Algernon stepped away from the corpse and took the firebrand from Astrid’s hand, touching it to the oil-soaked robe of the dead preacher.  Sooty flames quickly engulfed the body as the oil, clothing and eventually the flesh itself, caught fire.  A noisome reek arose that almost smelled worse than had the rotting body.  Algernon set the burning stick at the base of the pole and turned to face his accuser.  He crossed his arms and moved his left foot slightly back, a subtle defensive posture, but said nothing.

    “I’m talking to you!” the man said sternly.  “Answer me, boy!  What are you doing?”

    Algernon didn’t know how to respond.  Standing on foreign soil and confronting half a dozen armed men on horseback, he realized that any action that might escalate the conflict would likely result in his own death, yet that’s precisely how he’d always behaved in the past, and now he found himself at a loss to come up with a better strategy.  He also worried that if the men killed him, they’d quickly and publicly have their way with Astrid.  Algernon had grown fond of her and simply couldn’t bear that thought.  The young monk closed his eyes, breathed a brief prayer for wisdom, and the words of High Priest Volker flashed into his mind: “A wise man responds to anger with gentleness.”

    “Had this been your body, or that of someone you loved, wouldn’t you or your family appreciate the courtesy of my deed?  If you can’t extend kindness to the living, the least you can do is show respect for the dead.”

    A murmur swept through the assembled crowd.  People began backing away, and Astrid’s eyes flashed from Algernon to the armored men on horseback.  They seemed puzzled by Algernon’s carefully worded response and some of them suddenly seemed less intent on causing trouble.  Light-skinned and bearded, these men most likely originated locally and might have been well known among the natives who now gave them a wide berth.  Because they spoke Northern Kamerese, she understood none of the discourse, but accurately interpreted their postures and facial expressions.

    “Answer my question, holy man,” the rider demanded.  “Who gave you permission to burn that body?”  He could have sworn he’d seen this Tamarian monk before.

    Algernon felt Astrid drawn close and heard her whisper words of caution into his ear.  He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze in response.  “It’s the universal right of every man to have his remains disposed of with dignity,” Algernon replied, calmly.  “No one deserves to be eaten by dogs.”

    The horseman pointed at the stinking conflagration.  “That was not a man.  That was a wild pig.  His demise served as a warning to the insolent.  Now you have removed that deterrent, and you should take his place.”

    Algernon had spoken at length with Jared concerning the legality of his sister’s disposition in Kameron, and spent two evenings reading through jurisprudence texts the Lithian lawyer had provided for him.  So when Algernon replied to the horseman, he put his hands on his hips and adopted an accusatory tone.  “Under whose authority do you make such a judgment?  Do you speak for the king?  Are you a land owner?”

    The horseman dismounted.  He was much larger than Algernon and hoped that moving close might intimidate the young monk.  “I’ll speak for the king.  I say that insurrectionists and all foreign swine should die.”

    Algernon remained calm.  “You’re a liar!” he replied.  “You speak for no one other than yourself.”

    “You’d better watch your mouth, monkey boy!  I’ve a good mind to string you up like him!”  The man pointed to the burning body.

    “Are you confessing his murder now, or merely threatening my life?”

    The man poked his finger into Algernon’s chest.  “You act like there’s law and order in this country.  The law won’t help when there’s no one around to protect you from me.”

    Algernon stood his ground.  He could have easily knocked the man’s hand away and sent him sprawling with a hard knee to the gut and an elbow to his face, but he chose not to up the ante.  “You say I need someone to protect me, but you’re holding the gun.  Why are you afraid of a priest?  I bear no weapons.”

    “I told you to watch your mouth, monkey boy!”  The man’s anger flashed into a backhanded slap across Algernon’s face.

    Astrid felt tension rising in Algernon’s arms.  She knew he could have killed the horseman, who left himself wide open for attack and had no clue of Algernon’s fighting skill, but she saw his hands open as the young monk willed restraint upon himself.

    Algernon wiped his face.  Blood covered his hand.  He stared into the dark eyes of his adversary and held up his palm for all to see.  “Are you a man, now?” he inquired, struggling to suppress his rage.  “Did hitting me make you feel good about yourself?”

    Some of the other horsemen began to laugh.  “Hey Iago, are you actually a man?” one of them teased.

    “Maybe he’s only dressing like a man!” remarked another in a quasi-serious tone.

    “I’ve never seen him naked.  Have we been following a woman this whole time?” inquired a third.

    “Eew!  A cross-dressing woman with a beard!”

    “Just leave him alone, Iago!”

    At that moment Jhiran dashed between the stirring horses.  She ignored the Kamerese men and stood between Algernon and his adversary.  Jhiran wiped blood from his face with her sleeve in a strangely childlike, yet tender and motherly way that Algernon would have found irritating had he not been so concerned for his life.  “He’s hurt you, holy man!” she said worriedly.  “Why did you let him hurt you?”

    Astrid tried to pull Jhiran away, but the gwynling did not wish to leave Algernon.  She glared at Iago for a moment, then pulled her sling from the back of her belt and went after the horseman, using the leather weapon like a lash.  “You bully!” she snapped, painfully thrashing any exposed flesh she could reach.  Though Iago tried to restrain her, Jhiran proved far more nimble, and the one time he managed to get a hand on her, she bit him hard.

    The other horsemen laughed.  “Better quit while you’re ahead, Iago,” one of them said.  “That little girl is gonna give you a good beating!”

    “Maybe that’s what he wants!” responded another.  “Look at her go!  She’s a master beater!”

    “Oh, beat me too little girl!” chimed in a third, and the commentary among the other horsemen degraded from there.

    When Algernon noticed Jawara standing on the roadside with his rifle readied for action, the young monk felt a surge of confidence that an experienced, adult warrior would come to his aid.  “Enough!” he warned, holding out his arm to keep Iago away from the gwynling.  He picked up Jhiran as if she were a wayward child and shielded her from any potential retribution by holding her on his left hip while his right foot remained forward.

    The gwynling’s gaze burned into the horseman’s eyes.  She filled his mind with imagery of Algernon tearing apart the Kamerese merchant and his cronies in Marvic.  She imprinted every bone crushing move into the man’s consciousness, until Iago felt the blood drain from his face and his heart pound in fear.

    “Where have I seen you before?” Iago inquired.  “Why do I know your face?”

    Jhiran searched through the horseman’s memory, then looked at Algernon, whose eyes widened as he gently set the gwynling down.  Jhiran turned to Astrid and silently spoke a message into her mind, and the priestess covered her mouth in hope and trepidation.

    “Tell me the truth!” Algernon demanded, sniffing a trickle of blood that dripped from his nose.  “You’re no land owner.  You’re nothing more than a bounty hunter!”

    Iago backed away with a leveled rifle, far more leery of Algernon than he’d been a few moments  before.  “What’s it to you?” he asked.

    “You’ve seen my sister!” Algernon accused, fearlessly approaching with a predatory look in his eye.  “Where is she now?”

    “I don’t know what you’re talking about!  I’ve never seen your sister!” Iago hissed.

    “Liar!” Algernon spat in reply.  He asked Astrid for Kira’s portrait, then strode over to one of the other horseman and held up the drawing.

    “Isn’t that Marco Fang’s slave girl?” he replied, turning to one of his companions, who looked at the drawing and nodded.  “She’s that little opium whore who ran away, but her master didn’t want her anymore.”  Turning back to Algernon, he handed back the portrait.  “We caught her not far from here a little over a week ago.”  Then grinning, he added: “She was a lot of fun!”  Other men murmured in assent.

    Algernon ignored the remark, though it pained him to hear the implied abuse done to his sister, and returned to Iago.  “Where is she now?”

    “What?  You think you’re going to save her, monkey boy?  Within a week she’ll be sold to some pervert who’ll make good use of her skills.  That’s all she’s good for anyway.

    “And be warned!  Marco Fang and his kin won’t think twice about killing you once they know you’re down here, meddling in their affairs.  Fang’s army is within two days’ ride of here and when they catch you, I promise they won’t be as nice to you as I’ve been.  If you’re smart, monkey boy, you’ll turn your tail and head right back home to mommy.”

    Astrid touched Algernon on the shoulder and spoke in Tamarian.  Because she didn’t understand what Iago had said, Astrid interpreted Algernon’s fierce facial expression as an indication that the Kamerese horseman had uttered something unpleasant.  “He sold Kira to a broker and collected his fee from Marco Fang,” she whispered.  “Jhiran says the broker met these guys at a place called Sleepy Hollow.  I’ve seen it on the map.  We could probably make it there today.”

    Algernon glared at the Kamerese bounty hunter.  “I want the name of the broker who bought my sister from you,” he demanded.

    “And you think I’m going to tell you?” Iago replied, not realizing that merely thinking about the transaction revealed his thoughts to Jhiran.  “I’ll soon spit on your dead carcass, monkey boy!”  Iago turned back toward his horse and pulled himself into the saddle.  He motioned with his head for his companions to move on, and they trotted northwest toward Fair Haven Fortress.  The refugees along the road quickly moved aside to let them pass.

    Algernon breathed a sigh of relief, noting that as the horsemen moved on, Jawara kept his eyes keenly focused on them, ready to respond to any threat.  When the Tamarians passed him, the big ‘Scinnian cleared the chamber of his weapon.  “Allfather be praised!” he said quietly.  He slapped Algernon on the shoulder in a sign of solidarity and walked with his companions back to the oak tree.