The knot of worry that had been present in the defenders' chests began to loosen at the sight of the rider returning, alive ,uninjured, and without the frantic pace of a man fleeing for his life.
His horse trotted with the easy rhythm of a leisurely patrol, hooves clopping against the packed earth as if nothing at all were amiss.
If they were enemies, the thought spread among them like smoke, would they have let him go? Would he be riding back at all?
No, of course not. The only conclusion was the obvious one. There was no danger.
The garrison commander himself, who had been watching with narrowed eyes and a white-knuckled grip on the battlements, finally allowed his shoulders to slacken.
Turning to the men below, he bellowed the order to open the gate.
Vanno, meanwhile, sitting stiff-backed atop the stolen horse in the dead rider's armor, nearly sagged with relief.
They haven't seen through me.
