Life inside a box was getting to Massua. The first week of being conscious has had their challenges, but she felt that she could cope with it. They only allowed her out to pee, usually in a highly securable place with nowhere to run, surrounded and watched by them all with swords ready to kill her before capturing her. That was her time to stretch and maybe have something to eat if they at all felt gracious. She needed to strengthen Zoi as much as she could while she could. She was even begging if the worst came. She hated it, but they would indeed throw a dry cracker or two in the trunk before carrying on. They gave water at the start of every day. They needed her alive, but not in the best conditions it seemed. And they weren't after money, she guessed. Whatever nefarious plot they had, she doubts she will be alive after.

Or maybe they were after her brother. No, that couldn't be. He was no more valuable than her. At least, he wasn't. He was a knight now, the shield of the kingdom and all that, and more useful than a hundred men alone. The thought made her sneer, but she did not understand fully why. Just five years, give her five years, and she could be a knight too. She has been practicing the spear and quarterstaff for ears now, as much as Lyse could tell her. She was not going to be a helpless little girl in her care or be rescued by him. She wanted to prove that she can be cunning as well, be just as crafty. Maybe more. All it takes is another scratch in the wood.

She had been working arduously to summon zoi to her fingertips to part the wood. The wood was far from old, maybe made the day before they caught her. But that just meant it wasn't as hard as wood at its dryest. Parting it wore down her nails and sometimes scraped her fingertips. She was careful not to cause any wound noticeable; if they found her with bloody fingertips, she knows their modicum of hospitality will vanish, and she might spend the rest of this rough journey in chains or rope. She barely had room to move as is. It would get so hard to breathe sometimes that she forced herself to draw lower breaths and position herself to the seam of the lid. She tried to stop herself from crying; showing weakness was not something Knights should do, but tears will fall silently some nights when she remembered her mother and father in the burning house, bodies falling all around her as faces settled to lifelessness. It still made her shiver from the terror that she was captured by these people, at their mercy. Her mind went to all the worst that could come for her, but that only made her more desperate.

One time, they had to stop at a town. Massua didn't know for what. The only reason why she knew it was a town was the sound of other noises, horses, and the occasional voices as people pass by her little chest. She was itching to call out for anyone to hear her voice and the slightest possibility of help, but she knew that if any conflict were to come because of her, she would die then too. There were so many ways to die if she did anything they thought worthy of death. They did not stay for long, however. She was in a stable, no doubt with several guarding her, for less than an hour before they were on their way again. She had heard the sounds of celebrations by the time they left. From the seem in the chest, it was night-time with lanterns lighting the roads. It was the first time she had been anywhere else outside of BrokenArrow, unfortunate that she had to spend it inside a box. No matter, she thought. She will see a city, even if it killed her, even if they killed her. She's not going to be broken by just these conditions.

Just a few hours outside of this city, they stopped to allow her to pee in the bushes once more. As she always did, she made sure to get a good look around before going into the thicket. It has been a while since she had seen the mountains of Silondras. She never thought it possible that the whole mountain could be out of view. That means she has to be far away then, very far away. Another range was to the north, ragged and broken.

Those must be the Range of Swords, she thought. Every child from Arkouda to Koraki knows of this range. It's in numerous tales and songs spoken and sung in taverns. Northwest of those mounts laid a field of barren wastes known as the Aponos Barrens and the Field of Giants. There were many things said to go missing there. Travelers go in and never come out. Women who wish to escape their husbands throw themselves to the Barrens in the hope of death. Or perhaps a knight or guildsman looking for treasure. The only thing sure Is what can be seen from the edge of where the mountain meets the barren. They named it the Field of Giants because of what littered the cracked ground throughout it. Massive skeletons, mostly humanoid, with large pieces of armor large enough to flatten a town. Swords were more massive than any tower, possibly as tall as the very mountains. She always wanted to visit a place like that. Not to travel into, but to marvel at what must have happened to those giant people. Some sort of battle. She had heard tales also of a large island off of the coast of Arkouda that they now call the city of the dead, haunted by spirits as evil as evil can go before pure destruction. Guilds rarely came to BrokenArrow, but she liked to hear stories of these fantastical places, and she promised that she would see them.

"That's enough girl, back in the box," one of the female kidnappers, as wide as any man she's seen and just as tall, gestured with a curved blade to the box. She also made sure to get a look at her handiwork while she was out. The cracks between the wood planks were still invisible and now lined down one side of the box. She hid the satisfied look in her eyes behind dread that she will have to get back in. She tried going slowly before, but a bruise across her ribs eliminated that thought five stops ago. She curled in the most comfortable position she could, tucking her knees to her chest, and the chest closed again. Her grey gown was stained in soot and sweat, nearly unrecognizable by this time, and the threads may begin to unwind in time.

What's good about thinking about a gown now, she thought to herself.

She was lifted, roughly as always, and secured to the back of the cart she had been riding on. They have been riding at a steady pace, so she had no fear of jostling. Her chest was just on the edge of the cart, secured by ropes, and guarded by two men sitting next to it. She could very faintly sense them, as that was the only measure to know that they were there. They did not talk. She would be hard-pressed to believe that they even breathe for all that they showed. Only the one called Garath seems to offer anything besides brooding stoicism. And even then, he appeared ready just to tear her throat out and be done with her entirely.

"You don't deserve it," he would mutter when he thought no one was listening. Massua had no idea what he was talking about anymore. She was scared even to speculate what they wanted with her at all. From how the Arkoudan Thirian talked, one would think it was something grand that they would reward. She feared this reward would be black eyes and no heartbeat.

An entire day went by without any great noise going on outside or ever stopping. She would fall asleep only to be reawakened by the jolt of the cart. The longer the ride went, the fewer breaks they took. Until, suddenly, the carriage jolted to a stop, and she heard the Arkoudan curse out loud. He ordered all of them to the side of the road swiftly and did so with jostling haste. It was undoubtedly not gentile, but one of the two guarding her put their mouth to the seem of the box and whispered in a factual tone.

"If you utter a single word, I will cut out your tongue and pull your teeth."

It was chilling enough to send a shiver down her spine, but she did so as told. She wondered what could make them move aside like this. Surely they would not waste time to let anyone a more leisurely ride. She heard the soft hum of something hitting the dirt, and she strained her ears to distinguish what it could be. A moment later, she could definitively tell that it was the stomping of trotting horses. There were horses, and the shifting of plated armor and the rustling of mail. It was a train of soldiers, as far as she could tell. Some come by BrokenArrow entering or exiting the entrance to the Forest of Silence. From what she could tell, there was a lot. Maybe even a knight or two at this party. She could shout; perhaps they could even sense her presence.

Garath held tight to the reigns, scowling as he saw a troop of soldiers, perhaps fifty strong, trot down the path ahead of them. Be it anything else, and he would have just trampled them or throw them off the road. But this "mistress" who claims to be the next Prime Noctum ordered him to keep away from the sun's light. Do not stir trouble where it is not needed. His instinct was to kill them all. Less empire scum is always better in his eyes. Even if they outnumber him nearly three to one, he would gladly take the chance. Then again, they may lose the precious cargo they have secured. They will reprimand him for that, no matter what story he could tell, even if she survived. So he bit down on his teeth and pulled the wagon aside to let the soldiers pass.

They were wearing Arkoudan armor, which means they must be near the border by now. The assortments of browns and bronze cuffs made them easy to blend into the browning fields around them. Spears, lances, glaives, and bills. They were undoubtedly some elite guard or headed north to the front lines of the Frostlandian invasions. The one in front, a plated knight wearing a conical helmet, caught sight of the first, looking at each of them suspiciously. He held up the familiar symbol of travelers, and two fingers pointed to the sun. Garath and the others did the same. However, there was something odd about this group of travelers. It wasn't too uncommon for guilds to be traveling in groups like this. But he noticed some tension in the large man on the warhorse, who seemed to be holding a frown. Most of the others, clad in an assortment of grey, black, and brown cloaks, had their eyes shut and serene, saluting even though there was no way they could see his compliment.

It was too suspicious to let go without questioning. Garath seemed to try too hard to be inconspicuous. They oozed an aura of malice and intent that any knight can sense. The Knight held up his hand, and a soldier behind him took out a small horn, sounding it with one massive trumpet of sound before they all simultaneously stopped. That expression on Garath's face deepened in intensity. His knuckles seemed to be whitening on his reins, but he remained patient as the man moved his horse closer to them, flanked by the hornman and a Bannerman. He took another long look at them thoroughly. Only two carried weapons openly. He would not be surprised that the larger one was Thirian. The rest could just be concealing weapons. They still did not open their eyes, however. They kept their heads down as if they did not expect him to speak to any of them. So he decided to focus on the one who seemed in the slight mood for discussion.

"My name is Galking of Arkouda, a Knight," he spoke in gruff tones. "State your business on this road and your names."

The snarl on Garath's face was not in the least bit hidden, and he did not care. "We are carrying cargo for Phirius of house Colner. Simply treasures. I didn't think our business warranted an entire troop knocking our boots."

"These be suspicious times friend," the way the knight pronounced it, friend was more of an insult than any greeting. "If it truly is the wares of some lord, then there should be no problem checking out what it is. Tigri and Arkouda had been subject to smuggling these past few years. It is merely a precaution."

He did not give Garath the chance to interject before signaling three men to dismount and check the cart. They were more than ten paces away when several of the cloaked grey men stepped into their paths. Immediately, without an exchange of words or warning, swords were drawn from sheathes and axes hefted. The grey-cloaked men took out curved blades and swords, also ready to fight if the soldiers even flinched. They were only a few paces apart, but they might as well be holding knives to each other's throats. A symphony of blades leaving their scabbards ranged from both sides still mounted, including the other Knight, who drew a sword from her back and held it steady. But the first knight did not pull, looking at Garath with narrowed eyes.

"From the movements of your colleagues, I assume that mere wares are not all that you are protecting," he told him in a stone-like voice, his hand grasping his hilt. "Tell them to step aside. There need not be bloodshed was not necessary. Any further action seen as hostile will lead to your deaths."

Garath sneered but stayed silent. The knight looked past him to the cart, wondering what would cause men to jump for combat so suddenly. He reached out with his senses and zoi, and sure enough, he sensed the presence of someone in that chest. A person? Were they smuggling a person? Human trafficking is unheard of this far west, but not impossible by any means. At that time, he unsheathed his blade, a thinner blade with a guard shaped and colored like a golden clamshell. He pointed it at Garath, who was still looking around at everything with extreme anger and annoyance.

"I wished simply for easy passage," he spoke in slow, dark voices. "Difficulty only comes from foolishness. I'm surrounded by it. I will not let it impeded me any more than it has."

He sprung from his warhorse in an instant. In one moment, he was sitting with built-up energy plain in his posture, and like a spring, his iron claws were pointed for the knight's throat. That was the symbol for everyone to be bound into action. Massua heard the jolt from the cart shuffling as those guarding her leaped out to help their comrades. As soon as Garath leaped from his horse, the knight had leaped up and towards the cart, landing with graceful feet next to the chest as the two guarding her was about to leave. They turned with blank expressions, pulling out blades as black as a knight, blades he had never seen before. But they were still far too slow to react to him. He had cut both of the ropes before their edges could meet his own. They were adamant now on keeping him away from the chest. The other knight was keeping the Thirian somewhat busy, and his troops had swarmed in around the party. In just moments, the fighting might move to the thickets.

Galking kicked one of the cloaked figures from the carts. He was momentarily startled when soulless black eyes met his own in a brief second before shutting in the shock. He skidded down the dirt-paved road dozens of meters away. He parried the attack of the other out, but another one of these black-eyed men leaped straight over the cart and tackling Galking with a knife for his side. He managed to catch to the blade before it could sink too far, but from the momentum the man carried, the cart was tilted off its axis and on its side. The horses skitted with uncertainty, not having space to move around the other horses carrying frantically as well. The occupants of the wagon went rolling into the thicket, including the chest. The Talin warriors were on their feet almost as soon as they landed. The knight managed to position himself between them and the chest, but the chest burst practically as soon as it hit the ground, the bottom shattering like glass as dirty white gown spilled onto the floor. There was a momentary pause as Massua climbed to her feet and began running without looking back.

The chaos of the situation was plain as day. Along the road, men fell with blades in hand. Armored horses skitted off into the distance with knives embedded in their sides and riders missing. The soldiers outnumbered the Talin warriors substantially, but it was easy to see that pound for pound, which was the better fighter. It sometimes took a Talin Warrior several blades through the back and stomach before they stopped swinging their blades. The only ones who did not show signs of wariness was the two knights. Anywho stepped to them met a defiant end. Defiant, but a lot all the same with a knight overwhelming their enemies with speed and power. Talin's members showed capable of using zoi to some degree to heal or move faster than the eye could follow. But the only one who stood more than a chance against the knights was Garath. He moved like a ball of destruction in his bear form that bashed and tore apart all who stood in his way. From the corner of his vision, he could see the shifting of a white gown into the deeper part of this thicket and out of view. He wanted to move after her, but the knight held nearly all of his attention. She summoned gouts of flame from that sword, searing his fur and latching onto his cloak. She suffered a slash to the back of the calf, but nothing to stop her from staying offensive.

He growled. He knew that if this continued, they will all die. This is only a scouting party, a team built to stay hidden and search, not one for combat to this degree, with two knights. Wilbur Opal and Celia killed many of the actual warriors. And they don't have the numbers to fight them off. He roared, and all of the Talin warriors knew what this meant. Retreat. They never retreated, hadn't in many years, but necessary if they wished to survive and possibly complete their mission. Some took out glass vials filled with a murky grey liquid from within their satchels, shattering them against the ground at their feet to explode in a cloud of thick smoke. They quickly covered their escape, taking whatever horses they could, escaping through the thicket, and trying to avoid the swipe of swords at their backs. This did not mean that they have run. Garath knew that they needed to get to the river north of them before they could lose them in the mountains. That was the only way. HE turned back into a human to mount his warhorse, guiding it through the mist rolling through the trees and out the other end of this thicket of trees. He wanted to stop and sniff the air for the target, but an arrow near his eyes harried him onward, with less than half the forces he had started with.

Massua stayed hidden in a rotting tree stump. She saw as the mist consumed her a bit, swirling as men ran past in chain-mail and plate shouting commands and mounting horses to chase after the distancing group of the black cladding captors. It indeed seemed that fate aligned with her. None stopped to search for her, seemingly forgetting the reason this fighting started. She saw one of the knights mounting and gathering fifteen men to go after the Talin warriors. The only women who had fought Garath stayed back with the other half, mostly wounded soldiers. She waited till the first party departed before thinking of her next move. She was frozen in place, staring up and over the hills north where the battle will no doubt continue. She had never seen violence to that degree. Her father never allowed her to witness the cleansing of the forest or when a monster tried to scale the walls. Most of the other women were squeamish even to think about it, but she wanted to see what her brother had seen a dozen times over.