“Glad you could finally join us,” Drystan joked at the three people that had just entered the room.

They hadn’t spotted Izzie yet giving her enough time to look them all over.

They were all men but Izzie wasn’t at all surprised by that.

They were all of similar height although the first man was a few inches shorter, maybe five foot eleven, but his handsome looks of tanned skin and golden locks made up for his height. He carried a crossbow and a belt of daggers around his waist.

Izzie assumed that she was going to get on with him.

The man behind him was the exact opposite with jet black hair and matching eyes; scars crisscrossed his skin and his face hadn’t been spared. His left eyebrow was jagged and the corner of his mouth was slightly swollen and off line with the rest of his mouth. He held an axe over his shoulder whilst another one was strapped to his belt. His physique was bigger than the others with long black hair that was tied at the nape of his neck.

And the final man was similar to the first with his golden hair but it was long and straight and he carried a simple sword. He seemed in his late twenties along with the others apart from the axe-wielding man who seemed in his early forties.

“How would ye like an axe in ye neck?” the black haired man asked in a heavy Scottish brogue accent.

“I’ve already had a dagger to it this morning, I think that’s all I can handle,” Drystan muttered, stuffing another slice of cake in his mouth that Brandon put out.

The Scottish man laughed heavily, resting his hands on his stomach, “Ye allowed a mere lass get that close to ye?”

“A mere lass?” Drystan scoffed, making Izzie smile to herself with pride.

“Would you all like to sit down,” Brandon hurried them along, interrupting Drystan’s conversation with the Scottish man, “Isadora,” he gestured to her in the corner, shocking the other three who had thought they were alone.

“Bluidy hell!” The Scottish man shouted when she stepped out from the shadows.

“Isadora,” Brandon murmured as he stood and gestured to the others, “You know Drystan, this is Iagan,” He nodded to the Scottish man, “This is Dermot,” he gestured to the first blonde man who had a row of daggers around his waist, “and this is Jarred,” he gestured to the last blonde man with a sword or nodded his head at Isadora.

Isadora didn’t return the gesture; she had no intentions of making friends. She preferred working on her own.

“What are we doing here, Brandon?” Isadora asked as she seated herself on the edge of his desk, away from the others and closer to the door. The others exchanged glances at her coldness but they said nothing.

“Ah, yes,” Brandon sat back down, “I do not know if you have heard but news has reached our king of a pestilence spreading in England,”

“A pestilence?” Jarred frowned.

“It is most ugly and kills those that come into contact with it. So far from the doctors I have sent out to monitor the situation it seems you can only get it from touching an infected person or sharing the same air as them,”

Everyone stared at each other.

“What have we got to do with this?” Drystan asked.

“The king, along with many others, is convinced that our gracious lord is punishing us for our sins,” Brandon informed them.

“Oh, yeah?” Iagan joked, “Then why aren’t we infected?”

“It is a ridiculous notion,” Brandon snapped, “Our Lord is forgiving and gracious and would never even think of such a thing to plague us, his children, let alone actually inflict it upon us.”

Izzie hated all this talk of God; where was this gracious lord when her village was being attacked? Where was he when innocents were being murdered and burnt alive?

“But the King believes that if he offers up sacrifices to Our Lord then the pestilence shall stop,” Brandon said darkly and everyone became alert.

“Sacrifices?” Jarred frowned, “What sacrifices?”

“Whole villages,” Brandon looked at his hands, “He’s instructed his guards to burn every town they find the pestilence in and to burn a few innocents at the stake as sacrifice to our lord. Some they claim to be witches to justify it.”

Izzie remembered the way the village had been burnt only a few hours ago where she had killed Marrok. All those innocent people . . . murdered. Just like her own village.

“We must kill the king,” Iagan snapped in his broad accent, making him almost inaudible.

“That is treason!” Brandon almost shouted, “No, the King will come to his senses. But until then the people of the realm must be protected against his guards. That’s where you come in. I am hiring all of you, with the promise of a royal pardon, to protect innocents,”

“And kill the Kings guard? Won’t that ensure us the death penalty?” Drystan asked, “When would we get this pardon?”

“No, not kill them. If it were my way, I would end all killing,”

Izzie laughed at that.

Brandon gave her a look before turning back to the others, “Just disable them, slow them down; anything. You shall receive your pardon when the guards are called off and the king is brought out of this nonsense,”

“That could be never!” Izzie shouted, “What happens if the Mad King stays mad? We’ll be chasing guards for the rest of our life!”

“Is that any different to what you are doing now?” Brandon asked her, “The king shall come out of this soon and then you are all free to live your lives. I would hope you spend it doing good but I do not govern your lives. I simply hope to employ your services,”

Drystan looked over his shoulder at Izzie and they clashed eyes. Izzie didn’t know what he was thinking or feeling but he stared at her as if he was trying to figure her out.

And then he turned back to Brandon and uttered the words, “I’m in.”

Iagan followed and then Jarred before Dermot agreed.

They all turned and looked at her.

Izzie liked the idea of a royal pardon; it would help her leave this life when she wanted without the fear of being hunted for the rest of her days.

“I’m in,” Izzie nodded.

Besides, Izzie thought with a smile, she’d like to turn the tables.