Lothar reached the edge of Hightree alone, his brother already a half day ahead. He kept his hands open, away from the slender sword and the crossbow on his back. He had come a long way to help the watchtower captain, and he would not turn around now. A red post with a carved skull leaned in the path, warning him to stop. The guards stepped from behind the tall wooden platform with the bell. They eyed the red duster, the pointed hat, the long black hair. They asked his business. He told them plainly. They did not believe him. The first guard shoved him. Lothar shoved back. A fist cracked his jaw, and then he was moving. He dropped one with an elbow, another with a knee. Five went down in the dirt before five more came running, and the bell above began to ring. They buried him under boots and clubs until his sight went white. He woke tied to a tree. The guards argued above him. Burn the outsider, one said. Wait for the captain, said another. Someone gathered kindling at his feet. Then boots pounded the path. Horus came first, pale coat snapping. Titus followed, hammer in hand, face like a storm. "Cut him down," Titus said. The guards froze. Horus knelt and sawed the ropes. "He's with us," he said quietly. The kindling was kicked aside, and Lothar finally breathed.