It took some persuasion for me to convince the bandits that the path to true power lay outside the squalid forest they dwelt in. That was to be expected I suppose, as for the most part they were simple, superstitious folk who treated anything outside the five-mile square they were born and raised in with deep distrust. Among them though there were a few brighter sparks, ones with real ambition. These were the few I focused on, and once they were persuaded, the rest of the flock followed suit.

We travelled to the north-east, living off the villages we found along the way. The villagers weren't all that eager to give up their meagre supplies to us, naturally, but it wasn't like they had any other choice. A number of the simpler bandits had a tendency to get rowdy, but I squashed that instinct whenever I found it. The less trouble we caused, the less likely the Duke was to take notice of our little band.

More than two moons after we had set out, we reached a small village on the edge of a river. It was a fairly unremarkable place, except for a grand hall at one end of the settlement. This was some interest to me, as it would require a fair bit of wealth to construct such a building. The villagers had been herded into a paddock to keep them out of our way, and were presently being threatened with colourful language by young Edwy, who held out a blunt dagger one of the kinder bandits had given him.

"That’s all there is my, my lady," Cynewic said he approached, tossing me a sack of salted meats. I snorted derisively as I weighed up the bag in my hands.

"That can’t be all, look at the size of that grain store."

"They said they had to pay the tax collector but a fortnight ago."

"Hm," I muttered. Cynewic sat down beside me, offering me a piece of blackened bread.

"Can you even eat?"

"Of course I can eat!" I exclaimed, grabbing the morsel from him and stuffing it into my mouth. We watched as a couple of bandits tried to herd a group of swine across a muddy path.

"You've never told me what you are," Cynewic said after a pause.

"It’s hard to explain," I admitted.

"Try."

"Well, there was this show back at home called Game of Thrones," I started, before realising I had already lost him. I sighed and shook my head. "Watch."

I called over to one of the bandits, who reluctantly brought over a wriggling piglet. I placed my hand on the creature’s forehead, summoning my thoughts. I took a deep breath, and then let the virus flow through me. The piglet squealed helplessly in my grip, and then fell still.

"You killed it?"

"Better," I said with a smile. The piglet's eyes opened again, this time blood red. Without warning, the creature burst from my arms and bolted off towards the nearest group of bandits, shrieking like it had been stuck with a knife. It struck the closest one in the ankle with a surprising force, almost knocking the man to the ground and causing his comrades to jump in alarm. I watched with mild amusement as three of them struggled to restrain and then slaughter the hog.

"You could do that to any of us?" Cynewic asked hesitantly.

"I could." I shrugged modestly. "You're more useful to me as a pair of hands, though. How long do you think it will be until we reach the barrows?"

"Three days at a good pace. We'll know we're on the right track if we see that new forest they've all been talking about." He looked out over the assembled bandits. "They'll tire out, sooner or later."

"Oh trust me, they won't yet," I said, smiling as one picked up the piglet's mutated corpse with a horrified expression. "I can ensure they have… ample motivation."