Morning came all too quickly, and consciousness was accompanied with a distinctly hung-over feel. I don’t recall exactly when it was sleep claimed me, for dreams disturbingly echoed reality, and left the hollowness of the night before freshly imprinted on my not-so-fresh mind. I sat up groggily and realized why it was I ached all over: I still wore the mail shirt and shoulder guard of my armor. My cloak had served as a blanket and the floor my bed. I vaguely recalled pacing to a painful collapse, and simply not having the motivation or energy to move myself elsewhere. So much for a comfortable bed. After a few moments, I regained my feet and moved to the window, which was flung wide open, to stare down at the city. Tir Locke was the one city the dragons had yet ignored since the Great Conflict. The bulk of homes and inns sat between the first and second walls, although our inn was located near the Legion, and most often served to accomodate visiting dignitaries. Businesses filled the space between the second and third walls, and the Marketplace consumed the final ring. Beyond the fourth wall were the barracks that housed the Legion, the training grounds, and the small army of men it took to defend the battlements. I remembered the logistical nightmare of defending the first wall and the buried desperation of defending the fourth wall. Everything had been easy then. Stand and die, kill or be killed. Draitan Woodgaard never once came to my quarters with words about my actions; and men like Tomas Drakystor and Taerr Rocskull were as gods. Yes, war was infinitely easier than life. The commanders pointed and said: “Kill.” So we did, with great abandon. We were ruthless, but so were they. It was simply a matter of who was willing to risk the most. In the final pitched battle, my strategy had come to me in the last moments before the enemy; hordes of goblins, ogres, trolls and the like, swept up the walls. I ordered the men over the battlements, and promptly launched myself into the roiling, confused fray below. I don’t understand how it was I survived, and do not remember exactly what happened when I landed, but my men must have followed my orders, for the next thing I knew, we had formed a fighting wedge and were drawing the creatures away from the walls, and against us. I lost all my men that day, save the bastard half-elf named Drakystor and a fiery but jovial dwarf with the fitting moniker of Rocskull. Neither were heroes. Drakystor was a rogue, wandering place to place, stealing what he could, working when he had to. But he vehemently insisted that his father had been a knight, and as long as I knew him, in spite of his sometimes blatant disregard certain laws (the ones he deemed: “Superflouous and meant to be broken.”), he never did anything that could be considered dishonorable. He swore that he’d never killed anyone who didn’t deserve it, and never in cold blood. After the war, he’d wandered north, presumably to the land of his mother’s people, the elves, and I’d not heard from him since. Rocskull was a dwarf through and through, and a businessman to the core. He ran an unbelievably successful slave trade that was so terribly efficient, the dragons allowed him to keep it running when they took the dwarven lands, whose borders were less than half a day’s walk away. I’d spoken to him once or twice since the war, but we’d never gotten along terribly well. I was too soft-spoken for his taste, and I’d never cared for slavers. And I... I could never be a hero. The city had come alive as I stared over it, but quiet it still was. The serving wench from the night before was approaching from the north. After the ill-fated Tryan pitted himself against me, I hadn’t thought much about her... Somehow the magic of the moment lacked luster after committing cold-blooded murder, though I couldn’t think as to why. But something sparked in me, the way she moved, quick and efficient, and yet somehow grace- Three men appeared from the alley beside her as she walked passed, barring her forward movement. It didn’t take a combat expert to recognize their actions as hostile, and I was out the door and down the steps in a heartbeat. I made it outside in time to hear one of the men growl: “...I’ll just take it out of yer hide!” I’d never much liked that phrase. It smacked of trapping, and if there was one thing in the world I hated, it was trappers. I managed to dart between them and step in front of them before they could close in on her. I had only a split second to size them up, and what I saw surprised the hell out of me. All three wore the Crest of the Legion, and all three had been a part of Tryan’s gang from the night before. “Well, well, well...” growled the speaker, and I almost gagged. Never before had I heard anyone actually use that particular line, it and sounded worse spoken than it looked on paper. “Look,” I interrupted, “You’re just going to say ‘if it isn’t the little twerp from last night,’ and I’m going to say ‘Indeed so,’ then YOU’RE going to say ‘I owe you a beating,’ then I’m going to say ‘well then we’ll just have to-’ RUN!” I grabbed the girl’s hand and dashed in the one direction they were not: Away. “Hey!” shouted the bewildered Legionnaire, right on cue, and as if prompted, the sound of pounding feet and clanking armor echoed in my hearing like the dialogue from some poorly written play. “What the hell do you think you’re doing!” the girl shouted, struggling in my grip. I tightened it, shooting a glare in her general direction. It likely as not missed her, but the effect was there. “Saving your grubby ass, woman, and a little gratitude goes a long way.” I whipped around a corner, and in doing so shot a glance at our pursuers. They had multiplied. Instead of three angry Legionnaire’s at our heels, there were now about seven or so. Absolutely wonderful. The girl was still struggling, but I had a grip like iron. When you managed to hold onto your sword through six hours of battle, when your hand is soaked with sweat, a little of your blood and a lot of someone (or something) else’s, you can manage fairly easily to keep hold of a thrashing maiden. Problem is, swords don’t often try to bite you, and if they do, then you’ve got more problems than I care to delve into. So she bit me, and even as blood flowed and I lost my grip on her, I wondered what exactly her problem was. I was only trying to help... I suppose she expected me to fight them off, but three on one is not something I enjoy when I’m the one and they’re the three. Last night was different... I was in control and untouchable. There, I was just plain vulnerable. She darted to the left, leaving me bleeding profusely from a half-moon wound in my hand and slightly befuddled from the confusion in my head. Half a heartbeat later, I was after her, and in less than a minute, I had caught up with her, caught hold of her, and dragging her back the direction that I wanted to go. Not that it made much difference either way, but it was my rescue after all, and I felt that I should maintain some vague semblance of control. It didn’t work. The seven had grown to an even dozen at this point, and our struggles had delayed us almost desperately. Out of something akin to panic, I ducked into an alley, tore down it and ran headlong into something solid as I exited the mouth of the other side. I knew immediately it couldn’t be a brick wall, or a wall of any sort. Brick walls at least have some give to them. No, this thing wasn’t moving, which immediately stopped my expedient forward motion, which resulted in my falling flat on my backside; which further resulted in dragging Little Miss Attitude down with me (seeing as I still had a firm grip on her wrist), and we both found ourselves flat out on the dirty cobblestone street, staring up at something big. In this case, the something was human, but it was the biggest human I’d ever seen ever. I was tall for that world, and average in my own, but I barely came up to the man’s giant muscular chest; over which both his massive hamhock arms were crossed. He wore chainmail (Gods knew he had to have had it custom fit); a short, unadorned tabard; leather breeches; a shortsword at his side; and a sword strapped to his back that was as long as I was tall. And as if that wasn’t forbidding enough, he wore a scowl that could have curdled milk so badly it would have sprouted legs and done a little dance. The men behind us skidded wisely to a halt before they added to the pile-up. The leader stared hard at the man before us. “M’Kaine,” he growled, the deference and begrudging respect more than evident in his tone. “I don’t know why you are chasing these two, Legion,” the giant stated, his voice like thunder, “and I don’t really care. The recklessness ends.” “Right,” our pursuer agreed, as if he would agree with the man if he had told us that the sky was green and sprouting daisies, “I’ll just take them into custody-” The giant said nothing, but the look that comment evoked was enough to grown men fly into a spluttering tizzy. And being a grown man, I have no shame in stating that I spluttered and tizzied with the rest of them. The Legionnaires all turned tail and ran, save the leader. He was either too stupid or too witless to run, but in either case, he gave us one disdainful look, then followed his men. The warrior looked down at us. Or, more specifically, down at the girl. “Caitlyn? What are you thinking, incitin’ the Legion like that?” “I would have been fine if it weren’t for genius here,” she growled, pushing herself to her feet, using the presence of my shoulder for leverage. The giant man’s fierce gaze fell upon me, narrowed slightly, then darkened in recognition. It was at that point that I was fairly certain he was going to kill me, so I figured I’d better get to my feet. If I was going to die, then by the Gods I was going to do it on my feet... Running away. I tensed to bolt, but his heavy hand fell upon my shoulder. “Reinter Wolfein. I thought you were dead.” I did my best to ignore the note of disappointment that rang true in his voice. “Not yet,” I grimaced as he squeezed... I could almost feel my bones rubbing together. “Evidently. Care to offer an explanation for this rampant disregard for the law?” I wasn’t terribly fond of his tone, but until then, I’d held my temper in check. He WAS bigger than me, not to mentioned armed, and the girl, ahem, Caitlyn, was less than grateful for my sacrifice on her behalf. Bigger or not, I was far from obliged to answer his questions. “And who are you to ask such questions?” It was out before I could stop it. He blinked. “Officially? I’m the difference between the people and martial law. M’names Daryn McKaine,” he stated slowly, as if... His tone spoke volumes, but I couldn’t say to what. “They put it to a vote, elected me, and my wages come from their taxes.” I arched a brow. “But?” The girl, Caitlyn, and Daryn shared a glance, subtle and imperceptible and even covert, but while I’m not much for fighting, I’m definitely not stupid. “Come on,” I prodded, “I may be concerned with my further ability to take breath, but that doesn’t make me blind.” “Lord Woodgaard rigged the election...” Caitlyn said hesitantly. I looked at her. “Why?” “After the Conflict ended, many of the soldiers found they had no taste for army life in peacetime,” the big man started. I nodded. I understood that. After the last battle, wherever I went, people crowded around me, looking to shake hands with their “savior.” Many soldiers suddenly found themselves the subject of hero worship, which, granted, is fine in small doses, but when crowds of people mob you every day, it gets a little old. So we left the army to find our place in a quiet corner of the world. “So they left, what’s wrong with that?” I asked, a little more sarcastically than I intended. They glared at me. “Nothing, unless they decide to come back five years later and make trouble,” Caitlyn shot back, but the big man put a gentle hand on her shoulder. A little too gentle... “They left in droves, Wolfein. Remember that day after the final battle, Draitan Woodgaard informed all the survivors that they could resign their commissions if they chose to?” “Yeah, and nobody did,” I answered. He shook his head. “Believe it or not, your continued presence had a lot to do with the morale of the existing armies. When you left, they began to get restless, and resigned. The Legion lost over half it’s men in under a week.” I stared. Ten thousand men leaving in under a week... Drai must have had a fit. “That still doesn’t explain you,” I murmured, still a little shocked. “Lord Woodgaard had to fill out the ranks,” Caitlyn jumped in impatiently, “so he offered double wages for anybody who would sign on for light duty.” Then it dawned on me. “But Drai got more than he bargained for, didn’t he?” I said, thinking aloud. Daryn nodded. “Men like Tryan last night...” “Tryan was never Legion...” Caitlyn stated, “Drai told the recruiting officers to induct anyone they could possibly hedge over as acceptable...” “And Tryan was the furthest from acceptable as anyone can get,” Daryn supplied easily. Finishing her sentence. I was beginning to draw conclusions. “So he hired a bunch of miscreants and thieves to make the armies at least LOOK big and in order to keep the citizens happy, he arranged for you,” I finished the thought. Daryn nodded. “Lord Woodgaard’s intentions were noble-” he started by way of defending the old dwarf, but I cut him off with a sharp shake of my head. “No need to justify his actions to me,” I said, grinning, “he breathes nobility, sleeps with chivalry, and wears honor like a cloak.” He looked at my strangely. I guess it sounded like high praise, especially coming from me, but it wasn’t meant to be complimentary... It was simply the truth. I looked to Caitlyn. “Still, that doesn’t-” “Wolf!” I whirled, prepared to bolt. Blake and Cor stood in the mouth of the alleyway, hands resting on their swords, warily watching Daryn and Caitlyn. “All’s well,” I grunted. Cor nodded and the two moved forward, but they still watched the giant man cautiously. To be honest, I didn’t blame them. Daryn was an imposing sight. “We’ve got trouble,” Blake said as they approached. “The Legion is out for your arrest, Wolf.” He then glanced at the giant man and the diminutive woman next to him. “And if you would be Daryn and Caitlyn McKaine...” he trailed off. That explained it. Daryn nodded, which Blake returned. “They’ve got it out for you too. We had best leave the city as quickly and quietly as we can,” Blake stated. “But the caravan-” I started, but Cor was already shaking his head. “Legion commandeered the job... Said since the head of security was a murderer, they would finish the job he wasn’t suited to do,” he informed me. I flushed red, but Daryn cut in before I could speak. “And who, praytell, said that?” Cor looked at the giant. “Some officer named Linthar Torrek,” he replied. Daryn suddenly swore under his breath and Caitlyn looked exceedingly concerned. “That’s your friend Tryan’s second in command. He’s got about the same disposition, only he’s smarter,” Caitlyn murmured. “We can’t just sit here and wait for them to pick us up,” Cor interjected, and I could see from the white-knuckled grip on his sword that he was anxious to get moving. But I wasn’t through. “‘We?’ Since when do either of you care one way or another about my fate?” I inquired, the question directed at both of them, but my gaze fell right to Blake. Cor shrugged, but Blake returned my glance with a blunt stare. “I didn’t want to,” he said simply, “but the kid insisted.” Sure. “So what do we do?” I was never quite sure as to who posed the question, and I suppose it didn’t matter. It was on the very edge of all of our minds. For one, tense, endless heartbeat, Daryn and I stared hard at each other, not quite daring the other to take control. It was a power struggle, will against will, leader against- It was about then that Caitlyn reached up and knocked both of our heads together. “HEY!” I shouted, and Daryn cried something unintelligible, but it didn’t sound particularly complimentary. “If you two are finished comparing swords, I should like to get moving before they-” The swish and flutter of giant wings interrupted her thought. A giant owl, bearing a diminutive figure on it’s back, landed in the alley. At this point, the alley was getting quite crowded, so Rathimander noted as he attempted to dismount the giant bird. “Excuse me, pardon, sorry, are these your keys? Really shouldn’t keep them in your pocket where someone can just take them, pardon, Wolf!” he exclaimed as he finally got to me. “We need to get out of here. Half the Legion is headed this way.” And without so much as another word, he grabbed my hand and started off down the alley. I was so bewildered that I didn’t resist, and that is how it was that we followed him to safety outside the city. Before long, we were all holed up inside a cave (a faery hiding place, according to Rathimander) a few miles away from the city. After we had built a small fire and set a watch (Barnaby, Rathimander’s owl, perched high in a pine tree outside the cave), I finally came to myself and mustered the question that had plagued me since Rathimander’s unceremonious arrival. “Why aren’t you with the caravan?” I asked. The question, the first words spoken since Rathimander had joined our company, seemed from nowhere, and so Rathimander stared at me in confusion for a moment before answering. But when he did, he caught all of our attentions. “They arrested Drai, Wolf.” Silence.