"Killing is a poor man's trade. Anyone with half a wit and a coin can hire some poor sod to do his work for him." The first man took a deep draw from his mug.
"Aye, but there's an art to it. Some poor sods cost more 'an a coin." The second man, a ratlike fellow with a thin beard and a thinner head of hair turned his beady eyes on the first. "Might be I'm one of 'em." He grinned with the few teeth he had left. The first spared him a glance and made a deep throaty noise that might have been a laugh. He looked at the bar again, his face forming once again to his heavyset scowl. The second man's face flushed redder than the cheap beer had already marked it. "You ought'a have more courtesy to a warrior." He was standing now, drawing his spine straight in a sorry attempt to look imposing. His hand rested on the handle of a chipped blade at his side.
The older man carried no weapon. He hadn't thought to have need for them tonight. "Leave me be. I came to drink, not to scrimp and bow to some up-jumped cutthroat." There were dozens like this one, men hardly worthy to wield a stick, let alone a sword who called themselves soldier of the baron. The aggressive enlisting was a sad attempt at raising some men for the defense of the baron's fiefdom.
"Now see, I warned you! I-I've got the baron's own seal. You give me what coin you got and beg forgiveness now a-and I won't have to hurt ya!" The man's voice cracked on the last word as he whipped his sword out of its sheath, stumbling slightly from the weight. The older man stood from the bar. The rat man's shrieking had drawn the attention of his fellow "soldiers" and they stood now with hands on swords. The few other patrons in the dingy bar cleared out quick enough when they saw trouble.
They stared at one another a moment, and with no warning the old man punched the rat full in the face, a quick jab with no lead up. As he was about to be sent reeling, the old man grabbed the front of his leather jerkin and brought him in close, then slammed his forehead into the rat man's nose, breaking it. A gasp flew from the man's lips at the same time blood began pouring from his nose. The older man released his grip, letting the other fall to the ground cradling his nose. The others had risen to block the exit, and now all had swords drawn and approached. There were five of them. Such a fight was a tall order without any of his weapons.
The rat had scurried away, grabbing his blade at the same time. A hateful gleam shone in his eyes. The rest of the men approached slowly, each hesitant to take the initiative. They drew close, their swords almost in range to skewer the old man.
The man on the far right suddenly lunged, his face twisted into a wicked grimace. The old man's hand found the stool behind him, bringing it up to bat the sword to the left of him. He then lunged, jabbing the man in the throat with one of the legs and rupturing his windpipe. The man fell back. The brutality of the short exchange gave the others pause.
Suddenly a hard impact took him straight through the right breast, punching through his thin cloak easily. He looked down to a flowering blossom of blood spreading across his chest, with two inches of a bolt sticking through the middle. He whirled around to see the barkeep frantically winding a handheld crossbow with another bolt. The old man growled and vaulted over the bar as the rest of the men lunged. The barkeep dropped the crossbow, paling as he lunged for the door behind him.
Another man behind took this opportunity to jump the bar, striking overhead with his blade. The old man sidestepped, and as the off-balance strike stuck the man's sword into the ground, the old man kicked in his elbow, snapping it inward. A scream tore from the man's throat.
The old man picked up the blade and quickly sliced through the assailant's throat, turning his scream into a gurgle as he suffocated on his own blood. Two more men came from either side, striking at the old man.
In a whirl of steel, both blades were deflected, and the old man quickly ran the left man through the stomach, whipping his blade out to meet the other two men who were now attacking from over the bar. One now had a spear. The spear came quickly, stabbing the old man through his thigh. He roared in fury, taking the blade in his right hand onto the haft of the spear and snapping it. He used his left to yank out the head of the spear.
The man he had previously deflected swung again, and the old man brought his sword up to meet it. He darted forward, close enough to smell the man's foul breath, and stabbed him quickly in the stomach with the spearhead. He twisted it in the wound, causing the man to scream in pain. He quickly brought his right hand with the sword up and slit the man's throat.
The rat man from earlier was across the bar, with the only other "soldier" left. "You bastard! You'll hang for this!" He screeched in fury. As the old man prepared to attack them, the rat man dropped his sword and ran for the door. The other man followed suit.
As the heavy wooden door slammed shut behind them, the old man sighed. He dropped both weapons to the blood-soaked floor and took a deep breath. He had to leave quickly, before more soldiers came to the tavern.