"Taking him in?" Usar spluttered. "You can't do that! That's blatant bad will! The Earl gave orders to treat the Crooked-Tooth men loosely. He didn't do that with the intention of forgiving you for murder, nor did he expect you to bring wanted criminals into your lot using the seal as a shield."
"Usaaarrrr," Blackbeard complained. "It's the heart of winter. We haven't had a good battle in a month. Are you really going to be talking so hot-blooded in front of my men? I'd wager they want a taste of whatever coin you've got on you."
The men murmured their agreement. It was a bloodthirst that you couldn't just see or hear, you could feel it, it radiated into the air like the aura of the demon.
For the first time, Usar paused, and he blanched. He looked back at his own men – mere guardsmen. They'd signed up and been armoured and given coin, but they weren't warriors. Most of them had never seen a real battlefield.
There was a reason Blackbeard's men had been given the Earl's seal. There was a reason raiders in general were given more leeway with the law than others – there were simply few that could stop them. They were Yarmdon folk. No one was more experienced in combat than those that fought simply to feed themselves.
Usar found his courage again.
"He's not one of you," he repeated. "Give him back."
"Give him back?" Blackbeard said, he turned to his man. "He wants me to give him back. Has he never met a raider? Has he forgotten what it means to be Yarmdon?" He turned back to face Usar, letting his own bloodlust show through, as his smile dropped for just a second. "Usar, we take what we want. There's no one that can tell us otherwise. Your little seal from the Earl is all well and good, but if you attempt to control us in that man's name, we'll kill you all just for the sport of it."
Usar gulped, his face whitening. The flames of his anger seemed to be fading, buffered by the chill that permeated from the Crooked-Tooth men.
"Why?" Usar managed to choke. "Why go through all this just for one man?"
Blackbeard shrugged at that. "Now, I suppose, that's something I'm going to find out… But y'know my numbers are dwindling. We got our lot halved in the summer. There's a fresh-faced boy there with more strength in him than five city guards. 'Course it'd catch my interest. Besides, everyone's soft these days. Can't exactly recruit the sort of man we're looking for as easily as before. Not many are ready to kill to get what they want."
There was a distinct shudder from Usar as he sat atop the back of his mule. It was hard to tell whether it was from the cold or not. It was only then, as Blackbeard gave his half-arsed explanation that the ageing guardsman understood: these raiders were not people to be reasoned with. They were fundamentally different than he was, than the rest of them were. They were not men of civilized society.
He looked back over his shoulder at the group he'd brought with them. Half the town's guard had been mobilized for this purpose. The town's chieftain would have their heads if they let a murderer get away so freely. He wouldn't want to listen to talk of the Earl's seal. He knew what a precedent it would set.
For an outsider to walk into Nookhaven, murder a long-serving citizen as respected as Lydia, and then escape scot-free right under the guards' noses after burning the woman's house down. It would set an awful precedent. It was likely those thoughts and worries on his mind that got him to agree as easily as he did to Blackbeard's proposition.
"Now, as I was saying… me and my men, we're itching for a fight, you see. It's been a dry winter – too dry. We're been clawing out our own flesh looking for something to do. And you lot come wandering here, following the bait we set like thick-headed hounds after a hare, looking plump, and delicious. We can't just let you go scot-free, can we? You fell for it, after all, it's only right that we get something out of the little trap we set for you," Blackbeard said, to whoops of agreement with his men.
"You planned this?" Usar said, the disbelief evident in his voice. "You expected him to run here – you knew we'd chase him?"
"Usar," Blackbeard said, his voice chilling. "Who do you think alerted the guards?"
Vol perked up at that, and shot the man a glare. Blackbeard gave him a shrug, not at all apologetic.
Danger. That was what Usar's body warned him of. This man was dangerous. More than mere strength, it was a snake-like quality that Blackbeard had lured them in with. Of course, he had foreseen this, of course… How else could he have had his men in position, waiting for them beforehand? He'd aimed to rob them from the start. They'd thought they were doing the hunting. They'd thought it was about the boy… but the boy was mere bait. Blackbeard intended to rob the very same townsmen that he treated his raiders so hospitably just a few days before.
It was obvious… He'd kill them all, and blame it on someone else. He wouldn't be violating the Earl's agreement with that. There'd be no one to prove that he'd done it. He was a hyena, biting off whatever scrap of meat he could choose.
Nervous now. Suddenly the mountain path seemed steeper. His men were still gasping for breath after the run here. Blackbeard's men, in comparison, were completely fresh. Not only that, they were far more experienced. Even if they ran, they'd be slaughtered. It'd only be the mule riders that survived.