Those words echoed for a moment. [i]Show yourself![/i] Silence filled their work. Then, the whistle of an arrow flew through the air, stabbing itself in a tree just to the Estalian's right. The arrow quivered in place.

"Less demands," warned an older warrior's voice, "or your throat's next."

Hidden behind the rubble of a well and a couple fortunately placed trees, Dirk nocked another arrow onto his bow. He held three arrows in that hand, the better to fire a little faster; he reckoned he'd need that speed in a moment. The huntsman couldn't see the details of the crew ahead, but they outnumbered him. That much he could tell.

Of course, they didn't know that.

"Got a good half dozen archers, we do," growled the poacher in a cold tone. "You might clear the open, but half of you will die first. Be smart. Let's talk."

It was, of course, a blatant lie. Sweat dripped along the archer's dirty blond scalp and down his forehead. He wasn't sure who the strangers were, but they looked like foreigners, and they were clearly on edge. Given the look of them, they were the type that would cut Dirk in half if he walked into the open. Foreign folk were fools like that. That's why they needed threatening.

Dirk kept his stare aimed forward. He'd seen that halfling and that barbarian earlier, but when he took his position he'd lost track of them both. He only hoped he could force peace talks out of the large band ahead before something stupid happened.