“Cut to the chase.”

“Alright, alright. One hundred Fals.”

“One hundred and fifty.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Do I look like a jester to you?”

“…Fine. But you’ll have to give us more time to get the rest.”

“Okay. You have until the next full moon.”

“Heh, I see you’re true to your name, Black Wolf.”

“Just be sure to bring me the money or I’ll be coming after you next.”

“Ahem… Yes, fine.”

“Good.”

“Well… it was a pleasure doing business with you. I just hope you’ll live up to your name.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I will.”

--

Alistair crept along the top of the castle gables, moving slowly and hugging his body close to the stone in order to avoid being spotted by the guards on the ground below. Every so often, he paused to sweep his dark brown eyes across the nearby bell towers in search of sentries. It was a tedious process, but the king had made the mercenary’s job much more difficult as of late. The number of guards in and around the castle nearly doubled when he caught a small group of them by surprise a few days ago. He managed to take out four of them, but two escaped and reported the attack to King Berinon, and now the castle was practically crawling with knights. Thus, he was forced to move with added caution.

After taking a moment to make sure that there were no sentries nearby, Alistair rose to his feet and reached up to lift himself over the banister that rose above the gables. He landed softly on the high ledge and crouched down, peering back at the courtyard where the knights were marching on their patrols. So far, they hadn’t seemed to notice him. He let out a quiet laugh. The guards were like deer; when watching for danger, they never bothered to look up. As long as he didn’t run into any sentries in the palace, the mercenary would have an easy time slipping in and out.

Keeping low to the floor, Alistair followed the banister along the ledge until he came to a door leading inside the castle. He grasped the handle and gave it a tentative tug, only to find that it was locked. He clicked his tongue in mild annoyance and reached into his coat pocket, withdrawing a small black pouch filled with an odd assortment of metal bits. With them he could easily force the lock open, but he didn’t have much time. One of the bell tower sentries could step around the corner at any moment and spot him on the open ledge. He stuck a couple of thin metal strips into the key hole and began fiddling with the tumblers, pressing one ear to the door to listen for the soft clicks as they unlocked. Fortunately, it didn’t take long before he was able to turn the handle and slip inside.

Alistair wasted no time scurrying behind a curtain to conceal himself in case there were any guards near the floor he had ended up on. He stayed still for a moment as he listened for the metallic clank of marching knights. After hearing nothing but his own shallow breaths, he determined that the guards must be patrolling another hallway, and he stepped out from behind the curtain to complete his task.

Alistair walked lightly across the corridor to enter an empty room on the other side. He closed the door behind him and looked around, smiling triumphantly to himself. The floors and walls were made entirely of wood, as were the various pieces of furniture inside. It was a perfect place to start the fire, his last step before he targeted the king’s daughter. Until now, he had been committing various crimes across the kingdom to threaten King Berinon. It wasn’t part of his benefactors’ original plans, but he always enjoyed frightening his prey before he swooped in for the kill. Now, he was about to set fire to the king’s own home. What better way to terrify him could there be?

Alistair crouched down beside the hem of a curtain and reached into his coat to retrieve a set of flint and fire steel. He struck them together until one of the sparks caught the curtain and started to burn. Once that was done, he quickly slipped his tools back into his coat and headed for the door, hurrying across the hallway to get back to the outside ledge where he could make his escape. When the smoke began to spread, every guard in the castle would know he was here. He needed to get a head start so they wouldn’t catch sight of him until it was too late.

As he stepped outside, however, he heard an angry shout from above. Alistair looked up to see that one of the bell tower sentries had spotted him when he walked back onto the ledge. Well, it wasn’t as perfect as he had been planning, but the mercenary still had enough of a lead to get away. He threw the guard a grin, the moonlight reflecting in his eyes and making him look wild, and then flung himself over the banister, sliding down the edge of the gables as an arrow zipped past his head. Just before he fell from the roof, he caught the edge in his hands and dropped down more carefully so he wouldn’t break his legs.

Alistair didn’t wait to see if the other guards had noticed his presence yet. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he took off at a sprint towards the edge of the courtyard, hoping to outrun the heavily armored knights before they had a chance to cut him off. When he did glance over his shoulder, however, he saw thick smoke rising from the top castle windows. He laughed and looked back at the castle gate. The guards posted there were already beginning to lower it to trap him inside. He hastened his pace, his boots pounding as he hurried to outrun the dropping door. There was no way he was going to let himself be defeated by a few metal bars.

Just before the gate closed Alistair dove to the ground, tumbling through to the other side. He jumped back up to his feet and turned around to see the guards shouting at him from behind the bars. Instead of trapping him, they had locked themselves in the courtyard. The mercenary smirked, bending forward in a mocking bow, and then took off running before the knights could open the gate again.

With that, he had completed his last threat to the king. It was time for him to start making plans to kill Berinon’s daughter.

The King had been outraged for weeks. He had been subjected to ridicule for all of the Kingdom to see, as none of his men had managed to find whoever were threatening the him and his rule. King Berinon slept uneasily, which further contributed to his swaying moods. He had run out of patience, which was not all too uncommon; however, this time, he feared for his life.

”Is there no one in this land capable of obeying my commands?”, he shouted across the hall as the news of yet another threat came his way. King Berinon had called his nearest guards and council to discuss the best ways to deal with the agitators. Being the King of Edored, he was not unsusceptible to petty crimes, murders and small rebellions in faraway towns. Those were easily shut down with his forces, but this agitator was not so easily caught. Whoever it was, he was swift and slippery, always a step outside of the grasp of the King’s forces. ”If I don’t have this scoundrel’s head on a plate within a week, I will make sure I will have one of yours!”

The King’s words echoed across the halls of his castle long after the meeting had finished. As the people of castle returned to their doings, little did they know the two things would happen later that very day. The first thing was that their home would burn. The second thing was that their protected princess would, for the first time, leave the palace alone to pursue the agitator herself.

-

The Lady Elizabeth, Princess and sole heiress to the throne of Edored, felt the smell of charcoal and smoke clenching her throat. Before she even realised it, she was out of the comfort of her bedroom, her heart racing in her chest. It was not the smell of the wood pleasantly crackling in her chamber’s fireplace. No, it was the smell of hundreds of years old panels set aflame.

Putting on her simple robe before rushing out of her chamber, Elizabeth ran into her maids.

”My lady, there is a fire”, one of them said, while the other looked around with panic in her eyes. ”We shall escort you to your father and your safety immediately”, her maid added, taking Elizabeth by the hand and dragging her along the hallways. Turning around a corner, Elizabeth could see the smoke filling the halls before she hurried down the stairs to meet her father in the great hall of their private apartments.

Enraged, the King stood with angrily flushed cheeks, shouting at his servants to put out the fire. ”It’s the culprit again! It’s that culprit!”

His screams caused the maids and servants to run around the hall, each trying to satisfy every new command he shouted.

”Father, I’m here”, Elizabeth said as she curtseyed before the King. For once, he grew silent. Examining his daughter for several moments before even uttering a sound, King Berinon’s silence spoke more words to Elizabeth than any other shouted command could have done.

They had had the conversation before, so she knew exactly what he wanted. As soon as the King opened his mouth, Elizabeth knew what had to be done.

”Go”, was all the King said. Before he could say anything else, Elizabeth turned on her heel and rushed back to her chambers. Her maids, unaware of her agreement with her father, hurried after, begging her to go outside palace to protect herself. As Elizabeth ordered them to seek protection for themselves, they exchanged confused looks before following their Lady’s command. The palace was on fire, but the lady Elizabeth, Princess of Edored and vital to the survival of her family’s reign, was coolly returning to her chambers.

The smell of the raging smoke hung heavy in the air—the fire still was not under control. She rushed through the hallways, clinging to the edge of the walls, following secret pathways out of the castle that few residents knew about. Although most women of her estate and age would fear going alone without protection, she felt an odd sense of excitement. Perhaps it was at the prospect of her freedom that her father so suddenly had granted her, or perhaps it was the mere thought that she might actually be useful for something now. Being the only child to a King, and a daughter at that, meant that there were many responsibilities that she failed to take. Elizabeth had already disappointed her father at birth, so when he told her of his plans to make her responsible for finding the mercenary who had troubled his kingdom, she knew this was her only chance at proving her worth.

And so, when Elizabeth entered the courtyard, she was exasperated to see the mess the guards had created. The gates were closed, and the culprit lost behind them. It took minutes before the gates opened again, and the guards rode out on their horses with full speed. Seizing the opportunity, Elizabeth snuck out of the gate. Dressed simply, the princess headed into the town in an attempt to blend in like any other woman. Up until now, the armed forces of men her father had sent to look for whoever did these deeds had failed. She hoped that she, in her lonely disguise, would prove more successful.

Alistair practically flew into the woods when he heard the deep grating sound that accompanied the rise of the castle gate. He was no fool; he knew the knights would use their cavalry to chase him down. He just hoped they didn’t have dogs, too. I they set their wretched hounds on him, his head start would be worthless and they would catch up to him in no time at all. Out of all of the mercenary’s previous attacks, this one was definitely the closest he had come to getting captured. There were too many knights on too many horses with too many weapons and too much skill. All he had was a few short daggers and a dashing smile. The odds just weren’t fair.

As if things couldn’t get any worse, Alistair could now hear the baying of dogs in the distance. He spat a curse and made a sharp turn to his left, pointlessly hoping that they might lose his trail. His eyes swept over the trees as he searched for a way to throw off his pursuers. Just as he was beginning to get worried, he spotted something up ahead: a river. He hastened his pace, managing to nick his cheek on a stray tree branch as he hurried towards it. When he reached the bank, he flung himself into the rushing water, floundering for a moment before he was able to right himself and swim with the current.

Now that he was safe in the river—the water washed away his scent so the dogs couldn’t track him—Alistair was finally able to relax again. He laughed with a mixture of triumph and relief as he let the water carry him away from the knights. It had been a close call, but he made it. He was still alive and he could finish the rest of his mission. He could practically feel the sack of one-hundred and fifty Fals in his pocket. This was the most expensive job he had ever taken on, and all he had to do was assassinate a young girl. Easy money.

After spending a bit of time in the water, Alistair climbed back onto the bank. He couldn’t stay in this area for much longer. The knights would surely follow the river’s path to find him downstream. He didn’t want to stick around and let that happen, so he turned and headed for the nearest town, wringing water out of his clothes as he walked.

When he reached the edge of the town, Alistair began searching for a marketplace where he could buy some dry clothes. He had left all of his belongings—of which there were few—in a town further south of this part of the kingdom, so he had nothing except for what he carried on his body. His feral appearance already drew enough attention as it was. If he wanted to keep his head down and avoid the knights, he would have to get out of his obviously sopping clothes.

Alistair walked into the market, ignoring the curious stares he received from onlookers, and approached a vendor who was selling the items he needed. The man gave him the same bemused expression and crossed his arms, “I haven’t seen a single dark cloud in the sky for days. How did you come to get like that, young fellow?”

“Fishing accident,” Alistair lied with a casual shrug. “My boat was overturned and I fell into the water.”

“And now you’re lookin’ to buy some dry clothes, I assume?” the vendor chortled. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. My linens are some of the finest in the kingdom. My wife makes them, herself.”

“Is that so?” Alistair mused, absently fingering the cloth of one of the shirts on the cart. “Alright then. I’ll buy this from you.” He collected a plain shirt and a pair of trousers. “How does three Gros sound for all of it?”

“I won’t be takin’ anything less than four, sir,” the vendor shook his head.

“Fine,” Alistair rolled his eyes. He reached into his pocket and held out a few small coins, “Three Gros and I’ll throw in five Ecus.”

The vendor thought for a moment before cracking a toothy grin and snatching the money from the mercenary’s hand, “A pleasure doing business with you.”

Alistair nodded and turned away from the man, muttering bitterly to himself about overpriced markets. He looked around for a place to change clothes until he found a secluded alley that was away from the bustling crowds of people. As there were no places that were completely private in this area, he supposed it would have to do. He just had to be careful to watch for knights so he wouldn’t get caught in the middle of throwing a shirt over his head.

Elizabeth had never been out of the castle on her own. Whenever she left the castle, she had always accompanied by her father and his men, or her maids and guards. She had never been a part of the town. Instead, she had always felt like a statue to be gawked at—something inanimate in the eyes of the people. Now, on the other hand, she had the freedom to roam wherever she wanted. The thieves, the pardoners and the street children all passed her by at an arm lengths distance. Still, Elizabeth didn’t feel unsafe—had she worn her elaborate and all too expensive gowns, she would have made for an easy target of robbery and assault. The people would have recognised their princess straying outside of the walls of her confinement inside the castle. Now, on the other hand, she blended in perfectly walking across the bustling town squares.

Elizabeth had spent countless days sitting on the cold stone window sills of the castle, looking down at the town below her and day dreaming of what it would be like living as a merchant or knight, so she was hardly a stranger to the layout of the dwindling alleys and small houses. Still, although she looked as though she navigated the market of the town with ease, she was in awe at how lively it was. Whenever she had passed through accompanied by the royal guards, everyone had stopped what business they were doing and glared back at her in silence. Now, no one paid the slightest attention to the young woman looking around the square, except for a farmer shouting across his stall.

”Young girl!”, he said, attempting to grab her attention. ”How about these fine apples for you? Freshly picked from my very own farm!”

Startled, Elizabeth glanced at the abundance of red apples filling the cart in front of her. Although they indeed looked rather fresh and juicy, she politely declined the farmer’s offer.

”No thank you, good sir”, she said, just stopping herself from curtseying. She had, in her moment of wonder, almost forgotten who she were supposed to be and why she was here. There was a reason why she was dressed in the simple gown, her long, golden hair in a simple braid—she simply had no time to waste. ”Wishing you a good day”, she hastily added before heading off down the market.

There were a thousand possibilities, she thought to herself as masses of people passed her by. The mercenary could have gone anywhere, and seeing as the royal guards and their dogs that her father had sent out were not anywhere near the market at the moment, she assumed that whoever set parts of the castle on fire was not present where she was. Still, it was a moment of investigation. Not only of how she were supposed to carry herself as a commoner, but also of the talk of the town. If she could find a popular inn, she might hear rumours of the culprit and his rumoured identity there. If there was one thing that was common across all estates, rich and poor, it was the desire to gossip. An attack on the king’s castle itself surely would be on everyone’s lips in the evening, and Elizabeth needed to hear what people had to say.

Deciding to head towards the edge of the market, where she was more likely to find an inn among the townhouses, Elizabeth curiously peeked down every secluded alley. Most of them were empty, but every now and then, a stray cat slithered around the edge of the houses, or loud whispers escaped from the far end of the darkened alleys.

It took a few moments before Elizabeth heard the sounds of hoofs hitting the cobblestoned market square. As she turned around, she could see two men, clad in her father’s colours and riding on their fine high horses, surveying the market. Her heart beating in her chest, Elizabeth scurried down one of the secluded alleys. While her father might know about her task, she was not so sure his guards and servants were aware that he had let his only daughter go alone to town to find the mercenary. Still looking back her shoulder to make sure that the guards had not seen her, she did not realise that there was already someone hiding in the alley. With a loud thud, she bumped straight into a dark-haired man, almost causing her to fall over.

Alistair slipped away from the bustling crowds in the marketplace and made his way to the alley. He took a moment to glance over his shoulder just in case he had been followed by a local guard before he ducked out of sight, moving deep enough into the shadows that anyone passing by wouldn’t be able to see him. Once he was satisfied that he was fully concealed, he quickly began changing out of his wet clothes and switching into the plain, dry shirt and trousers he had purchased from the vendor. Of course, his boots were still rather soaked, but there was nothing he could do about that. It was late and the market would be closing soon. He could already hear the shouts of the knights as they guided the townspeople back to their homes. He smirked to himself. Ever since he had started causing trouble around the kingdom, the knights had begun enforcing a stricter curfew in a fruitless effort to catch their tormentor. Sadly for them, however, he wasn’t foolish enough to go wandering about in the dead of night and get himself caught. He might have been a traveler, but he still had a secure place to sleep after the sun went down.

Turning his attention back to the heap of sopping clothes in his arms, Alistair realized that he couldn’t simply walk back out of the alley with his gear in plain sight. The knights would spot him in an instant. If he wanted to keep his head down, he would have to find a place to hide it until he could retrieve it later on. Still… he didn’t want to abandon all of his equipment. Perhaps he could at least find somewhere to keep some of the smaller tools.

Alistair rummaged through the pockets of his coat and pulled out one of his daggers, the pouch of metal strips that he used to pick locks, and a short length of rope. He knit his brow as he examined the objects in his hands. They weren’t much, but they were better than nothing. He slipped the dagger into his boot and dropped the pouch into his pants’ pocket, finally tying the rope around his waist in a makeshift belt. With these, he wasn’t laden with equipment, but he also wasn’t completely lacking in case he needed supplies. The dagger and rope would come in handy pretty much anywhere, and one never knew when one might need to pick a locked door. At least now he had a few necessities to carry along if he found himself in trouble before he could get back to the rest.

Alistair walked slowly along one of the alley walls, searching for a place to hide the rest of his things. A bit farther down, he found a pile of straw that looked quite old and smelled faintly of mildew. He doubted anyone would want to touch it, which made it the perfect place to stow his clothes and equipment. He knelt down and moved some of the straw aside, wrinkling his nose at the odor while he set down his things and covered them back up. As he rose to his feet again, the mercenary made a mental note to give it all a thorough washing when he recovered it later. He wore the appearance of a feral man, but he didn’t want to smell like one.

Just as he was about to turn around to head back into the marketplace, Alistair heard something that made him freeze: Someone was running towards him. He felt his heart skip a beat. The alley must not have been as dark as he thought; the knights must have seen him. Consumed by a sudden instinct to get away, he spun around to fight off whoever was coming to attack him, but the other man was faster. He stumbled as he felt a body slam into his, nearly causing him to fall to the ground. Having never fought a knight who tackled his enemies before, Alistair looked up in surprise and found that he hadn’t been struck by a guard at all. Instead, he saw a young girl standing before him. He stared at her blankly for a moment, still recovering from his initial shock, before he collected himself.

“My apologies,” he murmured, examining the girl with newfound curiosity. A dozen questions flitted through his mind at her appearance. What was a pretty young thing like her doing out in the streets so late at night? Why was she running? She didn’t look like a criminal or a prostitute, so he couldn’t imagine why the knights would be after her. Perhaps she was in danger? He took a tentative step towards the girl. Under normal circumstances, he would have brushed her off since she was of no concern to him, but she had made such a dramatic entrance that he couldn’t help but feel a bit intrigued—well, that and she wasn’t too hard on the eyes, either. A nice figure, bright eyes, and pretty blonde hair that reflected the moonlight… He supposed he could take a few moments to inquire about her wellbeing.

“Are you alright, miss?” Alistair asked.