This was a dangerous man, a proper street killer, of the type that I never would have worked with in my old life - a desperate, crazed man who'd rather kill and strip the corpse than bother with the niceties of robbery and survival. I stumbled backwards, drawing my own stolen sword, silently cursing myself. Far faster than I would have expected, his sword was drawn and already swinging towards me - not even a word of warning, just a straight-out attack.
As it was, I didn't see him until I was almost on top of him - and by then it was too late. If I had, I would have spotted the man up ahead, trying to lounge inconspicuously against one wall, one hand drifting a little too readily to his sword belt. Unfortunately I was so engrossed in ensuring I wasn't followed by the caravan crew that I didn't pay much attention to the streets ahead of me. So I'd taken one of the guards' swords as they slept the previous night, and crept away as the carts rolled in. Better to slip away before someone got it in their head to tie me up and sell me away. I'd paid for my fare by keeping watch at nights, helping to cook, and had proven an all-round useful member of the team.but I'd seen some of the looks I started to get from some of the men as we approached our destination, and didn't fancy a repeat of the initial encounter. I slipped away from the caravan, darting down side streets. I'd had more than enough of belligerent guards. Not a particularly friendly guy, but I wasn't looking for friends. He left me alone for the rest of the journey, although I occasionally saw him glaring balefully at me out from the back of one of the carts. The attitudes of the rest of the caravan members changed very rapidly once they'd seen to their comrade, who was screaming bloody murder and clasping one hand to his gushing cheek by the time they managed to separate me from him.
Nobody ever expects a runaway bride to be carrying a knife up her sleeve. He had even picked me up by the scruff of the neck and threatened to beat submission into me if I didn't agree to go back to the city with him. It was evident that he thought he could get some easy money, selling me off as some fool's harem slave. One of the caravan guards had made a bit of a fuss when they'd first found me, a couple of days into the journey, claiming I was a runaway bride who should be returned for a healthy sum from some greedy noble. The caravan crew had been pleasant enough, or at least not entirely unpleasant. I finally left the caravan weeks later, ducking off into one of the backstreets of the big city it was rolling into. Part One: Welcome to Calradia - Beware of Rocks
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