She got a table between herself and the sot-but the drunk swung, split the table in two, and kept coming.
She looked about her in a breath between a duck and a dodge. In desperation she grabbed a broom that was leaning up in a corner by the kitchen door.
Since he was flailing away as much with the flat as with the edge, and since she could pick the angle with which she met his weapon, she was now effectively on equal footing. Mostly.
He was still drunk as a pig, and mad as a hornet's nest. And he wanted to kill her.
She countered, blocked, and countered again; blocked the blade high and slipped under it to end up behind him.
And swatted his ample rear with the business end of the broom.
That was a mistake; he was angered still more, and his anger was making him sober. His swings were becoming more controlled, and with a lot more force behind them-
Tarma looked around for assistance. Kethry was standing over in the sheltered comer beside the fireplace, laughing her head off.
'You might help!' Tarma snapped, dodging another blow, and poking the drunk in the belly with the end of the broom. Unfortunately, the straw end, or the contest would have finished right there.
'Oh, no, I wouldn't think of it!' Kethry howled, tears pouring down her face. 'You're doing so well by yourself!'
Enough is enough.
Tarma blocked another stroke, then poked the sot in the belly again-but this time with the sharp end of the broom.
The man's eyes bulged and he folded over, dropping his sword and grabbing his ample belly.
Tarma ran around behind him and gave him a tremendous swat in the rear, sending him tumbling across the room -- where he tripped and fell into the cold fireplace, his head meeting the andiron with a sickening crack.
Silence fell, thick as the heat, and Tarma got a sinking feeling in her stomach.
'Oh, hell--' Tarma walked over to the fallen drunk and poked him with her toe.
No doubt about it. He was stone dead.
'Oh, hell. Oh, bloody hell.'
The innkeeper appeared at her elbow as silently and mysteriously as he'd vanished. He looked at the shambles of his inn -- and took a closer look at the body.
'By the gods--' he gulped. 'You've killed Lord Gorley!'
'Your husband may not have been much before, Lady, but I'm afraid right now he's rather less,' Tarma said wearily. Somewhat to her amazement, the innkeeper had not summoned what passed for the law in Viden; instead he'd locked up the inn and sent one of his boys off for Lady Gorley. Tarma was not minded to try and make a run for it -- unless they had to. The horses were tired, and so were they. It might be they could talk themselves out of this one.
Maybe.
The Lady had arrived attended by no one -- which caused Kethry's eyebrow to rise. And she wasn't much better dressed than a well-to-do merchant's wife, which surprised Tarma.
It was too bad they'd had to meet under circumstances like this one; Tarma would have liked to get to know her. She held herself quietly, but with an air of calm authority like a Shin'a'in shaman. A square face and graying blonde hair held remnants of great beauty -- not ruined beauty either, just transformed into something with more
