INHERITANCE: Memorandum Of Scales

THE HOUSE OF PIKE

RORAN counted sixteen mounted men.

Sigils he did not recognize colored battered shields. Unkempt horses snorted as they bobbed their heads side to side, thick white manes waving over their strong necks. The men themselves wore pointed half helms, with boiled leather and fur cloaks. They were armed with various weapons.
Spears and swords, but Roran also saw men with quivers of arrows and bows strung across their chests. He held his own sword out before him, just as the rest of his party did.

"Who are you?" One of the mounted men asked, pointing his spear at Roran and his companions from his high seat. Yoslan stepped forward, not lowering his weapon.

"We mean no harm." He said cautiously. There was a contemptuous laugh from the mounted men.

The man with the spear pointed at Yoslan's blade as he spoke.

"You are armed, which means you may or may not mean at least some harm."

"These are dangerous parts. We have to carry weapons, in order for us to protect our own." Yoslan answered carefully.
Roran resisted the urge to turn and look to Katrina, who was huddled underneath a cape that Roran convinced Holde to give to her. He couldn't, not now, not without knowing who these men were. He didn't think they were Imperial . . . which means that they could just as easily be brigands.

"I agree with you, these are dark times. That is why we patrol our Lord's lands, keeping them free from those who would disrupt his peace. And what kind of men are you? Peaceful? Or are you raiders?"

Yoslan lowered his sword slightly.

"We are peaceable men. For that we give you our word." One of the mounted men spat at Yoslan's feet.

"A few days past there was a group of men who vowed peace. They continued to go on and ravage a village close to our boarders . . . dozens killed. Women carried off. Grains and other foods stolen. All done in the name of peace."
Another soldier interjected.
"Men with banners have some honor, but a bannerless man's got none. We should just kill them and be done with it. Better to end them here, then leave em' to chance." A few of the horsemen agreed, and the man with the spear raised it slightly, thinking.

"We mean no harm! We are sorry for your losses . . . our own village was sacked. We are the only survivors. The Empire attacked us, people under the King's protection." Yoslan said quickly.

The mounted man with the spear stirred in his seat.

"So you're refugees..."

"Captain, Even if they are telling true, we have no means to provide for so many." A soldier said as their leader looked at Roran, Yoslan, and the others.

"How many are you?" The captain asked.

"Eight. Seven fighting men and one woman." Yoslan answered.
Roran tensed.
He had wished Yoslan had not mentioned Katrina... but there was nothing he could say.

"We shall bring them to Lord Pike." The captain announced to the protest of one of his mean.

"You cannot be serious- we have no room-"

"That is for our Lord to decide." The captain replied, and the man stood down. He turned his attention to Yoslan.

"Our Hold is not far from here. Inside, you will find Lord Pike, who will decide your fate. Men, move out."

The horses whinnied as they circled Roran's group and then trotted past. They were lead through a misty haze of fog, passing over damp logs and stones, heavy rains washing old snow off of them the night before.