[No Dachi]

Sir Clyde of Nordkust sat frozen in his saddle (assuming I have a horse, this is. Do I have a horse? Foot would be fine as well), staring at his captive cousin through the slit in his simple steel pot helmet. Being identified and arrested was currently not a risk; the helmet masked his face completely and his armour was fairly unremarkable - the steel would attract attention, and so would the steel broadsword and lance point, but most proffessional mercenaries had made a pretty penny during the war, and so the well-forged armour and weaponry could be explained away with relative ease. Clyde had removed anything that could identify him as a former noble a few days after he'd first been separated from the rest of the Nobles' Army, and he wore his hair longer with medium stubble grown to mask his face. Mercenaries were all over Hynsolge at the moment, most of them from now-disbanded units hired by the King and the commoners during the war. Both sides had hired a considerable number of mercenaries, and the Royal coffers would probably be all but emptied by the time the fighting in the last few pockets of resistance by the Nobles finally came to a halt. Back to the matter at hand; his cousin had been taken prisoner. Treatment of prisoners varied enormously through the Revolutionary Army, but for those of Noble lineage the odds were rather bleak. Once his cousin was identified as part of the House of Nordkust, which he would be, he could be thrown into prison for the rest of his life, or put to death - or worse. Then again, since he was so young, he might be granted clemency...Clyde dismissed the doubts from his mind; he couldn't take that chance. He got down from his mount - a trained warhorse which, sensing his master's anxiety, pawed the dry ground aggressively with an iron-shod hoof. Clyde patted it reassuringly on the mane before tying the harness to the branch of a tree in the yard where he'd been watching the cat and the chicken in the age old battle of predator and prey a moment before. A fine analogy of the Nobles and the commoners and the King by nature's own agents. Clyde liked to think of himself as a fair Lord - had liked to think of himself as a fair Lord, and he'd certainly got on well with the villagers of Nordkust, though there weren't a great number of them - only a couple of hundred all told. He'd encouraged the elders and the mayor and the master fishermen and the other leaders of the people to speak their mind to him of any complaints that they had, and beyond taxing them and taking a certain commission on trade, Clyde had left them largely to it - after all, fishermen knew more of fishing than did he. In return he had acted as a local magistrate, settling disputes and setting penance to criminals where necessary, and on a few occasions had even ridden out to deal with the few small groups of bandits that had made their way to the area. His father had taught him the responsibilities and proper duties of the truly noble Lord. Other Nobles, not so. Clyde had been to other manours and seen the injustice and corruption wrought by some of his peers. When the revolution had first broken out, Clyde had even considered backing the King. But then the politics of the feudal system were complicated. The current King was fair and just, but those following might not be. The Nobles, with their right to tax their people and raise arms for the nation in war, were a necessary vehicle to constrain the power of the monarchy. And, of course, the revolution had grown foul, and the Army had turned on fair Nobles - Nobles such as he - in their civil war-turned witch hunt. Clyde had thrown in his lot with the Nobles, and the war had, in the end, turned against them. And now he was a lone cat, beset by a thousand angry roosters.

Clyde walked past the barred rear door of the prison wagon, past the door of the inn and reached the horses at the front of the wagon. He turned, and looked around, seeking the horse driver or one of the guards. They could be in the inn, but then they had probably left at least one of their number out to watch the wagon and the prisoners - not that there was much chance of them escaping from the wagon.