Seconds later, it gave a satisfying click and fell open. As Leander’s men cheered, Barbec moved to Sulla’s side, and the fallen warlord noted how the man’s hand gripped his sword.

As I anticipated…

Leander lifted the lid of the box, his eyes widening as he perceived the thick wad of paper inside. He turned his head and opened his mouth to speak, when suddenly he gave a cry and jerked his hand away from the lock, his face grimacing in pain.

“It’s a poisoned needle,” Sulla explained calmly. “Its effects are immediate, and the pain will drive you mad within hours.”

“Kill him!” Leander screamed, leaping to his feet and furiously massaging his arm.

Barbec drew his blade and held it to Sulla’s throat.

Sulla didn’t move as he stared at him with quiet malice. Barbec hesitated.

No sign of weakness. If you are weak, you die. When he spoke, his voice was calm, his words measured.

“If you spare me I can make you all rich, for only I know the true value of what is contained in those parchments,” he said. “Kill me, and you shall have nothing.”

Barbec looked back to Leander. The thief had collapsed onto his knees and was writhing in agony. While the men stared at their leader, a figure emerged from the shadows and stood silently behind them.

Perfect timing.

“Need I add that I will spare your lives?” Sulla asked as a low growl emerged from the newcomer. The bandits spun, and several cried out in fear as the hirsute figure neared.

“A w-w-werewolf!” one of them stammered.

Several of his fellows drew their blades and held them out. But none dared advance on the creature.

“Do nothing, for he is my associate,” Sulla said. “From Morytania. His name is Jerrod. Put away your rusted weapons-none of them can harm him. They will only serve to make him angry, and if that happens, you will not live out the day.”