Chapter 22: Contests

Crag-step Forest, 4 Days Later

Casca let her gaze wander as she took in the all-too-familiar surrounds, memories flickering in and out of her mind like shadows around a candlelight as they found a path for the whole force and their recently liberated supply train to descend into the green expanse below them.

For now, she simply waited in place, watching the lines of men, horses, and wagons flowing past her like the stream, engorged now in the spring to almost be a mighty river, that was below them. Every now and then, she would glance over her shoulder to where they had come from, watching the horizon for riders of any kind, whether the tenacious Raiders that were their screening force… or the Midlandian cavalry that would have overwhelmed them.

Solders, her soldiers, continued to pass her by, calling out to their big sis with reports or words of encouragement. She smiled briefly at them as she saluted back, the smile vanishing as the man that she saluted passed on. Sometimes, it seemed all she had the strength to do these days.

She glanced back once again, her eyes narrowing slightly as she saw the shades of figures approaching them, too quick to be on foot. She wheeled her horse about, continuing to watch as she put a hand on the hilt of her sword.

Soon enough, the riders fully came into view, one of them hoisting a banner and waving it for a moment. A banner that made Casca sigh as she let her hand fall from her sword. The Raiders had returned.

They joined the rest of the column, some of them bloodied, but most having escaped whatever battle that they'd engaged in with what was likely a scouting force of Midland. Breaking away from them, two riders made their way over to her position, Daniel and Gaston coming to a stop in front of her as they took off their helmets.

"Your men look like they met some resistance," Casca said as she wheeled her horse around to begin following the rest of the Falcons. "Any significant losses?"

Gaston shook his head. "Not too many, General," he began. "We did lose about half a dozen in the initial engagement, but it was just a scouting force for the White Tigers. We drove them back a fair ways before we started riding for the column."

"Any chance they might know where we're going?"

"Probably not," Daniel replied. "At least, nothing definitive. They know we're heading in this general direction, but that's likely about it. We should be able to disappear into the forest fairly easily. I'd recommend holding off on campfires for a few days, though, to give any scouts that follow after us the chance to pass us by."

"My thoughts exactly," Casca said as they began to go down the slope towards the river, to a somewhat shallow crossing that they could still take advantage of. "We'll need that long to fully take stock of our supplies and divvy out tents. We might not have taken enough to house all of us, but we can set up a system easily enough."

They made their way across the river, into the dense forest beyond alongside the rear third of the Falcons. A place that would, hopefully, conceal them for long enough to get their bearings and figure out where to go next.

. . .

Daniel found himself reminiscing as he considered the dense woodland that now surrounded the Band of the Falcon, torches beginning to flicker as they sprang to life. the 'road' that they traveled on could barely be considered such, the wagons having no small amount of trouble making their way through the roots and rocks that were scattered along their path.

'I wonder if we'll pass by that clearing,' he idly thought as his hand went to the necklace that was under his chestplate. The well-carved wooden sword that hung from a leather cord found its way into Daniel's hand as he began to rub at it gently, focusing on its companion, so far away.

The distance of the link made it so that he had to concentrate deeply, but he began to feel what Guts was feeling, at least. A focus, a sense of preparation for… something.

'Likely a tournament or two around where he is,' Daniel thought as he took solace in Guts' surety. 'It seems to be the season for it, at least.'

"What is that?"

Daniel looked over to see Casca and Anna next to him, Gaston having moved on to the rest of the Raiders. Both were looking down at the pendant, then back to Daniel.

Daniel smiled ruefully, holding the pendant out as he considered it. "I carved this as a companion to one that I gave to Guts as a child. I'd like to think there's a magic that connects us, even this far apart. It might have helped lead us to you when we were last here."

"I see," Casca said, her expression neutral. "I guess I have your craftsmanship to thank in some small part."

Daniel smiled slightly. "It kept us from running into that massive bear, at least. Not that the runebear tried particularly hard to hide."

Both Anna and Casca's expressions became ones of concern. "Is that monster still around?" Casca asked. "We'll need to keep a sharp eye out for it. It's remarkably dangerous."

"That doesn't surprise me," Daniel said. "I did take your word on the aftermath of the bear's attack on your pursuers. But we're more than just 45 or so unprepared mercenaries."

"True," Anna said. "But skill requires knowledge to be used effectively. We should let the rest of the Falcons know that this runebear could potentially still be in this forest."

"It'll be done at the end of the night," Daniel said.

Before the conversation could continue much longer, a rider began to approach them from up ahead of the column. "We've found a suitable clearing to put the command staff and the supply wagons, ma'am," the soldier said. "We can start diverting the wagons over there immediately."

Casca nodded. "Lead on."

The soldier led the trio, along with what wagons he could convince to follow, to a fairly decent-sized clearing, a few cart horses already being unlimbered under the watchful stewardship of Judeau, Rickert, and Pippin.

The rest of the day was spent in the necessary tedium of fully documenting their supplies, giving out tents and bedding as best they could, and setting up for the night. As expected, there weren't enough tents for everyone, but the mood surrounding the news was more… amused than anything. Daniel caught among those Raiders that were to be going without a roof over their heads for the moment the notion that they should perhaps strike out at whatever forces pursued them, if only for the sake of getting a decent place to sleep.

When he mentioned it to Casca, her lips twitched into a smile for a moment. "You know," she replied, "that doesn't sound like a bad idea at all."

At last, as night fell in earnest and the woods became cloaked in shadow, the commanders of the Band of the Falcon met in what was now the command tent. Being the only largely spacious tent they'd managed to capture, it was now the only tent that had a table that doubled as a desk, maps of several kinds splayed across it, sitting at its center.

Most prominent among them was one of the city of Wyndham, detailed as best as all of them could remember it. Even still, there were many places that it was frustratingly vague. Most importantly, in the details of the Court of White Carnations. And its dungeons.

"We'll need to slip back in, try to do some scouting," Corkus began. "It's probably going to be kind of difficult, but they couldn't have gotten the faces of all of us on wanted posters."

"That's not a bad idea," Casca said quietly. "How far into the castle could they get, though?"

"Further than we got officially."

Corkus grimaced slightly but nodded. "I'll take that, I guess."

"Anything else we can try to do?" Judeau asked. "Security will be tight around the castle. Mainly because I think the king might be prepared for us to try something daring."

"I'm not sure what more we can do, really," Casca admitted. "We need to be ready to have this take time. Corkus, pick your best men and get them ready to ride back to the city. We'll start planning how to sustain ourselves while you do that."

"Give me a second to think about who to send," Corkus replied, remaining where he was. "They'll be on their way by sunrise."

Casca nodded. "Good. Any other ideas or recommendations?"

"Well," Rickert began. "We could…"

He trailed off, his gaze darting to Corkus for a moment before it fell. "What idea do you have, Rickert?" Judeau said gently. "Speak up. I doubt much of anything is a truly bad idea at the moment."

Rickert was still hesitant. "Well… we could send someone, maybe Gaston or Daniel, and they could go and find Guts…"

Corkus' response was immediate. "Will you stop it with Guts, kid?" he said with a mighty sigh. "The arrogant bastard isn't coming back. And even if he does, he turned his back on us. He's not a Falcon anymore."

Rickert began to speak up, but Judeau put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Regardless of what you think of him, Corkus, he's a powerful warrior," Judeau said calmly.

Corkus' expression tightened as his jaw clenched. "So what? We've gotten this far without him. And we can get Griffith back without him. He can keep chasing whatever stupid dream is bouncing around in his head while we get the real work done."

"Come on, Corkus," Casca said quietly. "What reason is there to turn someone who cares about us away? He used what you taught him to keep us alive in this very forest. Why teach him if you hate him so much?"

"I was trying to start drilling some sense into the kid's head," Corkus replied. "Teach him how the world actually works. But it didn't get through his thick skull. I'm impressed, really. I thought he'd actually get it, with what he says he's been through."

"What?" Rickert asked. "What are you talking about?"

"You never heard his sob story?" Corkus said. "Lucky you. He's probably making most of it up, anyway. Not like he was going to earn any sympathy for anyone actually intelligent. Next, he'll probably say someone forced herself on him as a child because of how absolutely skilled and strong he was. He's delirious. It didn't matter how good he was at swinging a sword, he's never going to know what the real world looks like."

As Corkus spoke, intently focused on the quivering, somewhat teary Rickert and the incensed Judeau, Daniel slowly, silently made his way around the table, his expression completely level. As Corkus finished speaking, he glanced over to his left, turning to face Daniel with an impetuous expression.

"And what is daddy going to do now?" Corkus began, his voice dripping with mockery. "Give me a stern talking to about how I should be nice to-"

Daniel interjected with a blur of a right hook, cutting Corkus off by sending him tumbling onto his ass, the shock on the man's face reflected by the rest who occupied the now dead-silent tent.

Daniel continued by stepping forward and planting his boot on Corkus' chest, shoving him onto his back. As Corkus fully hit the floor, he finally seemed to regain his voice, his arms coming up to try and defend himself. "What the hell are you doing?"

Daniel continued in silence for the moment, gathering Corkus' arms and pinning them to his chest with a knee, continuing to press down on him until the thinner, lighter man began to wheeze slightly.

Finally, as Corkus continued to squirm, Daniel spoke. "You are a sad, jealous insect of a man, aren't you?"

Corkus' expression again twisted, from shock to anger. "Get the fuck off me, and we can settle this like-"

"Be silent," Daniel whispered, his words carrying a compulsion beyond anything Corkus had ever experienced.

Corkus, his eyes now bulging with the flickering embers of fear, stopped speaking.

"You believe yourself so enlightened as to the hard, callous state of this world," Daniel continued in a whisper. "A real philosopher among soldiers. But you're just a prisoner watching a shadowplay, convinced it's the real world in its entirety. Content to mock those who dare break the mold you've put around the way the world works. But you envy them, don't you?"

Then, he fell silent. As seconds stretched into minutes, the rest of the tent began to regard each other with no small amount of unease but remained where they were, unwilling to break the silence for one reason or another.

At last, Daniel let his knee off Corkus' chest, pulling the man to his feet. "Don't make me do that again," he said, his voice hard and sharp.

Corkus nodded somewhat jerkily. "Got it," he said huskily, wiping at eyes that, incredibly, were wet with tears.

Corkus cleared his throat as he looked over at Casca. "I'll go and get some men ready to go, ma'am."

With that, he turned and left the tent. Daniel took a deep breath, then turned back and walked to the table.

"What… did you do?" Judeau asked hesitantly.

"I believe we've come to an understanding," Daniel said.

He looked over at Rickert. "Getting Guts back here is hardly a bad idea, Rickert. Especially if things go sideways and we need to swing a big sword. But I don't think we'll be able to find him easily. We may have watched him walk away from that snowy hill, but there's no telling what direction he might have chosen to go in the days and weeks after. It'll take months to try and find him."

"So what do we do then?" Rickert said, his expression teetering on the edge of helplessness.

"We give him time to make his way back to us," Daniel said. "With the war having decimated the army as it has, and with the fact that the war is now over, even keeping the White Tigers and Dragons out for as long as they have is likely starting to strain the coffers of Midland. That, and the soldiers likely wanting to finally go home and see their families again, will put pressure on the king to let the Tigers and Dragons return to reserve status. The king will likely have to resort to those much cheaper mercenary units that weren't decimated in the war."

"How does that help us?" Casca asked. "We'll still be pursued by people out to kill us."

"Yes," Daniel replied. "But they'll need to put an open call out for willing mercenary outfits instead of simply issuing orders to a general."

"A call which Guts will likely hear about," Judeau said slowly, nodding. "When he finds out we're being hunted…"

"He'll return," Daniel said with absolute surety. "We just need to be patient."

. . .

1 Week Later

Guts considered the humble tournament grounds, a circle and a jousting ring, set up on the outskirts of the town. A couple dozen people, some kind of familiar from his trips into town, some not, were present, two men already dueling in the ring.

"You know," Erica said as she stood beside Guts and studied the scene with a critical eye, "the tournaments I've heard of are usually a lot bigger than this."

"This is probably some sort of qualifier," Guts replied. "Winner goes to a bigger tournament."

"Looks like they've already started, too," Erica said as they continued to walk into town. "Think you'll be able to get in?"

"Quiet little town like this?" Guts said with a slight smile. "I'm sure they'll take all the excitement they can get."

They made their way to the ring, Erica making her way over to the stands, Guts making his way over to the soldier standing guard, a rather stocky man who was clearly trying desperately not to be bored.

"You look like a real threat," the guard said. "You want in, I'm presuming?"

"Yeah," was Guts' only reply.

The guard shrugged. "Let's hope you can swing your sword well enough to overcome the current champion. He's been sweeping the ground with everyone for the last while.

Guts looked out at the arena and saw who was likely the man in question, his armor well-maintained as he wielded a bastard sword and a decently-sized heater shield. Clearly a veteran of the Hundred-Year War, but not anything remarkable from what he'd dealt with. His opponent was about his size, wielding a rather large warhammer and forsaking a shield as they circled each other. It was clear, though, that the hammer wielder was losing the fight, his movements slow and his strikes jerky and wild compared to the smooth, confident strikes of his opponent.

"I think I can handle him," Guts replied.

The soldier shrugged. "Hope you can back those words up, kid."

He turned, and the two of them watched as the swordsman patiently took apart the hammerer's defenses, a shield bash finally sending the man to his knees as the swordsman leveled his blade at the hammerer's neck.

The gathered crowd clapped, and who was likely the organizer of the tournament, a rail-thin man with an equally thin, sharp face, wearing clothes that immediately marked him as being too rich to be from this town, stood. "Again, our guardian champion stands victorious!" he proclaimed. "Who among you will prove yourselves worthy to accompany him to the greater tournament?"

"We have another challenger here, sir!" the guard called out to the organizer, drawing the attention of the crowd to him and Guts. "Big lad with a big sword!"

"Then let him enter and take his chance," the organizer said.

Guts entered the ring as the hammerer was ushered out, and Guts unsheathed his brand new sword, a far simpler thing than the rather ostentatious blade he'd come to this place with. It was ready just in time for the tournament.

The man who stood before him saluted with his blade. "Well met, swordsman!" he said. "I look forward to seeing how you fare."

The voice sounded… familiar. Distantly so. But right now, Guts needed to focus on the fact that he was, once again, facing a living, breathing person. He had to remember and be ready.

"The duel is until one is defeated, young man," the organizer said. "Such defeat is determined to be a crippling or killing blow. Take care not to inflict any grievous wounds, as our current champion will need his strength. Should you prevail, you shall have the chance to accompany us to Castle Garenrel, where the greater contest is currently being held."

"Alright," Guts replied, settling into a ready stance after lowering his helmet's visor. "Can we get started already?"

The organizer nodded, even though he appeared at least a little miffed. "Let the duel begin!"

Guts and his foe spent a few moments circling each other, sizing each other up. Finally, the swordsman darted forward with a lunging stab. Guts parried the blow aside, and the match began.

Strike and counterstrike, back and forth, saw Guts one again settling into that familiar rhythm, the flow of combat coming to him as easily as it ever had. This time, though, he paid attention to those rare moments when sparks flew from the strikes they made. The briefest flashes of life, and its struggle, condensed into a moment of pure light.

The swordsman was good, trying to close the distance that Guts' sword offered and using his shield to negate and divert the blows that his sword couldn't catch. But Guts was wise to this sort of tactic of deflection and precision. Though this man was no Griffith, he'd learned how to pry apart that sort of defense.

It took time, and it took patience, but eventually, the swordsman's legs were open. Guts took the chance as it presented itself, using the flat of his blade to smack into, and sweep through, the stance of the swordsman.

It didn't immediately take him off his feet, but the swordsman stumbled, giving Guts the moment that he needed to charge into him, the body slam sending the man sprawling. Before he could try and lift himself from the ground, the tip of Guts' sword was at his neck, and the crowd was cheering.

After long moments, the tournament organizer managed to quiet the crowd. "Well fought, young man!" the organizer said. "You now have the opportunity to prove yourself further at Castle Garenrel, should you so desire. Will you accompany our champion there?"

Guts scanned the crowd, found Erica watching him. He saw the excitement on her face. How it gave way to apprehension and more than a little sadness. He found it… remarkably tough to leave.

'Ah, it won't be long,' he decided. 'I'll be back after this is done, and I'll tell them when I intend to really go.'

"How long is this trip going to take?" he asked.

"Castle Garenrel is 2 month's journey from this place," the organizer replied. "And the tournament is still gathering its contestants from across Midland for the purpose this tournament serves. Will you still accept this invitation?"

'Well,' Guts mused. 'That's a little longer than I was expecting.'

But to get to see his friends in the Falcons again…

"Alright. I'll go."

The crowd clapped and cheered as Guts exited the ring.

As he began to make his way to the edge of town, Erica following after, the swordsman apparently was following along too. "Guts!"

Guts stopped, turning to face the swordsman as he took his helmet off. The hair had more gray in it than he remembered, but the gray eyes and the scar were unmistakable.

"Willem?" Guts said somewhat incredulously. "What are you doing all the way out here?"

"My job, really," Willem replied. "I'm hooked into the tourneys that go on throughout the kingdom for any jobs that need doing." he paused as he sighed quietly. "It's good to see you're doing well. I must admit, it's strange to see you not at Daniel's side."

Guts shrugged. "He's doing fine without me. Probably bored out of his skull managing some land somewhere as a noble of Midland with the rest of the Band of the Falcon, or the Phoenix Knights, or whatever they're called these days."

Willem's expression darkened. "You mean… you haven't heard the news?"

Guts' brow furrowed in concern. "What happened?"

Willem was silent for long moments, seeming to grapple with what he was about to say before sighing heavily. "Lord Griffith was declared a traitor by the king and imprisoned. The Band of the Falcon was stripped of their titles and are on the run. The tenure point of this contest is to gather the best mercenaries into a band that can chase down and exterminate them and their lady commander Casca."

Guts' eyes went wide, and he barely registered the nearly dramatic gasp of shock that came from Erica. "You're kidding," Guts said incredulously. "Griffith wouldn't do that. He… he…"

"I don't think it matters anymore what Lord Griffith would or wouldn't do," Willem said. "All that matters right now is that your friends are in danger. Daniel is in danger. And we have the chance to do something about it."

Guts was silent for long moments, then sighed quietly. "Do you know where they are?"

Willem shook his head. "Not at all. Commander Casca's been remarkably wily thus far. Part of the whole reason for this series of tournaments is to gather up mercenaries to go and find them."

Guts nodded slightly. "Alright. Give me some time to pack, and I'll go with you."

Willem smiled slightly. "We'll make sure Daniel and company are safe, son. I can assure you that."

Guts nodded, going up the hill. There was a lot to think about, his head a spinning mess.

. . .

The little room that Godot had offered Guts was swiftly made bare once again. Unlike the last time that he left a barren room, however, Guts took a moment to sit on the stripped bed and think.

Had he found what he needed here?

It was such a simple question, with so many implications. Godot had shown him a path to go down. Now, his friends were in danger. His father was in danger. An old path to being a sword for someone.

'But here, I choose to go back,' Guts thought. 'I'm not bowing to some request or losing some contest. Whether they like it or not, I'm coming to help.'

He smiled slightly at the thought of Corkus' face when he'd get there. Thought about what the others would think. How would being gone for so long make things? Who was still there? Who had changed?

Who was gone?

'Not Daniel,' Guts thought as he looked down at the simple wooden sword that had been around his neck for so long. 'If there's anyone who can survive anything, it's him.'

"What's that?"

Guts looked up to see Erica standing in the doorway, looking intently at the necklace.

"This?" Guts said, letting the pendant dangle so she could see more clearly. "It's an old gift from my father. Daniel."

"He's part of the Band of the Falcon, right?" she asked as she approached to get a better look at the pendant.

Guts was silent for a while before sighing quietly. "Yeah. But he wouldn't be there if I wasn't young and stupid. But it's not just him that's in danger because of me, I think."

"What do you mean?"

Guts grimaced. "I think… I think this was all caused by me leaving, somehow. I don't know what happened, or who did what. But I left, and now everything my friends have worked for is gone."

"Then it's up to you to go and fix it," Erica said matter-of-factly, her hands on her hips and a serious look in her eyes.

Guts smiled slightly as, after a moment, he patted Erica's head. "You aren't saying anything I haven't already decided, kiddo. Think you'll be okay without me?"

"We did fine before you came here," Erica said reassuringly. "We'll do fine until you get back."

"You sure?" Guts asked levelly. "I'm probably going to be gone for a while."

"We'll make it work," Erica insisted.

Guts nodded, watching tears well up in the girl's eyes. Then, she shocked him somewhat as she charged in and did her best to envelop his torso in a hug.

"Stay safe," Erica whispered through a sniffle.

After long moments, Guts returned the hug. "I'll try my best to," he said quietly.

Erica finally let him go, and Guts gathered his things, making his way to the door. He paused for a moment as he passed the forge, seeing Godot at the anvil as usual.

'Nah, I won't disturb him.' Guts decided, beginning to make his way to the door again. 'He knows I'm leaving anyway.'

"Good luck, son," Godot said simply. "Don't die."

Guts paused again for the briefest of seconds, then smiled slightly. "I'll try not to, Gramps."

With that, Guts was out the door, closing it to the sight of Willem with his gear on one of two horses.

"You ready to go?" Willem asked.

Guts nodded. "Let's not drag this out any more than it already has."

Willem nodded. "I understand that. Just… be prepared for this to take a while."

. . .

Crag-step Forest, 4 Months Later

Daniel found night watch duties to be remarkably calming, all told. Even with the possibility of a massive creature roaming around the woods at night, at the very least it was quiet now. The night's life chirped and hooted and buzzed and called out to itself, covering the forest in a comforting blanket of quiet but vibrant noise.

Tonight, Daniel sat on a felled log next to Pippin, staring out into the night. He hadn't spent much time with the looming, but quiet man that was the leader of the Hammerheads, their heavy cavalry force. Tonight presented a remarkably rare occasion.

"I don't believe I've talked to you much," Daniel said after a moment's thought, "but I must admit something struck me, many months ago."

Pippin looked over at Daniel levelly. "What would that be?" he asked quietly.

"You have a knowledge, to some extent or another, of architecture," Daniel said. "As well as picking up dancing as easily as you did, it leads me to suspect you have at least some connection to nobility. Am I on the right trail?"

Pippin hummed softly before nodding. "You're not wrong," he said.

It was silent between them for long moments. "Would you be willing to elaborate on that?" Daniel asked quietly.

Again, silence reigned as Pippin considered the question. Moments stretched into minutes, and Daniel considered simply leaving the matter. It was just curiosity, after all.

"I was a minor noble in the duchy of Morgar," Pippin finally said, drawing Daniel's attention back to him. "The second son of the former duke. With my brother as heir to my father's titles, I was expected to join the military."

Pippin paused. "I wanted something else. To chase my dream."

'As expected,' Daniel mused, 'Griffith drew in a dreamer.'

"What is your dream?" he asked.

"To build something worth remembering," Pippin replied, that distant, fond look in his eyes that all had when remembering something cherished. "My mentor was the royal architect for Morgar, and he explained much of his craft to me. How the castle that I lived in was built, the foundations, the walls, the compromises between functionality and regality. It… spoke to me in a way that the military never could."

"So why join the Falcons, then?" Daniel asked. "How could becoming a mercenary help you accomplish your dream?"

"It allowed me to travel, to see examples of other architecture. The Court of White Carnations was particularly inspiring with its tasteful use of flying buttresses and pure marble. Its design lent it a holiness similar to a cathedral. The intention was obvious."

Daniel nodded. "I see. Is there any building in particular that inspires you?"

Pippin nodded, smiling slightly. "The Cathedral of the Seven Virtues, centerpiece of the holy city of the Way of White. Seven domes surrounding a central eighth, different stones for the outer walls ascending in purity until the peak is made of the most pale marble, stained glasswork that is the envy of all the world. All those reasons and so much more about it are what I aspire towards. If I made something even a fraction as memorable and striking as that, I would be satisfied."

"You've seen it then?"

Pippin shook his head. "Only heard tell of it and seen angles on sacred artwork. I think, if things had not changed so much as they have, that I might have gotten to see that remarkable edifice."

Daniel nodded, swallowing as best he could the pill of sorrow that formed in his gut. "Perhaps someday, we still might."

Once again, the night was silent, the pair considering what had just been spoken to one extent or another.

Then, a rustle in the woods. Not unusual on its own, but drawing closer. Not turning away.

Daniel frowned slightly as he stood, a hand going to his sword. "Wonder who that might be," he said quietly.

"Too small to be your bear, I would think," Pippin said as he grabbed his mace and stood.

Daniel drew his sword, holding it out to the still approaching sound. "We'll see," he replied.

They stood at the ready for long moments, a nickering from a horse cutting through the cicadas and crickets. The branches began to rustle, a shadow making itself seen in the faraway light of the few campfires allowed to burn. Then…

A horse's head parted the brush before them, slowing to a stop at the edge of the clearing about 10 feet away from Daniel and Pippin. Its rider was cloaked, their dark garb concealing their frame.

"Who are you?" Daniel ventured, stepping forward. "How did you find us?"

"Please, don't hurt me," a woman's voice called out from beneath a hood, thin and dainty hands reaching up to pull it down and reveal a fair face framed by dark curls. "I am an envoy of Princess Charlotte, one of her trusted handmaidens. I've not been followed, I promise."

Daniel and Pippin glanced at each other for a moment before returning their attention to the young woman. "And how can we verify that you speak the truth?"

The woman grimmaced. "Unfortunately, there is no way that I can definitively do so. You will have to trust that I am an agent of the Princess, and not a pawn of the king."

The pair, once again, looked at each other for long moments, both chewing on the handmaiden's words. Finally, Daniel sighed quietly. "Go wake Casca. I'll keep an eye on our visitor."

Pippin nodded, turning and jogging over to the command tent.

Daniel returned his gaze to the handmaiden, looking on her with a greater Sight than most would know as discretely as possible.

'She speaks the truth,' Daniel realized with no small amount of relief.

"I hope you will be able to convince the rest of the command staff of your sincerity," he said to the handmaiden.

The handmaiden nodded. "The princess swore me to this task and to secrecy concerning it. I made my promise not only to my princess… but to my dear friend."

Daniel smiled slightly. "Then I think you'll do just fine."