Three squat figures stoop over the smoldering fire, casting a dance of shadows into the forest outside Amador. The tallest figure rubs his hands together and peers around.

"Mistress Cenae will not be patient forever. We must take that old mans head tomarrow."

"Shut up you fool", glowered the shortest figure, "this is not the place to be saying a name such as that."

The third figure strides twords the glow of embers, a crest of the Sword and Hand of Arad Domin peeking out of his dark crimson cloak.

"You will both be silent, or I shall do the silencing myself. This job does not require three."

The three men silently roast the rabbit they had killed early on the fire as they listen to the sounds of a forrest at night.

A soft thuding is heard, a rythem that slowly builds and becomes a crash. A clatter of hooves crashes into branches, becomes a loud roar.

The three Darkfriends scatter from the fire to snatch up thier swords and bows, but not soon enough. A large brown charger crashes into the clearing of smoke and fire, a white piller seated on its back. As the charger gallops past the short squat man, he seems to devolope a second mouth, as his throut displays a thin red line from ear to ear. The line grows thicker befor a fountain of blood sprays into the night sky.

The charger rounds on the man with the crimson cloak.

"Better you then me", the crimson cloaked man spurts, as he puts a boot into the back of his other companion.

The third Darkfriend, off ballence by being kicked in the back, wheels forward tword the figure on his brown charger, unable to regain his ballence. Suddenly a steel thorn sprouts from the mans back as he stops suddenly in his tracks in frount of the charger. Slowly, the Darkfriend slides off the end of a steel epee, like a cooked potato slides off a fork.

The cloaked man is already half way to his horse, tied at the edge of the clearing, by the time his dead friend has hit the ground. Grasping for the reigns, the cloaked man reaches up to seize the worried horses bridle, just in time to observe his left hand be cleanly sperated from his wrist.

Cursing in profanties as foul as the man himself, the crimson cloak spins around griping the gushing stump of his left wrist.

Putting a thick leather boot to the crimson cloaks head, the white figure pushes the Darkfriend onto the ground. Sweeping off of his charge in one clean movement, a clack of epee returning to scabard is heard.

Looming over the bleeding darkfriend, the white figure opens his mouth for the first time, steamed breath comming from a white bearded face.

"Threats on Lord Pedron's life are in no way uncommon, but few are fool enough to actually to plan on actually carrieing it out."

The white figure frowns to himself as he fingers the knife on his belt.

"My name is Child Blanka Rayder and the Hand as been long informed on your comming attempt. I fear you will never live to talk to the Hand to answere the questions they have for you, however you may live long enough to tell me something useful."

The Child of Light bends over as he saws the crimson cloaked mans ear off, to a choras of screams and pleas.

"First off, you will be quiet with your whining. Secondly, you will tell me who you work for and if the nation of Arad Domin is envolved."

"I...I can't, you have no idea what she will do to me...", he stamered.

Blanka Rayder bends down once more to press his knife clean through the cloaked mans calf, then griping the cloaked mans jaw to silence his howles. Drawing close to the cloaked mans face, the Child of Light seems to take on the apperance of a bear.

"You will tell me, or the next thing to go will be your privates."

Growling through the pain of his injuries, the Sword and Hand answeres the Child of Light.

"I work for the mistress Cenae, black ajah of the tower. She has placed officials into the Sword and Hand command core. But I swear to you that I do not know any of thier names!"

The white clad man studies the crimson mans face for a long moment befor noding.

"What does Arad Domin plan then, other then the death of my Lord."

Watching the Child wearily, the soldier of Arad Domin replys.

"Battle plans are being drawn up. Nothing has been planed as yet but a war is comming."

Noding to himself the Child of Light sheaths his knife and draws his silver epee once more.

"Do you renounce your former ties to the Darkness and condem the actions of your sworn nation?"

The crimson man nods greedly as the words come from the bearded Child.

"Then perhaps the Creator will forgive your soul Darkfriend, for I will not."

With a look of alarm, the crimson mans eyes bulge a moment befor the epee is pressed through his right eye, to emerge behind his remaining ear.

Whipeing his blade on the dead mans tunic, Blanka tears the patch of the Sword and Hand from the mans breast.

"This is news for the Hand. Perhaps war need not come."

Blanka bounds onto his charger as he speeds to report his findings to the Lord Captain Commander. Dawn is emerging from the dark glow of the forrest. A new dawn has peaked and a torch is seen in the darkness.