Roran spoke up from behind. "Shall we continue, my lord?"
"Yes."
The party approached the town gate slowly, hooves clopping against the uneven road.
Thornvale's entrance loomed ahead—two sagging wooden gates flanked by crooked stone walls. A faded banner fluttered above, torn and bleached by sun and wind.
Michael rode at the front. His people followed in a loose but disciplined formation.
From afar, they might've looked like a noble merchant convoy. Just enough prestige to draw attention, but not enough to signal power.
As they neared the gate, the guards finally stirred.
Two of them straightened up hastily, pushing away dice and empty mugs. The third guard, older and broader than the rest, shoved a smaller one toward the road and barked, "Stop them."
The guard trotted forward with a grin that wasn't quite friendly. He raised a hand, blocking the road with the butt of his spear.
