If danger did wait for the sellsword couple and their employer on the journey, it didn't present itself on the first day. Uneventful didn't do their trek justice. The trip could only be described as dull. Boyko found himself yawning as he lazily whipped the reins of their wagon's oxen and Sanna struggled to make conversation with the object of their protection, Mr. Iblo, in the back.

"And they called me a pioneer for how I implemented the use of new fonts in our manuscripts," he said finishing a long, detailed anecdote he thought very impressive.

"Wow, how fascinating. I never realized," Sanna responded, chin in hand and staring out at the passing landscape. The open fields and quaint farmhouses of the receding Braighden suburbs were evidently more interesting than Mr. Iblo's exploits. Her other hand twisted the scabbard on her belt, almost wishing for some action.

To Sanna's irritation, their client soon joined her sightseeing.

"My, it is a rather lovely day, isn't it? Views like these are why you should leave the city more often. Don't you agree?"

She made a noncommittal grunt.

"I can only imagine how scenic the skyline in Lancester must be."

"You'll find out tomorrow," Boyko called back, "Around midday we're going to pass through the border between prefectures. Her majesty's capitol will be just beyond that."

"Border?"

"A new measure of Queen Vysa's. Helps prevent smuggling apparently. The queen's officers will stop us to search the wagon and check our licenses. Not too unusual."

"How thorough are the searches?" Mr. Iblo asked, clutching his leather satchel close. The bag contained his "company secret" and had not left his side since they embarked.

"Relax. They'll be looking for unlicensed weapons, illegal magic items, and disguised criminals. Stuff like that. They won't care about your book or whatever."

Their client seemed reassured but kept his satchel tight to his chest.

"My husband is right, Mr. Iblo," said Sanna. "You have nothing to worry about. Prefecture border checks help keep another civil war from breaking out. Having lived through the last one, I can't say I'm against the idea."

She leaned back in the wagon, hands behind her head, and tilted her hat back to shield her eyes, the picture of relaxation. The publishing agent envied her ease.

"I had been curious about that," he said. "You were both soldiers in the war, then? For her majesty, I'm assuming."

"Indeed."

"Why become sellswords then? You must be so tired of violence. Surely there are other ways to make a living?"

"For some maybe, but using these," she held up her sheathed sword, "is the only thing we've found we possess any talent for."

"Speak for yourself, my good lady wife. I could have become a carpenter after our soldiering days," said Boyko.

An apple hit him in the back of the head. Looking over his shoulder, he & Sanna shared the kind of mischievous smile only two people in love can share. Mr. Iblo, feeling left out, butted in on the paramours' flirting.

"Well I'm certainly glad to have you two protecting me." He smiled himself, erasing theirs.

Boyko looked back to the road and spotted someone approaching on foot. The traveler carried a walking stick and wore a broad straw hat, a diaphanous white veil hanging down from it. A wandering monk, he guessed from their appearance. The sellsword slowed their wagon as they drew closer to the pilgrim, and his companions' attention perked up.

The holy man bowed to them and the three bowed back.

"Greetings,” said the monk, actually a nun by the sound of her voice. Without revealing her face, she produced an empty wooden bowl from within her robe and held it out to them.

"Alms for a member of the cloth? I shall pray to the god of travelers on your behalf."

Boyko said, "Of course," and tossed a loose Half-Quell piece into her bowl.

Sanna threw two and said, "And say one for yourself as well."

They waited on Mr. Iblo. Taking the hint, he said, "Oh, yes." After fishing around in his coat, he pulled out a coin of lesser denomination than Boyko or Sanna's and dropped it in. "There you go."

The nun bowed once more, said "Thank you for your kindness," and continued on down the highway. The travelers followed suit in the opposite direction. Boyko's nose itched as they went, that scent of danger returning, but this time he waved it off. What danger could come from miles of empty road and open countryside?

As the sun set, an inn revealed itself on the roadside. One of many that had been popping up since the civil war's end and travel burgeoned. The sellswords decided to turn in for the evening, on Mr. Iblo's dime.

"Two rooms, please," Boyko told the clerk. "One single, and one double."

"One of you will be sleeping with me of course," said Mr. Iblo

"Actually I thought you would prefer the single."

"And be undefended against any attackers? I don't think so."

The mercenary couple looked to each other, deciding who would suffer an evening's sleep with their client, and held an entire argument in expressions. Sanna made it quite clear that she had spent all day with the louse. It was her husband's turn to shoulder the burden. He sighed and because he loved her, acquiesced.

"Then I guess we shall be roommates for the night Mr. Iblo."

"Excellent," said the publisher. His wife agreed with a sly smile of her own.

Thankfully, the man was not as fussy as Boyko feared. He did spend an inordinate amount of time grooming himself, while the sellsword simply washed his face before bed. But the two soon settled in for the evening with little fanfare. The room even had a copy of that inescapable bestseller A Long Night of Summer Passion on the nightstand. Ever cautious, Boyko stashed his sword under his pillow, ready to be drawn at a moment's notice, doing so more out of habit than anticipation.

A few doors down, Sanna slumbered just as peacefully in her single room. Her weapon leaned against the bedside table. Within arm's reach, but also not expected to be needed. Cricket song and moonlight filled up the quiet halls of the inn's second floor. The clocks ticked to midnight in near silence.

As a former soldier, Boyko was accustomed to sleeping light. Better to meet any enemy surprise. But even he didn't hear the window of their room slowly slide up long after dark fell. A figure in tight dark clothes and a white half-cloak slipped in without a sound. They landed on the floorboards, drawing no creaks beneath their cloth-wrapped feet, and stalked toward Mr. Iblo, still clutching his precious leather satchel to his chest.

Carefully lacing their fingers through its straps, the intruder gave the bag a tug. The publisher, fast asleep, grunted and shifted in bed, unwilling to part with his secret treasure. Prize out of reach, the figure resorted to their next option. From a scabbard at the small of their back they unsheathed a short dagger, flat at the tip like a chisel. Eyeing the sleeping sellsword nearby, the would-be assassin also pulled a thick cloth from under their half-cloak. It would, hopefully, muffle any protests as they drove the knife into Mr. Iblo’s throat.

After a moment's hesitation, to be certain their target's protector was indeed asleep, the killer struck. They pressed the rag into the publisher’s face, smothering him, and raised their blade. But the assault roused Mr. Iblo, and he yelled behind the gag. Even muffled, the sound was enough to wake his bodyguard.

Boyko drew his sword and leapt from his bed in a single motion. At the sight of the intruder, he said, "What the he-"

His opponent was on him before he finished his curse. They lunged forward, locking their dagger against his blade. He had the bigger weapon, but his attacker had a free hand. Miniature blades locked between their fingers, they jabbed him in the side. The sellsword grunted at the blow. In his confusion, the intruder kicked him in the stomach, sending him tumbling over the bed, and turned back to Mr. Iblo.

With a yelp, he ducked under the other bed, cowering. His would-be assassin reversed the grip on their weapon and dove after him. The dagger was at his throat in seconds. The publisher threw up his hands, expecting to feel his neck slashed open any moment. But the attacker only relieved him of his satchel and clambered for the window. Before they could abscond with the bag, a vase smashed on the wall beside them.

"Where do you think you're going?" said a recovered Boyko, sword held in both hands.

At the same moment, Sanna burst into the room with her own blade drawn and a bow & quiver slung over her shoulder.

"I heard smashing," she said, "What's the trouble?"

The intruder used her sudden appearance to escape.

Boyko pointed and yelled, "Ninja!"

His wife ran to the window and spotted the white-cloaked shinobi sprinting away from the building. Thinking quick, Sanna notched an arrow, aimed, and let it loose. It whistled as it soared. Her shot struck true, piercing the fleeing intruder's shoulder and throwing them off their feet.

"They're down, but I don't know for how long," she told her husband.

"And they've got my book!" cried Mr. Iblo

"Not for long," said Boyko.

The mercenary sheathed his sword and, screaming as loud as he could, barreled out the same window as the ninja still in his sleeping clothes. He landed on top of a field of stinging caltrops, but was undeterred. Like a dog after a bone, Boyko was a stubborn bastard, pulling out the hooked metal traps as he ran. Ahead, the ninja had stopped to remove Sanna's arrow from their shoulder.

From the second floor of the inn, his wife and their employer observed his display of dedicated bravado.

"Well your husband is a fearless chap, I'll give him that," said the publisher.

"That's one way of putting it. Come on, we're not safe here anymore."

She took his hand and led him down to the stables.

Back out on the field, Boyko managed to take the attempted assassin by surprise. He tackled them to the ground before they could flee. Both combatants rolled across the grass. The ninja got to their feet first, right hand clutching their arrow wound and the left ready with the dagger, Mr. Iblo's satchel still slung on their back. Boyko staggered up, the shallow cuts in his side from his assailant's mini-blades starting to really hurt, and held his blade on guard.

"I'll be taking that bag back now."

They shook their head, half-hidden by their hood and facemask.

He grunted, from both pain and irritation, and said, "Look, I don't know who paid you, but believe me. This is a job beneath the Nijikana."

Shock alighted in his opponent's eyes. "You know my clan?"

"I've met a few, yes."

The ninja was a woman. Boyko didn't expect that, but her voice didn't surprise him. He should have guessed her identity sooner.

"Then understand that this isn't an errand for profit, sellsword. It is a matter of honor for us."

"Huh? That little weasel's company secret is a matter of honor?"

"Enough talk! Either fight me or let me go!"

"Well I can't let you take that. So I'm sorry about this."

He swung his blade in a wide diagonal arc and the female shinobi jumped back. She thwacked his injury with the heel of her hand and the sellsword crumbled. Gritting his teeth, Boyko punched her with his sword hand, sending her toppling. He swung clumsily, slicing through the spot where the ninja's head had been moments before. She fell to the ground while he rose unsteadily on his feet. Raising his weapon over his head, he aimed to pin her down, literally. The ninja gasped and rolled away, but he did catch her half-cloak. His foe stuck, he locked her dagger arm and took back Mr. Iblo's satchel.

But with her free hand, the shinobi pulled a short grapple line from her tools and hooked it around Boyko's leg. With a sharp tug, he fell flat on his back still clutching the bag. Seizing the opportunity, she snatched its strap. Both scrambled to their feet, snapped up their weapons, held the blades to each other's throats, and yanked on the satchel.

Boyko tried some diplomacy. "Look, this hasn't been the most glorious fight in either of our careers I'd reckon, so why don't you just let this go. I can afford to look stupid. A member of the Nijikana can't."

"We'll all be disgraced if I don't bring this back," she said.

The taut leather strained as both pulled with all their might.

"What does Iblo have that's so important to you?"

An arrow whizzed between the two before she could answer.

"Husband!" called Sanna; bow in hand and approaching on horseback.

The ninja growled in her throat and cursed "damn", giving up the struggle. Throwing her hand down, a burst of smoke erupted at her feet, and she vanished. Boyko staggered back still holding the satchel. Peering into the haze, he saw the air shimmer like sunlight off water and an indistinct silhouette sprint away.

As he reckoned with that image, Sanna rode up with another steed in tow.

"Did she hurt you too badly?"

"No. I got the bag back at least. Where's Mr. Iblo?" he asked saddling the other horse.

"Safe. Was that what I think it was?"

"Yep, it was a Nijikana."

"Oh shit."

"Yeah, I'm betting that nun earlier was her in disguise. Tracking us down."

"Guess our easy money just got more difficult."

"No doubt."

Wincing at the wound in his side, Boyko sized up the satchel in his grip. The book inside weighed less than he thought, considering how jealously the publishing agent guarded it. Before now, he'd not given his client's company secret much consideration. Why would he? But if the Nijikana were trying to steal it, the sellsword realized maybe he should have.

"I think our publisher friend had good reason to be paranoid."