The smell that hit him was hideous. Rotten food and wet dog, urine and old sweat. Breathing through his mouth Matt started to look for the casket. "It has to be here..." he murmured. Under the blankets and behind heaps of filthy clothes he searched, not finding it. It was still silent outside, but for how long would it be? Matt started to grow nervous. "It has to be here. They wouldn't take it with them. Maybe..." He had to search some of the other tents. Nervous and a bit disappointed in himself (he had been sure it was in this tent) he walked towards the exit. And there it was. Just inside the opening. A little wooden box with feet of iron and a pentagram engraved on the lock. So innocent it stood there. With a smile on his lips Matt picked it up and left.
~
A few days later Matt lay on his bed in The Blue Knight. He felt great. His assignment had gone without any trouble, it had almost been to easy, and when he'd delivered the casket those rich aristocrats had praised him and paid him double. There were no new assignments waiting or people to meet. Maybe I should take some time off. It'd been to long since he'd just enjoyed his life. He could travel south, to see the sand sea, or to the cold north. To the east was the sea and he'd had enough of that and to the west was the dangerous land of the elves. It would be easiest just to stay here. I've got everything I need right here. Soon he drifted of to sleep.
Knock knock.
Matt opened his eyes. It was dark. His every muscle tense.
Knock knock knock.
He rolled out of bed, his hand lifting the knife from the bed table. With the knife raised he slowly stood up. There was no one there.
Knock knock.
"The window." Matt turned. Outside the window sat a grey dove. It looked at him and waited. Matt lowered his knife and walked over to let the bird in. It was carrying a letter addressed to him. Matt opened it.
We've heard about you and your skills and we would be pleased if you cared to pay us a visit. We'll await you on the 21st day of the fourth moon.
Nicolas of Sundale, Writer to High Lord Matthew of the Eastern Shore.
Matt frowned his forehead. The Eastern Shore. The land of the seafarers and star readers. He'd hoped not to have to go there again. Reading the letter again, he hoped to find a clue telling him if it was a new assignment or an invitation to his imprisonment. Nicolas of Sundale, I haven't heard your name before.
"Be damned." Matt folded the letter and started to pack his bags. Luckily he didn't have many belongings. Soon he was on his way. He had to hurry to be there in time. It was a long way and if he didn't made it he was as good as dead. Everybody had heard the stories of the High Lord of the Eastern Shore.
When the sun rose the Two Rivers' City was far behind him.
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