“Not to find fault, but I see a few problems with your plan. First would be a notable absence of horse. I ’spect Rush is going to have a trifle of difficulty handling Copperhead.” Dag let his groundsense spread briefly as far as the old barn. Rush’s troubles were indeed beginning. He decided he did not have the attention to spare on managing his horse at this distance, and withdrew the link. The entire family had been told, at the dinner table in front of Sorrel and Tril, to leave Copperhead alone unless Dag was there. Rush was on his own. Dag tried not to smile too much.

“Patroller, Fawn can handle your horse.”

“Indeed she can. But, you know, you sent Rush. Unfortunate, that.”

“Then you can start walking.”

“After a beating? You have a high opinion of my stamina.” He let his voice go softer. “Think the four of you can take me?”

They glanced at his sling, at his handless left arm, at each other. Dag was flattered that they didn’t all burst into laughter at this point. He thought they should have, but he wasn’t about to say so. The stout one, in fact, looked just a shade ashamed. Sunny, granted, was more guarded. That hunting knife was a new ornament.

“Just to make it clear, I decline your invitation to the road. I don’t care to miss my wedding. Now, it does look as if you have the numbers on your side. Are you prepared to kill me tonight? How many of you are ready to die to make that happen? Have you thought how your parents and families will feel about it tomorrow? How the survivors are going to explain to them what happened? Killing gets a lot messier than you’d think, and the mess doesn’t end with burying the corpses. I speak from long experience.”

He had to stop this; by their uncertain expressions, his words were getting through to at least two of them, and that hadn’t exactly been his intent when he’d started babbling, here. Run and chase, that was the game plan. Fortunately, Sunny and the other muscular one were starting to try to stalk him, moving apart and around to get into position for a rush. To encourage them, he started to back up. And called, “No wonder Fawn calls you Stupid Sunny.”

Sunny’s head jerked up. From the side, one of his friends muffled a guffaw; Sunny shot a glare at him and snapped to Dag, “Fawn’s a slut. But you know that. Don’t you, patroller.”

Right, that’s done it. “You’ll have to catch me first, boys. If you’re as slow-footed as you are slow-witted, I shouldn’t have a problem—”

Sunny lunged, his stick whistling through the air. Dag was not there.