Silverdun recognized the farrier, who stepped forward and pointed at Honeywell's horse. 'The bridle on that mare,' he said, 'belongs to Jem Alan. He's the Vice Warden at Crete Sulace and my wife's brother. I fashioned the bridle myself as a birthday gift for him two years ago.'
The farrier nudged Gestana's shoulder. 'And those boots. Those are prison issue.'
Gestana thanked the farrier and turned to Silverdun. 'Such is our evidence.'
'That means nothing,' said Silverdun. 'Perhaps Jem Alan loathes this man and rues the day his sister married so far beneath her station. He probably threw the bridle in the trash the day he received it. I myself received it as a gift from a notoriously cheap uncle.' He shrugged.
'Hold your glib tongue, or I'll have it cut,' said Gestana. 'Dismount. Now.'
Mauritane entered the market from a side street and strode to the center of the market, a scroll tube under his arm, with Gray Mave a few paces behind him. 'He'll do no such thing,' Mauritane said. He walked past Gestana and took Streak's reins from Honeywell. 'Now step aside. We're leaving.'
'I think not!' shouted Gestana, his face reddening. 'I don't know who you people think you are, but you'll dismount and surrender right now!'
'Or what?' said Mauritane, casually stowing the long cylinder containing his charts behind his saddle. He looked Gestana in the eye. 'What will you do?'
Gestana's eyes widened. 'We'll cut you down where you stand! Is that clear?'
'No, you won't,' said Mauritane, busying himself with the straps of his saddle.
When it became clear that Mauritane was not going to elaborate, Gestana laughed. 'You're mad! Pray tell me, why not?'
Mauritane turned on Gestana and marched toward him, his sword still scabbarded. 'You won't kill us. You won't even try. For two simple reasons: you lack the skill and you lack the desire.'
'That's enough,' said Gestana. 'Men! Take…'
'Be quiet,' said Mauritane, holding up his hand for silence.
'You don't tell me…' Gestana began.
Mauritane raised his voice. 'I said be quiet.' Mauritane's stare was fierce and unmoving. Gestana fell silent beneath it, the weight of Leadership bearing down upon him.
'First of all,' said Mauritane, 'my men are well trained and well armed, whereas yours have been poorly trained and armed even worse. The weapons your guardsmen are carrying are appropriate only against mounted opponents. As soon as you order an attack, my men will dismount and close with them before they have a chance to take a swing. Regardless, half of your men are handling them incorrectly.' Mauritane waved his hands around the market, which had grown silent.
Mauritane turned his back on Gestana and addressed the guardsmen. 'Second, each of my men is prepared to die here attempting an escape. We have been charged with a mission of critical importance to this land, and we will stop at nothing to achieve our goal. You, on the other hand, have nothing to gain by killing us and very little to lose by allowing us safe passage. Certainly you outnumber us, but how many of you do you think we can kill before you take us? Twenty? Thirty? Which of you wants to be the first to die? Which of you wants to make his wife a widow? His child an orphan? Anyone?'
Mauritane drew his sword and swung it over his head. 'Life is fragile, friends,' he said. 'Once we're gone, you can make this story out to be whatever suits you. But if we fight, you will never be able to glamour over the loss of your brothers and sons.'
He wheeled on Gestana and pointed the tip of his sword at the man. 'The decision is yours.'
'Take them!' shouted Gestana. 'Now!'
About half of the guardsmen, including Gestana, came forward. The others hesitated, only briefly, but it was enough. Silverdun leapt from the saddle and drew his weapon, swirling it in the air. Raieve and Honeywell followed suit. Satterly remained mounted, looking frightened.
Gestana raced at Mauritane, sword and dagger drawn. He led with a clumsy attack, lunging low at Mauritane's belly, dagger up to parry an overhead blow. Mauritane riposted, pushing Gestana's blade out of the way with an ugly scraping sound and thrusting at his midsection. Gestana's sword lodged in the cobblestones at Mauritane's feet and he stumbled. Mauritane lodged his sword in Gestana's belly and dragged upward, putting all his strength into the effort. An artery in the guardsman's chest burst, gushing a fountain of blood onto Mauritane's fur cloak. Gestana grunted and choked. He waved his hands, trying to rear back. A thin trickle of blood escaped his mouth and Mauritane dropped him.
Only a few of the other guardsman made it into the fray. Some of the remaining men were stuck in place, watching Mauritane disembowel their leader. The rest of them, overcome with fear, took a few steps back, then ran. The militiamen, apparently rethinking the efficacy of their knives, followed them.
When only five of the guardsmen remained, desperately trying to wield their cumbersome poleaxes against Raieve, Honeywell, and Silverdun, who had closed with them as promised, Mauritane stepped into their sightline and waved his sword.
'Enough!' he shouted. 'Drop your weapons and go home. You're not soldiers and you don't deserve to die like soldiers.'
The fighting stopped and the guardsmen noticed their fallen leader as a unit. The fight went out of them and they ran, saying nothing.
'Come on,' said Mauritane to his people. 'Get mounted and go. Don't give them time to think about it.' He dropped his cloak on the ground, exchanging it for Gestana's. 'I grieve at your death,' he whispered into Gestana's ear. 'You were a worthy adversary.' Using Gestana's dagger, he cut a length of the man's hair from the back of his head and tied it in a loose knot, stowing it in his sabretache.
'What's Mave doing here?' said Silverdun, pointing at the former guard, who retrieved his horse from the alley and joined them.
'Coming with us,' said Mauritane. 'That's the errand I mentioned earlier.'
Mauritane climbed onto Streak with a sigh and led the way toward the gate. No one stood in their path, and the gate was already open when they got there.
They took the Hawthorne Road at a gallop, heading toward Crete Sulace. 'They'll be expecting us to turn south toward Colthorn,' Mauritane shouted. 'So we'll take the Longmont Pass instead. They'll assume we're avoiding the prison.'
They made Crete Sulace by nightfall. From the road they could just make out the torches moving along the perimeter walls; Mauritane imagined he could hear the bell for the Night Watch ringing over the wind that sighed through the hills and bent the thinnest branches of the gnarled trees in a ghost dance. In the sky, a waxy moon lit the ground with an almost witchlit glow. There were no other riders on the trail. They were not being followed.
Mauritane slowed to a trot and fell back among the others. 'We'll keep going for another few hours. Once we're through the pass, we can cut south and camp in the foothills there.'
Satterly groaned. 'I thought we were staying at an inn tonight.'
'Not anymore,' said Silverdun. 'When the good folk of Hawthorne recovered their wits, they no doubt sent message sprites to Colthorn and Miday. We'll have to cross the river on the other side of the Longmont Pass and continue south around Miday. That means sleeping on the ground.'
Satterly furrowed his brow. 'Can't you just glamour us into a caravan of desert gnomes or something? Then we could go wherever we want.'
'A glamour would be detected around here,' said Mauritane.
'In these parts,' said Silverdun, 'only criminals wear glamours. They'll have deglamouring wards at every guard post. Better to just avoid cities altogether for a few days.'
'Looking forward to a comfortable bed, Satterly?' laughed Raieve. 'A few nights on the ground will do you some good.'
'Ah,' said Silverdun. 'There's something else.' He looked at Mauritane with a scowl on his face.
'What is it?' said Mauritane.
'In all the excitement I forgot to mention it. When we were arrested by the constabulary, the first thing that odious man did was take my purse.'
'How much of our traveling money was in that purse?' said Mauritane.
