Before Okie can answer, a peremptory voice cuts in: "You there! Stand where you are --"

It sounds like a young man's voice, and the owner of it has just stepped around the corner of the wall. He's in dark leather-and-chain-mail armor, under a dark gray cloak pinned at the shoulder with a pale yellow sunburst emblem. There's a crossbow in his hands, not aimed directly at either of them but held in a way that suggests aiming could happen at any moment.

"State your business here," he snaps, "and be quick about it."