Glaffin swears aloud as he spurs his horse forward. Damned heroics will get one of those two killed if they aren't careful.
It looks like the first two have the battle with the leader well in hand at the moment, but if they aren't careful they'll be rushed and surrounded before the reinforcements from the wagons can surmount the hill to distract them. Looks like he'll have to do something foolhardy himself if they're going to make it out in one piece.
So he'll spur his mount into a charge, hardly knowing what he's doing as he does, but unhooking his own morningstar from the loop on his belt and swinging it in a low arc as the mare reins up next to his target. He's aimed for the closest bandit to his position, the one just barely on the edge of the hill, which will hopefully draw some attention to him that would otherwise go towards Thorus.
Glaffin could almost appreciate the humor of the situation. He hadn't wanted violent attention directed his way so much since that fiery redhead he'd had his eye on took a drunken go at kicking him in the goolies and ended up tumbling in a heap with him instead.