Bast finished his narration smugly with a glance at the door. Just minutes later, Cob entered. Bast rolled his eyes, than looked at Devan.

"I noticed you weren't writing all the time I was speaking."

"There seemed to be rather uninteresting episodes," Chronicler defended himself. "paper doesn't come cheap, these days." He leaned in closer. Something like rivalry flashed in his gaze as he said more self-assured. "You could have brought your own paper and some money for it. If I had then agreed to write your encounter with Gretta down, I would have done so."

Cob briefly glanced at them, then decided not to ask about what the scribe was writing down at the moment. "Where's Kote?" he asked instead.

"Unavailable," Bast said, not turning around.

"I need to talk to him," Cob said anxiously, "The mayor is heading in this direction and he's quite a crowd with him."

"I'll pass over the message," Bast said, bored. He was filling himself a glass ale at the counter. "What is it?"

"Someone saw eight enemy soldiers heading into this direction," said Cob hastily, "and now the mayor, he said-"

"I think I can say it for myself," said the mayor heading right through the door. "Where is the inn keeper?"

"I'm here," said the Kote, walking out of the shadow under the stairs. Bast and Chronicler winced at his sudden appearance. "What is the matter?"

"Are there currently eight mercenaries at this inn that wear the uniform of the ursupatrix?"

"They are my guests, whoever they serve."

"You realise that Baron Kaelis will think quite differently? He currently supports King Ambrose. And if you ask me, that is a wise decision as the ursurpatrix is slowly loosing grounds."

"Of course, mayor."

"These guests of you, they have to leave. We want no trouble here," someone from the crowd declared. Bast noticed they were all carrying iron in some form on them.

"There shouldn't be a problem with that," said a voice from the stairs.

Bredon was stepping down, patting a letter. "This is the king's own will," he declared. "The mediator Bredon and his eight man is to be granted safe passage throughout all secured districts. It is written here for everyone to see."

He handed the letter towards the mayor. "Indeed it is," the mayor acknowledged grudgingly, handing the letter around. "If I may ask. How where the negotiations, mediator?"

"Not very promising." Bredon said. "The game is played very unprofessional and the gamers both want to win. They are like two stones of an equal kind grinding at each other. Soon there will be nothing left but rabble."

He glanced at the innkeeper directly at the last words. Kote nodded slowly.

"I think we all know that already," he said. "And now, if I can interest you in some wine, mayor?"

"Well, no, I think, I'll come back later this day. Maybe."

The mayor moved towards the door as did the rest of the villagers, as the warriors Bredon had brought with him silently descended behind there master. Soon, there was only Bast, Chronicler, Kote and Bredon present, staring back and forth between them. The eight warriors had discovered the counter and were serving themselves in the background.

"I'm Bast," said Bastas into the uncomfortable silence. "I work here."

"I know what you are," said Bredon. "You are the Mael, the creature of chaos, whose action can't be foreseen by anyone in the world. The question is: who are you?"

He glanced at Chronicler.

"What, me? I am s-simply a scribe," said Chronicler.

Bredon gave a non-committal hm. Then he turned at Kote.

"Let's end this charade. I think we're both tired of it."

"You can't imagine how tired," Kote said, suddenly not looking like an innkeeper anymore.

"So," Bredon asked, "Where is it?"

"I think you've found it already," said Kvothe the Arcane, "judging from all the hammering I've heard from my room."

"The chest couldn't be opened," Bredon agreed.

Kvothe grinned at him. "Have you tried Edro?"

"Do you see me joking?" asked the noble and drew his sword, "For you just seemed to grin at me, innkeeper."

"That is of course, because I'm playing a marvellous game," said Kvothe retreating towards the counter. Suddenly there were eight pointed blades in his back. He glanced up at folly, than smiled sadly. "Why don't you sit down and listen, for I have a story to tell you ere I kill you all."

Bredon snorted. "I'd like to see that," he said, walked over to the counter and took the sword that was hanging just above the innkeeper's head with his gloved hands. "But I can spare some time. Tell us your story, Kvothe."