Several bandits ran for their weapons, or the woods, or what little shelter they might find behind a tree root. Ninavis was in no condition to follow. Although Kalazan didn’t run, I noticed both he and Gan the Miller’s Daughter flipped up the hoods on their cloaks to hide their laevos hair.

“What have we here?” the guard commander said as he rode forward. “Hold your positions; no one move!”

“Ah, good,” Arasgon said, trotting over to greet the newcomers. “We captured these strays. Now help us bring them to your herd master.”

The guard captain ignored Arasgon. “You have nothing to say? Who’s in charge here? Speak up!”

Arasgon blinked and looked back at me. I knew what he thought. No matter if these men looked Joratese; no native son of our fields would dare ignore a fireblood.

Unless they hadn’t understood the fireblood.

Impossible. In ancient times, the god-king Khorsal had chosen us to care for his favored children—his firebloods. When those same firebloods joined humans in overthrowing Khorsal, our relationship had strengthened. Every Joratese child learns to understand our four-hoofed kindred.

But this soldier hadn’t understood Arasgon’s speech. Either he was an idiot, or he wasn’t any more Joratese than Ninavis.

I’d bet metal on the latter.

I stepped forward. “I’m in charge here. I am Count Tolamer, traveling to Mereina to visit Baron Barsine.”

He gave me a critical eye. I didn’t look like a peasant—I had a well-groomed laevos, and my clothing was luxurious enough if one ignored the wear. If fashion and grooming could be faked, however, my idorrá was more difficult to counterfeit. I carried myself as a count.

“Oh yeah? Where are your guards?” he asked.

I heard a strained protest from the bandit leader, Ninavis.

I forced a pleasant smile on my face. “I’m accompanied by a fireblood. What more protection would any noble require?”

The man glanced over, finally realizing Arasgon’s nature. Arasgon tossed his head up as he walked back to the bandits, gathered together in a dense, awkward cluster.

The soldier’s leader dismounted. “I’m Captain Dedreugh. We’ve been hunting criminals who’ve been pillaging and burning villages along the river for almost a year. And this lot seems like a good fit for those crimes, so if you’ll pardon us”—he motioned his men toward the bandits—“we’ll take them off your hands.”

Half his troops dismounted, trading crossbows for swords. Their expressions worried me, though. Nothing so simple as anger. This was the stalking predator’s naked hunger; I saw one eye Ninavis on the ground and lick his lips. That look had never known good intentions. A wave of fury filled me with a nasty warmth as I fought to keep my temper reined.

I placed my bare hand against Captain Dedreugh’s leather breastplate.