Braxton River slowly opened the door to the little town’s tavern. A wall of pleasant revelry greeted him. Cheery tavern music played as men and women gathered around tables to eat, drink, and play games of chance. The smell of ale and smoked meat hung heavy in the air. If only he had come to Misty Grove to enjoy its festivities.

  He paused before entering and looked further up the mountain. There, his real destination sat like an ominous, hungry gargoyle that looked down on the town’s inhabitants, waiting for its next victim. Castle Baste—the source of whatever was terrorizing these poor people. Even from here, the air blowing off the peaks felt stagnant and cold.

  “Saaaaay,” a heavy-set woman said as she approached in her barmaid uniform, “aren’t you a handsome one? So rugged-looking. I’m Mariann. Will you be needing a room, then? Our roasted boar is the finest you’ll find in this land. That’s what everyone tells me, you know? They all come for some of Mariann’s meat.”

  Braxton managed a tight smile but shuffled past the woman without replying.

  “I could put you up in the room across from mine,” she called after him. “I might get scared in the night though—just so you know. Discounts for strapping men that don’t mind protecting ladies!”

  Several of the male patrons stared at Braxton as he pushed through the crowded tavern. All of the serving wenches gave him big smiles as they brushed past, their eyes lingering on his broad shoulders and chiseled features.

  He finally managed to slide into a dark corner booth. He unsheathed his weapon and laid it on the table in front of him. A crystal sword that caused a fine layer of frost to form on the wood wherever it touched.

  “Ooooh,” a shapely barmaid purred as she approached. “I like your sword. Looks fancy and all glowy. What’ll it be tonight?”

  “Meat, potatoes, and ale,” Braxton replied without looking up.

  The barmaid leaned in closer, attempting to tempt him. She looked into his eyes and found them to be a piercing, pale green.

  “Just a standard order?” she continued to purr. “I’d have thought a mysterious stranger like you would want something a little more—”

  “Meat… potatoes… and a flagon of ale,” he repeated firmly.

  She shrugged and straightened up. She adjusted her top a little before turning to leave. Braxton caught her by the wrist.

  “Wait. Do you know of anyone else with a shiny sword? Is there anyone else here carrying a magic weapon?”

  The barmaid looked down at his hand wrapped around her wrist, then back to him and shook her head. He looked away and released his grip.

  “The ale first, if you don’t mind,” he said.

  The evening wore on and patrons came and went. Braxton studied each person as they entered. None appeared to have what was needed for the task ahead.

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  “So, how about that room for the night, handsome?” Mariann asked, reappearing with a big smile.

  Braxton slid a coin toward her and nodded. She picked up the coin and examined it, biting the side to check the metal. Satisfied, she dropped it down the front of her blouse.

  “Rooms are upstairs. Breakfast is at 7:00 AM sharp. You’ll need to be on your way by 8:00.” She turned, then paused and looked back with a little grin. “…that is, unless you’d like that discount. I’m at the end of the hall on the left. No need to knock.”

  She gave him a knowing smile and walked back toward the kitchen. Braxton looked out the tiny window beside his booth. Castle Baste glared down at him through the darkness. He wondered if he would actually be able to sleep tonight.

  The crickets were in full symphony when the tavern finally started to clear out. Braxton slid from his shadowy corner and ascended the small flight of stairs. Most of the rooms were empty as he passed them. He wasn't sure which end of the hall Mariann considered "the left," so he made a mental note to choose a room in the very middle.

  A brunette woman suddenly stepped out of one of the rooms as he passed and nearly bumped into him. She was slender and beautiful, but had the unmistakable poise of a warrior. Their eyes met for a fleeting moment.

  “Beg your pardon, good sir,” she said softly and brushed past him.

  He turned and watched her descend the stairs. He didn’t remember seeing her during the night’s revelry, but there had been a lot of people coming and going. The room across the hall from hers appeared to be unoccupied. He looked toward the staircase once more, then entered the empty room and closed the door.

  Braxton’s eyes snapped open before the sun was set to rise. Something was moving in the hallway. Had his lovely neighbor returned?

  He looked at his crystal sword leaning against the wall. Its soft, blue glow was enough for him to see the outline of the furniture. The hallway footfalls faded into the distance. He turned over and closed his eyes, but they opened again when the footfalls returned—faster this time. They started, then stopped. Started, then stopped.

  Braxton narrowed his eyes and stood up, wearing nothing but his long nightshirt. He quietly picked up his ice blade and pressed his ear to the door.

  Nothing.

  As quietly as he could manage, he opened the door and stepped out. His neighbor’s door was standing wide open. Had she not returned? Something reddish-orange flashed for a brief moment inside her room.

  Braxton gripped his sword tight and held his breath. He listened for another moment, then slowly entered the brunette’s open door.

  “Hello?” he whispered into the dark. “Fair lady?”

  A reddish-orange blade suddenly appeared at his throat. Braxton could feel a dry, blistering heat emanating from the weapon as it hovered just underneath his chin.

  “You were not invited here,” his neighbor said in a low voice, stepping from the shadows.

  “I heard footsteps,” he said slowly. “Your door was open. I meant no disrespect.”

  “As did I,” she replied, her eyes locked on his. “Shall we investigate the ‘night walker’ together while dressed in our night things? Or shall I let my enchanted blade do its work and simply remove your head?”

  Braxton slowly raised his sword and pressed it against her blade. A sharp hiss filled the room as frost met fire - sending a plume of white steam between their faces. He nudged her weapon away from his neck.

  “Braxton River,” he said, extending his free hand. “I prefer my head where it is, if the lady agrees.”

  “Pleasure, Braxton River” the brunette responded, but didn’t offer her name. Her grip on her hilt remained firm.

  She stepped past him with her sword raised, pointing for him to go the opposite direction down the hall. He watched her for a moment as she began to check the other empty rooms. He shrugged, then did as he was instructed.

  Soft snoring came from one of the rooms at the end of the hall—the tavernkeeper. Braxton steered clear. The brunette waved her hand to get his attention, pointing urgently toward the stairs. Braxton nodded and followed her down.

  Now back on the main floor, she held a finger to her lips and pointed toward the kitchen. Braxton heard it then—a wet, rhythmic chewing sound, followed by the crunch of something hard.

  The pair approached the door, glowing weapons at the ready.