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It was nearly midnight when Lord Davorad; cold, angry and tired rode into the encampment, his white clothes spattered in mud. He waved away offers of food but grabbed a glass of red wine that he slugged down in one draught before demanding to see the prisoners. As he strode across the breadth of the encampment, his white cloak flying behind his stocky figure, and a gaggle of anxious attendants in his wake, Colonel Charford and Captain Guerion fell in beside him.
“So tell me,” barked Davorad, “What have these wretched men told you so far?”
Colonel Charford shook his head, “Very little, sir. They were insistent on speaking to you first. Personally, I believe the evidence of the bandit’s house condemns them anyway, but I want to make sure that there are no other soldiers involved. We ca
