Chapter 4 - Hunter and Prey

Edmund thought back to his history lessons; the original War of Dusk had been fought five centuries ago, on the other side of the Western Sea. A cult to a dark god of slaughter and madness rose up in a small city whose name had been stricken from all records, spreading corruption and fear until they were ready to rise up openly.

Legends said that they rose in force, led by gigantic creatures of terrifying and alien appearance. One by one, cities fell to their onslaught, swelling their ranks with conscripted soldiers and converts alike. For six months, they marched openly and without resistance while nations attempted diplomacy. At last, the surviving cities banded together to form an army of necessity. Ancient grudges, if not buried, were at least set aside in the face of extinction and northmen marched beside imperial soldiers, dark-skinned swordsmen of the southern deserts beside pale scouts of the forest kingdoms.

The armies slowed the advance of the cultists, but the servants of the dark gods fought a war of attrition which they were slowly winning with their ever-swelling numbers. Stories of the age talk of allied soldiers dying one day, only to rise again as walking corpses in the armies of the dark cult the next.

When all seemed lost, a knight called Ser Roland arrived from across the seas. He came with a retinue of one-thousand men, a mere legion, but he argued that each one of his men was blessed by the Lord of Morning and worth a hundred conscripts in battle. Having nothing to lose, the beleaguered army accepted his help.

The records of the Order claim that the tide was turned from the first battle, that Ser Roland and his men practically defeated the cultists alone, but even the most devout paladin considered this an exaggeration. Contemporary records of the generals present at the battles suggest that Ser Roland was a man of greater valour than discretion, heedlessly charging into danger, but that his tactics often left their foes scattered and confused; in such a state, the better-trained and disciplined armies could drive them back, often using geographical features such as ravines and fast-flowing rivers to defeat the ill-trained forces.

With the new-found breathing-room, the generals of the armies began to develop their siege-engines into devices which could topple the giants who led the armies. Ballistae and catapults were modified to favour distance and accuracy over raw destructive power, relying on the blessings of Roland and his knights to give their projectiles the power to harm these servants of the dark gods.

Reports of massive routes and deaths gave way to discussions of tactics and strategies for defeating the cult. Hope entered the letters sent home by the soldiers and the armies swelled with volunteers. Slowly, the armies took in paladins of the Lord of Morning as Roland's knights accepted squires and trained them in the mysteries of their Order. The original thousand men, despite losses of one men out of every ten, started to swell again with squires. Though he swore it was a mistake, Roland encouraged each knight to take on three or even four of the most promising men and women who would swear to their island god. Within six years, the Order numbered four-thousand. Within ten, the order had risen to almost fifteen-thousand men and women.

Twenty years after the rise of the cult, the war had been taken back to the city from which it arose. Fifty-thousand trained veterans and at least as many green recruits camped around the city, waiting for the order to advance and take back the city, but Ser Roland had other plans.

Every siege engine still operational was brought to the city, in preparation for Roland's final attack, along with dark red wine from every vintner whose grapes grew in blood-soaked soil. The blessings of fifteen-thousand paladins rang out from dawn until dawn the following day. Finally, silence returned and the casks were shared out among the armies.

Roland offered one drink to any who would follow him into the city, but warned that few who entered would return and those who did would never again recover from the ordeal.

History, even within the Order, did not record the sight that waited inside the city, but it is know that the battle lasted more than a day and claimed the life of Ser Roland. Following his instructions, the city was razed, the land around it salted and its name was never to be spoken or recorded while the Order of Morning still survived.

* * * * *

“I would beg your indulgence,” Katya said, feigning courtesy, “but I fear it is you who are asking for ours. I am certain that your city has suffered greatly at the hands of the cults, but to invoke the name of the War of Dusk simply to get our attention is surely a sign that you lack the strength to protect your own people.”

“My people are simple guardsmen,” Captain Hunter said, his voice level and reasonable, “trained to subdue thieves and break up tavern brawls; they are not ready to fight cults and servants of gods that even a paladin such as yourself is obviously too fearful to oppose.”

Edmund knew how Katya would react, he had seen too often what rage followed any accusation of cowardice, and he was not disappointed.

“Fearful?”

“Of course. Why else would you leave your crippled friend and a guest of the paladins to fight cultists within your own fort?”

“It is only your word that we have on that.”

“So your friend here was mistaken?” Hunter asked her.

At this provocation, Katya slapped Captain Hunter. His calm and measured voice had seemed almost designed to provoke her.

“In my city,” Captain Hunter told her, “I would take that as an invitation to duel.”

“You may take it as you will.” she responded.

The captain brightened at this, “Then I accept. I believe you have a training yard.”

“You may finish your breakfast first, sir...”

“I intend to.” he said, then called, “Sergeant Erikssen!”

Sergeant Erikssen ambled over with his plate in hand, an enigmatic look of amusement on his face as a crowd gathered. He glanced at the pair and stated, “I will bear witness to the challenge. First blood, each combatant to select their own weapons and armour, if that pleases you both. I will remain on hand to tend to the loser, but try not to make the wounds to deep.”

“I accept.” Katya said, to which Captain Hunter only nodded assent.

As Katya walked away from the table to prepare, Edmund simply looked from Captain Hunter to Sergeant Erikssen suspiciously. Both men returned his questioning gaze with a smile and sat down to enjoy their respective breakfasts.

“Something here is not as it seems.” he told the pair.

“I am sure I don't know what you mean.” replied Erikssen

“Nobody is going to stop the duel?”

“Why would they? The sera and Captain Hunter are both guests, free to indulge their whims.”

“Sera Katya is a paladin, one of the best sword-fighters I have ever known.”

Erikssen shrugged, “Hunter here isn't so bad.”

Edmund found that he had lost his appetite, but his companions continued eating, undeterred by any thought of the coming battle. Neither man seemed apt to talk and so they were soon finished.

“Ready to attend the contest, Edmund?” asked Captain Hunter.

“I would not like to see you killed.” he replied.

“Have no fear of that. It is hard to die surrounded by such devout folk as these.”

Edmund bit back his retort and simply followed the suicidal Captain as he walked out to the training yard, buttoning his tunic as he went. He noticed that the man wore no armour, which may give him some advantage against a foe used to armour, but he knew Katya was as well-practised without armour as she was in full plate and maille. Glancing down at the sound of metal striking the cobbles, Edmund also noted that Captain Hunter planned to fight in boots which featured a steel-shod raised heel, while Katya was dressed as always in a simple pair of flat boots which would no doubt give her the better stability on the icy ground.

They reached the practice yard and Katya strapped on her padded arming jacket, probably as much to ward off the cold as for protection. She took up her long sword and sketched a sword-fighter's salute.

“You can still back out with honour intact.” Hunter called, drawing on his gloves.

“As can you, Captain, should you wish to keep your skin unscarred.”

Pre-emptive posturing complete, the combatants took their positions and Captain Hunter tossed his sword-belt to sergeant Erikssen as he fell into a duellist's stance opposite Katya's more martial pose. He extended his sword toward Katya and nodded approvingly.

“Shall we dance, Sera?” Hunter asked, as though they faced one another at a ball rather than across a practice yard with swords drawn.

Edmund realised that Captain Hunter had judged his opponent perfectly, knowing that his calm tone and mocking smile would provoke his friend better than any taunts or goads; she had suffered the verbal assaults of eleven insecure youths for much of her life, learning to shrug off the puerile attempts to raise her ire, but Captain Hunter's approach was expertly crafted to play on her own insecurities.

He was not disappointed when Katya ran at him with her sword high, perhaps hoping to end their duel in the opening seconds. She pressed forward, hacking at the captain's leading shoulder, pushing all of her weight behind the blow and he brought up his sword in a duellist's parry tierce.

Edmund could see her aim, doubting that the swordsman's slender blade could hold up to such a blow, but even he was surprised as Hunter stepped inside the attack and drove the swept hilt of his sword upward into her wrist. A lesser fighter may have lost her sword, but Katya managed to maintain her grip as her sword-hand was driven outward and away from her opponent. For a moment, it seemed that she might catch Hunter a glancing blow as the sword was propelled inward, but the older fighter ducked quickly under her raised arm and Katya was forced to move her body out of the way.

Edmund saw the momentum of the blade, wondering if she would try to continue her swing into another full-blown attack, but his friend and training-sister instead pulled her sword back into a more controlled arc. As Hunter's sword slipped under her upraised arm, he watched her step back and easily bat the slender blade away.

The first exchange had lasted mere seconds, but both fighters were already breathing heavily. An untrained observer would have thought that the opponents were matched, even some trained watchers might not have picked up on certain signs, but Edmund saw that Katya held her sword stiffly, the point dipping more than usual. The blow to her wrist, or else the effort of bringing her wildly-swinging blade under control, had taken its toll on her.

Hunter, in contrast, seemed not to have suffered at all. His movements, despite the captain being twice Katya's age at least, were sharp and light. He knew that a fencer's blade was no lighter than Katya's, but it's balance made it quicker and together with its greater reach, perhaps six inches more than Katya's, it would find opportunities that a blade-heavy martial weapon might miss.

As an outside observer, Edmund reflected that the fight would likely go in Katya's favour if she could simply maintain her discipline. This, he knew, would explain Captain Hunter's more flamboyant style and sense of easy confidence; he was trying to push her into a rash mistake, a technique that was no doubt effective against youths of his home city. Katya would not fall for his attempts again, Edmund decided, watching her face fall into the calculating and focused expression he associated with a well-trained warrior.

Their second exchange started with Hunter, moving with deceptive speed to lunge at her leading knee. As she easily swept his attack to one side, he shifted his attack to her trailing shoulder. His point penetrated her jacket before she could continue her sword's sweep and parry the alarmingly-swift shift of focus. Without even stopping to confirm that he had not scored a hit, Hunter twisted his blade to attack her forward hip and Katya was forced back in her efforts to avoid his blade.

Realising that she was stronger on the offensive, Katya drove her blade into an overhand swing that would quickly end their duel if the captain tried to parry it. Hunter's immediate parry quinte provoked a look of excitement in the swordswoman's eyes, but he quickly abandoned it as he stepped to his right and swept his sword toprime, easily deflecting her attempts to follow his movements with her blade. As her sword struck the ground, Hunter moved forward to perform a draw cut across her sword-arm.

Edmund saw the inevitable close of the duel loom, but Katya surprised him by dropping her sword to swing both fists down onto his extended wrist. Caught off-guard, Hunter's slender sword fell from enervated fingers and he barely snatched up his sword left-handed before Katya could kick it aside. The captain withdrew hurriedly, allowing Katya the chance to reclaim her own weapon.

Edmund found a certain excitement welling up inside him, enjoying this chance to see the raw skill of both opponents. A crowd was gathering around the practice-yard as the two opponents circled, many faces showing a degree of amusement which Edmund thought misplaced. He realised as he watched that Hunter was still fighting to first blood, but he could not say if Katya would be able to pull her blows in time to avoid a mortal wound that would tax even a paladin's supernatural gifts.

Within the practice-yard, Katya took a moment to glance at her torn jacket, but it seemed that Hunter's light blade had not been able to reach her skin below. She seemed ready to finish the duel quickly, while Hunter's pained expression did not belong to a man who would easily last another exchange of such ferocity.

Both opponents thrust and withdrew quickly, opening their third exchange with feints and blows designed to probe the other. Hunter fought left-handed, his right hand held tightly against his body, but his movements seemed stiff and poorly-controlled. Edmund was still impressed by the skill shown in the man's off-hand style, as few swordsmen bothered to practice left-handed at all. He also knew that Katya had not practised against a left-handed opponent for years, not since the departure of Lucas.

Slowly, Katya pressed the attack more firmly, driving Hunter back as he struggled to parry her attacks. His mocking smile faded with the strength of his parries and his answering ripostes came more seldom until his focus fell entirely to self-preservation. It was almost a matter of time, Edmund reflected.

Something was amiss, Edmund realised. The paladins around him seemed to be in on some private joke, their reactions at odds in some way with the events of the two combatants. He considered the battle again, watching the older swordsman's clumsy motions and saw what the other watchers must already have known; Hunter was bluffing. His parries were not ill-controlled or clumsy, they were deliberately flawed. With this new-found understanding, he saw the pattern of consistency lulling his opponent into a comfortable rhythm and prepared to warn Katya.

Even as he took a breath to call, he saw Hunter's parry as it knocked Katya's sword high and quickly moved back in-line for a thrust into the muscle of her upper arm. He watched helplessly as Katya's wounded wrist could not bring her sword back in time.

Time stood still, Hunter's perfect attack poised to inflict a non-lethal, debilitating wound. Katya's sword arced back faster than he thought possible, driving toward Hunter's torso as he realised that she too had been feigning a weakness she did not possess. At once, he watched both fighters realise their mistakes; Katya pushed herself upward to let the blade pass harmlessly under her arm, just as Hunter drew back to watch the heavier sword slice through the air within an inch of his unprotected chest.

Katya recovered first, reversing the direction of her attack and turning it into a back-hand slash which lacked her usual force. It would still have been enough, Edmund thought, as Hunter barely brought his blade down into a desperate parry that barely stopped her blade. His reckless efforts pushed the power of the swordswoman's blade back on itself and Katya wasted no time into making use of the fencer's mistake. She added her own power to the movement, continuing the arc into a circular sweep and relying on Hunter's lack of balance.

The full-body sweep was seldom used, as it was notorious for opening the attacker to her opponent. As Katya took the sword in both hands, she was forced to turn her back on Captain Hunter for a tense moment. His clumsy parry had driven his sword off-line for a riposte and he was unable to take advantage of her opening. Unable to drop his body below or outside the line of the coming blow, he had only one option open to him and Edmund saw her reckless plan.

Hunter brought up his slender blade in a futile parry, driving the forte of his sword into the path of Katya's attack. Edmund saw that he did not even attempt to take the blow on the side of the blade, letting the cutting edge lead. Katya's head whipped around to confirm her expectations and she began to smile at the sight of the feeble sword thrown up in defence. Edmund knew that a fencer's blade could not hope to survive such a manoeuvre, but he hoped that it would blunt the force of the attack.

The courtyard fell silent as the swords came together. The blades met with the pure ringing sound of a fingernail striking a crystal goblet, not the sharp clang of steel on steel. Edmund watched as the force of the collision pushed Hunter back slightly, his bent arms absorbing some portion of the blow. Katya's left arm had moved to protect her face from shards of the fencer's shattered blade, but Edmund watched from the side as both swords shook from the blow.

It seemed that Hunter's sword lost its sharply-defined edge, becoming a blur of silver when the swords met. Edmund wondered for a moment if the blade had simply turned to a thousand motes of glittering dust, then he realised what he was seeing. As the force of the blow dissipated, he understood that the captain's blade had started to sing, blurring as it did so like a harp-string plucked by a minstrel.

Katya turned her head to stare in wonder at the undamaged blade, still vibrating with that crystalline note, as it found the shoulder of her arming-jacket and slid through the earlier hole to finally find her skin. There was no pain, but she felt her hand open reflexively to drop her sword on the ground.

Edmund rushed to his friend, still staring in disbelief at the wound on her shoulder that had begun to discolour the fabric of her clothing. The wound was not deep, but he lacked the powers of a paladin and so he pressed a handful of snow onto the wounded region.

“He beat me...” Katya said at last.

That much was evident, but Edmund decided that she needed time to process the events of the last minute or so. He knew how she must feel, having just watched a trained paladin, a knight in the Order of Morning no less, brought to her knees by a peacock.

“Let me help you.” came sergeant Erikssen's voice as he laid his hands on Katya injured shoulder and invoked the healing talents of the Order.

“What just happened?” Edmund asked the sergeant.

“Your friend just got a taste of humility.”

“Well, yes, but his sword...”

Edmund looked down at Katya's sword, noting the indentation where it had met Hunter's evidently-magical sword. What magic could be so powerful as to nick a sword which any squire knew should be nigh-invincible while its owner still lived.

“You have never heard of Captain Hunter, have you? That sword of his has seen dragon-fire, sliced through the stony hide of demons, and you are surprised that it didn't shatter when some novice paladin hit it with a chunk of steel?” Sergeant Erikssen asked incredulously.

When both Edmund and Katya shook their heads in bewilderment, he simply walked away to congratulate his friend, muttering jovially to himself about the ignorance of youth.

Edmund began to see that life moved so much faster outside the protective confines of the Order's fortress. With the exception of slender John's death, the most excitement he had seen in a decade and a half had been sparring injuries. There had been the tales from history lessons and the chilling missives from Lucas' father, but these all seemed distant and dry compared to the vibrant events of a single day outside the Order.

Perhaps, Edmund reflected, this was why the Lord-Commander was sending him to the monastery; he had nearly renounced the Lord of Morning, seen the strength of Katya's devotion in that she would have killed him right there beside the road before she let him fall, he had allowed a dark cultist to bring him to the brink of heresy and been saved only by the appearance of a middle-aged guard captain, then he had watched that same guard-captain defeat Katya in single combat even in spite of her superior training. He was not ready to be drawn into such a world yet.

“Squire! Sera Katya!”

They turned to see Commander Irving bearing down on them quickly. A large man, with the proportions of a bull and the temper to match, Irving was the closest thing to a permanent commander that the small fort had. It was well-known that he was only reluctantly numbered among the inner circle and took any opportunity to return to this outlying post, so the Lord-Commander had assigned him command of the fort.

His smile, as broad as his chest and just as arresting, suggested that he was not angry with them, but Katya and Edmund still found themselves sharing a nervous glance at one another though, uncertain of just how much the commander knew of the duel.

“I hear you have been fighting in my yard.” he said.

“Yes sir,” Katya told him, “I fear we had a misunderstanding and it came to blows.”

Commander Irving laughed uproariously at this, an act all the more unsettling for the sheer volume. Neither of the former squires could remember ever seeing him smile before, let alone laugh, and shared another look of apprehension.

“Yes,” he said at last, “I find he rubs me the wrong way too. I never trusted the man.”

Edmund quietly translated this in his head, based on his experience and the rumours that persisted in the Fortress of Morning; the Lord-Commander liked Captain Hunter, so Irving would find any excuse to dislike him just to be contrary.

“You almost got him,” Irving continued, “but he went and cheated with that sword of his. It is a poor thing to be beaten by a simple guardsman, especially a peacock like him.”

“But Commander,” Edmund suggested, “Sera Katya was fighting with a magical sword too...”

“That's different,” Irving said, waving away the squire's words, “Sera Katya earned her sword by her devotion to the Lord of Morning. The only things that wretch of a guard-captain ever worshipped were dice, drink and... wenches.”

Edmund was uncertain how he felt about this petty distinction, but held his tongue when he saw that it seemed to have raised Katya's spirits. Whatever magic protected the captain's sword had allowed it to bite into Katya's blade, a thing he had thought impossible. He started to question the captain's aims, in spite of his actions in the stable. If anything was stronger than the faith of a paladin who had been ready to slay her own friend, he was not sure that he wanted to see it in the hands of an enemy.

He had only assumed that the Lord-Commander trusted the stranger, after all, and the groom's treachery had proved that evil could survive unchallenged even in a bastion of the Order, which would give any wide-eyed novitiate pause.

“Irving...” came Captain Hunter's voice, carrying a note of warning.

Edmund turned to look a the fencer and felt his doubts fade slightly. It was prudent to question the motives of strangers, but he was becoming paranoid. Here was a man who had saved his life, at the risk of his own by all accounts, and Edmund repaid his debt this way.

“Please don't go interfering with the squires again, it will get you a reputation.” Hunter said, now returned to his accustomed mocking tone.

“I was simply reminding the young ones not to be taken in by a fop from the city.”

“Indeed,” the 'fop' replied, “I hope never to take in such waifs and strays as even your order would discard.”

“Begone, thief-taker...” Irving told him, putting such force behind those words that even Edmund was driven back a step. The commander was using the Voice of Morning.

“In time.” Hunter said, weathering the paladin's focused will as he would a summer's breeze.

Commander Irving's face registered shock and fear for a moment, seeing the stranger shrug off the power of his god. Edmund saw anger there too, but the Lodinic captain simply waited for the other man to find his voice.

At last, the commander asked, “What are you?”

“I am thief's bane and daemon's end.” he replied, glancing at Katya, “I am the watchman and the guardian. I am all those things and I am not a man to be trifled with.”

“Roland's mercy, the stories...”

“..are true, yes.” Hunter finished the commander's thought.

Edmund did not understand what had cowed the commander so completely, but he left with a look of fierce look of determination and waved over a number of armoured soldiers to accompany him to the watch-tower. Edmund and Katya were left with Captain Hunter and too many unanswered questions.

“I don't understand.” Katya said at last.

“Nor do I. What stories...?” Edmund added.

“None that need concern you right now. I think it is time that I set out to meet with your Lord-Commander and you two should head for the monastery with all due haste. If you are strong enough to ride, I suggest you take a pair of horses and tell Brother Thanras...”

Captain Hunter shrugged, lost for words, and looked around the courtyard. Finally he walked to a nearby paladin and whispered in his ear, coming back with a black feather which he handed to Edmund.

“Give him this.” the captain said, “Tell him that we have need of every soldier the gods will grant us.”

“A feather?” Edmund asked.

“He will understand its meaning, I hope.”

“What meaning?”

“I... I honestly don't know.”

“And what if he doesn't understand?”

“Then tell him he's a little storm-cloud and remember to duck...”

“Do you always speak in riddles?”

Hunter sighed, “Only when the gods are involved.”

Having said his piece, Captain Hunter turned and ran to the stables, leaving Katya and Edmund staring after him in perplexed irritation. They waited a moment before speaking again.

“Are you strong enough to ride?” Katya asked finally.

“If it means getting that we do not need to sit in that awful cart again, I am.”

Katya nodded and walked to the stables just as Hunter emerged. As Edmund might have expected, he rode a tall black stallion whose tack and harness shone fit to shame even a paladin's warhorse.

“Fare well, my friends. We shall meet again, if the gods are kind.” he called and spurred the horse on through the gates.

Events seemed to spiral out of control, it seemed, leaving Edmund and Katya fighting to make sense of their place in the chaos of the morning. They entered the stables to find the corpse of the sorcerer gone and clean straw covering the spot where he had fallen. The subtle smell of blood still filled the stalls and many of the horses shifted nervously, while others kicked and stamped in their eagerness to escape from the metallic stench. Katya rushed ahead to grab one of the servants who was trying to calm the animals.

“We need a pair of your fastest horses.” she was explaining when Edmund caught up with her.

“I'm sorry, but I can't just let you take even one horse without the commander's approval.”

“What would you do if he were not here, or if there were a battle?”

“The protocol is...”

“Bugger the protocol,” she exploded, “I need two horses.”

As if on cue, one of the horses kicked open the door of his stall and made for the courtyard with Katya in pursuit. The servant quickly chased after horse and paladin, but Edmund did not think he would overtake her when she was in such a self-righteous mood.

Edmund looked around and saw that he was alone. More than this, he realised that his and Katya's bags sat waiting beside the stall of easily the least-skittish horse. He wasted no time in taking advantage of the situation, offering a silent prayer of thanks to whichever god was smiling upon their purpose today; ordinarily, he would never steal from the order, but he decided that fate had intervened once more and that this was not the time to question his new-found fortune.

After strapping his sword-belt around his waist, taking comfort in wearing a sword once more, Edmund began tying the straps of their bags together in a makeshift pair of saddle-bags, and mounted the horse quickly. Outside, he heard cheers of approval, no doubt as Katya found her seat, and urged his own horse out of the stables to join her.

Edmund emerged from the stables to see Katya toying cruelly with the servant, who seemed to be taking it all in good humour until he saw Edmund riding toward the open gate with his bags slung across the pommel of the saddle. Amidst calls of 'thief', Katya rode hard for the gates and had reached Edmund's side as they passed out onto the road.

One of the sentries, obviously reacting faster to the cries than his fellows, had dropped the heavy sandbags which would slam the doors shut. The outward-opening doors closed sharply, but too slow; they fell at Edmund's back and he heard the solid oaken beams slam into place as the locking mechanisms were pulled taut by the weight of the falling sand. Yet again, luck or divine intervention had favoured the pair and the small fort would be unable to mount a pursuit until the siege-defences had been reset.

“I suggest we get out of range of the bowmen.” Katya said, not slowing her horse.

“You think they'd shoot at us?”

“I think I would rather not test them.”

The pair rode hard for an hour, declining to speak. Snatched glances confirmed that they were both as tense as one another, uncertain how the Order would look upon their sudden flight. Edmund noted with some degree of relief that his docile horse was easily a match for Katya's nervous steed, though the latter seemed subdued by their reckless charge down the mountains.

They slowed as they came to a small village and decided to ask for directions to the Order's monastery.

“Follow the main road and you can't miss it.” a travelling merchant told them.

“How far?” Katya asked, “We hope to make it by the evening.”

The merchant laughed, “Not with those horses. They already look half-dead.”

“How far?” she repeated.

“Another day's ride, if you want your mounts to survive.”

“Thank-you.”

“I would suggest stopping at the next village. It will be a close-run thing, making it by nightfall, but they have an inn with warm beds and they don't ask many questions.” he said, winking suggestively.

Edmund wondered for a moment if she was about to draw her sword, but she simply nodded gratefully and turned her horse back toward the main road. He considered trying to make conversation, but though better of it and simply rode beside her in silence.