Bastion

boy!”
    “Pa! They—” the interloper began.
    “Silence!” roared Jakyr, and at the same time Dallen and Jermayan reared and screamed, and flailed the air with their hooves. It was a very effective way to get attention.
    The entire mob backed up a pace, leaving this “Loran” and the Headman standing alone. The torches wavered in a slight wind. No one so much as whispered. The only sound came from the uneasy shuffling of feet.
    “We, Heralds of Valdemar and agents of the Crown, found this man occupying our Waystation, in complete and utter disregard for the law,” Jakyr said into the silence in tones of ice. Mags had never seen him look so implacable. The wind cut down the back of Mags’ cloak, making him shiver. “This is theft of the second degree, and the law says that the miscreant will be punished by no less than a fine of twenty silver pieces and not more than a year in gaol. You, I presume, are the Headman of this village. What do you intend to do about this clear violation of the law?”
    Some of the villagers looked askance at this. Others looked to the Headman. But some looked as if they found this amusing. The Headman folded his arms over his chest and sneered. “Nothing,” he said, flatly.
    “Nothing?” Jakyr repeated. “Really? A clear violation of Crown Law and you propose to do nothing?” He pretended to crane his neck to look over the crowd, his eyes falling on Lita. “Milady Bard, will you witness this?”
    “I do so witness,” drawled Lita, ambling to the front of the crowd with her gittern slung over her back, her Scarlets making her stand out among the drably clad villagers. “As a Master Bard, I do so witness. As does my Journeyman.”
    “And I,” Bear said loudly. He stepped to the front as well and planted his hands on his hips. As with Lita his green Healer’s robes were vivid against the browns and grays of the clothing around him. “I witness. I’ll swear as much to any official.”
    “So what?” The Headman continued to sneer. “What are you gonna do about it, Master Fancy White Pants? There’s dozens of us and only two of you. We can run you right out of town, and you won’t be able to stop us. The most you can do is run away.” Emboldened by Jakyr’s silence, he continued. “What are you gonna do about it? We don’t need you, and we don’t need Haven to come sticking its nose into our business! That Waystation of yours was a perfectly good cottage that stood empty most of the year, and I took it for my son, and I intend to keep it!”
    “Really. And how do you intend to house Heralds on Circuit, pray?” Jakyr asked, in a deceptively mild tone of voice.
    The Headman howled with angry laughter. “You can buy a room at the inn, just like any other man, Fancyboy.” His face could never have been called handsome, but it was particularly ugly with his face contorted into a superior sneer. “You can pay for it, with all the coin you get paid for doing nothing.”
    Jakyr’s right eyebrow rose, slowly. “Buy? Oh, really? That’s truly your answer to the theft of Crown property?”
    “And then you can take your laws and your justice and you can pack them up and ride off with them on the mule that brought you!” Mags rather wished that he were watching this as a play rather than being in the middle of it. At this point, the audience would have been roundly booing. It was a very uncomfortable situation, standing here, being uncertain as to which way the villagers were going to jump. They could win this, if the entire village managed to see where the Headman was trying to take them all. But how to get them to realize that? “We don’t need you! We don’t need Haven. And we damn sure don’t need some King who never got his white boots dirty!”
    Huh . . . little do you know . . .
    “So, Fancyboy,” the Headman was in his element now. He had a passive audience, and if that audience wasn’t exactly with him, it also wasn’t against him. He had his pulpit for preaching his particular brand of grievance. And he thought he was facing opponents helpless against his arguments. “What do you intend to do about it?”
    With every word, he got more aggressive. It was clear how the Headman had gotten that position. He had bullied his way into it, and no one had yet stood up to him. By now he was used to bullying to get his way, and so far he hadn’t done anything so egregious that people had completely turned against him.
    But from the muttering, and