Libro hated to admit it, but he was starting to grow fond of having weapons shoved in his face. Ever since he'd joined the Vangen Royal Guard it had been one razor sharp brandishing after another. A butcher's knife in Byzantia. A sword as black as night in Middengard. And now a jagged spear, in Danic no less.

"Halt!" said the man with the spear. He thrusted it high, nearly prodding Libro's nose off had his horse not nervously stepped back. "Halt, I say!"

"Easy now, my good man. Easy." Libro pulled on the reins with his one good hand, thighs clenched tight around the horse's flank to stay upright. Several more men fizzled out from the darkness.

"What are you doing here?" The one with the spear demanded, giving Libro another threatening jab.

"You can't tell by my attire?" Libro asked as he slowly eyed the crowd. There were four men in total. Each dressed in shabby armor and equally shabby weapons. Their chainmail was little more than leather patchwork over rusted loops, their jerkins painted in a sloppy mix of blacks and purples. None of them appeared well fed, faces pitted in shadow from frequently missed meals. He almost felt sorry for them, the poor bastards.

"Why, I'm a wayward merchant from a far away land hoping to sell my wares." With a graceful part, Libro slid open his traveling cloak, revealing a tough, Star Steel breastplate, freshly knit chainmail gleaming beneath. A well oiled sheath sat strapped to his side, sword hilt poking out.

The four men took a wayward step back. "Don't play coy with us, lad!" One of the footmen snarled. "We're in no mood for games! Answer the damn question already!"

Libro felt his brows rise. As wary as they were hungry, it seemed. Like starved, beaten dogs. "Right. I'll waste no more words then." He reached into his cloak, causing one footman to panic as he drew his sword. "Easy! Easy now!" He pulled his hand out, a letter clutched between thumb and forefinger.

"What's that?" The one with the spear asked. One of his compatriots warily stepped forward to grab it.

"A search warrant," Libro said truthfully as the man reached out. "From the Empress herself."

The footman's hand froze, fingertips brushing the soft vellum, blood red seal barely shimmering under the dark skies of Danic. "The Empress, you said?" The man's voice came out in a hushed whisper, like a stone being gently ground into dust.

"That's right." Libro smiled and pressed the letter into his hand. "Would you like to read it?"

The footman stumbled back, dropping his sword as he clutched the letter with both hands. He swallowed nervously as his gaze fell upon the emblazoned mark of the Empress. The four armed cross.

With a few nervous nicks, the footman peeled back the seal and began to read. He squinted at the letters, eyes growing wider and wider with every sentence. His shoulders slumped as he finally reached the end.

"This is a fool's errand, my friend," the footman said as he tore his eyes from the letter. With gentle hands he folded up the paper, handing it back to Libro. "Turn back now. The man you seek has been dead for a long time. Our High King made sure of it."

"Alas, I must persist in my search." Libro gave a helpless shrug, the stump of his right arm appearing beneath the cloak. "When the Empress gave me her orders, I swore to follow them through. I'm afraid you'll have to let me pass."

"The borders are closed regardless!" One of the other footmen yelled back, giving his ax a hardy shake. "King's orders!"

"Is that what I'll tell the Empress when I ride back?" Libro leaned back in his saddle, eyeing the man who'd said it. "Half a year of hard traveling and that's the answer I'll give her?" He tilted his head to one side. "King's orders? How do you think that will fair for the rest of us?"

"Please, sir." It was the footman with the spear speaking up now. He held the weapon to one side, no longer threatening, but pleading this time. "There's nothing in Danic that you want. Whomever you're searching for, it isn't worth it."

Libro sighed, giving the man his bravest smile. "Unfortunately, it's not my choice in the matter."

"Shit on this," one of the footmen cursed. "We'll have to take him to see the farking Forsworn then. You remember what he told us? Anyone who comes here gets taken in for questioning."

"Do we have too?" The one who'd formerly owned the sword asked, a curious quaver sticking to his voice. "Couldn't we just let him pass?"

"And risk that bastard's fury instead?" The fourth footmen swatted the other man hard across the shoulder. "I'd rather get skinned alive, yah daft idiot!"

"How far is it to the Forsworn?" Libro asked, cutting cleanly into the argument.

"A couple miles, I reckon," one of them said.

"Have you any horses?"

The four looked at one another in several states of confusion. "I think we ate them a while back," the one with the spear answered.

"Grand," Libro said as he started to dismount. "I'll walk."

It was a long march to the Captain's whereabouts, the crunch of dirt and gravel filling the solemn silence as they trudged through eerie darkness. One of the footmen walked ahead, guiding them with a torch, its meager flame barely illuminating the ground. The other three kept close to Libro, weapons held lazily at their sides as if they were more hauling a corpse to its grave than a prisoner to their leader.

"We're here," the one with the torch said after some time, breath misting in the chill air as he looked up. Before them stood a crumbling tower of mortared stone, jutting proudly from the ground like the fist of a long dead god. Ivy crawled over one side of the wall, several candles flickering from the windows. A hastily built stable stood crooked to one side, no doubt having been empty for quite some time.

"Through here." Libro was guided closer as a door was pulled open. Its metal hinges squealed in protest as a shaft of pale light crept over the ground.

He was about to take a step when one of the footmen stopped him, the one who'd taken the letter. "Please, lad. Let me talk to him. Make up some story. Whip up some tale. You can still turn back."

"You and I both know we can't allow that," Libro said, slipping his iron mask on. The tone of his voice came out solid and undeniable, his face unreadable, his thoughts unknowable. As the old Captain would have done it.

The man winced and nodded his head. "Aye, true enough I suppose. Go on then." And he waved him inside.

The interior of the tower was much the same as its exterior. Its walls were sturdy enough, but the mortar had chipped away over time, water dripping where cracks had begun to form. A few puddles lay about the room, the air smelling of damp earth and mildew. Another door stood nearby, parallel to a single occupant jail cell. The stairs leading up looked dangerously rotten.

"Wait here." One of the footmen stepped over to the door. He sucked in a tight breath, blew it out, and raised his fist to knock. "Begging your pardon, sir," he began to say, knuckles gently rapping against the wood. "But there's been some trouble at the border tonight."

Libro expected a man's voice to answer back. What he heard instead sent a cold knife stabbing into his spine. It was as if the very hells themselves had spoken, a gurgling hiss that gnawed at his guts as it spoke.

"Trouble?"

The footman at the door visibly shivered, lower lip trembling as he forced out the words. "Yes, sir. A man from the Empire. He comes bearing the Empress of Byzantia's seal."

"Empress?" Another word, another stab in Libro's stomach. He was starting to wonder if he'd made a mistake riding alone. Maybe he should have had the others with him after all.

"Yes...sir." The footman was barely keeping his composure now, face pale as curdled cream. His knees knocked together so hard you could hear the bones rattling inside

"Send him in."

Libro winced as the door slowly peeled open, inky blackness waiting for him in the beyond. One of the footmen placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle push. A final act of kindness, maybe. He stepped inside, coughed as he realized how cold it was. The temperature in the room was beyond freezing, patches of frost growing along the ground, on the walls, on the very ceiling.

"Sit." A chair slid out of the shadows, groaning to a stop before Libro. He swallowed back the bile and obeyed, wondering just what in the seven hells he'd gotten himself into.

And then he saw it. What he'd first thought as candle flames were in fact two eyes glaring at him from the dark. They glowed like pale ice illuminated in moonlight, freezing the very blood in his veins.

The eyes drew closer. "So, you're the trouble my men speak of?" The shape of a man emerged into view, dressed for battle, a weapon clearly sheathed at its side.

It took an effort to pull the iron mask back on, but Libro found his fear slowly melting away. At least on the outside. He was near shitting himself on the inside. "Not on purpose, at least."

The creature chuckled, a throaty, gurgling sound that made Libro's gut's squirm. "That's what they all say." The monster's good humor was soon lost though, as its next words bore a hard edge to them. "Why are you here?"

"The letter can explain." Libro held it out. He nearly gasped as a gray, clawed hand shot out snatching the paper from his fingertips, his composure nearly broken from the sudden fright. Whatever stood before him now may have once been a man, but was something entirely else now. Something wrong.

"Hadrada," The creature hissed out the word as if it were a curse. "I have not heard that name in a long time." It turned its attention back to Libro. "He truly lives?"

"Yes," he managed to say.

"How?"

"Ask him yourself." Libro swallowed past the growing lump in his throat. "When I finally track him down."

"The High King will know of this." The creature's eyes narrowed into a vile glare. "And he will have questions. You will be coming with me."

"I have amnesty," Libro blurted out, hoping the Empire's reputation might save him somehow. Nido knew it wasn't going to be his quick wit. "I cannot be taken against my will. It says so in the letter."

"What letter?"

Libro felt his breath crawl as the sound of ripping paper echoed off the walls. Bits of tiny vellum tumbled out of the shadows, one landing on his boot. So much for reputation, it seemed.

"In here," one of the footmen said, guiding Libro into the prison cell. "Water if you need it, but we've no food to spare."

"No trouble, my good man. You've been very kind to me so far. I don't know how to repay you." He eyed the walls, judging if he could somehow claw his way out, but the stonework still looked inescapably solid.

"You could have repaid me by turning back," the footman muttered as he turned to shut the door. "Now you've made it worse for all of us."

"There's something wrong with your Captain, isn't there?" Libro asked, giving the man pause. "He isn't human anymore."

"It doesn't matter what he is now. We'll all be dead soon, anyway." The footman went back to shutting the door.

"The four of you could help me escape then. There's still a chance for you to make this right. It doesn't have to end like this."

The lock clicked shut as the footman turned the key, slipping it back into his coat. He looked up at Libro through the bars, dead, corpse-like eyes staring into him. "The idea of escape ended a long time ago, my friend. The Dark Prophecy made sure of it."

He walked away, leaving Libro with more questions than answers. He stood there, wondering if he could still do the right thing, wondering if he could somehow still give these four men a second chance.

But he had learned early in life that second chances can't be ignored if you truly value your life. With a heavy heart he strode over to the window sill, placed one hand on the thick, iron bars and gave it the lightest tap.

***