Wizard's First Rule - Terry Goodkind [102]
The men were a rough collection of trappers and travelers and trouble. Many had unkempt beards. Most were big. The place smelled of ale and smoke and sweat.
Kahlan stood tall and proud next to him; she was a person not easily intimidated. Richard reasoned that perhaps she should be. She stuck out among the riffraff like a gold ring on a beggar. Her bearing made the room even more of an embarrassment.
When she pushed back the hood of her cloak, grins broke out all around, revealing a collection of crooked and missing teeth. The hungry looks in the men’s eyes didn’t fit the smiles. Richard wished Chase were awake.
With a sinking feeling, he realized there was going to be trouble.
A stout man walked over and halted. He wore a shirt with no sleeves and an apron that looked like it could never have been white. The top of his shiny, shaved head reflected the lamplight, and the curly black hair on his thick arms seemed in competition with his beard. He wiped his hands on a filthy rag before flopping it over a shoulder.
“Something I can do for you?” the man asked in a dry voice. His tongue rolled a toothpick across his mouth as he waited.
With his own tone and eyes Richard let the man know he would brook no trouble. “There a healer in this town?”
The proprietor shifted his glance to Kahlan and then back to Richard. “No.”
Richard noted the way, unlike the other men, the man kept his eyes where they belonged when he looked at Kahlan. It told him something important. “Then we would like a room.” He lowered his voice. “We have two friends outside who are hurt.”
Taking the toothpick out of his mouth, the man folded his arms. “I don’t need any trouble.”
“Nor do I,” Richard said with deliberate menace.
The bald man looked Richard up and down, his eyes snagging for an instant on the sword. With his arms still folded, he appraised Richard’s eyes. “How many rooms you want? I’m pretty full.”
“One will do fine.”
In the center of the room a big man stood. From a mass of long stringy red hair he looked out with mean eyes that were set too close together. The front of his thick beard was wet with ale. He wore a wolf hide over one shoulder. His hand rested on the handle of a long knife.
“Expensive-looking whore you got there, boy,” the red-haired man said. “I don’t suppose you’d mind if we came up to your room and passed her around some?”
Richard locked his glare on the man. He knew this was a challenge that would only be ended with blood. His eyes didn’t move. His hand did—slowly—toward the sword. His rage pounded, fully awake even before his fingers reached the hilt.
This was the day he was going to have to kill other men.
A lot of other men.
Richard’s grip tightened around the braided wire hilt until his knuckles were white. Kahlan gave a steady pull on the sleeve of his sword arm. She spoke his name in a low tone, raising the inflection at the end, the way his mother did when she was warning him to stay out of something. He stole a glance at her. She gave a luscious smile to the red-haired man.
“You men have it all wrong,” she said in a throaty voice. “You see, this is my day off. I’m the one who hired him for the night.” She smacked Richard on the rear. Hard. It surprised him so much he froze. She licked her top lip as she looked at the red-haired man. “But if he doesn’t give me my money’s worth, well, you will be the first I call to fill the breach.” She smiled lasciviously.
There was a thick moment of silence. Richard resisted mightily his need to pull the sword free. He held his breath as he waited to see which way it was going to go. Kahlan continued to smile at the men in a way that only made his anger deepen.
Life and death measured each other in the red-haired man’s eyes. No one moved. Then a grin split his face and he roared with laughter. Everyone else hooted and hollered and laughed. The man sat down and the men started talking again, ignoring Richard and Kahlan. Richard breathed out in a sigh. The proprietor eased the two of them back a ways. He gave