Lovejoy studied Carrock in silence for a long moment. His friend’s shoulders sagged beneath the weight of his people’s stares, though most had already turned away, muttering darkly to themselves. The guard at the gate shifted uncomfortable, hand twitching near their hilts, but no one had drawn steel against the brigands. Lovejoy couldn’t decide if that was cowardice or loyalty to their captain, waiting for his word.
“You’re asking the wrong man,” Lovejoy said at last. “This isn’t about what you must do, Carrock. It’s about what we must do. If you face them alone, you’ll drown.”
Carrock’s lips pressed into a line. He looked older than he had an hour ago. “You don’t understand, Lovejoy. These are not petty thieves I can chase off with a sword. Alfric Ravenwood is feared across half the Northern boarders. If he breaks us here, he’ll make an example of Trestlebridge. No one will raise a hand against him again.”
“And if you yield?” Lovejoy asked.
Carrock gave a bitter laugh. “Then we live, for a time. Until they come again for more. And then more still.”
Lovejoy exhaled sharply, gazing towards the hills beyond the gate where the brigands had appeared. A red kite wheeled against the grey sky, as if it too had come to watch the outcome. “Then yielding isn’t an option,” he muttered.
Carrock turned to him, surprised at the steel in Lovejoy’s voice.
“Listen to me,” Lovejoy continued, lowering his tone so only Carrock could here. “You may owe them silver, but what you really owe is to these people. They need to see you stand for them, not cower. Let me speak with the others. If we can rally the town, fortify the walls, we may hold them off. Ravenwood thinks this place is easy pickings, let’s make sure he’s wrong.”
Carrock looked doubtful. “The townsfolk are weary. They will not want to fight.”
“Neither do I! Do I look like a warrior to you? But we have little choice, they will rally when they realize what’s at stake. Better to defend their hearths than lose them altogether.”
The captain rubbed his beard; eyes fixed on the ground. At last, he gave a slow nod. “Very well. But if this fails, Lovejoy, if blood is spilled…”
“Then it will be because Ravenwood chose battle, not us,” Lovejoy said firmly. “Now come. The others need to hear the truth, before fear does their thinking for them.”
As they turned back toward the square, Lovejoy felt the eyes of the townsfolk burning into their backs. He heard the whispers rising. Debt. Brigands. Ruin. Trestlebridge was a tinderbox, and Alfric Ravenwood had just lit the match.
Lovejoy could only pray they were quick enough to stamp out the fire before it consumed them all.
