So… one chapter a week? Hah! That happened… sigh.

Chapter 4

The sun had barely risen above the horizon before Pickle found himself being roused by Cat. He had also stayed at the Inn overnight and found himself embarrassed as to funds with which to pay the Inn keeper for his room. To his surprise however, Cat settled his bill for him. She had also purchased an additional horse and supplies for their journey. Pickle eyed the horse with suspicion, Cat had already mounted her horse and was watching him with interest.

"How else did you expect to travel?" She asked him with a slight smile.

"Walk?" He said hopefully, she rolled her eyes.

"Get on it. If you keep staring at it, it may bite you."

"It won't bite me." Pickle said with a degree of confidence. "I do not believe such beasts should be used to bare burdens."

"You will not be able to keep up, unless you do ride it." Cat said with a sigh.

"You swore you would help me!" Pickle exclaimed.

"No I didn't." She pointed out. Pickle looked thoughtful for a moment then slightly annoyed.

"Swear now." He asked.

"I swear." Cat said seriously, Pickle looked pleased. Then she added. "If you don't get on that horse, you're on you're own." He scowled.

"You'll never find the forest." He tried desperately.

"And you'll never get home." Cat reminded him. He scowled again, finally giving up he mounted the horse.

"Mistress?" He queried as he settled himself more comfortably in the saddle. Cat looked at him suddenly.

"Call me Cat." She told him.

"Why you undertake this journey alone."

"There is something I have to do, and I want to do it alone." She told him.

"You have no family?" He asked sounding puzzled. Moments ticked past with nothing but the sound of the horses hooves on the ground to fill them.

"Not any more." She answered.

The darkness reached out with shadowy hands to throttle him, it swirled around his head to suffocate him and it lurked in the corners to mock him. Treguard was used to the dark. He was used to the shadows of Knightmare, he had grown up with them. They had their own quality, in a sense he felt possessive about them. It didn't matter where he was, either in the antechamber or even as Lord Fear's prisoner, he wasn't afraid of the dark.

No-one was afraid of the dark. They were afraid of the unknown. Anything could hide in a shadow and as the Dungoenmaster he knew better than anyone what 'anything' could entail. In the quiet of the dark cell where the only light came through a pathetically small opening in the door he could feel fear. He could feel his heart thumping against his chest, sounding like horses hooves as they pounded on the ground. He knew fear. He'd felt it when he faced Bealwit, with nothing but his wits to save him from being incinerated. He'd felt it when facing the Gruagach. He fought in battles where a stray sword thrust or arrow could take his life. But this was different. It was unbearable. It surprised him. The dark gathered, a vast velvet impenetrable cloud hiding god knew what. The difference, he realised, was that the risk had been entirely borne by him. If he had failed to win the castle, he would have died and countless more knights would have succumbed to the Grugach. He hadn't felt the weight of what might have happened if he failed. It would have affected countless people, which was wrong but...when it was your own flesh and blood...that was the difference.

He had been trying to recall as much detail as he could about her mother. He was finding that his attempts at burying the memory of his mercenary days had been quite successful. He could remember in detail everything he felt guilty about, every crime he had committed, but Eufrusina didn't come under that category. At the time he'd had an entirely different reason to forget her.

Before he had decided to turn over a new leaf, his favoured method for dealing with his actions had come in liquid form. It was a temporary measure but it had helped him sleep at night. In was in this state of mild inebriation that he had encountered Eufrusina again. He dug frantically at his memory, trying to recall every detail but it was no good. A thick fog settled over his mind. He remembered waking up on the boat clearly. The suggestive remarks of his men combined with their amusement was hard to forget. By that time however they were two days out from Zara. Dimly he remembered looking into the distance as the land disappeared into the horizon. Constantinople had driven every memory of Zara from his mind. It was then he had had first thoughts of home after tens years of hatred, and after? He had put his energies into forgetting the past he felt so ashamed of.

"And how are we me old mucker?" Lord Fear enquired cheerfully.

Treguard rolled his eyes and folded his arms.

"Oh, more gloating." He sighed in a rather bored way. It had the desired effect, Lord Fear's face briefly contorted with fury. It was replaced rapidly with a sinister smile.

"Been trying to remember? Must be difficult with the amount you drank!" Lord Fear exuded smugness and silently shrieked with delighted as he took in Treguards narrowed eyes, the only outward sign of his temper building.

"I'm curious." Treguard countered with a frown. "Has it really taken you all this time to find something from my past?" It was a risky gamble, but there wasn't much more Lord Fear could do to him. The fact that he smiled at this wasn't a good sign.

"Oh I did my homework, my old son, when I first arrived." He answered with a purr. "After I ousted that dreadful bore Mogdred, I thought that your past was going to prove a problem but you turned out to be such a stickler for the rules." He smirked. "That's worked out more in my favour than I thought."

"The rules..." Treguard started to say, Lord Fear huffed impatiently.

"The rules! The rules are there to stop me from gaining total victory! They are very one-sided!" He put on a tone of pure innocence. "Can you blame me for trying to even things up a little?"

It brought to Treguard's mind all the times Lord Fear had claimed victory over the Powers that Be, all the times he had spend gloating at another failed quest. The rules were one-sided were they? It had occurred to him, more than once, that the rules were indeed one sided in favour of the opposition since they had claimed the majority of victories. A noise distracted them. Several Goblins had arrived in the corridor outside the cells. They were preceded by more goblins carrying torches to light the way. They were carrying a large, heavy looking mirror. It was typically tasteless as many of Lord Fear's things were being framed in a skull and bones motif. Treguard watched as they struggled to fasten it to the wall immediately opposite his cell door. He frowned.

"Oh. I have a present for you." Lord Fear said almost absently, waving vaguely at the mirror. Once the Goblins had mounted it, Lord Fear muttered an incantation. The mirror suddenly became cloudy, gaseous mist swirled in the frame. Treguard cautiously approached the door to his cell, from his position he could see the entire mirror quite clearly. A sudden suspicion combined with hope lit within him.

"Ach! Interference! Still it should clear up soon." Lord Fear said irritably.

The mist slowly cleared. As it did, it revealed two figures on horseback. One Treguard recognised instantly.

"Pickle." He said quizzically. It was the other figure that suddenly captivated his attention. That Lord Fear was grinning like a snake marking his every move didn't concern him. Beside Pickle rode a dark haired young woman. She wore leather armour lightly embossed with a celtic knot and a carried a bow in a holster on her back. Almost in response to his thought the mirror enlarge her face, Treguard drank in as much detail as he could. Then he heard Lord Fear hissing in his ear.

"Yes that is her. She's coming this way. I've arranged some entertainment so she won't get bored."

Treguard snapped him a dark look, which delighted Lord Fear. That was her. There was still an immoveable block in his mind, it stopped him from understanding fully who she was. Putting his own life in danger was utterly different to watching someone else do it. If you lost your life, you were hardly going to miss it. Lord Fear had surpassed himself this time.