The good people of Elfont had scoffed when the first teahouse, called The Parlour, first opened its doors. It was a business that catered exclusively to women, who were banned from taverns by a tradition that was so ancient that no one was allowed to question it. These teahouses served tea, mead, cakes, and sweets and tapped into a woefully underserved market. The novel business had quickly taken the royal capital of Yeldren by storm, with queues going down around the street. The operators of The Parlour had been forced to allow admission by appointment only, and it could take six months to get one.

After the revolution, the people of Elfont gained a reputation for being an entrepreneurial folk, and soon, teahouses sprang up across the kingdom. They were only permitted to operate on the outskirts of towns and cities, so as not to interfere with ‘real businesses’, as the men had put it, which suited their clientele fine. The teahouses were often located in quieter, more picturesque parts of cities and towns, where ladies, highborn and commoner alike, could gossip in peace. Many had also named themselves ‘The Parlour’, in homage to the place that had started it all, but also because the name was so recognizable.

One such copycat teahouse stood on the edge of the town of Chamford, a small trading town. A lone woman sat at a choice table next to one of the large, bay windows. It was still early in the day, and most of Chamford’s women were still tending to their households, so the main room was empty save for her, and the matron of the establishment, who kept half an eye on the young woman as she did her chores. Her sole patron was from out of town and had first come to the teahouse three days ago. She sat at that very table, at the window overlooking a verdant pasture and the road that connected Chamford to the highroad miles to the east, from opening to close ever since.

The young woman ignored the teapot which rested on a coaster within easy reach as she stared out of the window, appearing to be lost in her thoughts. She was dressed in the clothes of a Pledge Wife, wearing a high throated black dress lined with white lace. She seemed a little young to the matron to be the wife of a Pledged. The outsider was a thin, pretty young thing, who looked scarcely out of her teens, and to the matron’s experienced eye, she had yet to bear a child.

Well, there were many reasons for someone to be Pledged, and being a Pledge Wife was difficult for some, so she knew better than to pry. There was no better way to lose business as the mistress of a teahouse than to be nosy. Her patrons, on the other hand, were another story. There was nothing better for business than to play host to an incorrigible gossip, and it just so happened that Annie Rinwhistle said she’d be in later that day.

Hiding a smile, the matron bustled up to her only customer. “If you let that tea steep for any longer, it will be too bitter, sweetheart.”

The young woman jumped slightly and flashed an embarrassed smile when she saw the matron. “Oh, yes, I’m sorry, I’ve just been distracted.”

“Are you here hoping to see your husband?” the matron ventured.

The young woman gave her a confused look, and the matron smiled sweetly. “The Pledged Carriages coming from the east often go past this very window on their way to Yeldren. Why, I owe no small part of my business to Pledge wives hoping to catch a last glimpse of their husbands on the Golden Trail.”

A flash of sadness crossed the woman’s face, and the matron knew she had made a grave mistake.

“I didn’t know that… I’m new in town,” the young woman’s voice was small. “And, my husband, he… he was Pledged two years ago.”

“Well, that’s nothing to be sad about,” the matron said quickly.

“I know I should be proud of him,” the young woman replied as she brushed away a tear. “But I do miss him so…”

“There there sweetheart,” the matron soothed. “I shouldn’t have assumed. Have a slice of cake on me. It’s made from fresh butter, milked from Chamford cows this very morning.”

“That’s very kind, madam, but…” the young woman began.

The matron waved her hand in front of her face as though she was trying to fan a bad smell away. “Nonsense, sweetheart. By the way, you can call me Cathy.”

“I’m Victoria,” the woman replied. “Victoria Ingers.”

As the old woman bustled away into the kitchen, Victoria turned her attention back to the road. There were a handful of people walking it. They looked happy. Almost too happy, and it brought back unpleasant memories of Washpool. The maniacal smiles still haunted her to this day. A bead of sweat rolled down her cheek, and her pulse began to quicken. She took a deep breath to calm herself. This was something she could ill afford. She was all alone, deep in enemy territory.

“Here you go, sweetheart,” the matron said breathlessly as she emerged from the kitchen. “It’s a little saggy, I’m afraid. The heat, you understand.”

“Oh it looks absolutely delicious,” Victoria remarked as she poured herself a cup of tea. “You’re far too kind.”

“So, what brings a sweet young thing like you to Chamford, if you don’t mind me asking?” Cathy asked as she carefully placed the cake in front of her customer.

“Oh, I just thought travelling would fill the void left by…” Victoria began and fell silent when a large wagon rolled into view, heading in the direction of town.

Four heavily armed men on horseback escorted the open topped wagon, which was pulled by four large horses. A man sat in the large steel cage on the back. His hands and legs were manacled to the roof and floor of the cage respectively. He was a large, muscular man and was stripped down to a pair of ragged trousers. His body was beaten and bloodied, but his head was unbowed.

“That must be the Ogre of the South,” the matron breathed, following Victoria’s gaze. “Thank the Pantheon they finally caught him.”

“I’ve not heard of him,” Victoria lied. In fact, he was the very reason she had been watching the East Road for the past three days. “He sounds like a ghastly fellow.”

“Apparently, he killed thirty faithful on his own,” Cathy remarked with a shake of her head. “It’s been ten years since the Craven King Argelene was deposed, and still his fanatics blight our fair lands.”

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She sighed deeply. “I only hope they move him out of town quickly.”

“Oh, you don’t think he will stay, will you?” Victoria was happy with how she made her voice tremble.

The matron looked down at her kindly and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Oh don’t worry, deary. Look how they’ve shackled that brute. He won’t escape.”

“All the same,” Victoria said as she placed three silver coins on the table. “If that brute’s here, I think I’d better be off in the opposite direction.”

“Oh, but our town has so much to offer,” Cathy protested as Victoria got to her feet. “Don’t let that awful man ruin it for you.”

“You saw him though,” Victoria said, her voice scarcely a whisper. “He looked so… so…”

“Brutish?” Cathy offered. “Barbaric, savage, feral?”

“All of that and more,” Victoria replied with a weak smile. “Now, please excuse me. Your cake was lovely but seeing that awful man has rather made me lose my appetite.”

“I understand sweetheart,” Cathy said, nodding in understanding. “Do take care and promise me you’ll come back to Chamford sometime. It really is a lovely town. The sausages are to die for!”

“If the Gods permit,” Victoria offered.

“May they smile upon you,” Cathy called out as Victoria hurried for the door.

“And they upon you,” she answered, debating whether or not she should eliminate the woman after all. She was a loose end. However, the disappearance of someone as well known as the matron of the town’s only teahouse could raise more suspicion than her idle gossip.

Ultimately, she decided to spare the matron and offered her a wan smile before walking out onto the street. She decided to take a circuitous route towards the town centre. By her estimates, the wagon crew had departed just after dawn from the previous town so that they could arrive here in Chamford in time for breakfast. It would then be an eight hour journey to the next town, so she was confident that they would stop to sample the town’s famous pork sausages. She decided to walk towards the main street, where the Saucy Sausage, the town’s most famous tavern was.

Chamford was built on a crossroads, and trade was its primary source of revenue. The buildings fronting the main street were all taller than Washpool’s Church, and basreliefs of simple patterns had been etched into their stone facades. To Victoria’s irritation, the main street was packed with people who had gathered to gawk at the fabled and feared ogre, whose arrival in town had been the main topic of conversation over the past week. He was notorious throughout the kingdom, having raided several towns with his small band before he was finally captured. Now, he was being paraded around the kingdom before being taken to Yeldren, where he would be publicly executed.

The crowd was going to make her job more difficult, but she had to release him here or not at all. The next stop on the road was a fortress town, where security would be tight. So tight that she wasn’t sure if she could get past it with her Pledge Wife disguise, never mind stage the audacious rescue of a high profile criminal.

“Get back, get back please!” a man armed with a quarterstaff pleaded as he struggled valiantly to single handedly hold the curious crowd from the street.

He wore a tin badge identifying him as the town’s sole peacekeeper. Since the revolution, there had been little need for people of his type. Everyone was friendly to one another now. Everyone chipped in for the greater good, happily. Everyone was pliant. However, Victoria knew the truth of things, and every smile, every polite greeting, every interaction with these people filled her with revulsion.

Victoria looked down the road and saw that a huge crowd had gathered outside the tavern and decided that the prison transporters were unlikely to stop there. Over the past three days, she had overheard the women at The Parlour discussing their husbands’ favourite watering holes and recalled a conversation about a quiet establishment on the edge of town.

Deciding that was the wagon’s most likely destination, Victoria quickly made her way down the back streets, not caring that it appeared more suspicious for a woman like her to be walking these quiet, dingy alleys. Everyone’s attention would be on the main street, and she wanted to get there before everyone realized the ogre would not be appearing at the Saucy Sausage.

Taking a moment to marvel at how even the back alleys of post revolution Elfont were cleaner than even the paved parade routes of the Empire’s grandest, most noble promenades. After a few minutes of walking unerringly down the backstreets that she had carefully mapped out over the past three days, Victoria arrived at her destination on the northern edge of town. The street was deserted save for a pair of merchants loading sacks of grain from a warehouse into an old wagon. The revolution had eliminated the peoples’ obligations to the higher classes, and they thus had plenty of time for themselves. It seemed that today, most of them had decided to spend that free time on the main street, hoping to catch a glimpse of a notorious criminal.

Soon, the wagon came into view. They too had taken several detours to shake off any followers, which had allowed Victoria to arrive before them. One of the men on the wagon hopped off as the procession turned into a quiet side street close to the tavern. The man who had dismounted ran over to the wagon and whispered to the loaders quietly. Victoria saw money change hands, and the merchants grinned at one another while the man from the wagon ran into the tavern. Moments later, two of the armed soldiers walked briskly out of the side street with hungry looks on their faces.

Victoria took a deep breath and waited for the two merchants to resume their work before hurriedly crossing the road. Three men watched the prisoner while the other three ate. She could get this done quickly.

She walked in the side street and quickly found the wagon. The passenger was sitting inside with his head bowed, seemingly asleep, while his minders stood next to the cage and chatted amongst themselves.

Victoria took a deep breath and began an incantation. There was no time for subtlety. The street was quiet, and the slightest sound could bring people running. The temperature dropped once she completed her incantation, and her breath became visible. Vile power flowed through her vein. She reached out with her mind and touched the closest man.

“Robbie?” one of the armed guards asked.

His friend had fallen silent mid-sentence and frowned in confusion as he reached for his sword.

“What are you doing, Robbie?” the first guard asked with a nervous laugh.

“I don’t know,” Robbie replied.

His face turned into a mask of horror as he drew his sword and drove it through his friend’s neck. The wagon driver’s eyes widened in alarm. He opened his mouth to scream but Robbie sent his head flying before he could make a sound. Robbie’s face was a mixture of horror and confusion. He attempted to move his arms, but they would not listen as they took the sword in a two handed reverse grip and poised the tip over his own heart. With a powerful thrust, his arms drove the sword through his chest, and the man fell to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. The last thing Robbie saw was a young woman wearing a Pledge Wife’s dress running over to his body to remove the keyring from his belt.

There were only three keys on the ring, and Victoria quickly unlocked the wagon. The prisoner’s eyes fluttered open as the door swung open and he eyed her suspiciously. He was a hulking man, filthy and with a face that was obscured by a ragged, matted beard. The name ogre suited him well.

“Stay calm,” she whispered as she undid his chains. “I’m here to rescue you.”

The man creaked open an eye. There was a strange glint in it as he nodded in understanding. Victoria quickly undid his chains and hopped out of the wagon. The man followed her out, rubbing his wrists and ankles to restore circulation.

“Follow me. Quickly now,” Victoria said without turning around as she ran up the side street and tuned her senses to see if the deaths had been noticed. “We haven’t much time.”

Behind her, the prisoner stooped down to pick a sword up. He then stood straight for the first time in three days. He was a tall man, standing almost seven feet tall, with the breadth and thickness to match. Holding the sword in his hand, he padded forward, light on his feet for a man of his size. He approached his unlikely rescuer and without hesitation raised his sword before aiming a mighty two handed blow at her neck.

Then, he froze, stopped dead in his tracks by an unseen force with the blade inches from the young woman’s neck. The veins in his neck popped as he strained to move his blade, but it would not budge. Slowly, the young woman turned around and gave him an exasperated look.

“Seriously?”