“Are you lot this stupid?” The bandit leader made no effort to hide her exasperation.

Janel laughed and bounced the branch in her hand. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

At that moment, Arasgon trotted into the clearing.

In a sense, the bandit leader was right about Janel’s guard. If the count ever needed an escort, Arasgon qualified. He’d been her loyal companion from childhood. His mere presence while traveling had proved so intimidating that Janel had ordered Arasgon to stay away from camp lest he ruin her trap. But Arasgon wore no armor, carried no weapons, and wasn’t human at all.

The fireblood stood eighteen hands high, black as sable with a crimson mane and tail, what the Joratese call flame-kissed. The similarity to his cousin horse breeds ended there; red tiger stripes wrapped around his legs, and his eyes were the same ruby hue as his mistress Janel’s. He’d have made a magnificent horse, but firebloods were not horses. As firebloods delighted in reminding anyone foolish enough to call them a “horse” within range of their hooves.

Arasgon voiced a noise that sounded like a cross between a neigh and something far more deliberate and sagacious. Brother Qown knew it was language, proper language, but he couldn’t understand a word, much to his endless frustration.

“I’m fine,” Janel said, glancing back over her shoulder toward Arasgon. “She’ll be no challen—”

Which was when the bandit kicked Janel in the head.

Three times.

The bandits cheered. They’d have broken out tankards and pennants if they could. And why not? Even with the fireblood’s presence, revered almost to holiness by the Joratese, the outlaws had them outnumbered four to one. This wasn’t a robbery; this was entertainment.

Easy enough to forget their leader fought a woman who could tear the limbs off trees.

Janel reeled from the blow, staggering so Brother Qown feared the fight would end right there. The brigand who had bet that outcome cheered.

Instead, Janel shook the fog from her head, her red eyes focusing on her attacker. “Oh, have we started? My mistake.” She wiped the blood from her mouth, leaving behind her bright smile.

The bandit leader stopped in her tracks. “How are you still standing? I’ve knocked him cold with that move.” She indicated the large man organizing the betting pool.

“I’m known for my stubbornness,” Janel answered. She punctuated the statement by wielding the tree limb, forcing the other woman to jump to the side as the wood hit the ground.

The thief who had bet on an easy win groaned and handed coins over to another bandit.