The Woodsman

Part One

You've ridden since you were a girl, but leisurely weekend rides through the French countryside with your father did little to prepare you (or your buttocks) for this never-ending journey. The pain from weeks of travel has set in and you find your day-to-day is little more than an exercise in controlling the pain. Your backside and thighs are so sore that every step the horse takes results in pure agony.

"Do you need to stop?" Peter inquires, trotting up beside you with a hand on his hip. He is truly in his element.

You hired two men when you fled France, offering them just enough money to ensure loyalty, or so you thought. Peter had been a member of your father's personal detail, a former knight of the king's inner circle. When your brother took the crown he retired Peter, an act the old knight is unlikely to forgive in the near future. He'd been all too happy to assist you, eager to leave the past behind him and, although he's getting on in years, it appears that he can still wield a sword and take a punch.

You gave him the liberty of choosing his second.

Peter chose Luther, a young blacksmith whom he trusted. Luther swore he'd traveled to Scotland so many times that he could make the trip without a map. Now, as you wander lost somewhere near the border, it's becoming increasingly clear Luther often exaggerates his navigation skills.

"I'll be fine for a little while longer." You force a smile, flinching as the horse jerks forward.

"I think we should stop here for the night, it will be dark soon and you're in pain, m'lady." Peter slows his horse and you follow suit. Dismounting with a grunt, legs chattering.

"We should find the river by midday tomorrow," Luther's looking at a hand-drawn map that you're fairly sure he's holding upside down.

"I certainly don't want to be the one to shake your confidence, Luther, but we've been moments away from this elusive river for days now." You shake your head as Peter takes the reins, leading your horse to a small tree.

"She's right," Peter confirms. "We can't keep investing time in a plan that doesn't seem to be working. I'll ride ahead at first light and scout our path. If we fail to cross the river to the east, we'll head west instead."

Luther builds a fire and Peter divides what's left of the food rations, which is little more than bread and water. You unroll your pack, finding a patch of thick moss for padding and make your bed for the evening. Sleeping on the ground doesn't get any easier. If your thighs aren't throbbing from the ride there's a twinge in your back that takes over.

You unpack your things, subtly checking the small sack that contains all the wealth you have in the world. You absconded with your late mother's collection of jewels and enough gold to start a comfortable new life if you can just lay low for long enough.

Making your bed for the evening you settle in as close to the fire as one dares. The meager heat helps your bones from chattering in the night and you drift off to sleep on the naked ground under the wide, open sky.

The thieves come in the middle of the night. You're awakened to the sound of shouts in the dark, rolling to your feet in a panic. Two men have Luther by his arms, dragging him across the ground.

"Don't kill me! I can help you. She has gold in her pack!" Luther cries, pointing to you. That little shit.

While his defection isn't a complete surprise, you're in awe it happened so quickly.

"It's in her saddlebag," Peter confirms, turning on you just the same as Luther. There's a man behind him with a knife to his throat, and you might've forgiven his treacherous words if he'd put up at least some fight. The old man's betrayal is just as swift as your useless blacksmith-turned-guide.