Kisyra had not expected to see another plainsman here - she knew some traveled into Lycia as mercenaries, but this was a small town on the fringes of one of the cantons. But sure enough, there was one here, and like her, he seemed to be feeling a sense of justice as he drew his bow on the spellcaster who had so easily and blithely destroyed a house. When he identified himself as a prince, of the Kutolah of all tribes, she couldn't help her skepticism, but she didn't say anything.

[i]What would a Prince being doing this far from the Plains?[/i] Even if he spoke the truth, it was irrelevant. When it came to dealing with spellcasters, numbers was always useful. 

Kisyra drew close behind the spellcaster and put her hand on her blade, drawing it just a little, enough for the sound of it being drawn to ring out a little. "And so too is my blade, mage." She added softly, her voice low and deadly. He'd only burned this house, but no one did something criminal so casually unless they'd already done it. And probably worse. So death was probably just right for the man if he stepped out of line.