Epilogue

It was mid day, when the tavern keeper, knocked on the door to Jean-Luc’s quarters. The dear Minstrel had ignored the bath the night before and today, both breakfast and lunch.

“Minstrel, I am sorry to bother but I have other guests in need or rooms.” He called through the door, but like before no answer.

’Damned be that fop of a minstrel, he may be good but I can’t spare a room for him if he does not play.’ 

He brought forth his ring of keys and with a deep sigh; he unlocked and opened the door.

Upon the bed, lay the restless pale body of the Minstrel. The only visible damage made, were two small puncture holes on his neck.

***

The hooded knight huddled in cover of the sun, in the old abandoned shrine several miles from the tavern.

He had his next destination in mind, and was eager to reach it in hopes of finding new trails in the search of a worthy adversary.

Bordeloux.

(More to come in the following tale of Sir Arthur Ferran)