“To collect the sword and you.” The witch nodded.

“I don’t even have a horse, just a pack mule.” Ronan exhaled heavily. He didn’t want this. He didn’t like getting involved in these kinds of things. He minded his own business and allowed others to mind theirs. It had worked well for him…until now.

“Keegan Yore has many horses,” Arien piped. “And I’d bet he knows the way.”

Ronan cut him a silencing glare, but immediately felt guilty when he saw the boy’s deflated expression. Arien was only trying to help. It wasn’t his fault that this damned guard had dropped the burden in his lap. “Yore isn’t a very generous man and I haven’t the money he would ask for three horses.” Ronan didn’t add that he barely had enough to purchase one.

“It is Merisgale business. You will not have to pay. He is obligated to provide you and those with you with whatever is needed,” the witch countered.

“You just have an answer for everything, don’t you?” Ronan growled.

“Those who think usually do.” She smirked.

“And what do you call yourself, witch? Since you are set upon coming with me, I will know your name.” Ronan waited for Arien to step aside so he could move from the room. It was starting to feel a little too crowded, mostly by death.

“Ula Bane,” the healer answered as he finally nudged Arien toward the door.

Ronan had never really met Keegan Yore. He’d only seen the hulking, red haired man once or twice on the road when the horse rancher took his horses to the city of Fullerk. Up close Ronan could see the man’s blue eyes were as hard as his body.

“What makes you think I will just hand over three of my horses? That’s a lot of money to lose on a story like the one you’re telling.” Keegan didn’t rise from behind his desk. Instead he leaned back in his chair and eyeing the three with a steady gaze.