b1

Thistlemead rose from his sleeping place in the middle of the field. He could still hear the cries of Greyleaf, whom had been tied to a pole in the exact middle of the camp. ‘He will get us all killed,’ he muttered as he came upon the group that had gathered around one of three campfires, ‘a merchant will be strolling down the road; he’ll hear screaming and call for the militia.’

‘You know why you are here, Greyleaf,’ said the leader of the three other men, his voice cold and terrifying, though it carried a strange unwelcomed warmth, ‘tell us the names of those you have been speaking to so boldly.’

The man in black rose, his face covered almost entirely by the shade of his hood. He approached the other man, each of his steps a smooth flowing motion. ‘Welcome,’ said he, in a tone as queer and unsettling as it was genuine, ‘I trust you bring good news.’