Instead of retracing the steep path they had descended, the remnants of the First Detachment took a divergent route for the return journey. Cassian rode at the vanguard, pushing a pace so hasty that Hermi struggled to keep Luca in stride with him.
The dark irritation that had overtaken him at the ridge, a mood Hermi still could not quite name, burned through him with every step of the journey. Despite his temper, he had donned his black half-plate once more before they departed, as if to reclaim his kingly dignity and conceal the blood-stained ruin of the white shirt underneath.
As the bruised shades of evening began to bleed across the sky, Cassian's black stallion deliberately veered away from the main trail, leading the column toward a looming Trade Outpost.
Like the Black Fortress, the outpost was encased in towering stone walls. The moment the sentries patrolling the ramparts recognized Cassian at the vanguard, they scrambled to heave open the massive gates.
