"White Rider Vera," one of the knights called out.
It was as though a switch had been flipped. The merchants began to disappear. Little by slow, and then all at once, they were gone. Eragos wondered where they had vanished to, and why none of them had offered to take him along. Only the King and his daughter remained. The Lady Cithia instinctively stood behind him - the knights had arranged themselves in a neat semi-circle, and now that the crowd was vanishing at an alarming clip it was easy to see them. Ten. Two of them carried crossbows. Two of them carried polearms. For the others, the sword. His seeking and searching orbs could not find the Lady Vera. Oddly this fact did not disturb him, but instead comforted him. She knew they were outnumbered. How had she known it was her the knights were searching for? Later he would ask her, if her mental tricks had anything to do with it.
"You," the lead knight said lazily. "Are not a Lady. Nor a White Rider."
"My name is Eragos Feareborne," he replied without moving.
"And mine is Sir Galatin, Templar of the Fifth House, Retainer to the King of Malondir," and the knight flourished a bow. "I have heard your name, Sir Feareborne."
"I have no-"
"-title," the knight finished, sounding amused. "That's a knight's weapon, boy. But do you know how to use it?"
Something about the fellow was wrong. From the oil in his hair which was slicked back to his skull, to the high collar beneath his cloak which bore too many pins of rank. Retainer to the king he might be, but he was no friend to the Lady Cithia or her father. Until that very moment he hadn't realized the depth of his paranoia. If Barada was a traitor it was just as easy to assume that there might be a traitor among the houses of Malondir, as well. Should have assumed that. If not for the foolish loss of his horse and his supplies they might not have stopped here. So saving his life had proved to be a liability, after all. She was still nowhere to be seen. Let it stay that way until this Sir Galatin declared his intentions. The king drew up to his side, looking as regal as his sorry condition would allow but failing to render an imposing figure. The sword on his hip still held an edge. That would matter, in a moment's time.
"I have no need of it, now," Eragos replied cautiously.
"I'm glad we agree. I've come to take the Lady Cithia and her father King of Astora under my care."
"They," and now his hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. "Are under my protection. Not yours."
"But you are under arrest, boy," Galatin pretended wide-eyed shock - the exaggerations were mocking, even if the words were as a knight should say them. "You and the White Rider. For kidnapping."
"Ask for the writ," Cithia mumbled against his shoulder in a panicked gasp.
"Show me the writ," Eragos parroted the words with more confidence than he felt.
Those crossbows were raised. Slowly. There was no writ, of course. Now there were no witnesses. The market was deserted. Empty lines of pots and pans clanged together at the sudden burst of wind. Somewhere behind him a fire crackled but it was burning in the belly of an iron beast. Could not emerge. Would not emerge. Belly of the beast. The wind whistled but it was not a joyous sound. Melancholy of cold and death. He could feel it in his bones. So Galatin had come but without any intention of talking. If he had that intention, it was surely gone now.
"I'll only ask once more," he called across the suddenly vacant clearing.
"And I'll refuse the same."
If she was going to make a move, now was the time, with their intentions known. And preferably before his stomach was full of holes.