the dream, moonlight glittered off black walls. A box lay on an invisible table in the center of a room. I stood between a stone door and the table. The door creaked open, and a long hand reached for the box. I took my dagger and sliced the hand off. Blood covered the room and the rest of the body fell inside, a woman named Cara looked up at the black ceiling, her eyes dull, her mouth moving, speaking words I could not hear.

I was awoken by a noise.

I opened my eyes, and stared at the dingy grey stone wall of the room I was staying in. I was in Lord Necanda's castle. He had offered me a room after I had shown him the pendant I took from Lord Whyte's nearly dead form. However, since Lord Necanda's wife perished, Lord Necanda had been about as mentally stable as a storm.

I heard deep, low breathing. I stiffened under the course, dirty blankets and listened carefully. I could clearly hear the muffled footsteps on the dusty wood floor. Slowly, I reached under my pillow for my dagger.

I waited until he was a few steps from the bed. I heard him, I could smell him, unwashed, with the smell of the wine he drank earlier that night. I turned my head slightly so that I could then clearly see him.

His large, heavy form stood over me, holding a sword over my head.

I rolled out of bed as the sword came down and sliced the pillow. Dagger in hand, I slid under the bed and stabbed at his leg. He howled in pain and fell to the floor, hitting his head on the edge of the night table.

He lay silently on the cold stone floor.

I crawled out from under the bed and looked him over. He was alive. I wondered briefly as to why he might try to kill me, but shrugged it off. The man was insane, and I did kill his wife, even though it was by his orders.

I stretched, and wandered out of the castle, taking only a few stray items of value as I passed. I retrieved my horses from the stable, lashed my caravan to them, and then left. Now I needed a new place to rest.

***

It was the middle of the day, and the sun beamed down strong on the earth while a chill wind cut through it's beams. I was half asleep, slowly riding my caravan towards the capital. The reigns were heavy in my limp hands, and it was exhausting simply to focus on the road.

One moment I was drowsing, letting my horses drag me along. The next moment, there was a hand at my mouth, and a cold steel dagger at my throat.

Many things passed through my mind, none of which were suitable for polite company.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a cloaked figure on the seat next to me.

“Get this thing out of the open.” the figure said. I recognized the voice instantly, and my heart, which had been trying to claw it's way into my mouth, settled down.

“Foster?”

The cloaked figure froze a moment, then slowly pulled the dagger away.

“Stiri?” he asked. He pulled the hood of the cloak down. It was indeed Foster. He was older than I remembered him, and he was old and grey when I was young. His face was riddled with scars, and a slice was missing out of one ear. What I knew to be his skinny frame was covered by a billowing blue cloak.

I dropped the reigns and rested my forehead in the palms of my hands and released a long, shuddering breath.

“What on earth, Foster?”

“Don't drop the reigns!” Foster demanded. He grabbed them, and urged the horses onward. The horses took off, jolting me in my seat and almost knocking me off.

I took another deep breath and clutched the edge of the seat as Dawn and Dusk galloped on. “Foster, of course you are welcomed to use my horses and wagon, but dare I ask why you-” I was cut off by the whizzing of an arrow.

“Look behind you.” He snapped

I sighed and leaned over so I could see behind the wagon.

In the distance, catching up to us where three horsemen of the king's army. Three horsemen with swords, arrows, lots of armor, fast horses, and likely no reservations on killing innocent travelers. Especially if they happen to be assassins.

I sat back in my seat as another three arrows buzzed by.

“I thought I was the one to make trouble.” I said.

“So did I. You don't want to get rid of them, do you?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“One hundred silver pieces a head should make it seem like you don't”

It was Foster, to whom I happened to owe a debt or three. He was right, It seemed like I did not have that much choice. To be fair, the offering of coin was a mere formality.

“Fine... You just keep the horses steady, I'll get rid of the King's guards.” I said. I stood up, and turned back to him. “Really, the King's guards? How did you managed to irk them?”

“A story for another time.” Foster muttered as the wagon bounced in a hole in the road. “Feel like doing your job?”

Again, I sighed. I climbed to the top of the caravan, and edged to the back so I could clearly see what I was going against.

Though the caravan was going fast, the king's guards were catching up easily, devouring space on the road. One of the guards saw me, and aimed an arrow which buzzed overhead.

I knew that if they had a chance at another shot, they would hit me. Having little time to think of a better idea, I leapt off the caravan and tackled the guard closest to me. He went flying off his very high, very fast horse and onto the ground. The other two guards were quick to react and before I could decide what to do next, one of the guards swung his sword at me. I ducked out of the way as the sword cleaved air.

I looked around. Anything can be used as a weapon, as Foster used to tell me. They were fully armored, but their horses weren't. I rode close to one of the guards. took my dagger, and jabbed one of the horses in the thigh. The horse whinnied and reared back, throwing another guard off his horse, dropping his bow as he fell, I caught the bow and turned around to the other guard.

The guard laughed as I brandished the bow. Arrowless, it was a useless weapon. Or, that's what he thought. The riderless horse fell away, and he lunged in at me with his sword. I let the sword cut through the bow string. The bow snapped straight, and I plunged the end into his face, right through the eye-hole in his helmet. He cried out in agony as blood spurted from his face, and he fell back.

I started to gallop forward to the wagon, when I heard something behind me. I turned and looked one of the guards had managed to get back on his horse, and was trying to catch up to me. He had a mace. I cringed at the sight of it. I know from first-hand experience that maces hurt in a bad way, with pain, and blood, and shattered bones.

I cursed as he gained on me. He swung the mace around, and brought it down over my head. Instinctively, I tried to use the bow to stop it. It's chain caught on the bow, and swung around. The force was enough to pull me off the horse. I fell to the ground, grabbing the guard's leg as I fell. He turned and glared at me as though I was a disgusting insect on his boot. The now broken bow fell away as he untangled it from his mace.

I took my dagger, and stabbed at his unprotected ankle. he bellowed in pain, but didn't fall off the horse. I cursed, and stabbed again. Blood spurted from his armor, but still he didn't let go of the horse. I grabbed a part of the saddle, and pulled myself up, dragging the guard half-off the saddle as I did so. He was strong, but he was in pain. I took my dagger again and stabbed at the exposed hand that held the mace. The mace fell from his hand, falling into my waiting fingers as it did. Then I swung the mace around once, and hit the guard in the head. The metal helmet dented too far into the skull than was healthy, and the guard finally fell limp and slid off the horse.

I climbed onto the horse properly, and rode it up to my still racing caravan. I rode alongside, and urged my horse along until I could see Foster again.

“Slow down, or you'll kill my poor horses.” I said. Foster grinned and pulled on the reins. The horses slowed to a stop. He let the reins fall, and looked me over. I was half covered in blood and dirt, dragging an old mace by my side.

“Well done.” he said. “Now let's eat.”