Torrent pulls the guard higher until his feet dangle. “You’re going to tell your king that Baelliles sends its warmest greetings. Tell him the summer has passed nicely but that we’re ready for the cold.” The message is hidden in the wording. Verdana is a barren wasteland, cold and brutal. We are ready for them.

“Yes! Yes, sir. Of course, sir,” the guard babbles.

“Tell him that we have his precious daughter, but not to worry. We’ll treat her as any good Baellilean would.” Torrent spits on the ground with those last words and lowers his victim. “And tell him if he ever wants to see her again, he’d better come back to us with an offer our King can’t refuse.”

He releases the man’s breastplate, and the guard stumbles back a few steps. “Of course. I’ll go right away. Your message will be delivered with haste.”

His armor clanks as he races past his fallen company and back towards home. Torrent sneers and shouts insults after him.

Even though we’ve dispatched King Ivar’s guards, the real risk still lies inside the carriage. Lorna approaches it and readies her hatchet.

The door flies open. A heavily cloaked female lunges out and, pushing past Lorna, runs down the road.

“Don’t do it,” Lorna advises, her voice dripping with annoyance. “You’ll only make this harder on yourself.”

Lin throws his bow over his shoulder so it hangs down his back. “I’d listen to her if I were you,” he calls to the cloaked figure, then lifts one hand high and swishes it through the air. “It really is easier to do as she says. Lorna isn’t known for her patience.”

Our band answers to Lin’s hand signal and swarms the woman. Dasin, one of our newer members, gets closest and attempts to wrap his arms around her. We hear the sickening sound of a blade entering flesh, and then Dasin clutches his bleeding stomach.

Others pull their weapons.

“Don’t hurt her,” I sound off loudly from my position. I remind myself I can forge ahead if I keep a safe distance between us. I slide down the hill and stride towards the commotion.

She’s threatening my armed comrades, whose eyes anxiously bounce from me to our near captive, waiting for my order to strike. I motion for the captive female to lower her blade.

“Now then, I think we can both agree there’s really no place to go from here. Why don’t we calm down and have a nice conversation—”

The hood of her blue velvet cloak rapidly shifts as she considers which direction offers the best escape.

“By all means, run if you wish. I’m sure sitting for so long in a carriage must cause one's legs to become restless. However, you might not enjoy the aftermath of that decision,” I call.

As more of us circle in, she swings the dagger wildly.

“Oh, and I must ask you kindly not to stab any more of my friends. I rather enjoy them, and it puts a real damper on my day.”