Unlike the rapt silence that had greeted Vilon's tale, the tavern went right on with its own noisy business as the drunkard spoke. The locals had likely heard the man's ramble a hundred times over, but for Vilon, it was a first.
And this time, it was the knight's turn to find himself utterly speechless.
Vilon had always supposed a story like that was simply one of many. He had never given the matter deep thought; in his mind, it was merely a man's duty to serve his lord, whether through the sweat of his brow or the shedding of his blood in war. He had never truly possessed a home to lose, but even so, he could sympathize with the hollow, terrifying void of discovering that everything you loved had been reduced to cinders.
