CHAPTER NINE
It was nearing noon when they reached the rolling hills that marked Ravencliffe’s borders. Aramis reined in his horse, jerking on the bit so hard that the animal grunted. Ahead, the smoke of the burning town hung in a thick haze and some of the buildings were still aflame. Aramis watched the thatched roof of one of the buildings give way in a shower of sparks. A few feet away, a copse of oddly swaying branches caught his attention. As the smoke swirled, the truth became clear. The trees were gibbets, and a dozen bodies hung from their branches.
His anger burned as hot as the flames around him. He stood in his stirrups and surveyed the rest of the town. Spotting a large gathering of people, he nudged his horse in their direction. As he got nearer, he counted four guards. Two
