Knowing the guards trail my blind side, I do not bother to look back. Instead, I keep riding hard north-east on a great plain of grass until I behold what can only be a settlement in the distance. I enter the lane betwixt humble homes; that's when I decide to lose myself, steering the horse then quickly jumping from the saddle into a haystack. And adjusting to the encumbering hay, I realize how fortunate I am, for no soul is stirring to witness my flight and the riderless horse galloping beyond community reach.

As I have afforded no minor offense this day, my salvation relies on patience. My lord's men are bound to seek me in the hours preceding dawn.

Evening eventually comes, a blessing in the form of darkness. 'Tis much simpler moving in the dark. I creep out of my obscurity between barrel and hay before quietly treading the nightly paths. But I must first pause and wonder, What is to become of me now? My lot is unknown, my direction oblivion. For the greater part of my life, I've never known a haven of my own. I have only lived to serve.

Looking up, I catch the stars materializing, the moon glistening amid clouds. Its light gleams off something on the dirt path, something approaching. But that is the glimmer of a lantern on armor, the armor of a Voracian man-at-arms. Thus, I hastily conceal myself behind the nearest wagon, keeping my gaze on the stranger's approach. He is propped, and I hear the hooves. A rider. He suddenly stops beside one of the hovels.

"Is this where they reside?"

"Yes."

"Then per usual, we do this without knife work. You know the lord fancies his displays."

"As do the other counties, sergeant."

A second voice. I failed to observe the second man standing idly, thus far counting two Valerosan's. Before I can discern another word, however, I hear the sound of more footsteps. Two more men from the same direction, apparently tailing after the horseman. Custom hauberks, varied gear, and no colors. Mercenaries. Even after they touch the ground, the other guard remains seated on his horse. He must be an officer. "Okay, round 'em up!" he starts.

"What of their goods? We wouldn' be doin' dis job without good ol' incentive."

"Yes, yes, the deal remains as always. But should you witness ashen hair, keep your wits about you."

Great alacrity my lord bears in his designs. Word of my departure must have been spread amongst his loyal followers, sanctioning their search and seizure of his subjects solely for my apprehension. Moreover, he scapegoats the layman for my defiance and suspects their hand in my escape. And yet, I have not escaped.

The mercenaries and the guard do exactly as ordered and proceed into the hut, where my vision cannot follow. Even so, I can hear the commotion from within. It is brief and waylaid by tumultuous winds. When the mercenaries exit, they do so one by one, the last dragging two random locals. Bound in chains, they were, unsurprisingly, vexed, perhaps oblivious in the matter of their detainment.

"Both subjects are charged with conspiracy to incite rebellion," the officer decried. "By order of Duke Lucan de Valerosu, 'tis the dungeons for thee pending thine execution."

The two village folk stood as they were, heads slumping, humble and misfortunate in totality, a sight further belittled by the rags they wore. The woman, she began to sob. As still as her body was, her lament turned rather intensive. That grief... I've forgotten what it means to grieve.

For better or for worse, I cannot say, a curious fixation carries me to the solemn path of the guards and their prisoners. Past the huts, into the darkness, I sneak in serpent's silence. Breaking the distance proved rather effortless. The escort travels nearly invisible in the dark, but I see the officer's lantern; he advances at the front, the man and woman tugged down the road by rope.

The element of surprise is my unrivaled weapon in a test of numbers. Under normal circumstances, these men would hear the light tap of my feet and the grind of my joints. Normally. In this case, they are mistaking the tap of my feet for their own. Then, when I sense the time to be right, I grapple the hind mercenary. He quietly struggles in my arms, desperate in his mid-air flailing. Nevertheless, he suffocates into oblivion, without letting a breath of warning for the others.

But a moment after my dispatching the first, I can tell the second mercenary senses something awry. Hitherto, he was facing forward. The moment he turns and witnesses me I lock my hand over his mouth, spring one foot forward, and drop him on his back. I uphold him lest he hit the ground, then press as his arms flail around in hopes of relieving his asphyxiation. His eyes roll upward as his strength wanes beneath my grip. His attempts to squeal are for naught, and I firmly squeeze until he finally lies unconscious.While their backs are turned, I strike the third footman from behind, delivering a bare-handed blow to immediately incapacitate him. Three men thus lie on the dirt path before the riding officer finally heeds his solitary lot as an escort. He turns under the full moon, lifting his lantern so that he may finally witness me.

"Dane!"

Nothing less than bewilderment befell his gaze as he flinched and jerked his horse. Too late, however, as I push him off...

Cursing everything, the officer falls. Staring at me from the soil, dumbstruck, he helplessly awaits my next whim. Furthermore, he keeps his fingers wrapped around his sword, as I do mine. However, I have no intention of unsheathing.

Initially paralyzed by fear and uncertainty, his relaxing shoulders deliver a sign, the realization that I don't intend to kill him. Therefore, he musters the courage to speak, "Why did you do it?" A curious question, but I know exactly to what he refers. Thus, I kneel and look him in the eyes. The urge to draw his sword is strong, his hesitancy more so. So unto him, I say, "If Valeroșu ordained I slaughter thy family, would you accept my return to the fold?" Then, I see it in the shade of his eyes - fraught uncertainty. "Now run, sergeant. Run without a whisper of what you saw. I am leaving. And should you take it upon yourself to inform thy lord, know that such a report shall not spare thee from his wrath."

Letting go his weapon, the fearful sergeant departed on foot with all haste, leaving the unconscious others, as well as his own horse.

The man and woman in shackles stare at me with faces I imagine to be flushed. From where I stand, I can observe the man's dark beard and mid-life complexion, and the woman's knots of brown hair waving around her eyes; hers is a terminally tired countenance. "You must leave this place," I tell them. The woman, however, trembles in lingering.

"But-" she mutters.

"Take what you must and leave..."I even motion for the officer's now idle horse.

"Thank you," the man replies. This man is prudent, for he takes the key from the downed guard's girdle and begins by undoing the woman's lock. Once finished with both, he grabs her to make their escape, yet she resists. I find this puzzling. Slowly, she turns and looks me in the eyes.

"Why did you help us?" she questions.

I meet her tired expression and answer, "I cannot say. My life is drowned in acts I could never understand, yet plagued by more distraught moments of inaction. Such thoughts of inaction now burden me more than my life which, hitherto, has served one great cruelty to the world."

The stare she returned was one of simple yet utter perplexity, and she stared until the man could finally move her and convince her to mount the horse.

After one last glance back, the forlorn woman rode off with the man at the reins. Rode off into obscurity. But that last expression she made, I struggle to understand its meaning.

Surveying the rest of my surroundings, I realize the time of my departure has come. Everything about shall be behind - this life, this land, this crimson country. Per chance, the broader world might beget a life worth living, worth seeing, laying more than blood at my feet.