15 Therefore the Lord God took man, and set him in (the) paradise of liking, that he should work and keep it.
16 And God commanded to him and said, Eat thou of each tree of paradise;
17 forsooth eat thou not of the tree of knowing of good and of evil; for in whatever day thou shalt eat thereof, thou shalt die by death.

-Genesis Chapter 2, Wycliffe Bible, published c. 1382

The attacks on travelers had begun a month earlier, just as soon as the weather was warming up and Fair season was about to begin. It was not the first time highwaymen had attacked merchants, but usually they were cowardly thieves who left the land of Hauvon or were caught soon after catching the attention of the King's guard. These highwaymen not only robbed, they killed without mercy, and melted back into the forest like ghosts, taking trade goods and horses with them. Time and time again, the King had sent guards to investigate, but after combing the forest and surrounding countryside, there was no sign of a wandering band of criminals was operating just outside of the Royal residence and Town; no abandoned camps - no footprints or hoofprints of any kind, no rumors in the taverns, nothing.

People were becoming afraid. The "ghosts" were causing both travelers and locals to avoid the roads and woods at all costs, which affected trade, and it was an embarrassment to the King to have especially brutal highwaymen running loose in his lands, highwaymen he believed were mortal, despite rumors to the contrary. Why would ghosts steal food, wine and horses? The possibility that the thieves were using some kind of magical aid had been proposed, and it was true that the kingdom had been plagued with such criminals in the past. So it was finally decided that the best way to catch these thieves was to send out an armed decoy caravan into the woods.

Peewit rode though the woods on his way back from delivering a message to one of the King's vassals a two days' ride away. Typically, as a court jester this would not be his duty, but considering that everyone else was either too afraid of bandits and ghosts to ride through the woods or trying to catch the highwaymen themselves, he volunteered and was allowed to go.

"I'm a former forest spirit myself", he chuckled, "What have I got to be afraid of?" He had certainly held his own in fights with stranger beings than highwaymen. Strangers tended to leave him alone, anyway; a blonde haired, brightly-dressed dwarf riding a nanny goat and singing was not something most people expected to see.

That he had just composed a new thirty-six verse ballad might have had some role in his being allowed to go on such a long journey, but he chose to concentrate on practicing for when he returned. His music was unique in all the land, some people just didn't appreciate it. Most people, actually. The sun burned away the fog, revealing peasants already at work when he came upon the forest, and he coaxed Biquette into the woods. The sound of birds singing was encouraging and welcoming.

"Almost home," he thought when he came upon the signs of battle. The road had been torn up by hoofprints, and two wagons lay overturned. Their contents had not been stolen, though, bolts of silk lay on the ground and gold coins spilled out of a smashed chest several feet away. Arrows stuck from tree trunks, and torn up vegetation indicated that something large had been dragged in the direction he was heading.

Peewit shuddered and left the road. His friend Johan had volunteered to be in the decoy caravan designed to catch the thieves, he prayed that they were successful, if this was indeed their caravan. He and Biquette hurried through the woods with a new sense of urgency to get home. Every snapped twig and rustle of leaves made them jump. They picked their way through underbrush and came upon the body lying on the deer trail.

Peewit startled, Biquette reared and tried to get away. He would have let her carry them both to the safety of the castle, had he not seen the motionless form take a breath. It was a young man, judging by the leggings, boots and tunic, wrapped in a cloak. Was it Johan? Filled with dread, he crept up to the motionless form. He heard shallow breathing and gently lifted the hood away. No, not Johan, thank God, and not a boy.

The head he uncovered was covered with curly black hair coiled in a braid on the back of her head, and there were gold hoops in her ears. She wore loose-fitting men's clothes, but of very fine material and workmanship, and also curiously old-fashioned, like something his grandfather would have worn. Her skin was cold and grey, her mouth was covered in blood. Two arrows stuck out from her side and a wound in her shoulder covered her embroidered tunic with blood. How she managed to still be alive, Peewit had no idea, but he knew he had to get help, and fast. Though she was petite, he didn't think he could carry her all the way back to the castle.

He approached his goat, who squealed and backed away. "Biquette, come here, we have to carry her back, she's from the merchant caravan, and she's dying." The goat reared again and tore off in to the woods. "Biquette! Come back! She may be the only one alive who has seen the highwaymen! It's just a girl, Biquette!" No response other than the distant rustling of his fleeing pet. He had never seen her act this way before, even temperamental as she was. Whatever had gotten into her, his main concern was getting this merchant girl to safety.

Going back to the smashed carts, he assembled a travois out of two planks and a strip of cloth. Tying the ends together and making a crude stretcher, he gingerly laid the girl in and made a bandage for her shoulder out of another strip of cloth. Should he pull the arrows out? No, he recalled Johan teaching him and Sabina some basic field medicine and saying that pulling arrows out could make wounds bleed worse. He drug the travois out of the woods and back onto the road, before becoming too worn out to continue. He summoned some peasants from the fields to watch her and ran to the castle.