The main room of the Last Leg Inn was filled to the brim. In two days' time, the guarded convoy would set out from the inn to cross the Coldwood and enter the Northlands. For everyone that was at the inn already, there wasn't much more to do than sleep, eat and drink. Some people tried talking, but that ended in a brawl more often than not. The fact, that the mercenaries hired to keep order and protect the caravan in the forest were often the ones starting the fight, did nothing to assuage Sven's growing fear of the journey.

Olaf, his merchant partner, he did not consider him a friend, had chosen a new victim of his deluded ramblings. Sven was thankful for the moment of peace this brought him. The journey had grated on his substance, and if he were a different man, he would have left their group already. He listened in on the stream of words spewing from Olaf's mouth.

“... when we started from Norlys. My good friend Sven here was terribly afraid that we wouldn't make it, but I'm sure he is happy that I convinced him to come with us, back then. He's always worried,” Olaf chuckled, “but you get used to his personality after a while. After a year on the road, we are now almost back home. And the spices we brought are going to sell for a fortune. You have a rich man in front of you, young lady, let me tell you that. We traveled to the Pincer Peninsula, far to the south. I can tell you stories of that place, my dear, stories you would not believe. But they are all true, of course. Except the ones I made up.” Olaf gave the woman a wink.

Sven regretted listening to Olaf's stream of consciousness immediately. He wanted to take a sip of beer from his mug, but apparently Olaf had taken Sven's after he had finished his own. Sven sighed inwardly and turned to Ingrid, the final person of their little travel group. Olaf liked to call them merchants, but they were more fortune hunters. Taking unreasonable risks in order to fulfill some fleeting idea in Olaf's deranged mind.

“Can we train again tomorrow?” He asked Ingrid. “I'm afraid there will be fighting in the Coldwood.” He worried about their upcoming crossing of the forest but knew that his meager fighting abilities wouldn't make a difference, in the end. It was still better to do something to prepare.

Ingrid shrugged. “Sure, if you insist. But there's only so much I can show you. You know all the basics already and I'm not the girl for fighting finesse.” She gave him a shrug. “The problem is in your mind, Sven. Meditate on it or some such. If you think a good old knock on the head'll help you, I'd be happy to try.”

er grin faded and she added after a moment, “The Source knows it's not training you are lacking.”

Ingrid was Sven's childhood friend and he was happy she was there. She had saved his and Olaf's life more than once on their journey when the situation demanded someone's head knocked in. Head knocking really was her specialty.

Sven turned back to Olaf and the poor woman next to him. She continued to stoically spoon her steaming soup, as if oblivious to Olaf's increasingly suggestive remarks.

“... with such an innocent young lady as you are. I could imagine a travel arrangement with my group, we still have some space in our wagon. I'd love you to join us. There might be other – ” he gave her a slimy grin “benefits to this arrangement.” Olaf tried to casually rest a hand on her shoulder but twitched back as if stung. Holding his completely unhurt hand, he gave the woman an affronted look.

The woman turned her head and examined their group, Olaf, Ingrid, and Sven. Now that she was no longer hunched over her soup, Sven was not sure that Olaf had gauged the age of the woman correctly. She had short black hair and a face unmarked from weather or age, but her dark brown eyes were those of a much older person. It was somewhat unnerving. Then the woman spoke with an emotionless voice.

“So the wagon outside with the spices and magical trinkets from the south is yours. Hmm. I hope you are aware that we are not in the Northlands yet, so you are breaking the law.”

Sven froze. That was why she seemed so strange. The woman had to be from the Inquisition. They were all dead. Hanged within the month most likely. Damn Olaf. He had warned him, that this idea of his was going to end badly.

He forced himself to breathe as he looked around. Olaf had become completely silent, his wide eyes still looking at the inquisition woman. Ingrid had casually rested her hand on the hilt of her sword and though she seemed to relax in her chair, Sven knew, she would be ready to fight at a moment's notice. If she managed to kill the woman, that would only make it worse. They'd probably be hanged twice. He forced himself to take another breath.

Unconcerned by the tension of their group, the woman continued. “It's none of my business, but you might find it interesting that an inquisition team is on its way to the border. They'll probably be here by tomorrow and your smuggled items leak their echo everywhere. It would be hard for them to miss it.” She stood up and picked her travel gear from the floor. Among them was a strange lengthy object, wrapped in cloth. She gave them a last dull glance before leaving “Not that I care.”

Olaf slumped back in his seat and Sven managed to take a breath again. What a strange encounter.

“Well that was something,” said Ingrid. Her hand had left her hilt, but she was still nowhere near relaxed.

“What a snake.” Olaf shook his head. “She seemed so nice.”

Sven imagined how satisfying it would be to choke the life out of this empty-headed pig. He should have done it a long time ago, but as they said, the second-best time is right now. He did not actually do anything, of course. He never did. Luckily, Ingrid interceded.

“Damn it, Olaf. Think before you speak for once in your life. She warned us. I don't know what her deal was, but she's definitely not with the inquisition.”

Olaf still did not get it. “Yes yes, she scared us all with this inquisition thing. Big whoop. But we'll be back home in the north soon enough and our fat king Gustav doesn't let them in, blessed be his gluttonous soul.”

This time Ingrid actually smacked him on the head. Much softer than Sven would have done it, had he the guts to do so. It was still satisfying. “She said they'll be here tomorrow, Olaf. Tomorrow! And if the Inquisition is known for one thing, then it's punishing even the smallest infringement of their idiotic law. Damn them and their blasted Iron Statute.”

Ingrid's voice had become louder as she spoke and she was almost shouting at the end. More than a couple of patrons gave them wary looks.

“I think it's time for us to leave,” said Sven in a low voice. “It seems we have outstayed our welcome in this establishment.”

“I think we have outstayed our welcome in this damned kingdom,” Ingrid hissed, as the three of them paid and made their way outside to their wagon. It was almost full moon, so the courtyard was reasonably lit.

“We didn't need them anyway. Big groups only attract the bandits. Let's make the way through the Coldwood on our own, see how those inquisition freaks like that.”

Sven looked at Olaf, disbelieving. That was one of the stupidest ideas he had ever heard from Olaf's mouth, and that was a high bar to reach. They would be slaughtered like sheep. Like sheep that were stupid enough to wander into the Coldwood, without at least a dozen mercenaries to protect them.

What they should be doing was throwing those trinkets Olaf had insisted on buying away. They wouldn't even earn them a lot of money. A flute that played itself, a floating mirror; and a stone that cooled its surroundings. What would you do with that in the North? No one needed more ice back home.

They should just throw them away and hide for a month or so, until whatever had brought the inquisition to the border had blown over. Then they could catch the next protected convoy into the north, where Sven could settle down and lead a comfortable life with the money they would make.

But to Sven's dismay, Ingrid did not seem to share his opinion. She gave them a toothy smile. “You know what, I think you're right. The convoy would have only held us down. Next week, we'll be home in Vysund.

Sven said nothing.

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It was about midday when they heard a rumbling from the back of their wagon. They had traveled through the night to get ahead of any potential pursuers and all of them were dead tired. Olaf had sobered hours ago and if he was exhausting before, his presence was positively atrocious now.

Ingrid continued to steer the horses pulling their wagon, but Olaf and Sven looked back to locate the source of the noise. The woman that had warned them yesterday clambered out of the back of their wagon, clambered over the wheels and dropped next to them on the steering bench in front of the wagon.

After a moment of stunned silence, the woman began to speak. “I hope you don't mind me taking advantage of Olaf's offer from yesterday. I had in fact been looking for a ride across the border a place to sleep. My horse died. Again.” The woman took a look around, then turned her attention back to the merchants sitting next to her on the bench. “My name is Lucia, by the way. I suppose we are on your way north right now? Big spruce trees. Dense ferns. Yeah, looks like the Coldwood to me.”

Ingrid did not know what to say. Even Olaf was speechless for once, looking at her with the expression of a dead fish. Ingrid committed this image to memory. She began to like the woman. Lucia.

“Well, you did invite her, Olaf.” She said with a grin. “Fair is fair.”

Finally, Olaf caught himself. He gave Lucia a wary look. “Did you invent the story about the Inquisition to get a free trip North?”

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“Oh no, no. They're quite real and would've certainly caught you. They were looking for me, after all. But don't worry, they won't follow you into the Coldwood. Nobody's that crazy.” With these words, Lucia put her feet up, leaned back against the wagon and closed her eyes. “And thanks for your hospitality. I know you northerners would be reasonable people.”

Olaf relaxed a bit, but Sven still seemed wary of their unexpected guest.

“You are a wild mage then?” Sven asked. “This is why they hunt you? You know that the Northlands don't take refugees anymore, right?”

Lucia opened her eyes again. “So Gustav gave in to the Guild's pressure? Never thought he would. He is still king, right?”

Confused, Sven answered. “Yes Gustav III is still alive, though probably not for long. He's eating himself to death.”

“Ah, of course. Gustav III. And for the refugee thing, I don't intend to go around telling everyone that the Inquisition is hunting me. I'll be fine.”

“Well, you have told us that you are a fleeing mage, and we aren't even in the North yet,” Ingrid observed.

“Yeah, about that. It would be nice if you didn't tell anyone. And confessing that the Inquisition is after me is supposed to be trust-building or something like that. You would feel pretty stupid, if you only realized that, once I'm arrested, after all.” With these words, Lucia closed her eyes again and dozed off.

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Only when the moon slipped behind the treetops and the horses in front of the wagon could no longer safely follow the road through the forest, did Ingrid call for them to make camp for the night. They had decided to travel as long as possible each day, to shorten the time in the Coldwood.

During the day, Ingrid and Sven had tried to start a conversation with the mage Lucia multiple times, but she had not been very forthcoming with her story. Not very surprising, given her situation. Ingrid thought, that she'd probably been ripped from her old life by the inquisition's assault. She knew how they operated. Attack at dawn, while everyone slept. Put the whole family of the mage in chains and the neighbors too, for good measure. Drag them away into some far away dungeon and put their house to the torch. Her mother had survived a similar experience when she'd been a child. Not that she could use her magic, but a flicker of it was enough for the Mages Guild. They were relentless. Fortunately, the North had accepted fleeing mages back then.

Olaf was still upset that she had resisted his questionable charm and made him look stupid when she had climbed out of their wagon, so he ignored her as much as possible. Lucia on the other hand made that relatively easy, as she had slept almost all of the trip.

Even after they stopped to make camp, she only took her travel bag and the strange object wrapped in cloth and lay down on the forest floor to sleep. Apparently, she had no interest in keeping a night watch herself.

Ingrid sat down next to Olaf and Sven. They did not dare to make a fire, lest it lured bandits to them, but they had a small storm lamp.

“I don't trust her,” said Olaf.

“That's just because she made you look stupid. Get over it, Olaf. And there is little we can do short of leaving her to die in the forest, anyway. We better just hurry up and part ways with a friendly goodbye once we're on the other side of the Coldwood.”

“Maybe she can defend us if bandits attack?” Sven tried to add to the conversation. “She is a mage after all. Aren't they supposed to create fireballs and lightning bolts?”

Olaf rolled his eyes at that. “No Sven, wild mages haven't got any training. Maybe she can heal your ingrown toenail, but that's the best we can hope for. She doesn't strike me as very capable, honestly.”

Sven gave Olaf a doubtful look but kept his thoughts to himself. Ingrid was a bit worried about him and Olaf. He could smell weakness like a dire wolf, and Sven exuded weakness. If you didn't push back from time to time, Olaf only got encouraged. And during their little adventure, Sven had given Olaf ample encouragement. There was little she could do, anyhow. Sven had to learn this lesson for himself.

“I think the Inquisition imprisoned her family and she barely escaped. That would explain her odd behavior and why she travels alone with almost no possessions” Ingrid interjected. “She's probably still grieving.”

Olaf huffed at that. “Don't like her anyway. Something about her is off.”

They decided the order of their night watch and then Ingrid went to sleep. She had the last watch and already dreaded getting up again in the morning.

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Sven woke to the sound of Ingrid shouting. He slowly opened his eyes, seeing the sky, which was colored only by the slightest touch of dawn. He sat up and finally Ingrid's words reached his half-asleep brain. Bandits.

At once, he jumped to his feet and took in his surroundings. Ingrid rushing into the forest, her sword drawn. Olaf and Lucia as tired and confused as he. As Lucia got up, a black-bladed sword disentangled itself from her sheets and fell to the ground.

Olaf's eyes narrowed. “You've got a sword? Are you with the bandits, have you set them on us?” He spat. Then, without taking his eyes off Lucia. “I knew we couldn't trust her. Take the the sword, Sven.”

Lucia gave him an exhausted look. “Have you any evidence for – ” She stopped, sighed. “I guess such things don't matter to you anyway. Maybe this is something you understand: there's a big scary demon inside of this sword that will eat your brain if you touch it.” Lucia turned and walked to the back of their wagon.

“Take the sword, Sven, we still can't trust her. And I need you defending us when the bandits manage to get past Ingrid. You know I don't fight.”

Sven hesitated. “I don't think that's a good idea. Haven't you heard what she said?”

“She's obviously lying. Now don't snivel around and get the damn sword,” Olaf replied. When Sven didn't move at first he hit him on the back of his head. “Go!”

Sven crouched slowly and after a moment of deliberation, he used the cloth to carefully pick up the sword. He stood up again, the wrapped sword in his hand. Nothing happened. So Lucia had been lying. Then his world went black.

It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person, Sven. It truly is.

The voice came from the endless darkness surrounding him and disturbingly, also from the inside of his own mind, where it rang like a shattered bell. Sven tried to move but there weren't even any limbs to move. Wherever he was, his body had been left behind. That was lucky because his heart would have given out just about then.

I know you are scared. I know all your fears. But do not worry, I bring only – gifts.

Sven heard the warped voice say the word, but in his mind, he could only think of death and ruin. Whatever this creature considered a gift, death would be a mercy in comparison. He wanted nothing more than to be gone. To flee. Withdraw himself, as he always did, when things became too much. But he had no physical body anymore, standing between him and the world. His mind was laid bare. There was no escape.

Let me show you something – beautiful.

A terrible smile that frayed at Sven's dwindling sanity resonated with these words. He wanted to scream, but couldn't. He wanted to cry, but what good would it be? This was no ordinary terror mere tears were enough to express.

Remember this, Sven. Every end brings a new beginning. Such is the circle.

He felt the being grasp something inside his very soul. An aspect of his self. Then he was ripped away, flung into the emptiness. He was diminished, less than he had been. Before his mind's eye flashed all his fear, the terror of a lifetime. Every paralyzing thought, every time he had hesitated, every doubt that had weighed him down. It was all he was now, everything.

Then he died.

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A new Sven opened his eyes, still standing in the Coldwood. Still holding the sword of Baal. Still in front of a puffed-up Olaf.

“You see, nothing wrong with this oh-so-cursed sword. Now get the damn mage and – “ He saw something in Sven's eyes and gave him a strange look. “Is everything alright?”

Sven did not answer, but he let the cloth that had protected him from directly touching the sword fall to the ground. The bone hilt firmly in his hand.

“Could you – ahh stop holding the sword. Perhaps?”

Sven tilted his head as if listening to someone. Then, with a flick of his hand, he cut Olaf's throat, who fell to the ground with a gurgling sound. Sven knelt down next to him, blood soaking into his clothes.

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Ingrid noticed the whir of the arrow flying through the air and dived away to protect herself. That had been unnecessary as it turned out. The arrow went wildly off target. No experienced archers. Good. She shouted to wake up the group, then rushed into the underbrush in the direction the arrow had come from. The two scouts revealed their position by drawing their weapons, crooked knives. The sound the steel made was distinct to Ingrid's trained ears. There had been quite a few fights on their journey, unfortunately.

She saw them, trying to hide in a thorny bush, and stormed towards them. They were scrawny and looked barely like adults. Before they could react, she dispatched them with a knock on the head. When the main group came, she'd probably have to kill, but she was resolute on doing so as little as possible. Especially for bandits so young. They should get the chance to change their way, find a better way of life.

Ingrid rushed back into camp. There was no time to lose, the main group of bandits would soon be there. The fight would get grizzly, with her trying to protect all of them. She hoped the mage had an ace up her sleeve.

Then she saw Olaf's body on the ground. Sven kneeling in front of him, crying. Were the bandits already here? But no, there were no others around, only Lucia searching for something in their wagon. She moved closer and saw the sword in Sven's hands. The blood-stained sword. And Sven was not crying. He was laughing. Ingrid stopped.

“I told them the sword was cursed, but they never listen, do they?” she heard Lucia say behind her. Apparently, she had found what she was looking for.

“What?”

Now Sven looked up from the dead Olaf. There were bloodstains all over him. A feral smile on his face. “Wonderful, isn't it?” Sven stood up and Ingrid raised her sword in answer. Lucia only gave him a skeptical look. “Don't worry Ingrid, it's still me. But Baal has healed me. I am finally free.” Sven started to laugh again. It was a laugh of pure joy. “I used to drown in my fear and didn't even notice it. How did I ever do anything?”

“Whoever you are, lay down the sword and let me bind your hands. Slowly.”

Sven laughed wildly. “Of course. Of course my friend. You have no idea. It is wonderful.” He let the black sword fall to the ground. He stepped towards Ingrid and let his hand be bound behind his back. “You know Olaf had it coming sooner or later.”

Ingrid gave him a disgusted look then stepped back and took in her surroundings. All around them came people from the woods, dressed in rags, underfed. At least twenty. They had bows ready with arrows pointing at them. Carefully, Ingrid raised her arms.

“Take what you want, we have food, a bit of gold, trade goods. But please let us leave alive. We don't want trouble with you. The scouts you send are still alive. I just knocked them out. Let us go. Please.”

The bandits crept closer, sharing hungry glances. They did not reply. Did not lower their bows.

With a sigh, Lucia took something out of her pocket. It was a chain of spinal bones, spiky red runes etched into them. Without hesitation, she ripped the chain in half and Ingrid heard the awful crack of breaking bones. All of the bandits slumped to the ground like puppets with their strings cut. Their necks twisted at unnatural angles. A woman lying on the ground behind Ingrid gurgled, blood trickling from her mouth. The bones in Lucia's hands had turned to ash.

“I had hoped to avoid that.”