She snorts. "That won't be a problem."

Witred returns with her two outriders the next day. Both are rangy, with weather-beaten skin that masks their youth. One has a nose with three gold rings in it and more yet-to-heal empty piercing holes dotting his ears and lips, while the other has her right arm tattooed with a night sky split by lightning and the left with a winding strand of black barbed wire impaling five people and three horses. They wear the fatigues of the Last War (the North's brown for the man, the South's gray for the woman) with insignias removed, slit sleeves, and unfastened at the chest to show quilted silk vests underneath. Both have shown up with a couple of horses each, sprightlier creatures than Witred's brute. Where Witred carries just a stubby pepperbox pistol, they have a sawn-off musket or shotgun on each belt and the distinctive shape of a revolver-rifle extends from their saddle-holsters. 

"This is Kagge and Attmet," Witred says by way of introduction, nodding to each for Lemrae's benefit as the names are the opposite way round from what Baelo custom would assume. "Of the High Forest and Spotted Bear, respectively, not that those will mean much to you. Telegraph-master, if you want them to ride and shoot for you, pay their shot and feed and they'll be glad to keep their skills sharp until the next war breaks out."

"My horses do have big appetites," Attmet adds, his face crinkling in amused anticipation of a haggling session. Kagge sighs, rolls her eyes, and crosses her arms.