Gestana, the leader of the Hawthorne City Guard, was a young man, with thin, oily hair that sported two limp victory braids which hung down his back. He led twenty-two of the Hawthorne Guardsmen, including the gatekeeper, as well as a few dozen of the city's militia. The guardsmen, armed with poleaxes, had Silverdun, Raieve, Honeywell, and Satterly surrounded in the center of the fish market, while the militiamen, most of whom were fishermen, stood ready to leap into a melee with their long, serrated fish knives.
Silverdun remained in the saddle of his roan, a sour expression on his face. He still held the spent flare cartridge in his hand. Looking over his shoulder, he could see Raieve and Honeywell sizing up their opponents with the same pessimism he currently felt. Satterly was trying his best to remain calm but still cast furtive glances at the gate from which they were now separated by two layers of armed men.
"You heard me," said Gestana. "I said dismount. And no tricks."
"What crime have we committed?" asked Silverdun.
"What crime?" Gestana chuckled. "You want to do it this way? Fine. We have reason to believe that you are escaped convicts from Crere Sulace."
"By what evidence? I won't lay down my arms without evidence." Silverdun dropped the spent flare and touched his sword.
Gestana sighed. "Appeals to legality will only delay the inevitable," he said. "And they won't improve your treatment in our cells one bit."
"I only ask what is mine by right." Silverdun narrowed his eyes.
"Fine," huffed Gestana. "Milon, come forward."
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?"
