A house of timber and stone sat alone near the entrance to the ancient Antikwald. The narrow front door and two windows set against a gray, raw backdrop resembled a somber face capped by a steeply-angled roof. Thin but heavy white clouds climbed out of the smokestack that hung a bit on the stone squared hole before starting its aerial voyage. Around the house were a small patch of bare earth for vegetables, a clothesline that swayed in the whistling wind, and a few emptied barrels used as tables of sorts. Uneven strips of timber put together by roughly-cut beams of wood defined the boundaries of the half-timber cottage.

The owner of the house was a lone woman sitting in front of a fire tending to her kettle. Eagerly she waited for the water to boil before putting in it a small sack of ground coffee beans she just bought from the nearby town market the other day. Coffee has been a rarity in the market due to the increasing prices of Eastern imports, and the money she spared from the everyday expenditures only produced the handful that was to be put in boiling water.

Two hundred and fifty Marks for this small sack? They're crazy!

It was a rare pleasure she felt worth getting after the last job that drained her out. The syndicate rivalries were out and about, and talents like hers were very high in demand. News of the destruction of the Ebon Hand two days ago was hot and running around. A band of pirates that decided to take their business to land tried to make their name in the underground government, but the fledgling group drew the annoyance of bigger, established groups and brought them to a fight worse than what they bargained for. Poor pirates, they should have packed up and returned to the sea.

The brew was ready, and the woman readied an ornate porcelain mug from the cupboard. The first sip tingled its way from the tip of her tongue, spreading the flavor to the rest of her mouth. The heat was drawn from the mug, moving its way to both the holder's hands and to her arms. More of the black liquid was entering the mouth slowly; her tongue panned the flow to every section of her mouth before swallowing the expensive drink.

Cornelia was about to pour a second serving when she heard a soft rustle outside. The mug was set on an oak table before she took a sheathed sword from the wall.

It looked more like a staff than a sword from afar. The scabbard concealed a thin, slightly curved blade nearly six feet long. A red guard was placed between the blade and the hilt, with it being the only means of which part of the weapon was for the hands and what end hid the edge. Cornelia held the weapon by the scabbard; the light revealed embroidered roses that wrapped around the grip.

She approached the door and found a small brown envelope lying on the entrance rug. Cornelia took a look outside through a slightly opened door. Only the vast stretch of trees was seen; not an animal stirred in the night. The envelope was opened with a speedy passing of her little finger. Inside was a piece of paper with this written message:

The Gray Fox wishes to hire your services to his cause. Come to the Golden Hart if interested.

It was a job, and this system of letters by the door has become common practice in the world of syndicates and mercenaries. The last task didn't need her to exert much, thus the payment was not as profitable as Cornelia expected. She was about to give her "profession" a rest a few days after the Ebon Hand was defeated.

This was different from the last syndicate conflict she was recruited; the name of the employer alone meant money. If Cornelia was lucky enough, this man alone can pay her more than all of her previous jobs combined.

Leaving the coffee kettle to spoilage was a waste, and the first thing she did before dressing up for the job was to gulp down what remained of the drink. A bitter acidity hung on her jaws for a bit before her mouth returned to its neutrality. Reddish-brown locks of hair were tied up in a bun and kept under a green cloak; the hood was raised and completely hid her head. Cornelia put out the fire, held her weapon the way one would do with a stick, and locked the door before she followed the moonlit path to the nearest town.

Five miles of earthen road lay before the town of Wulfstadt – the supposed meeting place of the one who sent the note to Cornelia. Young, thin trees grew on the sides where the sounds of scurrying rodents or the whistling of some of their inhabitants were exchanged from one side of the road to the other. Fallen leaves and damp earth made a strong, although inoffensive scent carried by the wind. Seeing the deep silhouettes of the Antikwald's outer reaches was common to the lone traveler, but she was feeling something that was rather off on her way to the town.

The trees rustled upon the passing of a night breeze; the keen sound of something flying her way came next.

Cornelia hit the ground just before an arrow landed to her left. She rolled farther away from where the first missile was buried, knelt, and sprung her legs into a run. A throwing knife emerged from the shadows and flew dangerously close to her nose before it vanished into the forest.

Two strikes were dodged, but the woman knew that she could not keep this up. Cornelia ran to a fork where the right path led to an empty field. She shifted her weight to the right before two arrows whistled and bounced off after hitting a rock. No other projectiles followed her when the hunted one ran to the dead center of the area.

She stood at the clearing where she heard the sounds of crushed leaves and snapping branches, which were gradually blending with footsteps and a high-pitched snicker coming from the treetops. Cornelia held the middle and lower parts of the staff-like sword and prepared to face whoever was attacking her.

The figure emerged from one of the tall trees; the spinning shadow landed right in front of the woman. His form, now exposed to the moonlight, walked two steps farther and revealed a skinny man that held a knife on each hand. Cornelia stared at the approaching man; there was no doubt about the black and maroon attire he sported.

"That ratty face. Sigismund Bedalis."

"Whoever we talked to back at Wulfstadt was right and you lady, are in trouble," Sigismund's scratchy voice went well with his face. He returned a knife from his right hand to his bandoleer.

"You don't have to tell me that," Cornelia jested. "Why not tell your brothers to come out of hiding and join us here? More company's more fun they say."

"Brave words for a dead wench," bellowed someone from the woods. He appeared to the clearing with a battleax held on one arm. He outlined a man of large built and the same colors his smaller counterpart wore were clearly seen on his approach.

Another brother walked out of the grove, wielding twin short swords. He looked at their cornered quarry with a wide grin and clacked his tongue to call the attention of a fourth Bedalis armed with a broadsword.

"Looks like the whole family will be here soon. Before you give me my painful and gruesome death, at least let me know why the infamous assassin brotherhood is going after me."

"Let's not deny this woman's dying wish boys." The brother of the broadsword said, "simple as this: someone has a lot of gold to share and his simple request is to bring you, or your head, to him."

"Gold huh?" Cornelia eased her grip on her sheathed weapon and held it like a cane. "Wow, my head costs that much. You should be happy that you'll be paid more than a mere two thousand Marks for this job. At least you can now buy better weapons than those crude blades."

"You're the one to talk," said the Bedalis with the double swords. "Don't worry though; we have some other use for a woman like you before we finish you off."

Cornelia smirked and looked at the four: "No thanks. I have other things in mind than to spend the night with the seven of you."

She thought of not pulling out the blade, and her situation would only worsen should she do so. The brothers went aside before a shrill, throaty cry leaped out of the trees. A fifth brother took the air; the point of his spear aimed at the woman. Cornelia danced to her right, kicking up grains of earth as her soles dug to the ground. The spear pierced deep enough that the entire metal tip slipped through the soil; she made good use of the delay between the weapon and the wielder's landing. She struck the hilt on the spearman's gut, causing him to loosen his grip on the weapon. A clear fist to the chin sent the fifth Bedalis flying back to the thick foliage; he crashed on a nearby cluster of bushes and lay silent.

The brother of twin blades dashed towards her, unleashing several strikes aimed at Cornelia's waist and shoulders. Sounds of metal striking leather and wood rode close to the woman's ears as she guided the hilt and scabbard ends of her weapon to deflect the fast but unguided attacks. Another opportunity to strike back was exploited when the blade-wielder paused after the seventh strike; strong blows arched from Cornelia's unused sword hit the man's cheeks left and right. Another upward strike to the chin sent the brother to the ground, gasping for air before he sprawled still.

Sigismund himself moved in and made his move, throwing the first three knives aimed at the woman's face. Their tips did not go past the barrier his opponent made by a rapid spin of her long weapon. Cornelia tilted her sword overhead and unleashed the scabbard towards Sigismund's neck; his head jerked to the right before the force of the blow took the rest of his body out of the fight.

An arrow fired from the trees flew towards her after she struck down the brother of the knife. Cornelia's dodge did not completely stop the projectile from punching a hole through her cape. She dropped her weapon and caught a second arrow in midair, promptly throwing it back at the shadow that fired it. The archer had no time to react; the arrow pierced his shoulder and nailed him to the tree. His curses were lost in the cries of pain he uttered before sitting still on the bough.

"Four down. Three more to worry about..."

A roaring axeman headed for Cornelia after she took out more than half of the Bedalis. She did not see the swordsman attack with his large brother. The massive blade was cleaved and hammered at her; his arm was not slowed down by the weight of his killing tool. Tired of not hitting his agile foe, the axeman used both hands to deliver a quick and final strike at her - and missed. Cornelia kept a little distance from the man who was busy lifting the stuck battleax. She vaulted at him using her sheathed sword and brought to bear her entire weight at the hulking man's head. Her shoe soles formed ruddy lines across the man's face and broke his nose before he crashed to the ground on his back.

She landed on the ground and saw a gleaming sword poised to hit her chest. Cornelia bent her knees and spun; her extended leg found its way to the back of the brother's knees. He screamed in pain and dropped the weapon from his grip; the Bedalis of the sword knelt before he was brought down by a speedy swipe of Cornelia's scabbard.

Cornelia found the dumbstruck seventh brother near the exit of the clearing. He dropped his sling before turning back and breaking off into a run. She picked up a stone and pitched it his way; it flew in a straight path and hit his neck before he was knocked out like the rest.

A blow of air came out of the woman's mouth before she sat on the clearing. She looked at the seven and observed if any of them moved before she dusted the dirt off her pant legs. Cornelia wondered if any other surprises awaited her ahead of the path while walking her way out of the battle scene. Bright yellow and white dots outlined the town nearby; whatever awaited her at Wulfstadt should be more than just another fight with rough and tumble men. She recalled that whoever sent the Bedalis against her was willing to pay them in gold. While she wanted to know more about who that person was, none of the seven were in any condition to speak; she went a little too strong on them during the tussle.

With weapon slung on her back, she lifted her hood and resumed her journey.