Rast had always considered himself a practical man. Not the sort prone to wild fantasies or the kind of decisions that end with one's name being used as a cautionary tale in taverns. His companion Andres, however, had elevated poor judgment to something of an art form.

  "I'm telling you," Andres whispered as they crouched in the underbrush, peering down the forest path, "I saw her heading this way. Alone. A woman traveling these roads by herself! Think of it, Rast!"

  The scent of damp leaves and forest loam filled Rast's nostrils as he shifted his weight. A nearby stream gurgled softly, almost drowning out Andres' excited breathing. Rast was thinking of it, which was precisely the problem. What he was thinking specifically was that following strange women through forests rarely ended well for anyone involved. The stories rarely mentioned the brigand's perspective, but Rast suspected they didn't fare particularly well in the unwritten versions either.

  "Maybe she's not worth the trouble," Rast suggested, in the same tone one might use to dissuade a child from petting a sleeping bear. "We don't know if she's carrying anything valuable. And a woman alone? On these roads in these days? Something doesn't sit right."

  Andres gave him the particular look reserved for those moments when he believed Rast was being unnecessarily cautious, which was most moments. "She's got a pack bigger than you are. And did you see that cloak? Fine material, that. We're just going to... relieve her of some unnecessary burdens."

  The way Andres said "unnecessary burdens" made Rast deeply uncomfortable, like watching someone juggle lit torches near a hay barn. But Andres was already moving through the trees, following what he insisted were fresh tracks. Twigs snapped underfoot despite their efforts at stealth. Rast found himself trailing behind with the resigned air of someone who knows they're making a terrible mistake but has decided to see it through anyway, like ordering the mystery meat at a tavern called "The Festering Wound."

  The tracks led them to a small clearing beside a river, where they indeed found their quarry. Just not in the condition Andres had anticipated.

  The woman was in the river, which wouldn't have been remarkable except for the fact that she was as naked as the day she'd entered the world, though considerably more developed since then. She stood waist-deep in the rushing water, her back to them, auburn braids piled atop her head as she splashed water over muscular shoulders. Sunlight dappled through the leaves above, casting shifting patterns on the water's surface and the woman's glistening skin.

  Andres froze, and for a brief moment, Rast thought perhaps some flicker of decency had ignited in his companion's otherwise morally barren soul. This hope was extinguished when Andres grinned like a cat that had just discovered an unattended feast.

  Before Rast could stop him, Andres stepped into the clearing, drawing his rusty short sword with a scrape that seemed unnaturally loud against the background of birdsong and flowing water. "Well now," he called, "what have we here?"

  The woman turned, displaying a remarkable lack of concern for both her nakedness and the armed man approaching the riverbank. Water droplets cascaded down skin that, Rast couldn't help but notice, was decorated with a collection of scars and tattoos that didn't suggest a life spent embroidering handkerchiefs.

  "Hello," she said with the casual ease of someone greeting a neighbor rather than a potential assailant. "The water's cold, but it wakes you up. You should try it."

  Her accent was thick and foreign, the consonants sharp enough to trim hedges. Rast noticed, with the detached clarity that comes in moments of impending disaster, that she was impressively tall and built like someone who arm-wrestled bears for recreation. For a brief moment he wondered how he hadn't noticed such an obvious feature, until he realized there was a lot of features at display, each difficult for his brain to comprehend all things considered.

  "This here's a dangerous place for a woman alone," Andres said, adopting what he probably thought was a menacing posture but more closely resembled lower back pain. "There's bandits about, you should know."

  "Are there?" she asked and looked around, sounding genuinely interested. The breeze carried the scent of wild mint from somewhere nearby, incongruously pleasant against the tension of the moment. "What a pleasant surprise, I was hoping to find some. My name is Reyn. Pleasure to meet you."

  In the river? Rast thought, wisely keeping the thought to himself. He was smart enough to know not to say everything he thought out loud.

  Instead of cowering or pleading as Andres clearly expected, the woman waded toward the shore with the unhurried confidence of a predator that has spotted particularly slow prey. The water parted around her with gentle ripples, streaming off her body as she emerged. As the water level dropped, Rast had the distinct impression that they had made a categorical error in their assessment of the situation. What emerged from the river wasn't so much a woman as a walking anatomy lesson on musculature, attached to a person who looked like she could bend horseshoes into decorative hair accessories.

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  Andres' confidence visibly wavered, like a candle flame in a drafty room. "Stay back!" he warned, brandishing his sword with the expertise of someone who had primarily used it to point at things. "We'll be taking your valuables now."

  The woman tilted her head, studying Andres with the interest of a cook inspecting an unusual vegetable. "That would be inconvenient for me," she said, almost apologetic. "I need those."

  "Look," Andres said, his voice climbing slightly higher on the register of bravado, "just stay there while we take your coin and whatever else you've got, and no one has to get hurt."

  He sized up the woman from toe to head, and glanced over to the pile of clothes before turning his attention toward her again. "We'll leave clothes for you to maintain your dignity."

  Rast almost chuckled. Doesn't look like that's weighing heavy on her.

  Something changed in the woman's expression, a subtle shift that Rast recognized instantly as the moment when a situation transitions from "potentially salvageable" to "destined for local legend status." She wasn't afraid. She wasn't even concerned. She looked... intrigued.

  "That's an interesting suggestion," she said, as casually as if discussing how usual the weather had been lately. "I have a counter-proposal. You take nothing, and you'll tell me everything you know about the Crimson Hand."

  "What are you on about?" Andres' voice had a tinge of irritation within. "We will kill you if you try anything. Stand back, and we'll take what we want and leave you be."

  The woman shook her head, water droplets flying from her braids like tiny diamonds in the filtered sunlight. "You can have a piece of dried bread, but you'll take no more."

  She started to walk toward her clothes, to which Andres must've thought was a threat. Without further warning he charged her with his sword and a scream that tried to sound threatening. If a sparrow was threatening.

  What happened next occurred with such speed that Rast's brain could only process it as a series of disconnected images: the woman moving with impossible quickness, Andres swinging his sword in a panicked arc, her hand catching his wrist, a pivot, and then, with a sound like a watermelon dropped from a significant height, Andres' head connecting with the trunk of a nearby oak.

  The forest fell silent except for the gentle gurgle of the river and the much less gentle sound of Andres sliding down the tree trunk into an unmoving heap. A few disturbed leaves drifted down from the branches, settling on his still form.

  The woman stood over him, completely unconcerned with her nakedness, and sighed. "I didn't mean to do that," she said, sounding genuinely disappointed. "I just wanted to subdue him, but he was lighter than I thought. Western skulls must be more fragile than I thought."

  She turned to Rast, who was experiencing the peculiar sensation of his soul attempting to exit his body while his feet remained frozen to the spot. The coppery scent of blood mingled with the earthy smell of the forest floor. "I am so sorry. Were you close? Siblings?"

  Rast swallowed, his eyes and brain struggling between the crushed face and the naked woman. "Not really. Same band, but not close. He had it coming, I figure."

  "Are you with the Crimson Hand?" the woman said as she fetched her clothes, leather creaking softly as she gathered her belongings.

  "N-no," Rast managed, his voice emerging as a squeak that would have embarrassed a mouse. "We're just... local. Independent. Very, very independent. One might say they are competition."

  The woman bent as she pulled on her pants. Rast struggled whether he should look away or not.

  "Too bad. I'm looking for them specifically," she said, either ignoring or just not caring about Rast's discomfort. "You wouldn't happen to know where they are?"

  Rast shook his head. It was almost enough to make him throw up. "No. We were in fact out trying to find them ourselves. They've been making things harder for us."

  "How so?"

  "They are more, and attack more. Fewer travel alone in small groups, and there are more guards about. It's becoming difficult for the rest of us."

  "Harder to steal from innocent travelers?" The woman smirked as she laced up her tunic. "That's so sad. Why don't you join them? Seems a simple solution."

  Rast snorted. "They are killers. Some say they are owned by the traders themselves. An excuse to raise prices. At the same time they say they steal from the rich and give to the poor. They're just too... muddy."

  "Sounds complicated. I understand why you prefer to steal from unarmed women taking a bath," the woman said nodding. When Rast opened his mouth struggling to find an answer she smiled. "What's your name?"

  "R... Rast."

  "Nice to meet you, Rast," she said and clasped the last of her bracers, the metal fittings catching the light. "I'm Reyn Calderan."

  She glanced at the bow slung across Rast's back. "Are you a good archer?"

  Of all the questions Rast had anticipated in this scenario, this ranked somewhere below "Do you prefer red or white wine with human liver?" He nodded automatically.

  "Excellent," she said, strapping a massive greatsword to her back. The weapon made a soft whisper as it slid into its sheath, like the promise of violence held in reserve. Meanwhile, Andres remained motionless against the tree, having contributed all he was going to contribute to the conversation. "I could use some rabbit for dinner."

  "I can hunt rabbits," Rast replied automatically.

  "Perfect," Reyn said as she grabbed a small shovel from her satchel. "This may be a good partnership."

  Rast blinked. "P... partnership?"

  "I need to find these Crimson Hand bandits I've heard about, and you need..." she shrugged and glanced at Andres, "...a career change."

  "Fair point."

  "You can start by fetching us a meal while I give your friend a proper burial, then you can be my guide to Vaelen. I'm on a pilgrimage, and I have some days to get a good start."

  "I..." Rast began.

  "I will pay you for your time, of course," Reyn said as she stuck the shovel in the ground with a solid thunk. She turned to him with the friendliest smile Rast had ever seen. "Ready to do some good?"

  As Rast nodded and pulled forth his bow, leaving his former companion to commune permanently with nature, he reflected that in the hierarchy of terrible decisions he'd witnessed Andres make, this one had unquestionably secured the top position. Though in fairness, it had also secured Rast dinner and a significantly more intimidating traveling companion.

  And money.

  Sometimes, he supposed, a man needed to recognize when he'd been promoted.