He reaches inside his tunic and removes a small stringed sack. Loosing its ties, he opens the sack and upends it over the smithy’s anvil, raining small, intricately cut multicolored stones down atop the pounded-raw steel.

They’re star rubies, so named because each color represents a god star of the old and abolished religion.

“No questions asked,” Laython adds as they all stare at the priceless stones in awe. “Imagine how hard and how far you’d ride and how many of you you’d kill to claim such a reward. Then look at the mark on the fat man’s cheek here, the first of many to come. Then decide if you want to run.”

Even Evie has to admit to herself he makes a powerful and salient argument.

“And lest you think we rely solely on the initiative of the good citizens of Crache,” Laython continues, “I’d like you to meet some close friends of mine.”

Laython ducks under the lean-to awning and steps out into the harsh sunlight. He sticks two lengthy digits in his mouth and whistles shrilly.

Evie and the rest hear hooves tearing up the dry grass. A second later two riders charge around the lean-to and rear their mounts beside the group’s new freemaster.

Laython gestures grandly up at the pair. “Savages, meet Tomoe and Namrok, two of the finest blood coin hunters alive.”

The woman must be six feet tall, perhaps over. She appears absolutely gigantic sitting atop her mount. Her armor is composed almost entirely of bone, human and animal, from what Evie can discern. A whole rib cage is laid over Tomoe’s own, tooled upon thick leather. Her helm must’ve been fashioned from a bear’s skull, and Evie can scarcely summon in her mind the scale of that creature when it was alive. The fanged jaws that serve as the helm’s face shield are pulled apart, revealing a face whose gauntness and many scars haven’t dulled the shine of two perfect jade eyes.

Tomoe’s primary weapon appears to be a poleax. From bottom tip to blade it must be as tall as she is and weigh more than one hundred pounds. A pair of matched daggers is sheathed in gauntlets, also shaved bone, clamped around her forearms. The handle of each is angled to allow the smoothest possible draw by the opposing hand.

Tomoe’s companion, Namrok, is of average size and shape, and would be thoroughly unremarkable save for one feature. Half of his face is dark a cavity with jagged edges; he’s missing an eye, cheek, and the corner of his mouth. Rather than leave the sinkhole of flesh exposed, Namrok has taken a wedge of hardwood adorned with dozens of tiny steel spikes and plugged most of the empty space with it.