I'd come face to face with someone who I could only consider a madman. No sane person would rip a face off of someone, nor would they so casually have thrown another person into a fire. I shuddered as I looked at Green-Eye and wrestled with the fact that he'd put me out of harms way, but he'd also shown off an unsettling ferocity. To me he was neither an ally nor an enemy, but an unknown danger.

Meanwhile I could barely stand and I barely had any energy left. A splitting headache combined with a constant surge of dizziness made it impossible for me to run away, and my right shoulder still hurt bad enough I didn't want to use my arm.

Green-Eyes walked away from the defeated trio and approached me. The confidence in his stride made it obvious that he could see me, even in the shadows. He flicked his hand off to the side, the blood that clung to it scattering across the blades of grass.

Before he could reach me I snapped my left finger and lifted my hand up, gripping the handle of a sword that materialized. The hilt was misshapen with a handle that felt rough to the touch, and the blade wasn't even straight nor did it have a good edge. I held it in front of me, the point wavering as I struggled to keep it aloft.

Green-Eyes responded with a sigh. It was over in the blink of an eye, he stepped in against me before I could even notice the movement. One hand struck out and hit my wrist with enough force to numb the entire hand.

The Shatterblade fell from my grasp while I cried out in shock. He gripped me around the waist and promptly lifted me onto his shoulder, like I was nothing more than a sack of potatoes. I struggled against his hold and attempted to punch and kick, afraid that he was going to do something to me while I was weakened.

However the struggling combined with the shoulder carry upset my already distraught stomach. I began to dry heave, as I had nothing left in my stomach to expel. Green-Eyes paid it no mind as he silently walked back in the direction of the firepit.

Warren had, at some point, managed to get off of the fire and he lay groaning on the grass. Without breaking his stride Green-Eyes casually kicked him in the face, the force enough to knock him out, before he continued on in the direction of the tents. All I could do from my position was watch as the fire pit faded away behind us.

When we arrived at the tents there were four people there. Two were dead while two of them were clearly enraged. The guards that had served as our mid-point defense for the escort mission had been killed.

"So you two got attacked as well?" Shorty asked.

I went to respond when Green-Eyes tossed me into a nearby tent, onto a pile of blankets and pillows. The air was knocked out of my body from the impact with the ground, and I could only curl up and moan at the new waves of pain caused by that.

"Shianti tea with Mandori," Green-Eyes said in explanation.

"Mandori? Here? That's normally seen further south isn't it?" Shorty mused to himself, before he clicked his tongue and looked toward Skara, "I'm going to need to go pay a visit to the merchant, I'll be a while since I have a lot of questions. Can you handle all of the drivers?"

"Can I?" Skara asked, before he laughed loudly enough that my headache throbbed worse. "Hopefully they'll put up a better fight than these idiots. I still can't believe they tried to kill us in our sleep."

"Mm, probably didn't expect us to wake up instantly when they came into the tents," Shorty stated, "what are we going to do about our injured princess, though?"

Neither Skara nor Green-Eyes responded to the question. I glanced out of the tent at them and wondered why they were worried about me. Skara and Shorty left after that, though neither had mentioned a reply to the question. When they departed I noticed that Green-Eyes had placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, a weapon I hadn't even realized he had.

I shuddered at the thought of him using a weapon instead of his bare hands.

Unlike the night before I didn't have a problem falling asleep, though my dreams were no longer about the death of Anya. Instead it was the power of one man, and his emerald eyes that stared at me so hard I could only shudder.

♪ ♫ ♬ ♫ ♪

It was the sunlight that woke me up the next morning. The air was fresh and had a hint of dew to it, and as I clambered out of the tent I took a deep breath. I stretched like I would any other day and regretted it, as pain still spread throughout my right arm. From what I could tell the night before it wasn't broken, which meant I'd recover soon enough.

The dizziness and nausea had finally left, leaving behind only a minor headache. When I reached up to touch at where I'd been injured I felt a bandage, as well as an absence of dried blood. Someone had cleaned it off and wrapped it for me, for which I was quite grateful.

I surveyed the nearby area and mentally noted that most of the tents had been knocked over and scattered. The wagons stood without horses, save for a single one which was laden with as many items as they could possibly shove on it. Seated on the bench at the front of the wagon was a man with silver hair.

"Hey Green-Eyes," I said, "where'd Skara and Shorty go?"

At my voice Green-Eyes didn't jump, though he did very slowly turn his head in my direction. His gaze settled on me and I could feel it like a knife, as though it was piercing into my flesh. "Cleaning up," he told me without any further explanation, "Taryn."

"What?"

"My name is Taryn," he told me, and then he looked back to the road.

I clicked my tongue in aggravation, but I didn't say anything else. Instead I walked through our campsite, picking my way carefully past the dead bodies that littered it. I paused temporarily to look down at Taryn's handiwork, and after I'd shoved down the fear it brought I went and picked up my silver sword.

As I stared at it I could only think of how my mother had given it to me. When I picked it up for the first time it'd melted in my hand and run down my arm, finally forming into the silver loops that I so often had it form. It was a tool that was binded to my soul, and it required concentration to shape and use.

My mother had received it as a marriage present from Vandross, my father. In order to use the Shatterblade there were two requirements which had to be met. The first was a binding of the soul to the tool, which made it so only the user could control it or pass it down. The other requirement was concentration and imagination, and it was there that I had spent years practicing.

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In order to activate the Shatterblade my thoughts were often enough, but sometimes a snapping of the fingers helped to focus my mind. Speaking could even let me focus it further, and it was in that way I managed to turn it into a powerful weapon. All in all the Shatterblade was a malleable weapon with innumerable uses, though it had a limitation of range. If it was too far away I would be incapable of shifting the form, so using it as a throwing weapon wasn't recommended.

I focused on the Shatterblade and the misshapen sword turned back into the familiar loops. Once again they clinked against each other on my wrist, and I smiled at the return of my favored weapon. It was almost as though it'd become a part of me.

"So that's where you are." Skara stepped out of the bushes. In his left hand he held his sword, which was lifted up to rest on his shoulder. In his right hand was an apple, untouched and delicious looking. My stomach growled loud enough that he could hear it, and with a grin he tossed the apple to me. "Come on, we're planning to leave now."

I caught the apple and promptly bit into it. I sighed happily as I started to walk after Skara, feasting on it. "Where are we going to?"

"Vicna, of course, we're taking some of the stuff and Shorty is going to dump it on some contact of his," Skara explained as we neared the wagon. Shorty had already taken up a spot in the drivers seat, while in the back nestled in amongst a few crates was Taryn.

I took the seat next to Shorty on the drivers seat, which made Skara look a little hurt. "Guess I'm not as popular as I thought," he complained as he clambered into the back of the wagon.

"Were you ever?" Shorty wondered aloud with a grin, and then he shook the reins, "we should make it there before nightfall, especially since there's only us now."

I frowned at that, as while I knew they'd probably killed Elias and the other guards what about the wagoners? They hadn't told me anything, and the fact that they might've killed innocent people in cold blood didn't sit well with me.

The horses moved forward without complaint, as they didn't care who held the reins. My thoughts on the missing men caused me to look northward, and all I saw was the empty road behind us. A dark cloud had gathered off in the distance, but I paid it little attention.

♪ ♫ ♬ ♫ ♪

The city of Vicna was the same as any other, in that it had walls that surrounded the entire place. The walls were made from wood, rather than stone, and there were a few towers embedded along its length. The buildings on the inside of Vicna were also made primarily of wood, which I thought was a bad idea. The slightest errant flame could probably turn the place into an inferno of death.

The area outside of the town was flat and open, all the trees having been cleared out. The hills that would normally have existed had been torn up and flattened, and so by the time we reached the northern gate they'd already seen our approach. The dirt road we were on ended as it reached the northern gate, turning to cobblestone.

The gates of Vicna stood open, which was the best possible sign for a traveler. Unless it'd been late at night the presence of a closed gate always meant trouble, whether that was due to someone invading or the Plague. The belltower near the middle of the town was also quiet, a fact that I thanked the Gods for.

As the wagon rolled along the main road we saw all types of people. The people we rolled past all tended to have a sort of well cultured look. They wore clean clothes with almost no tears or patches, and there was no dirt smeared on their faces. Some of the people even looked a bit more well off, with fancier clothing that I'd normally see nobles wear.

What caught my attention the most were the legionnaires near the gate. Two men wore heavy looking armor and had scarlet capes, upon which a sun was embroidered. Whenever someone went near them the legionnaires would look, but not interfere. I shrank away, not out of fright but in order to avoid their attention. I didn't think any legionnaires I knew would be in this area, but I had no interest in testing that theory.

When we reached the center of Vicna, which held a horrid looking water fountain, the wagon came to a stop. All around the center were stalls made of lumber, and men hawking cheap trinkets and moldy food kept yelling for attention.

"Alright guys, off you go, I need to go talk to my friend and let him know a few things," Shorty told us.

The three of us got off of the wagon, and as I climbed down I asked, "We can't go with you?"

"Only if you want us to die," Shorty replied with a laugh, "I'll see you all tomorrow morning, west gate! If you're late we're leaving without you."

I waved goodbye to Shorty as he directed the wagon off to the east, even though his back was turned to us, and then I looked at Skara and Taryn. "What next?"

"Next? Next is I get drunk, find a good lass, and have her teach me the techniques of the town," Skara admitted honestly, and with a small salute he walked off to the western side of town.

I smiled, but chose not to follow. A group of drunk men was always an invitation to trouble, and I had no urge to get involved in Skara's antics. On top of that the final words he'd said only further encouraged me to avoid the tavern altogether, since it seemed less like a place for refreshments.

So I turned my attention to the east, wondering what I might find in that direction. To the east the road was well kept, the buildings were fancy, and numerous legionnaires milled about near the edge of the street. The idea of going that way was immediately tossed away, since I wasn't going to make it easy for my mother to find me.

That left me with either the north and the south, and to the south I saw dark alleyways and a filthy road. The alleyways ran between the wooden buildings, and questionable people actively walked in and out of the shadows. There was one other thing that I noticed to the south, the distinct sound of a whip cracking.

While I hesitated as to which way to go Taryn made the first move, as he headed off to the south. I frowned at that, but when I glanced to the north I saw the legionnaires had started to head in our direction. They were guided by a thin man in torn clothing, one who talked rapidly and kept pointing at Taryn and I. In the end I had to agree with Taryn's unspoken reason for heading south, since the alleyways would give us a good way to escape.

We walked down the southern road for a short bit before Taryn came to an abrupt stop ahead of me. His head turned as he looked at the side of the street, and from my spot near him all I saw was rage in his eyes. I followed his gaze and couldn't help frowning at what I saw.

There was a child there, so young that I couldn't even guess if it was a boy or girl. Their hair had a sort of metallic look to it, and it reached all the way to their waist. The little child who wore only rags had curled up on the ground and started to cry, because a man stood nearby and kept hitting them with a whip.

It was a slave, as anyone would know due to the collar on the child's neck. The owner, though I felt they didn't deserve to be called that, was a tall man. He didn't have the muscles that Skara did, but his height was still impressive. He held the whip in his right hand and continually lashed the child with it, while spouting profanity.

I had seen public punishments before, so this wasn't too much of a shock to me, but this was the first time I'd seen one so excessive. My mother had never bothered with a public punishment, if any slave she bought caused a problem it was always dealt with in privacy. In truth she didn't even punish them that severely, and there were times when I thought she was harsher on me than the slaves.

It was proper etiquette not to get involved in a public punishment. People who interfere could be in trouble with the Legion, and to make matters worse it tended to make the public view you as a criminal. So I'd been raised to ignore these types of situations, yet as I watched this crying child get beat over and over again I began to step forward.

How little my actions mattered in that moment. Before I could even understand what'd happened the slaver had been thrown clear across the road, the force of it more than enough to embed him into the wall of a house. The wood cracked, then part of the house collapsed on top of the slaver. Around us there were gasps, screams, and even a few claps.

I turned to look at Taryn, the confusion and anger I felt at that moment unable to be voiced properly. He'd clearly caused a problem for us with that act, but when I saw him cradling the abused child my anger subsided. Taryn returned my look with one of his own, along with a smile.