I huddled among the roots with Kian bitter coppery fear at the back of my throat. I could hear horses around us, the sound of hoof beats indistinct in the thickening fog. My hand gipped the hilt of my rapier so tight that my knuckles were pale and white. By the moment the fog grew  thicker, the bright moonlight seeming to fill it with a silver glow that concealed more than it illuminated. More than once we saw bright patches in the fog where ghostly forms seemed to roam.

“Come on,” Kian said at last, his voice shockingly loud to my terrified mind. Ht took my trembling hand and tugged me into action, climbing over the roots and moving off into the fog. How he navigated I had no idea. More than once he pulled me into concealment moments before a spectre or a horseman emerged from the fog. The passage of time was impossible to judge but after what might have been an hour we reached a small stream.


“Running water, Ive heard that the undead fear to cross it,” I breathed, hopping across the stream.

“Sometimes,” Kian said wiith what wasn’t enough like agreement for my taste. We followed the stream down into the valley. As we decdened the fog began to thin and we found ourselves in woodlands. We were over the hills now, moving northwards towards the more cultivated plains. At length we reached the stone arch of a moss covered bridge and climbed the bank to find ourselves on a dirt road through the forest. 


“Do we risk…” Kian began but I cut him off, pulling him off the road.

“Horses!” I hissed, perceiving the distant clatter of a coach. We crouched in the undergrowth as we head the approach of horses. I could tell even from here that they had been pushed hard, worked into a near fatal lather. The coachman was cracking a whip above his team but even that could muster no more than a brisk exhausted trot that slowed as he approached the narrow bridge.


“It is a mail coach,” I breathed and stepped out into the road. The coachman’s eyes widened and he reached for a coachgun, freezing as I produced one of my pistols and pointed it in his direction.

“What in Myrmidia’s Cunt do you think you are playing at?” the coacman demanded as his horse came to a stop.


“Are you Highwaymen?” he demanded, casting nervous glances over his shoulder.


“Just travellers friend,” I told him, I waggled my pistol.

“Shall we agree not to shoot each other?” I suggested. His eyes flicked between Kian and I and then he nodded. He was a stout man with an eyepatch, but though he was old he looked muscular and fit.


“You are the one with the gun drawn signorita, but yes,” he agreed, taking his hand away from the bell mouthed blunderbuss.
“And if it is all the same to you id rather not linger here, something ….evil is up in the hills,” he said. I tucked the pistol into my belt and hopped up onto the bench beside him, Kian following me.

“All the more reason to get out of here,” I agreed fervently.