“Welcome to Sanctuary! You will need a pass in this area, gentle travelers,” one glibly told them. “We offer five armbands for two pieces of silver.”
“A pass!” Shafralain snapped. “Likelier you’ll be ridden down! Since when does the Noble Shafralain need to wear a dirty patch of cloth in order to move through his own city?”
The faces of their accosters underwent unpleasant changes. The one who had not spoken stepped back and showed that his crossbow was cocked. Passersby were carefully not-seeing the tense encounter. Most wore brassards matching those the two youths wore and offered for sale.
“Since quite awhile, Noble,” the spokesman said. “Maybe you left town when things got nasty last year and’re just coming back, hmm? See, citizen security is sort of divided up amidst serveral pertection groups, and we just can’t gamtee yer safety here without but you’re wearing onea these handsome armbands.”
“Oh, I think they’re quite pretty armbands really,” Esaria said.
Her mother said, “If it’s what people are wearing this season…”
Shafralain, however, was Shafralain: “You threaten us, fellow?”
“Here is a piece of silver,” a quiet voice said. “It should suffice. See that nothing happens to these people, whether they consent to wear your armbands or no. I will.”
“So will I,” the surprised Fulcris heard himself say, even as they heard the ring of silver off a thumbnail and saw the young man before him throw up a hand to catch Strick’s coin.
He examined it. “Huh! Never seen onea these before. What’s this on it, a fire?