I looked back at Brother Qown and Ninavis, both without weapons. At least Brother Qown was; I hadn’t forgotten how Ninavis kicked. I had my sword, but it would be awkward to wield in quarters this tight. I wore no armor, no other protection. Arasgon didn’t graze nearby to sweep in for a dashing flank attack. They outnumbered us, and they had range.

Most importantly, we carried no metal to pay them.

“That won’t be possible,” I said, “but since what you’re asking is illegal, why don’t we call it even and both be on our way?”

The bandit chuckled. “Ah now, you’re a small thing to be talking so large. I like the look of you, though, so I’ll make you a deal. You leave your fancy sword with us, and if you want it back, why, you can just come back here with our metal.” He aimed the crossbow at my head. “Not that I’m giving you a choice.”

I clenched my jaw. His demands would have never been agreeable, but this was less agreeable than most. My family had owned that sword for five hundred years, since Jorat’s founding.

Ninavis must have seen the look on my face. She stepped up next to me. “Are you lot this stupid? You know our kind can’t own swords by law. You walk into any shop in the city and they’ll know you stole it.”

“That’s why it’s ransom, not theft. I’ll melt the damn thing down before I—” The man tilted his head and raised an eyebrow in Ninavis’s direction. “Wait a minute. ‘Our kind,’ you say? What clan are you, woman?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, I say it does.”

She gave the men a critical eye. “What are you lot? Leumites?” She scoffed. “Be off. You don’t want the trouble I bring with me, let alone her. She’ll make you scream for your old god-queen.” Ninavis removed her apron and began twisting it.

I didn’t think it was a nervous gesture.

“Look at her face.” A bandit pointed to Ninavis’s wine-stain birthmark. “She’s Diraxon, I bet.”

I kept my face blank. Diraxon. Leumites. These names meant nothing to me. Were they Marakori regions? The way I hailed from Tolamer, a canton of Stavira?

The bandits seemed more familiar with Ninavis’s clan name. The crossbows wavered. One man went so far as to clutch crossbow and bolt to his chest. “Diraxon, but…” He took a step back.

Their leader proved more immune to intimidation. “I could call myself the high general of Quur and it would mean as much. Now strip off your valuables and drop ’em on the ground.”

“What happened to just taking the sword?” I asked as I unsheathed my weapon and held it with the blade pointed downward.