The last thing he wanted to do was address either of a pair of strangers who obviously gave less than half of a damn about his troubles. Not that he blamed them. These were not their troubles and this was not their nation. At least, not any longer. Ulbarich thought long and hard, but he was not thinking about them. He was thinking about why someone would go to the trouble of finding him and trying to kill him only to let it go after so poor a showing and simply flee. Or try to flee. Most assassins were more prepared than that. They'd been taken alive, they would be questioned separately, and soon or late one of them was going to confess what he knew. How strange was it, that he'd been in the crown prince's employ for so short a time and yet he seemed almost immune to the threat and promise of violence? Ulbarich wanted to feel panicked about his prospects.
The truth was, a fight was the only place he felt at home. He was starting to understand Ithacles a bit more every day.
A shake of his head.
Whatever had brought these murderous louts to this tavern, it had to do with him and only with him. No help from them would be required or asked for. however, he would not then feel proper simply leaving them here. They'd come here with him. If anyone had seen them with him, they might well become targets. It was time to make a final exit of this place. To hell with Ithacles and his opinions. They were going to sleep in the castle tonight, even if it was half of an hour's ride from this very spot. Ulbarich did not think he wanted the weight of their deaths on his conscience. Even if they were not friends. Her casual dismissal of whatever friendship they did have was starting to burn, behind his eyes, but he thought it also could have been sobriety.
When it bit, it bit hard.
What followed after the shake of his head was a wave of his arm. They were going to be off, now, and he started walking with purpose in the direction of the door. And the street. What few faces remained were watching as impassively as they could manage.