But then the guard had to arrive, twenty strong and with a gruagagh in tow, and everything went very bad indeed.

The guards all had bows, with arrows nocked and ready. They fanned out when they saw that they were outnumbered five-to-one, and if their captain had had any sense at all, he’d have withdrawn and come back another day.

But they had a gruagagh with them—a tall, gangly wizard with dark eyes, who was too full of his own importance the way gruagaghs inevitably were. He ignored the numbers and the anger of the crowd, and called out the names of Big Dan and his boys, their true names, so they had to come stepping out from where they stood with the others, ready to be magically marched back to the queen’s court to face whatever pluiking business she might have with them.

And even then it might have been all right.

Big Dan had no idea why they were being summoned—no specific idea, at any rate. It could be for any number of things. But what was the worst that could happen? They might be banished from the city for a year and a day and have to carve out a territory in some smaller town away from the queen’s influence for the duration. It wouldn’t be the first time for him.

But Stourin had primed the crowd with his incitements. They surged forward with a roar, their staves lifted above their heads. Others pulled slings from their belts and loosed rocks against the guards.

The gruagagh, already standing straight-backed and grim, lifted himself a little taller still.

“You dare?” he cried.

Mage lights flickered around his fingers and who knew what he might have done. But before he could call up his magics, a stone from one of the slings struck him on the side of the head and down he went.

The guards loosed a volley of arrows, aiming for legs to bring the attackers down, for fairy didn’t kill fairy. But it wasn’t enough and it was too late. The crowd fell upon them, breaking their bows, knocking them to the ground with their staves where they could be punched and kicked by those not carrying weapons.

It was over in moments. The guards made a hasty retreat, dragging their wounded fellows and the gruagagh with them into the between.

The bogans laughed and stamped their feet in victory, and if there were a half-dozen that needed attention from a healer, they were also heroes and were borne up by the crowd to be treated as such.

“That’s how we see a warrior off!” Stourin cried.

He cast his flaming brand onto the pyre and the gasoline caught with a huge whuft that had the crowd cheering madly.