The Firemane Saga

• CHAPTER FOUR •
Reflections and Bloodshed

Daylon Dumarch, Baron of Marquensas, listened to his half-brother sum up Declan’s report and sat back in his chair. When Balven concluded the baron asked, ‘What do you think?’

‘Castellans? Escorting someone through miles of the barony, only to drop him off out of sight at the edge of the town?’ Balven shrugged. ‘It can’t be anything good.’

‘Agreed, but whose man is he?’

‘There’s a small chance it’s not what we imagine,’ said Balven. He glanced out of a north-facing window, as if he could somehow magically see Beran’s Hill from where he stood, then said, ‘But there’s a very good chance it’s Lodavico.’

‘Or the Church,’ said the baron, taking a deep breath. ‘They are none too pleased with me lately, as their missives make clear.’

‘In the politest manner possible,’ added Balven.

‘I’ve seen what they’re doing across the rest of the twin continents, and it’s clear they seek domination. With influence rather than armies, but given enough control over the likes of Lodavico they don’t need their own army.’

‘If you just let them burn the occasional heretic,’ said Balven dryly, ‘they’ll stop complaining.’

‘Perhaps,’ replied the baron. ‘But it would cede control, and that I oppose. Their rising power concerns me. And I don’t care which god anyone else worships.’ The last was said with a dismissive tone and a shrug.

‘Because you do not believe in gods,’ said Balven. ‘I believe you’ve been inside a shrine or temple … three times … in what, the last five years?’

‘There are rites that need observing: prayers for the dead, sanctifying a marriage, anointing an heir. I respect the rituals, and the need people have to observe them, but I stopped believing in the gods years ago. Too many people I loved have died needlessly.’

Balven knew that his half-brother was thinking of his first wife, who had died in their third year of marriage. That was when he believed Daylon had started to lose his faith.

‘The rise of the Church is far more about the ambitions of men than any divine purpose I can perceive.’

‘Well, that may be’ said Balven, ‘but whatever the cause, there are real consequences attached to your choices, and those choices are narrowing, and soon you’ll be left with two: submission or opposition. But at the moment it’s still possible to come to an accommodation.’

‘Accommodation?’ Daylon said, seemingly on the verge of laughter. ‘You mean a long pause while the Church consolidates its power, builds churches, converts more of my people, then finally demands to be recognized as the only true faith?’

Balven said nothing.

‘Or they’ll decide on who the next baron is as soon as I’m burned at the stake?’ added Daylon.

Balven tilted his head slightly in a gesture both men knew meant he conceded the point. As boys growing up together they had developed a host of small signs and signals that stood in lieu of words.

‘If the Church has agents poking around Beran’s Hill’ said the baron, ‘that means they’re probing for the weakest point of attack.’

‘Where you want them to attack, at Beran’s Hill’ conceded Balven. ‘But it seems a premature reconnaissance given they still have some unfinished conflicts on the other side of Passage Town. Even Lodavico isn’t rash enough to launch a separate offensive and split his forces.’

Daylon nodded. ‘Perhaps he is hearing rumours of our Firemane ghost and wants to investigate their validity.’

‘That ghost looked rather hale last we saw him,’ replied Balven. ‘Though young Sefan may find himself a true ghost soon enough.’

‘One thing,’ interjected Daylon.

‘What?’

‘His name, Sefan. I never remembered to ask, how do you know that was his given name? No note was left with him.’

Balven looked distracted for a moment. ‘Whoever brought him to your pavilion …’ He shook his head slightly. ‘I still wish to know how he, or she if it was his nurse, got in and out without detection.’

‘The question?’

‘I had a few agents tucked away in a couple of bands of mercenaries who went with Lodavico’s forces, and not every single person in Ithrace was killed, just most of them. One of the bits of information one of our men returned with was that the queen’s unexpected baby was a boy. Very few know that, so there’s rampant speculation as to whether it’s a boy or a girl. He also found out the baby was to be blessed after the battle when the king came home and given the name of Steveren’s—’

‘Great-Uncle Sefan,’ interrupted the baron. ‘That makes sense.’ He let out a long breath that was almost a sigh. ‘The eldest son had been named for Steveren’s father, the second for the queen’s father, the small boy for his grandfather, so as the queen had no uncles, that left the only king’s …’ He smiled at his half-brother’s clever mind. ‘Yes, Sefan.’ Then he laughed out loud. ‘Besides, who is there to contradict you?’

Balven also laughed. ‘Well, there is that.’

Daylon was silent for a moment, then stood up and went to the north-facing window near his most trusted adviser and half-brother. Putting his hand on Balven’s shoulder, he gave him a look that Balven recognized instantly as the silent question: what should we do?

Balven said, ‘I’ll send two men to Beran’s Hill tomorrow.’

Daylon nodded. He had no doubt it would be two agents in Balven’s secret little corps of spies and assassins. Daylon knew roughly who those men were, but he had long ago stopped worrying about every detail of those tasks he entrusted to Balven.

Without another word, Balven left his half-brother to ponder the fate of people and nations.

* * *

BERAN’S HILL WAS FULLY AWAKE as Catharian and Sabella entered the outer limits of the town. They wore nearly identical robes, his a bit more tattered than hers, bearing the crest of their order over the heart. Catharian’s hood was tossed back, exposing his bald pate to the morning sun. Sabella wore a wide-brimmed straw hat, grey from road dust, but otherwise sturdy. Each held a staff in one hand – to aid in climbing and self-defence – and travel bags slung over their shoulders.

They wended their way through Beran’s Hill. Sabella tried not to gawk, but until recently she had never seen more than a handful of people in a single place. Despite her attempts at remaining calm, colours and sounds made her want to glance this way and that, fascinating her with glimpses of things unimagined in the quiet confines of the Sanctuary.

As a child her talents had been detected by one of the few surviving members of the order, and she had been secreted with that woman, and two or three others along the way. She had flashes of memory of the greater world, but nothing more than a child’s impression of sounds, smells, textures, voices. There had been a large man – though as a child probably all men looked large to her – who had carried her for what she recalled as a long time; he would hum to keep her calm, and she remembered when he occasionally whispered in her ear or kissed her cheek, his whiskers would scratch. She could call up the sensation of that rough scraping on her face and she found that memory reassuring.

She remembered being put aboard a small boat and spending a long time in the dark with everything around her swaying, almost certainly in the hold of a ship. She recalled flashes of other people calming her, and odd smells, but little else. A dusty ride on a creature she now knew was called a camel, but she had not seen one since. It had been very hot and she remembered being thirsty, but little else.

Then the rest of her life had been in the Sanctuary, the original, ancient Hall of the Guardians, all but abandoned ages before as the Flame Guard spread and took root in Ithrace. Once those massive stone halls had been the seat of the Flame Guard, but in her lifetime it had become a refuge, a place of hiding, while those living there had but one task: to find the surviving Firemane child.

All she knew beyond that she had learned from history, stories, and what others had told her.

Until this journey, she hadn’t fully realized how cloistered her existence had been, how little she truly understood of what she had been taught. She had been raised in a secret world, one unknown to every person she passed today, and this realization alternately filled her with delight and fear, for if anyone could guess who she and Catharian were under their disguises, that person could only be an enemy.

Catharian took notice of her taking in everything around them and said, ‘Are you all right?’

Eyes wide, Sabella spoke softly. ‘So many people!’

‘Wait until you see a real city,’ he replied, smiling. At that moment he suddenly realized what this young woman had been subjected to in aid of the Flame Guard. He felt a stab of regret. It had been deemed necessary, but he had never considered the toll it had taken on Sabella and the others.

‘I wish my sisters could see this!’ she said in a half-whisper.

For a moment Catharian was at a loss. She had been brought to the Sanctuary as a small child, perhaps no more than four or five years of age, a foundling. Then he realized she was speaking of the other Seekers. All he could manage to say was, ‘Perhaps they will one day.’

Sabella impulsively gripped Catharian’s arm with her free hand, giving it a familiar squeeze, as if she were trying to convince herself everything she saw was real. ‘What am I to do here?’

‘We watch. We listen. We wait.’

She looked up at him and nodded.

‘Mostly we spend time apparently looking for a suitable place for a shrine, one that might be given freely, as we have no coin with which to pay. Say nothing and watch as I negotiate with a false promise of divine blessings, possible rewards later, or some other payment in kind: you will learn much about how people are.’ He smiled. ‘Most will say no outright, or promise to consider our plea. That should keep us free to roam around and talk to people.’ He paused, opened his shoulder bag, and removed a bowl, handing it to her.

‘What do I do with that?’

‘You hold it. You are a Sister of the Order of Tathan, a novitiate. My apprentice. Instead of being my beggar boy, you are my beggar girl.’

‘What do I do?’

‘Mostly say nothing, watch, and hold that bowl out. Occasionally kind people will drop coins into it.’

She appeared amused by that. ‘I can do that.’

‘We’ll speak more about this when we’re sure we’re alone, but there are a few things to watch for, things that could prove critical.’

‘The … young man?’ she asked.

‘He is the most important, but we know now who he is and where he is, so it will be easy to ensure we don’t lose track of him again.’

‘How is it easy?’

‘If possible, we will be staying at his inn.’

He pointed down the street, and there, a short distance away, was the Inn of the Three Stars. He led her to the doorway and motioned for her to follow him.

Stepping inside, Catharian saw that the inn was empty, save for Hava standing behind the bar attacking the dust with a clean rag.

She smiled. ‘Welcome,’ she said.

Catharian nodded and adopted a serious expression and offered in a deep voice, ‘We are travellers, relying on the generosity of those we meet, sent by our order to seek land for a shrine.’

Hava laughed at the false monk’s theatricality. ‘Hava, this is my acolyte, Sister Sabella.’ Sabella nodded in greeting, a gesture Hava returned. ‘I wondered if we might drink from your well?’

Hava chuckled and said, ‘Help yourself. You know where it is.’

Catharian and Sabella passed through the kitchen, out of the back door, and paused to glance around the completely rebuilt stabling yard, then went over to the well. Catharian pulled up a bucket of cold water and both drank their fill. ‘Let’s see what we can find out,’ suggested the false monk. ‘There have been great changes here since I last passed through. Watch and listen.’

Re-entering the inn through the kitchen, Catharian smiled as he said to Hava, ‘This inn … it’s been rejuvenated.’

‘We put in a lot of work here,’ said Hava.

‘Some time back’, Catharian said to Sabella, ‘I first passed through with a young man named Declan and his friend Ratigan.’

Hava said to Sabella, ‘My husband and I bought this inn from Declan’s fiancée.’ Hava paused for a moment then asked Catharian, ‘You met her father, Leon?’

‘I met him,’ said Catharian. ‘I spent a night out in the barn, then continued my journey south. His daughter sold you this inn?’

‘Bandits murdered him, burned the inn and abducted Gwen and another girl. Declan and the other men of the town, and a skilled archer named Molly, fetched the girls back safely after dealing with the bandits.’ She recounted the story as she had heard it, and then said, ‘So, you’re seeking land?’

‘If possible,’ said the false monk. ‘We serve the Harbinger, and as members of the Church of the One we’d like to secure land for a shrine, perhaps one large enough for a poor monk and his assistant to shelter in while they attend to the needs of the faithful.’

Hava laughed, and when Catharian’s face betrayed confusion, she said, ‘Sorry, I wasn’t laughing at your needs. It’s just that I’ve travelled a bit and some of the faithful have larger needs than a small shrine.’

The humour was lost on Catharian and Sabella. Hava realized that her memory of Church clergy frequenting brothels owned by the Powdered Women was leading her into a conversation she was better off avoiding, so she waved away the comment. ‘Never mind, brother.’

‘Eventually the Church will build a proper house of worship, but that will be left to an episkopos or his deputy to decide, not a lowly monk.’

Hava addressed Sabella. ‘My husband and I first learned of this place from Declan … we were horse trading with my father …’

She launched into the tale of how they had come to purchase the inn, and finally when she finished, Catharian asked, ‘Would you know of someone who might be inclined to sell off a small piece of land, somewhere near the edge of town, at not too expensive a price? Perhaps even as a donation to the Church?’

Hava laughed. ‘Not personally, but I’ll ask around.’

‘Then you have my thanks.’ He turned towards the door. ‘We’ll return tomorrow.’

Hava saw that Sabella was staring at the kitchen and realized that while making their way to the well, they had had to pass the food waiting to be prepared for the day. Taking in the young girl’s frail appearance and travel-worn clothing, she asked, ‘Have you eaten?’

Sabella was caught off guard and glanced at Catharian as if asking permission to speak. He nodded, and she shook her head. ‘We ate yesterday, some dried fruit and a bit of hard cheese.’

Hava shook her head at the folly of people motivated by beliefs she could not understand. ‘We can’t have you starving to death.’ She cast a disapproving glance at Catharian, then said to Sabella, ‘Sit and I’ll bring you something.’ She waved at the empty table closest to the kitchen.

‘Why, thank you,’ Catharian said. ‘You’re most generous.’

With a half-smile Hava said, ‘Usually he waits until my husband or Declan are here then plies them with tall tales and they ply him with food and drink.’ She turned and disappeared into the kitchen.

As they sat down, Sabella whispered, ‘That’s the one, isn’t it?’

‘What?’

‘The woman he has sex with?’

‘Huh?’ Catharian was taken aback.

‘There’s an … energy … a glow.’ Sabella shrugged. ‘I don’t know what to call it. It’s not like the energy I feel from him, but … perhaps because they’re together, I sense her.’

Catharian held up his hand and softly said, ‘We’ll talk about this later.’ Wondering what he might have got himself into bringing along this totally unworldly girl into what could easily become a centre of violent conflict, he began to doubt his choice, even though her ability to sense the Firemane youth’s whereabouts was vital. Pondering this, the false monk sat in silence, waiting for Hava to bring food.

SUNRISE SAW TWO WEARY YOUNG men ushering a wagon out through the northern gate of Marquenet as the city awoke. The day before Declan had discovered that while there was a good choice of inns for him and Hatu, finding a safe spot for the wagon and Hatu’s goods had proved impossible. Those with large stabling yards were full, and the rest provided no place to keep a wagon. Finally, the sergeant of the keep, who knew both young men from their previous visits, permitted them to put the horses and wagon in the baron’s stabling yard, as long as they stayed with them.

So, not for the first time, they had slept under a wagon, but for the first time in a city. While it was quiet compared to the day’s tumult, the city at night still produced unexpected noises, especially coming from within the baron’s keep and the barracks, where men changed guard every four hours. Both Declan and Hatu awoke several times only to recognize a sound a moment after waking, then attempting to return to sleep. Hatu had prided himself on being able to sleep aboard a ship at sea, or in other noisy places, but he discovered it was new sounds that were disturbing his slumber.

Hatu cast a glance back at his cargo, a selection of fruit not readily available in Marquensas, guaranteed to stay fresh for a week or more in a good cold cellar, at least that was what the fruitmonger promised. Several looked interesting, being unknown to Hatu despite his relatively wide range of travel. He was dubious about a green, fuzzy item the monger called a ‘gooseberry’, but he was promised that once the skin was off it would prove delectable.

He also had several large rounds of hard cheese, again unlike the local varieties, and a few smaller sacks of nuts and some jars of spices listed by Hava, but still only occupying a small part of the wagon’s capacity.

Declan proved quiet this morning, content to drive the wagon. Hatu was left to his own thoughts and discovered himself again torn by his almost impossible situation.

He had been told that Coaltachin, the nation of spies, thieves, murderers, and other assorted criminals, no longer demanded his loyalty. Yet he still worried over the part he now played as a spy on behalf of that nation. Here he sat, aboard a wagon bumping along the road back to a town he barely knew, to a wife who was his in name only, playing the part of an innkeeper, but mostly concerned over the message he had sent yesterday, what it meant, and what his part would be. Master Bodai’s last instructions had released him from his obligation to the Council of Masters, yet he was still enmeshed in whatever business they had in this far-off barony, and Hava’s presence more than anything made it clear they were not done with him, nor he with them. It was a nagging contradiction.

He might have no official duty left to those who raised him, but he felt an urgent need to send that report to Master Bodai – not to aid Hava, who couldn’t leave town alone without arousing suspicion – but because he also felt obliged, and the only explanation he could find for this feeling was because he had endured a lifetime of obedience.

It was also clear from what he had discussed with Hava that someone would be taking over Master Facaria’s crews so he couldn’t even be certain who Hava’s new boss would be. If it was Master Kugal, Hatu was certain that an order for his death would eventually reach Hava, since Kugal blamed Hatu for his grandson Donte’s death. If it was another master, he might also want to see the heir to Ithrace dead, or he might simply order Hava home, leaving Hatu without her for the rest of his life. All these thoughts rolled through his head as the wagon rolled through the countryside.

After travelling for almost half an hour Declan said, ‘What?’

Hatu turned his head. ‘What?’

‘You’ve been silent for longer than I’ve ever known you to be. You look lost in thought, and not a good one from the look of you. You worried about something?’

Hatu realized he had somehow let his guard down with Declan. He shook his head slightly. ‘Just having a bit of a moment wondering about whether I’m cut out to be an innkeeper.’

‘Really?’ asked Declan. ‘You didn’t seem to hesitate when the opportunity appeared.’

Hatu gave a shrug. ‘Travelling with Hava’s father … was difficult at times. At his age he …’ He let the words trail off. ‘I was getting more work and less …’

‘Thanks?’

Hatu gave an emphatic nod.

Declan kept the team of horses moving smartly down the road, while maintaining a pace that wouldn’t exhaust them by noon. ‘How’d you meet?’

Hatu and Hava had concocted a story that maintained several key points of truth; they had decided any inconsistencies could be explained away as simple faulty memory. ‘I was an orphan, scraping along in a town called Bidwitty, in Materos. I saw Hava and Bodai at the market square and …’ He laughed. ‘I think I was in love with Hava from childhood, but just didn’t know it. Somehow I convinced Bodai I could be useful and he let me come along with him as he traded.

‘One thing led to another and after a while Hava and I just …’ He shrugged. ‘Truth to tell we’re not even properly married.’

Declan feigned surprise.

‘I should have told you before.’

Declan laughed. ‘Your secret’s safe with me.’

Hatu did not have to feign looking embarrassed. His uncertainty about Hava did make him feel self-conscious. He was almost sure she loved him, but he was sure she didn’t love him as much as he loved her, and he did not know if her love for him would outweigh her duty to their homeland.

Hatu said, ‘I just didn’t know if that sort of thing was important around here,’ he said, trying to sound both amused and concerned.

‘Really?’ Declan said. ‘Well, Gwen and I will wed at the midsummer festival, and no one cares that she’s been living with me since the inn burned down.’

Hatu looked relieved. ‘That’s good to know. I’ve been some places where that sort of thing is important.’

‘Really?’ repeated Declan. ‘I haven’t travelled much, just from Oncon, to here, and up to Copper Hills and back. Most of the people around here are like those in Oncon, pretty much not worrying about other people’s business.’

Hatu reflexively glanced around and realized the folly of it as there was no one else on the road. ‘The Church seems to be.’

‘Seems to be what?’

‘Worrying about other people’s business.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Declan. ‘Still, if you and Hava are going to wed at the festival, you won’t be the only couple living together to do so, and a couple of the gals will be with child.’ Declan shook his head in disbelief. ‘Why some people would care … it’s beyond me.’

They continued to ride in silence for a while, and Hatu tried to keep concern over Hava’s loyalties out of his thoughts, but failed. He glanced over his shoulder out of habit and saw two distant riders.

‘Riders behind us,’ he said to Declan in a casual tone.

The smith said, ‘It’s a busy road.’

Hatu titled his head slightly as if considering that remark, and then said, ‘I’m carrying cheese and foodstuff. You just got paid for a load of armour, so I assume you’ve a tidy bag of gold on you.’

Declan let out a slow, long sigh. ‘True. Let me know if they start coming hard after us.’

Hatu said, ‘I will.’

He kept a surreptitious watch on the two riders: they were closing the gap between them but were not in any obvious hurry. Men on horseback should be faster than a pair of dray horses even with a largely empty wagon. Hatu decided they were probably not a threat and he saw no other sign of potential trouble.

His mind was occupied with thoughts of his early life, at school, with Donte and the other students, when he realized that four riders had appeared over the crest of the hill and come to a halt before them, arrayed athwart the road, leaving no room to pass.

Declan said, ‘No sword?’

‘Just my dagger.’

‘Know how to use one?’

Hatu said, ‘If needs must.’ He rested his hand on the hilt of his dagger.

Declan reined in and shouted, ‘Move out of the way, man!’

The four were wearing a collection of dissimilar armour, mostly leather or quilted jacks. The two in the centre had leather headgear, while the two who flanked them were bareheaded. None bore a shield. ‘We’re collecting duty for those using the baron’s road!’ shouted one of the men facing Declan. That brought chuckles from the other three.

Declan spoke quietly. ‘This will be a fight. I’ll take the two on my side.’

Hatu slowly adjusted his position so he could leap off the wagon and land exactly where he chose. ‘Obviously,’ he whispered as he studied the two men to his right.

He made his movements slightly more exaggerated, as if he were shifting his weight, then said loudly, ‘All we have are some cheeses and fruits for an inn in Beran’s Hill. How much duty does the baron claim?’

The first man laughed.

‘They know about the gold,’ Declan said quietly. ‘They know I was paid for a wagonload of swords.’

‘What’s the betting’, Hatu said, ‘that the two who are following us are with these pigs?’

‘Let’s not wait to find out,’ said Declan as he sprang from the wagon moving straight at the nearest rider. As he knew would happen, Declan saw the two horses closest to him shy back at the sudden lunge in their direction, the outermost one forcing its rider to turn it in a full circle. Declan stepped between the two mounts, bringing him within reach of the innermost rider. He brought his sword high in what Edvalt had taught him was the proper position for receiving a blow from a mounted opponent, and felt the shock run down his arm as the rider delivered that blow an instant later. Declan kept moving and threw his weight into the right shoulder of the horse, just where it joined the neck, and the animal shied suddenly backwards. Declan was relieved that these were not battle-trained war mounts. The horse started to wheel around so that it could kick Declan, and its rider had to fight to retain control.

Hatu seized on the distraction caused by Declan’s sudden move, drawing his dagger and throwing it with force at the outermost rider on the right who, rather than keeping his eye on Hatu, had turned reflexively to see if Declan’s attack threatened him. Hatu was gratified to see his target tumble over the horse’s croup. He was out of the wagon and moving at a run as the rider hit the ground.

Hatu covered the distance between himself and the fallen rider in three quick strides, and unceremoniously kicked the man’s head as hard as he could. It was a glancing blow, but enough to stun him. The dagger had hit with enough force to carve a nasty gash at the junction of his neck and shoulder, but it wasn’t a killing wound unless the stupefied fighter bled out before someone could tend to the injury.

Hatu retrieved the fallen rider’s sword as the rider next to him kicked his horse’s flank and the animal leapt at Hatu. Hatu threw himself to his right, striking the ground and rolling back to his feet as the horse passed to his left.

Meanwhile, Declan was realizing that he’d made a critical mistake as he found himself caught between two horsemen, so he took a chance and dodged to his left, ducking under the neck of the outermost horse, which brought him into striking range of the other rider who had just got his mount under control.

This was a lesson Edvalt had never discussed, let alone taught him: to be on foot facing two riders. Declan felt a stab of fear, which triggered a hot flash of anger.

In that moment, he felt a burst of clarity, a calm and precise certainty of what he was doing, even more intense than what had overwhelmed him in Oncon, when he was facing the slavers. It was as if time slowed, and he had a perfect awareness of what was happening all around him. He knew that he needed to take one step forward, not back, nor to the side, then turn around.

As if nothing impeded him, he was suddenly behind both riders, and neither of them was able to turn their mounts. He set his feet firmly, and in that instant he could see that Hatushaly had unseated one rider, had picked up his sword, and was using the riderless mount as a shield against the other rider.

He could see to the end of the road where the two riders who had been following them were now coming fast. One bandit was down, so they might face five instead of three. With that realization came more rage and in that rage more clarity.

Declan rushed between the wagon and the horse closest to it just as that mount’s rider tried to turn. He jumped onto the wagon’s wheel, then pushed off, throwing all his weight into the rider trapped between the wagon and his companion’s horse.

Declan carried the rider off his mount and both men fell close to the outside horse, causing it to rear, its rider fighting to control his skittish mount while Declan kept his arm tight around the waist of the spokesman for the riders until the two of them slammed into the ground. Declan landed on top of the other man, knocking the wind out of him, and Declan was immediately on his feet, driving his sword’s point into the man’s throat before he caught his breath.

Hatu was using his first attacker’s horse as a barrier and doing as good a job of looking as frightened and uncertain as he could, hoping the man trying to kill him thought his dagger throw had been a lucky toss. Hatu had never had to face a mounted opponent while on foot, not even in training. Armed riders in Coaltachin were all members of the nocusara and beyond the Kingdom of Night open fighting was to be avoided at all costs.

The rider was showing frustration at the resistance and from what Declan could see there were only two of the bandits left to steal the gold.