabs with his sword, dodging a swing from the other. Cort's heart raced. He went for a strike or two of his own, but the pair of men did not leave enough space for a proper slash or punch or kick. Like a dance, Cort remembered while a swinging spear shaft whipped through the air by his brow.
There was an opening in one of their attacks, and Cort took it as he had been taught. He slithered too close for the man to use his spear but left room for him to glide the blade along the man's vulnerable throat. As he fell his partner drove his spear at Cort with a yell, but that did little to bother Cort, a young man with years of experience fighting multiple monsters at once. He moved along the spear as he dodged it, managing to force his sword through the soldier's gut.
As he freed the blade from his second victory, Cort turned to face the remaining soldiers. Somehow in the frenzy of his own 2-on-1 duel, he had missed the sounds of the remaining soldiers being dispatched. Nine men laid in crumpled heaps on the ground, bodies clearly broken with limbs and heads twisted ways they should not be.
The last man, the captain if Cort remembered their positions correctly, was on his knees. He was gasping for breath as he clawed at the chain around his neck. The prisoner stood behind him, his hair still hanging in his face just enough to hide the eyes. However, Cort could spot what the man yelling earlier had been talking about.
A large smile showed a row of sharp, pointed teeth in his mouth.
"Thanks for the help," the man said over the gasping struggles of the soldier captain. "I needed them looking away for a second if I wanted to get all of them." He twisted his arms, and there was one last gurgling sound from the man on his knees before he stopped. The prisoner let his victim's corpse fall to the ground with an unceremonious thud.
"My name is Emile," the man said. "I take it you're the other diver I'll be traveling with."