The armed man brought the spear down hard.
The driver stumbled back, hands raised, and the spear shaft cracked across his shoulder instead of his head. He folded with a sharp cry, knees hitting the dirt.
The man with the ledger stepped forward, voice calm and measured, speaking words that didn't carry up the rise.
Gabriel moved.
He didn't hurry. He walked down the slope at the same pace he had kept all day, boots striking the road in steady rhythm. His hand drifted to the hilt over his shoulder, fingers settling around the grip without pulling it free yet.
The armed men didn't see him at first.
Their attention stayed on the travellers, on the carts, on the family pressed together near the edge of the road. One of them kicked the fallen driver, not hard, just enough to make a point. Another moved toward the nearest cart and reached for the canvas covering the load.
Gabriel closed the distance.
