There they were, all three of them, dusty fellows with ill intent atop stone-gray horses. They were dressed as oddly as a party of swordsmen had ever been dressed. Their apparent leader had a tattered undershirt, thick riding gloves, and a crossbow. His face was narrow and pinched. Surly, even. His two fellows had severe swords and severe brows, fat necks that rested upon broad shoulders. They were wearing coats, at least, though those coats were stained and unbuttoned. Sneering ensued; for a moment, Skandra wondered if they were going to sneer him to death. Blue eyes. The eyes always told the truth, even if nothing else did, and their eyes were just that sort of cruel.
"Evening," their leader said; the crossbow was settled against the pommel of his saddle, and pointed at Skandra.
"Is it?" Skandra retorted; he was getting an eyeful of that aged black wood.
One of the big fellows laughed. The laugh was short and bitter. Then there was silence and wind. No sound from a breeze, of course, just the whisper of it against your skin to let you know it was there. Skandra said nothing to follow the laugh. For her part, Aeotha was doing well to keep quiet. There was no information to get out of them. This was the decision that Skandra made. They wouldn't talk under pain of death. Maybe it was the look, and maybe not. Maybe it was just knowing what men - and Immortals - were like, working for his father. A man with a plan and resources to pay you for your trouble.
That was really all they cared about, wasn't it? The money. There was hypocrisy in that thought. He pushed it back, and away.
"This here is private property," the leader told them baldly, shifting the crossbow ever-so-slightly.
"And isn't it a pretty little piece of nothing," Skandra smiled thinly.
"The prettiest."
What happened next was fast. Fast enough that Skandra didn't try to follow what they were doing so much as what he expected them to do. The first knife took the crossbow-wielding embodiment of sneer in the throat. Still sneering, even in death, the fellow's weapon dipped. A terrible shriek came from the horse as it took a quarrel through the neck. One of the big men was reaching into his coat. The other charged forward, closer to Aeotha than to Skandra, with that vicious sword raised high. He was going to be Aeotha's problem. Skandra charged as the coat-reacher pulled a vial free.