Preemptive Strike

Flames danced around inside the lanterns hanging in the tavern, illuminating the few faces inside the tavern. Of the few figures, one sat away from the rest. He was wearing a long black cloak, and working on his second pint of mead. His odd attire caused the others to hold a hushed conversation.
“Who do you think he is?” asked a small, beady eyed man.
“I don’t know, but he sure seems strange.” replied an elderly man.
“I hope he’s not here looking for trouble.” said an off-duty soldier.
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A large figure was waiting outside the town gate, sitting in the shadows so he wouldn’t be seen. His hand opened and closed as he waited impatiently for the opportune time.

“Why do we have to keep guard?” whined a new wall guard, Vincent. “Nothing ever happens here. There’s nothing in this town that would make it worth attacking.”

The older guard who was on duty with him, Einar, sighed and shook his head. “Because that is the job given to us. Just because there hasn’t been any trouble doesn’t mean there never will be. We always have to keep guard just in case-” Einar suddenly stopped as a blade slid across his throat, slaying him instantly.

“In case what?” asked Vincent as he turned toward Einar. His eyes widened as he saw Einar laying there, dead. A maniacal laugh caused him to turn around. “Who’s there?” he asked as a tall, ghastly figure stepped out from the shadows. Vincent didn’t even wait for a reply; as soon as his eyes met the figure, he took off. He ran screaming into the nearest building, which happened to be the near-empty bar.

Everyone inside jumped up in surprise as the young guard crashed through the door. Cold sweat glistened as it trickled down is face as he gasped for breath. “What’s going on young man?” asked the soldier. “What’s the cause for this ruckus?”

“There…there’s…there’s…” stammered Vincent as he was trying to shake off his terror.

“There’s what?” demanded the soldier sternly.

“Don’t be so rash, soldier.” said a voice behind them that caused them to jump. The cloaked figure walked quickly over to Vincent, his arm inside his cloak, gripping the handle of his sword.

“Who are you?” questioned the soldier as he saw the figure walk by.”

“My name is Bali.” He replied quickly as he reached Vincent. “Not tell me, sir, what’s wrong? Quickly now, it seems important.”

“There…there’s an attack on the village.” Vincent finally managed to gasp. A soft ring was heard as the soldier unsheathed his claymore, and Bali his saber.

“This is a soldier’s job.” scorned the soldier as he saw Bali take out his saber.