“Not today.” A long pause, as if the speaker must dig deep for the strength to say more. “Where’s the rest of Boar Troop? We expected you long ago. The others followed, gathering around Owen Swift-Sword. “Owen! By all that’s holy!” Rohan removed his own mask, swung down from his mount, and strode forward to greet their long-absent commander. They knew him before he peeled off the makeshift mask. “Have I been gone so long that you’ve forgotten me, Rohan?” Though harsh with exhaustion, the voice was unmistakable. Above this concealment a pair of clear gray eyes gazed calmly at the interrogator. The lower part of his face was covered by a cloth, like a crude imitation of the mask Enforcers wore on duty to conceal their identity. “State your name and your business in these parts!” “Halt!” called Rohan Death-Blade when the traveler had come within ten paces and showed no sign of stopping. He looked as if he’d been on the road awhile. His gait was steady, though his head was bowed. The fellow was roughly dressed-hooded cloak of gray felt, woolen leggings, battered old boots-and carried only a small pack and a staff. They waited in silence, a team of dark-cloaked warriors in full combat gear, astride their tall black horses. As the lone traveler approached, the five Enforcers spread out in a line across his path.
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