“Don’t be a fool, Gibson! Let them have the horses,” one of those with a sword said. “He’s a Teshlor, you idiot.”

“One Teshlor,” Gibson said. “There are eight of us.”

“Only takes one.” The bear’s relative began pulling on Gibson’s arm.

Most of those holding swords were topless or dressed in light nightshirts. While the farmers and herdsmen were always up before dawn, these barbarous brutes had only now rolled from their beds. Such a late start said a lot. Not farmers, not herdsmen, not woodcutters, not huntsmen, and definitely not monks—so who are you? The village wasn’t a popular destination and couldn’t have many visitors.

“Let ’em go, you fool, and count yourself lucky they aren’t looking for the ones who took them animals.”

Gibson ground his teeth, his lips folded inward as if trying to keep from saying the words. The bear-man proved he had some rudimentary brain in his head when at long last he managed to utter, “Fine. Take the four animals and get out.”

“Be happy to.” Kolby nodded to Virgil and Cedric, who entered the stable in search of their tack.

“So which is it?” Farilane asked Gibson.

“What?” The bear-man focused on her. Those two little eyes trapped beneath that massive brow peered out with twin confusion.

Farilane shrugged. “I just hate that we never cleared up the mystery—so I need to know. Are you a liar or an idiot?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Kolby sigh and give an ever-so-slight shake of his head.

“I mean, you look like an idiot.” Farilane gestured at him with her hands. “You have that primitive I-killed-a-bear-and-now-I-wear-his-pelt-for-clothes simpleness about you, but it’s true being poor doesn’t make you stupid. I suppose it’s possible you needed that disgusting hide to keep warm. Still, there is a huge difference between the industrious poor”—she gestured toward the growing crowd of villagers who’d worked up the nerve to approach to within hearing range—“and stupid.” She pointed at Gibson. “I think the necklace is the problem. I mean, honestly, that just screams bad judgment. You’re actually wearing the nails of an animal around your neck? Why? If you expect to impress ladies with that sort of adornment, think again. And let’s be honest. You probably didn’t kill that bear, did you? That’s an old rug, isn’t it? Wearing it just makes you look like an idiot draped in a carpet. Although that does give weight to the argument that you’re a liar. So wait . . . is it possible you’re both an idiot and a liar? Yes—yes, I think it is.”

Gibson drew his sword from its scabbard.

The man beside him restrained his arm. “Don’t.”