Captain’s office-Regala, Wifield-Midmorning

It was mid-afternoon and the office was small but warm from the chilled air. As was typical for Wifield the day was damp and the wind cool. The page knocked and opened the door a crack.

“I have messages for you sir.” The young boy peered inside. He knew the captain would be in but he was loathed to enter. It wasn’t one message but three. The boy had been eavesdropping when they were delivered from the messenger. One was the daily report, one was a new soldier and one caused a great deal of talk.

The boy entered the room and inched forward towards the desk. “Captain Van Fleet, these are for you. The first is the report from the road. The second a new man reporting for duty. He is waiting to be introduced. The last one sir....”

The boy paused and began to fidget. “Their sending you a Justice of the Peace sir. I heard, I heard one of the Lords say they are sending one with all the units to make sure that justice is done.” He clamped his mouth shut, realizing he was saying more than he should. “Sir.”

The poor boy turned a deep shade of red and looked down at his gangly feet. He was hoping the Captain would dismiss him quickly.

Parlimentary Offices-Regala, Wifield-Midmorning

The room that James was led into was very nicely decorated. A fire burned in the small fireplace and one side sat a large wooden desk. A man, in his late forties sat at the desk though he stood when the page introduced James.

“Thank you, Maxwell. Leave us now.”

The boy left the room closing the door behind him.

“Mr. Viteri. A pleasure to meet you. I am Lord Ashburn. I am one of the parliamentarians who asked you to come to Wifield. The others are dealing with a few matters so I offered to explain the situation here.”

He stood and came around his desk fully, his hand extended to James.

“Shall we sit? I will go over a few things with you and when you are ready Maxwell will take you to meet the captain.”

He placed his slight overweight body on a nearby chair and gestured to the other for James.

“Yes I realize you were brought here to consult and that is what you will be doing but we have decided that men like you will be of greater service on the road. Change is coming to Wifield. The Queen, may God protect her.” He placed a hand over his heart and closed his eyes in salute to his monarch. “She has finally drafted a law that will give us, by us I mean you and our dutiful men, the power to rid us of unwanted vermin. To do this you cannot sit idly here in Regala while they ride our roads and kill our people.”

He looked over at James. The man had a reputation and it was one of the reasons they wanted him here. They also knew he had quite the temper and was outspoken. It had recently decided that perhaps letting him consult in the capital might cause delays. Lord Bryant was quite clear that nothing should hold up the law from going through. No doubt could be cast.

There had also been recent backlash from those against the bill saying that even though it hadn’t been passed into law that men and women were already being gunned down and no one was ensuring they were guilty. Already one man and a young boy were dead that were not highwaymen at all but overzealously had won out that day.

In order to save face a few of the Lords decided that men would be sent with the units to ensure justice was done fairly. There would be no trial but someone would be able to say without a doubt that all those executed for robbery on the Queen’s roads were in fact guilty.

Once this was decided upon it was also decided that James would go along with one of the units and Lord Collins knew the perfect unit for him. It was he that suggested Captain VanFleet and the others agreed.

“You will ride out and see that justice is done as these..these blight on our lives is wiped out.” Lord Ashburn grew slightly red faced in anger. “They cannot be allowed to continue and need to be put down like rabid dogs.”

He drew a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. “However, we cannot have people thinking we do not want the law upheld and innocents killed. Heaven’s no! No one would travel and we are not heartless men. These....highwaymen..” He sneered now. “They may have no respect for law and order but we are above them, are we not Mr Viteri? No, we will see that every person the Queen’s men put down is guilty.”

Lord Ashburn sat back in his chair. “Any questions?”

Crooked Bow Tavern and Inn-Kethington, Wifield-Dusk

Brennan looked around the room. Tables had patrons but it wasn’t overly crowded at the tavern. The owner was busy pouring tankards and chatting to a few of the customers.

The highwayman was sitting at a back table in the dimmest area possible. Hat was still on, casting more shadow on his mostly covered face. Ice blue eyes were the only major feature visible.

Everyone seemed to be avoiding the table save one man who sat next to him. Braith was average looking, could have been anyone really. He blended well with the rest of the people in the tavern. What did give people pause was the smile he wore despite his rather somber and shadowy table companion.

Brennan leaned towards Braith. Eyes were still on the crowd but attention was on Braith. They appeared to be whispering though that was harder to tell on Brennan’s side.

“They gunned down three more! Three! Two were just teenagers and were just caught up on on the same road. They were hiding and the Queen’s men ferreted them out! This is disgusting!”

The whisper was harsh in Braith’s ear. “We need to stop this. This...this law” Brennan practically hissed the word at Braith. “That group that killed the Lord and his family? They were no highwaymen. You and I know of no one who would have done that. No one. Not on purpose.”

Brennan took a deep breath and paused. His anger was running hot and even a slight raise of his voice would give away the true tones behind it, the soft feminine sound that right now only Braith could hear.

Gloved hands were balled into fists on the table. “I think when others show and they will Braith, this isn’t right...I say we set out to hunt this group down. WE put them down. A little highway justice of our own.”

It wasn’t like Brennan to be so angry and to be out for blood but this whole business of the new law, the murders of the Lord and his family and now, the blatant gunning down of anyone even suspected of being a robber had set him off unlike anything else.

It was also irksome that the man beside him was so calm and still smiling.

Inside the coat, under the scarf, Elsbeth was doing her best to cool her anger. She was failing however. Every word she uttered was stoking the flames more and more. ”Calm down or you’re going to blow your cover. Eight years Brennan has ridden, two years you’ve been doing this and never blown it once. Let’s not ruin it now.”

Her internal dialogue did only a little to cool the brewing temper. Blue eyes grew harder. Brennan sat back in his chair and regarded the only person outside of the town who knew that under the guise of mysterious highwayman was a young woman. Braith had figured it out the last time they worked together for the Hunt Brothers but he kept the information to himself and for that Elsbeth had a great deal of respect for him.

“We put them down and the law will not go through. Things can go back to the way it was.”

It was with a stroke of bad luck that Jules Lockwood chose the Crooked Bow Tavern to sup at that evening. He’d had many strokes of bad luck recently, reflected Jules, and it was all the fault of his countryman and ex-travel companion, Swanson Olidad.

It seemed that how much he wanted to be in Wlfield was in equal measure to how much Wifield did not want him there. He had traveled all the way from the tropical island colony of Morril, braving the Visayan Sea and the choppy waters of the Banda Strait in hopes that Wifield would hold more promise for him than his tiny homeland. So far it had only promised danger.

Jules and Olidad, who prior to their journey had been only acquaintances, set off in different directions when they arrived at Heatherford Port at the southern tip of Wifield, and Jules had believed the brief chapter of his life involving the other Morril’ai native was over. It turned out that he was not so lucky.

The robbery and murder of Lord Turnfield and his party was scandalous news all over Wifield. It seemed that the noble and those traveling with him had been attacked by a group of highwaymen. Rather than solely being robbed by those previously termed ‘gentleman robbers’, the party was brutally murdered. One of the men involved with the attack was his countryman, Swanson Olidad.

That was not the real problem, though. The real problem was that in a country comprised almost entirely of white men and women, Jules Lockwood was a very conspicuous black man. He was tall and large; a rather imposing figure. His long black hair hung down his back in neat dreadlocks, and though he spoke the common language of Wifield as his first language, he spoke it with a foreigner’s tongue. As it happened, his ex-travel companion and now infamous murderer fit the exact same description.

Everywhere he went Jules was running and hiding, hiding and running. Everywhere people claimed to ‘recognize’ him as one of Lord Turnfield’s killers. He was getting kicked out of inns, chased out of town, and it seemed only a matter of time before someone clapped shackles on his wrists and marched him to the hangman’s noose.

But it was late and Jules was tired. He had not the energy to find an abandoned alley to sleep in that night, so despite the risks he entered the Crooked Bow, taking a seat at the table beside that of two gentleman engaged in quiet but intense conversation. Jules had no idea how much worse his night was about to get.

Parlimentary Offices in Regala, Wifield- Midmorning

James had not been in Wifield for more than five years when he had stepped off the ship four days ago. He had forgotten how cold the air could be, even now when summer was still clinging to the skirts of autumn. In Demicia, the change of seasons was like a change of temper; abrupt and unforgiving but with full force of heart. Across the sea the sun still blazed over the limestone walls of Casina and the papery bougainvillea that crept up them were parched but resplendent in fushia, orange and white. In a few months that would change, light fading into a dirty grey sky that would shed inch after inch of snow onto the streets below, gales heaping the flakes up against doorways and gables. Here, a mild summer slunk into a mild winter and it rained, it rained more often than not, but the weather never settled. It changed within the space of a day, a morning or a few hours and as he walked from his hotel to Parliament and watery sunlight suddenly sank into drizzle, he longed for the honest heat of a Demician sun.

His sister, installed at his aunt's estate to the north of Regala, didn't mind. But then she burnt easily and shivered easier still. James was made of sturdier stuff than she, she always said.

So, with the rain quietly drumming against the diamond-paned windows, he waited to be shown through to Lord Ashburn's office. A tall man, with a build that bordered on the brutish, he looked strangely confined by the spindly wooden backed chairs in the reception area but in fact he had barely noticed, instead occupied with looking through the rain-blurred glass at the street below. People passed by and, though he could not see their faces or knew of their characters, he did know that collectively they would not be so very different from his own kinsmen. People never were.

Ashburn was older than he, with a pot-belly that strained his waistcoat and greying hair that was tied neatly at the base of his neck with a velvet ribbon. James said nothing as he led him into his office and shook his hand before beckoning him to sit. His hand was damp and yielding; this was almost enough for James to cement his opinion of him.

"I will have full power to direct the men I will be assigned?" he said sharply, once Lord Ashburn had finished.

"Oh yes, of course," said Lord Ashburn. "The unit will be informed. Her Majesty's men are well trained, I trust you will find them to be effective.

"Then yes, justice I can manage. The suspects will be delivered into your hands and the evidence against them provided to you," said James, noted the colour that had risen in the older man's cheeks. He wondered if he had ever seen a day's violence in his life. Or, worse, he had seen it on the battlefield. Watches across the continent tended to attract ex-soldiers to their ranks and many thought the two professions complimented each other. James thought the exact opposite.

"I will tell you now, Lord Ashburn, it is not in my nature to simply dress a wound when the abscess beneath should be lanced," he said, standing up and walking to the door.

"Well, I quite agree, a job done properly is-" Ashburn began but James carried on, cutting straight across him.

"So, I have one more question to ask you, or rather for you to ask yourself: what bitch begot these 'rabid dogs'? I aim to find out. Now I will take your leave and report to my men," said James, turning to leave.

Within a moments, the door to Lord Ashburn's office closed and he was left alone, the drops pattering against the roof and the room conspicuously lacking in another's presence save for the dull portrait of the monarch that hung on the wall. Outside, James made his way out into the rain.

It was getting close to sundown when Markus O'Cyrus walked through the doors of the Crooked Bow. His Bandana was covering the left side of his face whilst his right emerald eye gleamed with a type of anticipation as he walked up to the bar for a drink. He sighed in open frustration to himself. Business for him was being slow as of late.

Markus shook his head as he waited for his order of a pint of mead as he looked at a list. "Brennan of the Grange. He could be in this Inn right now and I not realize it. But then again, maybe one of the military dogs beat me to it again probably." He thought bitterly in his mind. The rumors of a new law being thought out that would keep him from getting an honest work of bounty hunting done made him sick to his stomach. He didn't want to join with the military for his job, for good reason.

He just had a hunch one of the bandits that took his old life away from him thirteen and plus years ago was a former military man. He just had to find him, sooner or later. His eyes then turned to look at two figures, one with a scarf concealing his face, the other a merchant with a friendly demeanor. the one with the scarf seemed to have been whispering about something.

And strangely, none of the other patrons seemed to have gone near their table. He slowly got up and walked towards the table, grabbing an empty chair and set himself up near the area to listen to their conversation. He leaned on the chair whilst humming to himself an old song he remembered from his childhood, as a third person sat down next to them. He hummed for several minutes as he thought about the poor noble family killed by the gang of bandits that dared call themselves highwaymen.

"They will pay with blood." He thought. "I will track them down, and destroy them, but for the moment, I must listen to this conversation, maybe They'll point me in the direction of Brennan of the Grange. For I am Black XII, The Hunter of Evil."

The Women sat straight-backed on the chestnut brown mare she road. Her hands gripped the reigns loosely, and her eyes stared straight ahead with an air of indifference and condescension, as if she believed even the horse beneath her to be unworthy. Her clothing told the story of someone used to a pampered life, her cold glare told the story of someone who did not enjoy said life.

As she dismounted and handed off her horse to the stable boy she was greeted with puzzled looks. She did not seem like the sort of person to be frequenting a tavern.
But alas, sometimes a person has to stand out in order to blend. After all, what fool would choose such estranged garments for a disguise? A very wise fool indeed. For no one in present company doubted that this icy eyed noblewoman was anything besides what she seemed.

Indeed, as the stable boy returned and collected his tip he could not resist asking, in a small voice, “Might I ask why you are here ma’am?”
She gave pause, “I don’t believe that’s any of your business. “
The boy looked abashed, and mumbled a few words of apology, but she took pity on him and answered, “I’m tracking down my very errant husband. Keep the horse ready to go.”
As the woman strode away she couldn’t resist a slight smile, this disguise was always one of L’s favorites.

While she was not in fact at the bar to track down a wayward husband, she did have other matters of importance to attend to. Starting with a conversation about what to do in regards to these new highway robbers of the reddest hand. If she could she would have smacked them, did they not realize the danger in which they placed all others? Now the robbers of the road were being struck down like flies, L had barely managed to get away from her last bit of pilfering.

When she entered the tavern she scanned the room for the sort of people who met with the description she’d been given. She passed over the two people at the lonely table away from the crowd twice before she finally settled on them. She’d been expecting a few more people to be here to listen to what the famous Brennen and Braith had to say. Though, she supposed a mass gathering of highway robbers might be a tad suspicious.

L walked smoothly in between tables, avoiding contact with any one else, as the character she was playing at the moment would not want to even be near any “tavern filth.”

L reached the table at the end of what must have been a fairly heated discussion. She sat down next to the rather grim looking fellow in a scarf and said with a slight smile, “So, what is it you folks are discussing over her in the corner all by your lonesome?” She doubted very much that they would recognize her, so it would be interesting to see what their reactions to her intrusion would be.

Braith sat in the Crooked Bow, a gentle smile on his face. He watched the other patrons of the tavern go about their business with an appraising and attentive eye. Most anyone who looked at him would notice his smile and be distracted from just how much detail he was absorbing about the scene. He was waiting for people to answer his call, but he knew those people wouldn’t be forthcoming about their presence. Therefore, he had to pay very close attention to his surroundings. He knew Brennan would understand that his focus couldn’t be completely on the harsh whisper in his ear.

The mention of the law returned Braith’s thoughts to the reason he set up this meeting. Brennan was furious, as were many of his other regular ‘gentlemen robbers’ who felt they were unjustly targeted because of a few bad apples. Braith understood their frustration. He would not be able to maintain his line of work if the Queen’s men eliminated his best clients. Braith also knew, though, that this law was not created to specifically calm the robberies of the highwaymen. He had it on good authority that this law was created by direct political pressure on the Queen. Her focus on the seas required a lot of capital to be raised. The nobility, feeling the pinch of higher demands from their monarch, felt they needed a recognition of their own, more trivial, problems. Since these roadside bandits tended to focus on the noble and filthy rich it was they who wanted a method to fight back. The Queen didn’t care about the petty robberies of a few people who could spare the extra money anyway, however, she knew she had to appease them somehow. This law was her attempt to do this. Braith knew this law did not target the murdering band that Brennan was trying to convince him to hunt down. This law targeted their basic way of life. They would have to adapt to it and Braith had an idea of how to do just that.

Braith looked down and noticed Brennan’s tightly balled fists and the exasperated way ‘he’ threw ‘himself’ back into the chair. Braith let the smile fade slowly, a look of concern now appearing. Obviously Brennan did need some of his attention and his calm demeanor was throwing ‘him’ off. Braith didn’t want Brennan too upset when others started arriving. ‘He’ would already be striving to keep ‘his’ secret. Being upset will only make that more difficult.

Braith nodded at Brennan, “I understand your frustrations. I do. My clientele will be very limited in their activities when this law passes. The desire to bring to justice those that are being used as an excuse to pass this law is reasonable, but misdirected. Bring that group of clumsy and violent idiots to justice and all you’ve done is given the nobility a dog and pony show they can use to trump up how effective the law is. You must realize that this law will be passed and there is no way to stop it. However, just because it is passed doesn’t mean we are immediately out of work. It just means we have to refocus our abilities. This is why I agreed to call this meeting with you. I agree with your goal just not your method. I would propose an alternative. It would be best if you were a little less angry and more willing to listen when the rest arrive though. I will need someone of your reputation to be able to see the logic in my plan and assist me in convincing others.”

Braith smiled a more friendly smile now, “We will have many challenges in the very near future to distinguish ourselves from the common bandit. We will need to make alliances where we thought we had only enemies. We will need to be of sharpest mind to remain moves ahead of the nobles who are trying to impose their control on us. Being angry and impulsive does not help that cause.”

He looked up as a large, dark skinned man, walked into the tavern. Braith immediately began his visual inspection of this man. There were not many people who matched this man’s description and Braith knew of one who had just made himself notorious. A member of the group that murdered Lord Turnfield was described exactly like this man. Braith watched carefully and thought, “No, this man might fit the description but he is not acting like a guilty man, afraid to be recognized. He is acting like a nervous man, not wishing to be seen. There is resignation in this man’s mannerisms, not fear. A guilty man would be fearful of being accused. Yet, he looks so similar...”

Braith realized quickly that Brennan would come to the conclusion that this was one of the men ‘he’ was hunting. Trying to prevent a scene Braith reached calmly for Brennan’s hand as it lowered to one of ‘his’ guns.

In a calm whisper to Brennan, Braith said, “Pause a moment. I am fairly confident this is not the man you think it is, but we should confirm my suspicions. If I prove to be wrong, then draw your weapons.”

Before Braith could address the dark skinned man another new arrival caught his attention. This man approached the bar, which in itself was not remarkable. What caught Braith’s attention was the way the man looked around, then chose his seat. He happened to come within earshot of Braith and Brennan. Braith twinged on the extra attention. Something about the covered face and air of nonchalance stirred memories in Braith’s mind.

Braith nodded to Brennan, bringing ‘his’ attention to the new man, “The bounty hunters are on the prowl.”

Once again interrupting any further reaction on Braith’s part, another notable arrival entered the tavern. This person made no effort to conceal her interest as she boldly sat in front of Braith and asked about them. Braith smiled his most welcoming, “Hello m’lady. We are hardly alone, but I can understand why it might appear that way. This is an odd place for you to choose to enjoy an evening. I can’t help but be flattered at the attention. Though, I do suspect that you know exactly who you are addressing I feel obligated to introduce myself. I am Braith Alwyn. Will you be joining us for a drink or are you here to assist with the bounty hunter? It would be a good ploy, since you are wonderfully distracting.”

Braith looked at the man leaning the chair nearby but didn’t see any signs of recognition, “Ah, I see not. Then I would assume you are here to enjoy a drink. It is an interesting gathering that comes together by chance, is it not?”

Braith nodded at Brennan, “A famous gentleman.”

Braith nodded at the dark skinned man, “A lookalike of the infamous.”

Braith now looked at the man leaning in his chair nearby, “A diligent hunter.”

Braith looked the woman in the eyes, noticing the coldness, “And a beautiful, but hardened lady.”

This woman might dress the part of the noble but Braith suspected there was more to her than appearances belied. He made his living on finding motives that were not apparent. It was time to bring these seemingly random people together. Braith didn’t believe in randomness.

“An interesting collection of circumstance, wouldn’t you agree? But, I don’t believe in circumstance. Everyone is here for a reason. Maybe you stumbled upon a group who will listen and provide assistance. Maybe you are looking to make a living by doing a job. Maybe you answered a call. However, I think all of us here might be able to band together for mutual advantage. That may not have been your intention when you arrived, but hear me out and I may convince you otherwise.”

Braith leaned back in his chair, watching each of them, “My proposal is in regards to highwaymen, murderers, new laws and a change in lifestyle. Are any of you interested in what I have to say?”

Charles sat in his office, polishing his saber. He found that the task had an oddly calming effect, which he had been needing a lot of lately. This post was much preferable to his last, but there was too much downtime. Because he didn't usually patrol the roads himself all he did was listen to reports of his command's incompetence. The saber was already completely polished but Charles continued, mesmerized by his reflection in the blade. Presently there was a soft query from outside. "Enter," he called without even looking up. It was time for the daily report. Probably full of more bad news, Charles thought irritably. It seemed he dealt more with insubordination and desertion then actual criminals these days. Not since the infamous Hunt Brothers strike, but Charles had a feeling that was all about to change.

“I have messages for you sir.” The messenger entered the door timidly, hesitantly approaching Charles' desk. “Captain VanFleet, these are for you. The first is the report from the road. The second a new man reporting for duty. He is waiting to be introduced. The last one sir....” Charles noticed the pause and finally looked up from his saber, cocking an eyebrow at the boy. The messenger fidgeted for a bit, but got it all out in a rush. “Their sending you a Justice of the Peace sir. I heard, I heard one of the Lords say they are sending one with all the units to make sure that justice is done.” Then he added a little too late, "Sir."

However Charles was no longer paying the boy any mind. He snatched the outstretched messages and tore into the third one. The one about the Justice of the Peace. He read it quickly, and then read it again to be sure. It was predictably vague and useless message, what was important was what was left unsaid. How could they do this to me?! Charles was fuming. First they give him a free reign to get results, and now they clamp a chain firmly around his ankle. How was he to achieve in this situation? There was no room for advancement here, they were setting him up for failure. Charles slammed his fist down on his desk, making the young boy jump. Charles returned his attention to him, long enough to wave him away in dismissal.

He read the message one last time before crushing it in his fist. Let them try. Nothing had ever been easy in Charles' life, but nothing had ever stopped him either. Presently he turned his attention to the other two messages, forgotten on his desk. He only briefly scanned over the new personnel information. Whoever he was would be welcome, between desertion and dismissals Charles was running dangerously short on manpower. Time enough for that later. Moving on to the daily report, the color drained from Charles' face and then returned in a rush of red. He stood violently and strapped on his saber. Jamming his hat onto his head, Charles stormed from the office shouting for his lieutenant to assemble the men.

**As posted by Monroe in IC**

His shoulders hunched forward as the party at the table beside him grew. These people assembling seemed strange somehow and it set Jules' nerves on edge. He discreetly tried to shift away from the assembling group without being noticed, but it was too late. A man with an astute gaze had inspected him, making it too late to leave without raising suspicion.

Despite himself, his hearing was tuned to the conversation occurring nearby. He kept his black eyes down on the rough grain of the table, but every muscle in his body seemed to strain in an effort to hear what was being said. If his ears could have popped off his head and walked to the next table they probably would have, so engaged was he.

"It is an interesting gathering that comes together by chance, is it not?” asked the strangely shrewd man. “A famous gentleman. A lookalike of the infamous.” His keen gaze fell on Jules and the man nodded. Jules did not return the gesture. “A diligent hunter. And a beautiful, but hardened lady.”

He couldn't help but glance around at the other people, a feeling of foreboding settling heavily upon him. This man- whoever he was- perhaps did not know who Jules was, yet somehow he knew who he wasn't.

“My proposal is in regards to highwaymen, murderers, new laws and a change in lifestyle. Are any of you interested in what I have to say?”

Jules was silent for a moment, then he turned in his chair and leaned in. "Aye," he whispered in a tongue deeply accented by his Morril'ai roots. "I will hear what you have to say."

Outside Captain’s Office-Regala, Wifield-Midmorning

The page exited quickly when the Captain waved him away. Hid nearby though. He wanted to see the new soldier and maybe get a glimpse of the Justice they were sending.

It was a short time later when the Captain himself appeared. He exited his office, clearly annoyed with feet practically stomping as he walked. He called for his lieutenant to assemble the men. The page sulked. He wanted to see the man the Lords had sent for.

Lieutenant Thompson looked up at the sound of his captain’s voice. “Aye sir!”

His hat was placed quickly on his head and jogged quickly outside to the give the order to the barracks. Captain VanFleet looked unhappy with something and Thompson was sure the answer was in the messages the page had brought. He shook his head, not looking forward to the rest of the day.

Lord Ashburn’s office-Regala, Wifield-Midmorning

Lord Ashburn watched the man leave. He had a raised as if he would stop him and say more but he had no idea what would have come out in response. He had expected Mr. Viteri to be hard and stern but he something about his tone and choice of words made the older man frown.

Scratching his head, he addressed the bookcase on the far wall. “What do you think he meant about finding the bitch that begot the rabid dogs?”

Another man stepped out from behind the bookcase. He had been hiding in the passageway, the case moved just enough to allow him to overhear the conversation.

“I think that it means we were right to send our little watchdog out of our hair. He would have asked far too many question here.”

Lord Bryant tapped a finger to his cheek. “You would do best to find someone within the unit to give us reports on our Captain VanFleet and Mr Viteri. If they prove to be too meddlesome and impeding of our tasks we may have to shift their focus.”

Lord Ashburn nodded and stared into the fire. His thoughts were far less dark and conniving as the other man’s. “Right, right, good.”

Crooked Bow Inn and Tavern-Kethington. Wifield-Dusk

Brennan tried to calm down. ”Refocus? I have others counting on me!” Blue eyes stared back at Braith.

”It would be best if you were a little less angry and more willing to listen when the rest arrive though. I will need someone of your reputation to be able to see the logic in my plan and assist me in convincing others.”

An eyebrow raised at the statement. Braith was right, Brennan needed to calm down. More willing to listen...that was debatable.

Under the scarf Elsbeth’s mouth formed a tight line. She was used to doing things her way. However this wasn’t some hack off the street trying put together a half cocked scheme. Braith was smart, observant and had ideas that might prove better than her angry call for blood.

Brennan’s back was straight, posture rigid still though Braith’s friendly smile made Elsbeth sigh. There was truly no might about it. Braith was right. Thankfully, given Brennan’s tendency not to speak, Elsbeth didn’t have to tell him so.

Brennan was no common bandit, Elsbeth had worked hard to keep the reputation as it was when her father rode. She wouldn’t let her temper sour that now.

Brennan nodded, acknowledging that he would in fact be calmer. The nod stopped midway as cold blue eyes took in a sight that made Elsbeth’s blood boil. The tall, dark skinned man entered and took a seat nearby.

A dark skinned man had been with the group that had killed the Lord and his family. There were not many in Wifield, transplants from colonies and far off lands. This man fit the description of the bandit to the letter. Eyes followed him even as a hand moved towards the inside of the long coat.

A hand rested on hers and Elsbeth glared at Braith. ”Not the man? How could he think that?” It took a moment for her eyes to catch it, the way Braith was inspecting the man. He read people and glimpsed things about them that she couldn’t even begin to see or understand. The gloved hand rested on the table with its twin.

Braith received a small nod in response but Brennan’s eyes were still on the dark man.

“The bounty hunters are on the prowl.”

Elsbeth let out a low growl under the scarf and turned her eyes to the figure Braith was now watching. She didn’t like it. Bounty hunter either out for the murderer or for Brennan. Did not bode well for anyone no matter who he was after.

Another figure appeared, this one sitting down at the table with them. Brennan looked out from under the brim of his hat at the lady. She was dressed well enough, odd company for the likes of them but if she could shoot, ride or at least wield a knife than Brennan didn’t care if she was the Queen herself.

He was straight in his chair, letting Braith talk and figure out the odd collection that had appeared. Eyes moved from the woman, to the bounty hunter and then fell back on the man he was convinced had to do with the Lord’s murder. He was staring holes into the man’s back, jaw clenched under the scarf.

Braith’s words hit her ears but Brennan made no move to add to it. Hands were steady on the table just waiting to see how things played out.

A hand clenched as the dark skinned man spoke. The deep voice was odd sounding to her ears and Elsbeth frowned a little. It was taking a great deal of control not to call the man out. She was glad that control was something she prided herself on.

Instead of saying or doing anything, Brennan sat straight backed in the chair and looked on at the rest of the group. The woman seemed calm and interested from the moment she sat. Eyes flickered to the bounty hunter wondering what the man would do now that Braith had mentioned him.

The parliamentary cab dropped James (with Lord Ashborn's aide, Maxwell), off at the barracks. Through the ornamental iron gates, he could see a line of uniformed men filing out onto the assembly yard beyond. Off to one side, a man with a captain's insignia on his breast and three pips on his shoulder, kicked through the gravel, a younger obviously more junior officer trailing behind him.

Once again, James was reminded of the conspicuous absence of a watch in Wifield. Here, under the ultimate governance of the Queen, the army were effectively employed in a dual role to keep the peace in their own country. These men, uniformed in blue and gold, drilled to obey unthinkingly, moving, acting and fighting as legion, were soldiers, not watchmen. Their peace was a soldier's peace; an empty battlefield with enemies slain, incapacitated or captured with little discrimination as to which. A watchman's peace was far messier and less satisfying. But necessary to a civilised state. They had far to come here, it seemed.

He and the aide were waved through by the guard at the gatehouse once the latter had briefly explained who they were and flashed his badge of parliament. As they walked across the gravel, James took the time to gauge the officer they were approaching.

Much shorter than the average man, a full foot shorter than Viteri himself, the captain had a boyish appearance betrayed only by a certain leanness of muscle visible beneath his uniform and a flash of a scar, perhaps from the tip of a sabre, across his cheek. If it were not for the flamboyant uniform of blue dress coat, cream breeches and gold and red ornamentation, he might easily have been one of his more soberly-dressed subordinates; he looked pale but otherwise unremarkable.

"This is Captain Charles VanFleet," said Maxwell, as they came to a halt in front of the captain and (James could now see), his lieutenant. "Who's unit you will be overseeing, sir. Captain VanFleet, this is Justice of the Peace, Commissioner Viteri."

"Captain," said James, eyes falling on the other man, silently noting Maxwell's use of the Wifieldish translation of his title Commissario. "When will your unit be ready to depart?"

Markus slowly heard the merchant man acknowledging his presence, along with the presence of the other people present in front of him and his scarfed companion. He identified him as a bounty hunter, that took a lot of observation to probably figure that out. That, or Markus just needed a look that doesn't scream 'hunter'.

"Diligent hunter, I may be, I was on the prowl for a certain highwayman named Brennan of the Grange." Markus said very plainly as he got up from his chair and moved said chair towards the gathered crowd of people to sit with them. "However, you talk of a big catch it seems merchant. I will be interested in this little matter you speak of."

Markus gave one of his infamous greens as he looked at the people with his emerald green eye. "Provided, of course." he continued, "You tell us, what exactly we're going to be after, specifically? I won't grace this crowd of my name, yet, unless asked otherwise."

He knew if he stated who he was right away, he might cause a brawl. some of the other men in this very bar seemed to have friends Markus was all too familiar with, he either put down his friends by dragging their friends to jail, or just bringing their boots as proof of their deaths. Either way, Black XII was about to get a big catch of people it seemed.

Common taverns were not an unusual place for Gwen to be seen, in fact, some of the more upscale establishments were some of her best hunting grounds. Many highwaymen shunned the cities in favor of the wooded roads, but Gwen had learned to find opportunity everywhere, and cities had their own advantages, one’s ability to disappear into a crowd chief among them. What was peculiar about this night however, was that Gwen was alone, and she was forced to ponder the events that had led to her being here. The murderous band currently loose on the roads were creating a multitude of problems, and not just for the reputation and viability of the highwaymen, which was honestly the least important. It wasn’t that she didn’t care per say, but Gwen was quite pragmatic, and she’d always seen the decline of the occupation as somewhat inevitable. One can only poke the sleeping bear for so long before it takes a swipe after all, and few had deliberately poked as hard as Rooster and Fox. But then Gwen was adaptable, thieves and con-artists had existed long before the highwaymen, and she was certain her skill set in both could translate well in a less flashy occupation.

No, what was unacceptable was the reaction of the crown, and the innocent blood that had already been spilt. Killing highwaymen was one thing, it was an occupational hazard and a risk they all knowingly took while riding the road, but innocent uninvolved villagers? Some had been little more than children, and the brutality of their murders by the Queen’s Men had a very dark place in Gwen stirring.

This band had to be stopped, there was universal agreement on that front, but the means by which to do so had so far left most camps divided, even for the infamous Rooster and Fox.

“Killing the band won’t stop the Queen’s men from killing us on the road Fox. If they catch the murderers themselves, they’ll take the credit for protecting the public, and if we do it for them, they’ll claim they scared the blackguards out of the country. We can’t win this battle like this m’dear.” Rooster has said in a voice that sounded foreign and sober for the usually flamboyant highwayman.

“I can’t simply sit here and do nothing Rooster. At least if we were to kill the band it would take some wind out of thier sails.” Fox reasoned, though even she knew better than to believe that.

“It won’t be enough. The Queen is playing a high stakes game of chess, and she’d been trapped in a corner by her own pieces. She has no choice by to appease them for the moment.” Rooster replied, and not for the first time Gwen wondered who Rooster, her partner for nearly five years now, really was. He just seemed to know too many things about important people at times, and she didn’t believe the cock and bull story he’d told her about being an out of work bard for a moment. “What do you plan to do then?” Gwen returned, knowing full well she wasn’t going to like the answer.

“Incite the pawns.” He replied with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “They may be the weakest pieces on the board, but they’re also the most numerous. They’ve already done most the work for me, I just have to fan the sparks of outrage into a flame.”

“With what, your poems? Rooster, they’re only stories, they can’t do anything.” Fox had cried indignantly. Her eccentric partner had always taken part of his year for his unorthodox hobby to write romantic poems about the highwaymen, but this was no time for fancy.

“Stories are everything.” Rooster contradicted. “They shape who we are, what we think, and in the wake of these murders, they present a villain that every common man can hate.” Something in those words had chilled even Gwen, but she couldn’t deny his point, though she was loath to admit that.

“That’s treason and you know it. No publisher in their right mind will risk printing for you, not in Wifield.” Gwen tried to argue, though she was afraid she already knew where this conversation was going.

“That’s why I’m going to the colonies darling. I have a printer lined up already, and even a friend with a ship willing to help with distribution.” Rooster had said in what was meant to be a reassuring tone.

“A pirate?” Gwen had guessed disapprovingly, and Rooster had only laughed.

“He prefers the term opportunist, but yes, I suppose he could be called that. Don’t be so hypocritical darling, we’re all thieves in the end, the same.” Rooster had chided. But Gwen disagreed, they were not even remotely the same thing, and a knot lodged itself deep in her gut at the thought of Rooster trusting one of those murderous backstabbing cutthroats. But she had no way to stop her friend, and that had been two days ago. Since then he had boarded a ship for the colonies, and she was alone in a tavern, waiting to hear news of the plan that the ever business minded Braith was concocting to solve their problem.

She sat alone at her own table, though in clear sight of Braith and his table. She would wait for a signal from the man that it was safe to approach before she showed her hand. There were too many unfriendly eyes on the road of late to be so conspicuous, and she could hardly believe how blatantly some of the others interested in this particular job had approached him. Well they could be as careless as they liked she supposed, but Gwen didn’t fancy the prospect of a noose around her neck, so she’d stay put until Braith, who she’d had minor dealings with in the past, gave the all clear.

Charles stood in the middle of the parade grounds, watching as his units stumbled out in the field to stand in formation. Lieutenant Thompson was egging them on half-heartedly. The man was competent in that he followed orders, but he lacked drive. Charles would need to replace him if he was ever going to bring proper discipline into his unit. However no suitable replacement had yet presented themselves. As the last of the men hurried into position Charles scanned their faces, wondering if the new recruit was among them yet. If so he is about to get a serious taste of my command. Charles smiled inwardly.

Charles motioned to Thompson and uttered one word: "Smith." Thompson stepped forward bawling out, "Private Smith, front and center on the double." The man in question stepped out of line and marched smartly, but slowly, to the head of the column. He stopped in front of Charles and faced forward snapping a salute and staring off into the distance. Charles lamented not for the first time that Private Smith was a good foot taller than he. He will come under my heel all the same, one way or the other.

"Private Smith," Charles' tone was low but his voice carried across the grounds, "I have just read a most disturbing report that you have shot and killed someone while on patrol." Smith remained silent with an unreadable expression. "Seems you have a strong penchant for disobeying my orders. Perhaps you feel you would be better suited to command?"

Suddenly another man stepped from the ranks, Charles recognized him as one of Smith's lackeys. "You're damn right he would," the man shouted angrily. Charles nodded his head and the advancing man was grabbed by Thompson and another. Charles stepped forward and put all he had into a vicious underhand blow to the abdomen. The man exhaled all the air in his lungs and dropped to his knees. Charles surveyed the rest of his unit, "Any other outbursts?" Without even deeming to look at him, Charles shoved the gasping man into the mud with his boot. "Good." He turned back to Smith, "Explain yourself, quickly."

Smith quailed under Charles' gaze stammering, "H...he was a highwayman. With the new law... I thought... I thought." Charles dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Don't think, it doesn't suit you. That law has not passed yet, and my word is the only law your primitive brain need heed." Charles stepped up right in Smith's face, "Now get. back. in. line." He punctuated every word with a pause. Smith slunk quickly back to his place in formation. "Listen up," Charles didn't raise his voice, but he held everyone's complete attention. "I just received word that a Justice of the Peace will be joining our unit to give us greater authority. He will tell us what we can do, and I will tell you exactly how to do it. I expect much more competence then I have received as of late. With someone to preside I can finally mete out capital punishment for disobedience and deserters. So why don't you all keep that in mind? Dismissed."

Thompson bawled out some more orders, and Charles watched them all disperse. No one looked him in the eye. He seriously doubted the Justice would let him execute deserters, but one could always hope. And they don't need to know that, maybe this will stem the problem. Suddenly two men approached and one was introduced as none other than Commissioner Viteri himself. Charles heart dropped into his stomach. That was much faster than I was expecting, and he is so much taller than me. He gritted his teeth and snapped the man a smart salute. This was merely another obstacle to overcome. "Welcome Commissioner, I and my men are at your disposal. We can depart at a moments notice."

Trooper Thomas Blackthorne stood silently and with such stillness one might suspect he was made of stone, only the blinking of his eyes and the slight flush on his cheeks betrayed that he was indeed a living person. The Captain was in front of them, impeccable as ever and with a slight frown on his face that suggested someone was in trouble. Blackthorne thought he knew who that might be as he felt his stomach sink.

"Trooper Smith!"

The shout brought a flood of relief to Blackthorne and he watched out of the corner of his eye as the offender marched forward and slammed to a halt in front of VanFleet. Smith, like Blackthorne, towered over the slightly built officer which always made receiving a bawling out easier when you could just look over the person delivering it.

He listened as his fellow trooper was accused of shooting someone on their last patrol. Privately Blackthorne agreed with the shooting and he was not the only one, the highway brigands had shown very little mercy to their own victims. In fact, Blackthorne had shot one of the offenders on the patrol last week but no one had been near and he'd simply tipped the body into the river, no one the wiser.

Then Lewis, the damn fool who would probably get shot by his fellow soldiers some day, suddenly burst out that Smith would indeed make a better officer then VanFleet. It took some serious self control for Blackthorne to not burst out laughing at such an absurd notion. Smith was an over opinionated, unskilled, moron.

When the Captain dropped Lewis into the mud with a single blow Blackthorne kept his gaze straight ahead, ignoring the man who now lay in the mud at his feet. As the Captain continued to berated Smith who had uttered some ridiculous excuse for the shooting rather then just claiming it was self defence, Blackthorne ran over his mental checklist of equipment for the patrol.

He only half heard the Captains comments about a Justice of the Peace joining them and suspected that both this new man, and the Captain might end up with a bullet in their back if they did not treat the soldiers better. True, Smith deserved his reprimand and Lewis should probably have been shot for his outburst but there was only so far you could push someone before they turned on you.

The dismissal finally came and Blackthorne hurried to the long line of mounts that were picketed nearby. He quickly found his mount, Gunner, and climbed into the saddle, settling his sword properly by his side. A few more checks to ensure that his carbine was loaded and his powder was properly protected from rain then he trotted out into the square. A few laps around the parade ground and his saddle was properly seated. He dropped down, made a quick check of the belly strap and then swung back up.

The company was beginning to form up and he quickly forced his mount between those of his two best mates, troopers John Rookwood and Tyler Cairns. He gave them each a quick grin and wink before leaning forward slightly on the pommel of his saddle to await further orders.

"Then I give you that notice, Captain," said James, not returning the salute. "We have intelligence that travellers on the Green Lanes north of Regala will be targeted in the coming days; that shall be our destination and we must set off within the hour. I leave the rest in your hands. Inform me when your men are ready to leave."

Turning away from the Captain and walking back across the assembly yard, James heard Maxwell hastily bobbing a goodbye to VanFleet then hurrying back after him.

"And- Is everything satisfactory, Commissioner Viteri?" he said, frowning as James continued to walk out of the gates of the barracks. The Parliamentary Cab was still waiting outside and the driver had just finished untying the trunk on its roof.

"I do not know yet, but I will be sure to inform Lord Ashburn of my conclusion," said James, reaching up to lift his luggage down.

"Yes, of course. But- Please, Commissioner, I'm certain one of the troopers would be able to transport your belongings for you..."

"I'm certain they would but they are not here and I am, so we shall never find out. Good-day Mr Maxwell, thank you for your assistance."

Maxwell reflexively bobbed another bow at James' parting words and watched in uncomfortable confusion as he went back through the gates, carrying his trunk with him. After a conspicuous cough by the cab driver, he climbed back inside and nodded for him to return to Lord Ashburn's offices. Perhaps they did things differently in Demicia. After all, they were mostly merchants, even those who had been fortunate enough to talk their way into a marriage to the nobility. Businessmen and policemen, lawyers and clerics; a nation of little people, he had heard it said. And he cautiously told himself that Viteri was of his father's land rather than his mother's, that it was obvious just by looking at him. He even managed to convince himself that this was true by the time he stepped back onto the Parliament steps.



It took two days to reach Dunfen, a small market town on the edge of the Forest of Wicken that lay to the north of Regala. The Green Lanes were a series of ancient roads, re-surfaced and widened by the Wifield government at great expense to promote trade down from the north through the capital to Hetherford on the southern coast. So-called for the canopy of branches that had long-ago grown over the Green Lanes, they made for a strange and secluded journey, as if the travellers had been swallowed whole by the forest and were slowly making its way through its leafy innards to its heart. James liked them; he'd never seen anything like them in Demicia and, since yesterday afternoon it had not rained and his heart felt a little lighter as a consequence. But of course, he could not forget the reason for his being there...

On the evening of the second day, the dusk was overtaking the sunlight which cast green dappled shadows on the ground where the Lanes began on the outskirts of Dunfen. A small unit of six men including James and VanFleet had been assembled and were ready to go on the first patrol of their deployment. Although not a natural horseman, James was adept enough at riding and had insisted (or rather, simply told the captain) that he would be in attendance on the first patrol. He had a gun and a sword and he knew how to use them, though he had a strong distaste for doing so. Besides, it was difficult to justify the peace from back at the inn in Dunfen; without seeing the unit in action on the roads, it was difficult to justify anything at all. So he'd been determined to come along and luckily for VanFleet, he'd not voiced too loud an opposition.

James' horse pawed the ground in restlessness and he adjusted his seat upon it to wordlessly pat its neck. The moon had not yet risen and an eerie lilac light was descending over the forest, casting deep shadows across the faces of the assembled and gleaming off uniform buttons. James, of course, was wearing civilian clothing- practical and hard-wearing but civilian clothing none the less- and he alone looked a little like one of the highwaymen they were about to set out to capture although his face was uncovered and he was hatless. He cast a glance over at Captain VanFleet, in silent question as to when they would depart.

Crooked Bow Tavern and Inn-Kethington, Wifield-Dusk

Braith looked over at the the dark skinned man and watched him with concern as he hunched further into himself. Braith worried for a moment that he called attention there too soon. Yet, with the bounty hunter here, and any others in the tavern who might notice, he thought it best to control the situation immediately. When the man spoke in the affirmative Braith relaxed. Now he could explain the situation and let the others in all at once without worrying that a mistaken identity would spiral out of control.

“Wonderful. It is good to have your ear. I suspect you haven’t been given much choice in how you interact with people over the last few weeks? You have a well known doppelganger that has no doubt complicated your life. I noticed how you are attempting to be unseen though, rather than boldly striding through the tavern, or wearing a disguise of some type. The former would mark you as a bold killer, looking to take advantage of your reputation. The latter, a guilty party, afraid of the hangman’s noose. Rather, you look nervous and resigned. As though you have been run out of many similar places and are starting to accept that you will be constantly mistaken for someone else.”

Braith paused, he knew it would be a challenge for this man to trust a random stranger in a bar. Braith himself would not normally want to run the risk of bringing such a memorable man into this group, yet he also knew that often helpful gestures paid big dividends. With that in mind, Braith took a sympathetic and sincere approach, “I think you might be in need of some assistance. I believe that assistance rendered is always a good investment since it is often paid back heartily, in one way or another. Please, join us.”

Braith then turned back to Brennan and with a quick glance saw that ‘he’ had regained ‘himself’ and the quintessential coolness had returned. Braith nodded and smiled at ‘him’ before following ‘his’ gaze to the bounty hunter, who also indicated interest.

“Ah, of course. All good hunters tend to weigh the value of the hunt versus the risk. Understandable. Come, join us at the table. Your name is not unknown to me. There are not many one-eyed hunters and I make it my business to know who might be involved with my clients. I want to assure you that any bounties you might have thought to have in mind are now worthless. With this law, any time you try to collect you run the risk of the law jumping your claim.”

Braith had heard of such things happening. He didn’t see it as a far step from bounty hunter to highwayman in the eyes of an officer who sees an opportunity to cash a bounty and excuse any other killing. Braith nodded in understanding, “As I’m sure you’ve deduced as well, which is why you are interested in alternatives.”

Braith, noticing Gwen looking over at him now, nodded slightly, “I hope that we’ll all be patient and understanding of everyone’s previous career choices. Black XII, meet Brennan of the Grange and ‘The Fox’, who is approaching the table as we speak.”

Braith stood and swept out a chair for Gwen with a friendly smile. Returning his gaze to the table, but not returning to his chair, “The other two I do not know, yet, but I hope feel welcome to introduce themselves now.”

He continued to stand to draw the attention of the group and keep them focused. He was about to launch into a long explanation of the information he’d gathered, “But I will outline my findings to put your minds at ease that I do, in fact, offer a more valuable target. As we all are aware, the Queen has proposed a law that would make highwaymen or anyone suspected as such, little more than target dummies. This law will pass. There is no way to stop it. The Queen was losing honour and money as her fleet of ships was badgered by pirates in the new world. She demanded assistance and was able to raise enough to build an effective response.”

Braith drew a breath, “This approach worked well enough, but it ignored any activity here. This left all the nobles paying for far away ships and watching their money being stolen from them by robbers and highwaymen in their own lands. This murder seems to have galvanized the nobles and they have been putting pressure on the Queen to do something. The wheels are set in motion. There is no turning back. The Queen cannot back down now or she could very well set off a rebellion amongst her court.”

Having explained the politics of where they were Braith knew he now needed to convince the group that there was something worth fighting for. That maybe this group had a chance to make a name for itself in a different way than they were used to.

With his typical appraising gaze he glanced around the table, ensuring everyone was still following and interested in his upcoming proposal, “Yet, we may still be able to influence the direction of the wheel as it moves. There are intimations that this murder was not by chance. That it was manufactured by some who might be less concerned about law and order and more concerned about their own standing in court. What better way to improve one’s standing than by removing one’s rivals? And then being the ‘hero’ that cleaned up the highways and made it safe to travel again? Safe, that is, for those who are on the list. The threat is no longer the lone criminal, trying to find money to live. No, now the threat is the supposed solution. Having control of the forces who ‘protect’ the roads means that those who don’t ‘earn’ protection favour are now easy targets without any recourse since it was ‘justice’ who robs them.”

Braith paused for a breath. This rant had been building in him since he saw the means by which this law as being enforced. Of course, he knew he would be able to find favour in the new system if he toed the line and made the right friends, but he felt their methods were distasteful. At least the clients he typically did business with were honourable, in their way. Yes, they robbed people, but they were not in the business of threatening children, killing innocents and abusing authority in order to build on an already large fortune.

“We could work to expose the source of this corruption. The resources we have at this table could change how this law is enforced. It could help weed out those who were only looking to grow their own coffers rather than bringing actual justice to the land. Bounties are a thing of the past. Robbing nobles is now a good way to be shot dead. This will be the way things are unless someone steps up and finds the information that helps real justice to be enforced.”

Finished, Braith returned to his chair and waited for their thoughts.

Gwen approached the table full of bandits once Braith waved her over, and settled herself into the offered seat. She returned Braith’s smile with an acknowledging nod, knowing Braith wouldn’t be offended by her lack of warmth. She’s worked with the cunning man before, and few likely better understood her need to wear a mask to disguise one's emotions better than he did. Listening to Braith’s debriefing of the situation, Gwen took the opportunity to more closely examine the group that had gathered. Brennan she knew, and Braith obviously as well, but the rest were strangers to her, nor did they strike her as especially impressive. That of course could also be a clever act designed to disarm their victims, so there really was no telling for sure. Still, she’d have felt a lot more confident about this little mission if Jack were here…

“Agreed, something must be done about the matter, but how are we to expose them? We have no way to know which nobles and officers are in on the take without someone in their circle to give us information. Do you have an informant?” Gwen asked, trying to keep her voice neutral and productive despite the simmering anger the burned just below the surface. Whatever it took, she was going to put a stop to this conspiracy. These nobles were going to learn that they couldn’t harass and terrorize the people of this country for profit any longer.

Crooked Bow Inn and Tavern-Kethington. Wifield-Dusk

Brennan’s blue eyes watched the group, trying desperately to read each of the individuals Elsbeth had none of Braith’s abilities when it came to measuring people, knowing how to talk to them or win them over. Inside the heavy coat she was sweating and muscles were tense.

Eyes were focused on the dark skinned man for a moment. He seemed keen to listen though Elsbeth still couldn’t fathom how this couldn’t be the man she thought he was. Braith knew something she didn’t. Doppelganger The word caught her attention. Could there really be two of them? Two men who are so similar in appearance yet one helped cause this upheaval and another is just an innocent?

Elsbeth felt her cheeks blush as Braith smiled at her. She felt foolish for having been so close to losing her cool but this law was going to change everything. She was grateful that the man knew her so well and was so good at reading people. Braith had given her the chance to calm down.

Brennan’s eyes followed Braith to the bounty hunter. Lip curled in distaste for a man who made his living hunting down highwaymen. Braith had a point however, this law meant a death to bounty hunters. When the Queen’s men could simply shoot people down in the road there was no need to pay large sums to these men. Money not paid out for criminals meant more in the coffers of the court.

A familiar form moved through the crowd and took a seat at the table. Fox had ridden with Brennan on a job with the Hunt brothers though they were not close. Brennan never let anyone get too close as too much familiarity made it hard to hide secrets.

Eyes flashed back to the bounty hunter as Braith made introductions. Elsbeth knew of Black XII, knew he had it out for Brennan as he had managed to elude the hunter on a few occassions. It was something that Brennan did well. Appear from nowhere and disappear just the same. A mixture of anger and fear stirred in Elsbeth stomach. Will Black honour a truce here and now in an effort to focus on the greater trouble at hand?

Something about the stance of the man beside her made Elsbeth turn away from her scrutiny of the bounty hunter. To those watching Brennan simply turned his head and his attention away but inside Elsbeth was on edge. Hands clenched on the table’s surface as Braith talked of the new law and how it was certain to pass.

Even she knew that rebellion in the Queen’s court, the loss of favour of the Lords and her backers would do more harm to the people than anyone. They needed the Queen even if at times she seemed simply a puppet.

Brennan leaned forward as Braith talked of the murder and how it might not have been a random encounter. A set up to bring in the law or is there more? It angered her more to think that people had been killed purely for someone else’s gain.

Her eyes fell on Braith. He was taking a much needed breath. Elsbeth wasn’t sure if she had ever seen him so worked up but it seemed that perhaps there was more going on than some lords wanting a law passed. Law, rival gone, control over those serving the Queen’s justice. It was almost too perfect and all it would take was a few of the lords in the court to band together and then they would control it all.

Elsbeth’s stomach churned. She was both sickened by her fellow man and angry by them. She looked around at the table This group...do we really think we can do anything to stop this? What can we do against a bunch of rich lords who control everything?

Blue eyes blinked slowly at Braith as he posed to the group how he thought they could best address the issue. Expose the corruption? Justice? The robber turned officer?

A gloved hand tapped the table and the body sat back in the chair. Elsbeth was very close to laughing. Me, expose corruption? Me? A woman dressed as a man and playing robber in the dark? Is he mad?

One look at Braith and she could tell that not only was he very serious but he honestly believed this...group could do it. Elsbeth took in the others. Is it possible? Brows furrowed above the cold blue orbs as she tried to work out if this was a sound method or insanity sure to get them killed.

Fox’s voice addressed Braith first. The rest at the table seemed as quiet as Brennan though for entirely different reasons.

A sound question though Elsbeth figured Braith had numerous connections. The man knew things and if he was saying there was corruption than he had an in already. Elsbeth was more trying to figure out exactly ‘how’ Brennan or Fox or any of them might be of use to Braith. If he knew so much than what use were they to him?

Braith smiled wider as Gwen sat and nodded. He expected this initial mistrust and bristling with new people around. Yet, in order to accomplish their lofty goal they had to find out who they could trust and quickly. With a friendly tone Braith addressed Gwen, “My dear Fox, I would not be able to provide such useful information if I did not have connections. I make it a point to surround myself with capable people. My talents are in finding those people.”

He then look over at the drumming fingers of Brennan. Raising his gaze to ‘his’ face he saw the consternation and doubt. He looked around the table and saw a similar expression. The unspoken question of, ‘Why us? What can we possibly do?’

Braith looked down at his hands and drew in a breath, “What we are up against isn’t a common mark. This is not some spoiled, rich noble who will give up on first sight of our pistols or swords. This is an opponent that has made a habit of using others to maintain power. We would be but bugs under their heel if we tried to oppose them individually. However, what they will not expect is a group of resourceful individuals gathering their talents. Organizing them and using them to the best of their abilities in a concerted attempt, not to rob them, but to expose them for what they are. They call us criminals. Who better than a criminal to expose a snake?”

Brennan’s head tilted as Braith answered the unasked question. Once again Braith’s ability to read a person amazed Brennan. There was still some doubt. Expose them without exposing my true identity. A gloved hand came up towards a cheek but Elsbeth stopped, hand mid air. The gesture was one women made when concerned or thinking, not a hardened highwayman. With a deep inhale Elsbeth steadied herself.

The hand gestured to Braith to continue. Brennan nodded, conceding that there might be something there. Eyes locked with Braith’s. And start where? What do we do first? The gaze questioned him.

Braith noticed Brennan’s gesture, a twitch of an amused grin as she corrected her movements. He caught her gaze and paused, reading the thoughts in those expressive eyes of hers, “Then, what is it we should put our efforts toward? I suggest we put our efforts toward finding and questioning one of the party of murderers. I happen to know of someone who can point us to the last known location of a member of said party. As you can see, I am a source of information, but not one of physical intimidation. I don’t expect to be able to charm a murderer into confession. However, you all have abilities that will help us track, chase and convince this person to tell us what they know. Interested?”

Brennan looked at the table, eyes hard. Elsbeth didn’t care about the rest right at this moment. Under the scarf she licked her dry lips. Intimidating was something that Brennan was known for, reputation speaking when he himself never did.

Is this the only way? Elsbeth thought it over but the decision didn’t take long. Anger was not the answer, hunting them down and turning them in would get nowhere. Expose them. It is all we can do.

She met Braith’s eyes again and nodded curtly. The eyes flickered quickly to the rest. Set the time and place.

Braith saw the acceptance in Brennan’s eyes, “If you are interested, let us meet in the morning. It is late. Get rest. We take on the world. Sleep will help.” He chuckled and sat back in his chair, more relaxed than he felt but he needed to inspire confidence in this group of outcasts.

With that the meeting broke up. Brennan stood, a nod to both Fox and Braith and made his way upstairs. The door to the room was unlocked. Brennan entered and closed the door behind him.

Securing the lock, Elsbeth leaned against the door. “Can this actually work?” The question was posed to the dark. Feet moved quickly to the window. Elsbeth looked out. Seeing no one, she opened it and made the short drop to the ground. She couldn’t risk actually staying in the inn. Braith had talked to one bounty hunter but that didn’t mean there might not have been others to see Brennan there. It did not mean that others might not try one last attempt to collect the bounty on Brennan’s head before the new law made them extinct.

Taking to the shadows Elsbeth ran into the woods. She had a pack hidden away a short distance from the inn. Once she changed some of her clothes no one would assume she was Brennan. No one would assume a young woman was a wanted highwayman.

Her eyes adjusted to the dark and it wasn’t long before she found her hidden pack and got a small fire going. Her coat was laid out on the ground, hat tucked away and finally Elsbeth sat in an oversized shirt and tight fitting leggings by the fire. Her hair was loose as she ran her fingers through it. The disguise had been hot in the inn and she took great deep breathes of the chill night air.

She stared into the fire and thought about what Braith had said, the others at the table and what the future might bring.

Morning came and Brennan sat the table in the inn again. For any who noticed there were slight circles under the highwayman’s eyes. Elsbeth had been up most of the night thinking. Now she sat and waited to see who else would join.

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Green Lanes-Dunfen, Wifeld-Dusk

The air was crisp this night. The men were waiting just inside the tree line. O’Grady assured them that a small group would be coming down this road tonight. He had overheard the itinerary of some travellers in a tavern. By their look and heavy purses he figured there should be a decent cut for all involved.

So they waited. As the moon rose the sound of horse hooves could be heard.

O’Grady adjusted his hat, choked up on his reins and nodded. “Keep an eye boys, they are coming.”

As the three riders, well dressed men on well groomed horses, passed them by the band jumped out. The travellers stopped, startled by the ambush.

“Alright then, we’ll be taking your coin now.”

Pistols were raised, fingers on the triggers. Voices were raised.

Not far down the road the group of six Queen’s men were riding. One, a young man, turned his horse and rode back towards his captain and the justice.

“Sir, we have noises on the road ahead of us. Sounds of fighting. Orders?”