Author's Note: I would like to thank those of you who decided to give this work a chance, either by favouriting, following, or reviewing. You should also take a look at BlueRiverSteel's story, When Comes the Dawn. I am very excited to see where it goes.

It's-A-Passion: You caught me. I am having a difficult time with tenses at the moment, as I have been doing a bit of online Role Play, and we change tenses with insanity, mucking up my actual writing like mad. But thank you for pointing it out; every bit of criticism helps, and I encourage people to notify me if they see something out of place. I have also edited the first chapter to reflect your critique.

The Broken Mug

In which a bartender puts his foot in his mouth and a sword is won

The rain had refused to let up in the final hour of their trip. If at all possible, it seemed to fall harder, whipping against man, horse, and wagon alike. They were all miserable, none more so than the muck-caked merchant in the coach. She had to admit the thought of him sitting in the filth of the road and his own refuse – it had been apparent that he'd soiled himself during the earlier confrontation – brought a dry smile to her chapped lips. He had paid for protection, and that was precisely what he was receiving. It was on him to act in accordance with their plan, and she knew at least Carden was thinking about dropping the merchant off at the way station and washing his hands of the man.

She'd be inclined to agree, if it wasn't for the rather substantial monetary amount awaiting them at the end of their journey.

So when the weak light of a handful of lanterns could be seen through the gloom and dark, Rhegda had felt herself breathe a bit easier. It wasn't just the complaining, childish merchant they were carrying that grated on her; it was the thought that they were arriving after the sun had set on a nasty day, plunging the forest into a night that was as black as any she'd seen. Because of this, the station would be either entirely empty, without a soul to worry them, or filled to the brim with other travelers looking to escape the weather before they set out to any number of towns that dotted the area.

As she drew closer, she could see no horses tied by the front, meaning if there was a person or persons inside, they had the coin to rent a stall. Her own horse had picked up his pace, ready to be out of the wretched night and into at least a decently warm barn, and she shared the sentiment. The split story building came more into view as they drew closer, one large lantern burning valiantly as it hung from a tall post set just off the road. It was a beacon to any who needed shelter and aid, shedding what light it could over those looking to rest, if only for a moment.

Rhegda motioned for the driver to take his team nearer the building, allowing the pitiful merchant to exit the coach and make his way inside with minimal exposure; she wasn't feeling generous, just tired. If him staying out of the rain just a bit more helped soothe his ruffled nature, then by all means she would oblige. He came fumbling out of the coach, encased in drying mud and clothing sticking to every inch, face covered in a look of relief and fear. Without a single look to their direction, their client rushed past them, practically jogging into the building.

As the merchant scuttled to the front door, she nodded to Tye and dismounted, the older men following her lead. She didn't need to see his face to know Tye was upset by this turn of events; no one wanted to be the one to take care of the horses, especially not when they were wet, tired, and hungry. The young man dropped off his mount as well, taking up the reins from Syloris and then Carden before encouraging their animals forward, picking up her own steed's reins as he passed by. She watched for a moment as the boy trooped to the barn, four very eager horses towed along behind him, and turned to the rest of her party.

"Syloris, you do the talking."

The man simply nodded and marched to the door, shoving it open and holding the worn wood back to allow the others entrance. They all filed in, noting the brown trail that made its way past the many tables, and up the small stairway. The way station was much the same as any other, with low ceilings and sturdy furnishings, the light slightly hazy from the smoke hanging near head high, a combination of those who enjoyed a pipe, and the enormous fireplace settled on one end of the large, communal room. It had been her experience that every way station – no matter how popular – always had poor ventilation. Perhaps it was some aesthetic device that she'd never discerned.

Thankfully, there was only a sparse mix of travelers, most not bothering to look up as they entered, but her eyes found a group she immediately took a disliking to. Three sat hunched, covering their mugs almost in a protective manner, while the last - blond haired and remarkably clean - had both feet propped on the table, discussing loudly with no one in particular about his recent heroics. All but the blond sported a mish-mash of clothing and leather armor, swords at their hips and at least seven knives she could see between them.

Those were not men prone to "heroics".

The three darker-hued men looked pained at his antics, but they said nothing; it was evident they answered to the blond man for some reason or another. They had the air of men not afraid to do dirty things, even if it was only for the pleasure of it; they were not men she wanted to clash with, though from the look of them, they seemed more comfortable drinking than causing a confrontation.

The blond, however, gave the appearance that he could cause a great deal of commotion. He was most surely drunk, his eyes sparkling in the dim light as he waved his mug about in wild gestures, losing largely what he should have been drinking. She made a point to keep an eye on him during their stay; it would do them no good if they lost their cargo and merchant two days before their projected arrival.

Her attention turned back to Syloris as he tossed back his hood, revealing extraordinarily elegant, raven hair and sparkling green eyes. She could never fathom how he managed to keep his hair so…immaculate on the road. The swordsman tracked down the proprietor behind the u-shaped bar that dominated the room, ambling up with his most pleasant, amiable smile and full charm. Trusting him to say the right things – although she distinctly remembered the mishap involving a live chicken, two ladies' corsets, and a dwarf – Rhegda unclasped her cloak, sliding the heavy, saturated material from her body, feeling the instant bombardment of dry heat from the room. Carden, too, pulled his from stooped, broad shoulders, not caring in the least that both of their cloaks were causing small puddles to form around their feet.

She ran a hand through her tangled hair, pulling free the leather thong that had been all but useless in its mission to keep her own ebony locks away from her face. Her ears were tuned to Syloris and his quest to procure rooms and stalls, noting with some relief that the owner was willing to give them what they needed for fair price. Her black-haired rider threw what coin was required on the bar, smiling all the while and motioning to them both. Moving from her place beside the door, Rhegda brushed past tables and the odd guest, almost making it beyond the bar before the proprietor let out a stuttering shout.

"Oi! You didn't tell me there's a woman with you."

He looked both angry and shocked at this revelation, eyes wide but mouth set in a firm line; she had no doubt the colour of her skin had something to do with it. One hand raised to point at Syloris, who had the good sense to look confused.

"You asked for two rooms. Two. She plannin' on stayin' with one of you?"

Rhegda bit back a retort that could make the situation worse as Syloris immediately jumped in, silver tongue quick as ever.

"Yes, of course. Her husband is just in the barn."

Her eyes jumped in exasperation to the green eyed swordsman and he made a slight gesture with his hand, telling her to let him handle it. She was inclined to agree, as her diplomacy skills with people still hiding behind decorum were more than lacking. But the aghast bartender couldn't get out his next question before another slurred voice enters the no longer private conversation.

"Ah woman. S'that so?"

She didn't need to turn around to know who had spoken. A chair scraped the wood floor as the blond stood up, his mug held loosely and his eyes dancing dangerously. His wobbling footsteps approached, and from the slight shift of both Carden and Syloris, he was coming straight for her. The proprietor switched his attention to the new entry to their little party, glaring at the man and jerking his thumb in the direction of the stairs.

"Take your arse upstairs and sleep it off."

It surprised her that the bartender would step in, his voice stern and unwavering in an act she wasn't expecting. But the words did nothing to keep the blond away. He stopped just shy of her, free hand reaching up to play with the ends of her hair. Not satisfied with only her hair, the sloshed man skimmed his hand over her shoulder, then much lower, fingers spanning the area just above a more intimate area. Once upon a time, such a touch would have brought a sickening crawl to her skin, and a rather nauseous feeling to her stomach.

But not anymore.

Rhegda made no move to stop him, no act of retaliation to encourage him; if nothing else, she'd learned over the years that presenting a "hard to get" persona to men like that only brought on more complications. That didn't mean, however, that she didn't have other methods of ridding herself of filth, the likes of which stood behind her. The blond smiled haphazardly, his hand caressing lower; there was a blatant message in his act, which wouldn't have gone amiss, even without his forthcoming slurred words.

"You got's two men t'bed. I'm shhhure you wouldn' mind 'nother."

Both of her men had taken a subtle step back, giving them room to draw swords should the situation come to blows. It wouldn't, at least not of steel on steel. Rhegda gently shifted her cloak to her left arm, opening her mouth to speak when the youngest of her group came in from the cold.

He looked to the blond, looked to her, then back to the blond.

"Get away from her!"

Welp, that was it. The boy drew his sword, rushing forward and failing to notice the blond's cohorts as they stood and freed their own blades, immediately coming to the aid of their leader. Syloris did very little besides extracting his sword, and Carden drew two long knives from somewhere on his person; Carden looked peeved and Syloris seemed bored. The three rushing men would present a bit of trouble for the pair – being in close quarters, and with eight individuals in play – but she wasn't worried in the least for their safety. However, Tye had blinders on, oblivious to the danger he was wading into.

The blond was readying himself to draw his weapon, dropping his mug and reaching for his sword when two things happened: his nose sprouted blood and his sword was appropriated. Rhegda had thrown her right elbow behind her, catching the man in the face and splintering the bridge of his nose with an audible crack. Her left hand had dropped the sodden cloak and settled around the hilt of his sword. With a step forward, she had half turned and unsheathed the blade, before taking another step to finish the rotation and face him.

He could see through watering eyes that his sword was pressed against his chest.

His men halted their charge upon seeing this, glancing between one another with questioning looks. Tye, too, had come to an abrupt stop, lowering his sword with confusion written on his boyish face. Patrons throughout the immediate area had either pulled back, leaving their chairs and taking up spaces much farther away, or remained in their seats, as a brawl was nothing new to them in such a place. But the only one in the incredibly silent room to talk was the blond, who was holding his nose and sputtering incoherently.

"Bew bith! Bew bwoke by nose! Kill ber!"

He continued in this manner for some time before Rhegda looked past him, catching the eye of one of his men. The fellow seemed almost grateful that nothing more had transpired, and he – without prompting – sheathed his sword. Very soon after his partners did the same, looking relieved that the confrontation had ended with nothing more than a broken nose, though it did seem they were secretly pleased the blond was jabbering through the sting she had given him. They also seemed wary of her, and she knew why; it wasn't her way with a sword, or her manner. It was the brown of her skin, and the darkness of her eyes that gave them pause. Subtle differences that made many rethink their actions towards her.

Turning her attention back to the bleeding man in front of her, Rhegda prodded him slightly with his own blade. The action brought a halt to his endless flow of words, and he attempted to focus on her through the tears and squinted eyes.

"You are upsettingly rude. I would like you to apologize."

She didn't smile, made no attempt to look as though this was a joke. Her black gaze was flat, and there was an air about her that told the blond she took no issue with splitting him open on the spot. He looked recalcitrant and livid, about to open his mouth to say something else rude when her booted foot snapped out and struck his left knee. The bone instantly gave way, breaking with immense pain as the blond crumpled to his remaining good knee, crying out and clutching impotently at his leg. His surprisingly elegant sword was brought to his neck, the pressure not yet enough to break skin.

Rhegda's eyes darted to his cohorts, silently pleased that neither had moved; of course that might have had something to do with the fact that her men still had weapons drawn. Her sight moved back to the blond, watching him for a moment as he bled and blubbered. She slid the blade against his skin, enough to let him know there was intent behind it. He stuttered and was unable to look up at her; that is, until she brought the tip of his handsome sword to his jaw, encouraging him to lift his head.

The blond's teary eyes finally met hers, and he no longer had the look of a unruly child. Instead, he seemed cracked somewhere inside, as though she had broken a part of his will. She added pressure to his jaw, bringing a bead of red to the surface of his skin, and her face gave the impression he should rethink his previous reaction.

Blood caking on his face, he choked down a breath and forced out a response.

"Ahm sobwy."

Rhegda's gaze fell to the floor, taking in the sight of the broken mug, before returning to the blond's wavering scrutiny.

"You broke a mug. I think you should apologize to this man as well."

She pointed behind her, indicating the proprietor. The heavier-set, older man looked on in slight shock at her words, mouth hanging open and his eyes moving from her to the ruined blond on the floor. Neither Carden nor Syloris showed any indication that this was something out of the ordinary; Tye looked on in confusion and slight fascination.

That time, there was no hesitation in the injured man's reaction as he spoke through blood and broken cartilage.

"Ahm sawby by bwoke bour mub."

Rhegda proceeded to drop to the balls of her feet, placing her eye level to the pitiful, whimpering creature as he clutched his leg and blubbered. His sword was standing beside her, and one of her arms was draped lazily over the cross-piece, creating an image that she was comforting a small child.

"Remember that a woman did this to you."

His eyes widened slightly, tears falling over his cheeks as he nodded, and she knew he would never be the same. She stood fully, casting a look to the other members of the blond's group, giving them leave to pick him up. Her own men sheathed their blades, Carden turning to march up the stairs to their room with a huff and a few choice words muttered under his breath. Syloris watched the group struggle up the stairs after Carden, two men hauling the blond up by his arms and ignoring the shouts of agony he gave every stair. The third followed shortly after, but not before he turned to catch Syloris' eye, a curt nod telling the raven-haired man there was no intent of retaliation.

The eloquent swordsman gestured back, then turned to see Rhegda just as she put a fist to Tye's jaw. The boy tumbled into a table, rocking it with the force of his fall. His face was contorted from pain and bewilderment, and he flinched back as she approached him, her near-black eyes sparking with anger in the muted light. The woman stopped when she was nose to nose with the young man, one of her hands gripping his collar. His lower lip was split, but he made no move to check it as Rhegda spoke in a tone he knew she reserved for people she very much didn't like.

"You pull a stunt like that a second time, and I will make certain you never enjoy the company of a woman again."

Releasing him, she turned round to find Syloris watching with a slight smile, the scene one he had witnessed before, though not yet with Tye; it was difficult to keep a fourth member around when their leader was so...demanding. He was fairly certain the kid wasn't going anywhere, though. The hero worship was strong in that one.

Rhegda scowled at the swordsman, causing him to hold up his hands in a placating manner and removing himself from the situation by heading up to the rooms. Tye, however, remained rooted to the floor, unable to process what had happened; she knew he had been trying to protect her, but he was foolish and impetuous, neither things she had time for.

She returned to the bar, hefting the blond's sword before handing it over to the proprietor. The man stared at it a moment, then held out his shaking hands to take it off hers. He looked as though he wanted to say something, his mouth opening and closing but no words coming out. He knew he'd started the mess, that he shouldn't have opened his mouth, but the woman had ended it before he could react.

Having sought after a few coins in a modest pouch on her belt, she tossed them on the counter during the bartender's moment of silence. His eyes dipped down at the sound of metal clinking against the aged wood surface, and then they met her gaze, still unable to react to what happened; he'd seen some violence in his time, but nothing so unforgiving and quick.

"For the mug. And any trouble caused."

She nicked her cloak off the floor, and was about to turn away when she heard Tye's voice behind her. It wavered and almost cracked, but he got the words out, regardless.

"Rhegda, I'm sorry."

The woman didn't acknowledge the apology, instead choosing to walk away from the mess altogether. But it was then that the owner found his voice, clearing his throat as he called to her.

"Rhegda?"

With a sigh, she turned back around, left hand resting lazily on her sword's hilt as she awaited the proprietor to continue. The man seemed hesitant for a moment before he stowed the blond's sword behind the counter, retrieving a folded, leather-bound journeyman's packet from under the bar. He handed it out to her, swallowing slightly before continuing.

"I was told to give this to a Rhegda. Didn't know who that were, or that…it would be a woman."

With one eyebrow raised, she stepped forward to take the proffered item, noting how the owner seemed grateful to have turned it over without any fuss. The woman felt of the leather's weight for a second, then turned her attention to the man behind the bar.

"Who gave you this?"

There were some small amount of possibilities – very few knew where she would be and when – and that fact sent her mind working quick. But as she sifted through the names of those she could imagine pulling off such a stunt, the proprietor answered.

"A man in grey. Tall he was, with a wooden staff. He told me you'd be comin' this way."

Rhegda's eyes closed in irritation, and she released a slow, composed breath. That man…damn him. He always knew, always knew; where she would be, when she would be there. She wouldn't be surprised in the least if he knew who she was travelling with. Her eyes opened again, and her fingers found the tie strap keeping the small, dark brown packet closed; it was undoubtedly like him to be prepared like that, knowing a simple parchment letter would most likely be ruined before she could arrive to retrieve it.

Unfolding the supple leather, her eyes lit on some half-dozen sentences curving across pale parchment in his scrawling hand. The more she read, the less pleased she appeared, and by the time she finished, there was a scowl on her face. Of course, trouble always came in threes. At that point, Tye had finally extricated himself from his place between two tumbled chairs, and he approached her carefully, not knowing what exactly the situation was about, but knowing she didn't look at all pleased about it.

Rhegda folded the letter and leather back to its original state, wrapping the strap back around it as she turned to make her way up the stairs. Unable to hold back his curiosity, Tye strode after her, asking a question to her back, knowing full well he might be in for another rough cuff.

"What does it say?"

Without a pause in her step, the woman remarkably answered.

"It says a debt is being called in."

She continued on, disappearing after the curve of the landing, leaving Tye to wonder who, exactly, could have made his leader willing to act on nothing but a brief note, left in a waystation on the edges of practically nowhere.