A/N: Glad everyone enjoyed the last chapter. Here's the new one, as promised.

Disclaimer: Anything you recognise, I don't own.


As she leaned against a tree and tried to get her breath back, Lianne cursed the letter.

Her head was pounding with the sound of her heartbeat, and every fibre of her body felt as if it were on fire. Her feet were scratched and swollen from when her shoes had finally fallen off, having outlived their usefulness, and her ankle was swollen from having twisted it. She had hastily torn a strip of her skirt off, and wrapped it around her ankle, although it offered little relief from the pain. There were cuts and bruises on her arms that bore dried blood, and looked like they could be infected. She hadn't eaten in what felt like years, and she could tell that she was gradually getting thinner and weaker from it. Every evening she was freezing, and every day her clothes grew more tattered from running. She had traded her cloak for another waterskin, but even that was finished now. The only thing that sat in her bag was now the letter and the waterskin her father had given her. She was filthy from the dust on the road and weary from nights spent trying to get a better lead on the soldiers.

She knew she couldn't keep it up much longer. Sooner or later she would collapse, and then she would certainly die, whether from exhaustion or from the soldiers.

For the time being, she had to keep running. She had passed Leonasflow some time ago – she hadn't even gone into the village for fear that she would lead the soldiers there and allow them to burn down another house - and she now had no idea of where she was. East? West? North? South?

She looked up, and wondered where on earth she was. All the trees looked the same – there would be no help from them, even if they could talk.

There was a shout from behind her, and she looked to see the soldiers riding after her. There was no way she would be able to evade them – not if they had horses.

Still, she forced her feet to make one last attempt to run away. As she moved through the trees, her foot caught a stray root and she fell, feeling her ankle throb as it twisted again. She let out a strangled yelp, and tried to cover her mouth, but it was too late, and the soldiers were getting closer.

That was it. She was dead, and she knew it.

She lay there until the soldiers caught up. Two of them leered at her and grabbed hold of her arms, pulling her up into a standing position. "So, you're the thief that stole that letter, eh?" asked one, obviously the leader. He surveyed her with a disdainful glance, looking at her thin frame and bedraggled appearance. "Well, you're not worth much to us now. May as well sell you to the slavers." He moved towards her. "But you've still got something of ours, and we want it back."

She tried to draw up any remaining spit that she might have had, and spat at him full in the face. There wasn't much, but he slapped her anyway, and she let out a cry. "Witch," he snarled, wiping the spit off his face. "Search her, and tie her up." He pointed to the other soldiers, and walked towards his horse.

The two soldiers that held her arms snickered, and Lianne's heart sank. What would they do to her? She was frightened enough of death, but if they chose to do something else to her…

One of the soldiers took the bag, and ferreted around inside it for a moment, before bringing the letter out. "Sir! I've got it!"

The leader of the soldiers strode over to them and snatched the letter out of his junior's hands. "Tie her up. She's coming with us."

As they tightly bound her wrists with rope and took turns sneering at her, Lianne silently cursed the fact that she hadn't hidden the letter better. If she'd had more sense, she wouldn't have left it in the bag for them to find – it was blatantly obvious!

Her father would be so ashamed of her. What would he say if he knew she had been so brainless?

But nevertheless, the letter had been found, and she would have to escape the soldiers and get it back. What would her father have done? she wondered.

"What did you do to my father?" she asked one of them, as he dragged her forward, yanking her arms.

"Dead. What else?" they answered carelessly. "Shame the old man didn't put up more of a fight, really."

Lianne stopped short, but the soldier kept walking, and she was forced to keep moving, or be dragged along the ground. It didn't stop her hands from shaking, though.

Her father? Dead? No, no, it wasn't possible. He couldn't be…

Tears dripped from her face as she thought. Her father had been the only family she had ever known. There was no great secret that her mother had died when Lianne was small. Her father had had no relatives, save for a sister who had died when she was thirteen. Their family might have been small, but she had loved her father fiercely, and he had loved her in return. He might have been strict about some things, but she knew that he always had her best interests at heart. He never got drunk, never got in trouble, never fought anyone –

He had had a sword.

Why had he had that sword? He'd never had a sword, or at least, not one that she knew of. Nobody in Littlewood had owned so much as a dagger, let alone a sword. He couldn't fight, either. So why had he had a sword? Did he know that the Empire would come for the letter? Did they consider him a threat? How?

There was complete silence as they dragged her on behind them, and the hours whiled away as Lianne thought and wondered. Even when she tripped, but the soldiers didn't stop, and she discovered that trying to get up whilst being dragged along the ground was a very difficult job indeed. By the time they stopped, it was getting dark, and Lianne was grazed all over.

"Tie her to that tree," the leader ordered, pointing to a large tree. "She escapes and we're done for."

"Can't we have some fun with her, sir?" asked one, with a lewd expression on his face.

The leader cuffed him over the head. "You stupid? Our orders are to get the letter and then to bring her back with it, undamaged. You think they'll-" He cut himself off, suddenly aware that Lianne was listening. "Undamaged," he repeated.

Lianne was roughly manhandled towards the tree, wrists still bound tightly, and forced to sit down. The two soldiers pushed her hard against it, and wrapped a rope around her torso and around the tree, securing it tightly. One of them, a middle aged man who looked about as old as her father, seemed a little sorry for her, but then he seemed to catch himself and he went back over to the rest of the soldiers.

As the soldiers supplied themselves and their horses with food, Lianne watched hungrily. It may have only been some bread, but it was still food, and she hadn't eaten in a long time. What she would give for some of it…

She watched them settle down, and one produced her waterskin from her bag, and the scent of mead wafted around. As she watched them drink, infuriated by the theft of her belongings, she noticed the older man give her a few pitying glances, at least until the mead drew his attention back to his companions. As he and his companions plied each other with the honeyed alcohol, Lianne watched them steadily get drunker with every sip they took. As they drowsily slumped in front of the small fire they sat around, Lianne realized what her father had done. In his last gift to her, he had drugged the contents, so that if she was caught, she could escape.

Sadness plagued her thoughts, tinged with anger and frustration that she couldn't get free of her bonds. She was so useless! She lashed out, kicking the ground in front of her but ended up kicking a pile of dirt into her face. Suddenly, she could sense that the ropes were looser on her than they had been before, and she slipped out from the ropes that tied her to the tree. Uncertainly, she glanced back at the tree.

It seemed almost smaller, somehow. But that was impossible. Trees didn't shrink. They grew, certainly, but they never shrank.

Her mind must be playing tricks on her, she thought. Perhaps the soldiers hadn't tied her as tight as she had thought. She sighed, and moved towards one of the sleeping soldiers. Cutting the ropes around her wrists with his dagger, she stood up and began searching for the letter in the bags. She went through armour and weapons, food and drink, coins and riding tack, but there was no letter to be found.

It was time to change tactics, she decided. If she'd been the leader, where would she have hidden such a big secret?

She'd have kept it close. She'd slept with the bag clutched to her chest when she'd had the few opportunities to sleep safely. Perhaps the leader had decided to employ the same tactic?

Slowly, she crept towards where he lay, snoring in his drunken slumber. She wrinkled her nose in distaste at the smell of mead and sweat on him. Nudging him with one toe, she made sure he was fast asleep before searching him. She went through his pockets, discovering nothing. Just as she was about to give up, he rolled over, and she noticed the letter poking out from underneath his body. Carefully, she began to edge it out, praying that it wouldn't tear. At one point, the leader's eyelids fluttered, and Lianne's hand shot out from the letter like an arrow from a bow, but whatever had disturbed his slumber had stopped, and he calmed down again. She continued working the letter out from underneath him, and finally, she had only to pull a small corner out from underneath him and she could leave.

As she did so, she caught sight of her bag and the waterskin of mead. Examining them, she found that the soldiers hadn't finished the mead, and she slipped it back into the bag, along with the letter. If she were ever in this situation again, the mead would prove useful to her.

She turned to leave, and then her father's words rang in her head once again – "Leave no trail".

If she left the soldiers alive, they'd come after her again, and the situation would continue until she either died or gave the letter up permanently.

But she didn't want to kill them. Could she do that? Could she kill them while they slept?

"Leave no trail."

It was her safety at risk. She couldn't afford to leave them alive.

But that still didn't mean she could just kill them while they lay there like children.

They had murdered her father.

But that wasn't a real reason for her to kill them… was it?

She had sworn to obey him. She never disobeyed her father.

"Leave no trail."

She had to do it. No matter how much she regretted it.

Quietly, she took the dagger of the leader. Standing over him, she looked away with tears in her eyes as she pushed the dagger into his heart. She could feel the blood vessels and muscle give way, and his heartbeat began to slow. Removing the dagger, she repeated the process with the rest of the soldiers. By now, tears were flowing freely down her face. But when she got to the soldier that had looked as if he pitied her, she hesitated. He looked so much like her father while he slept. Could she really kill someone like that?

"Leave no trail."

Screwing her eyes shut, she plunged the dagger into his heart, and took it out. Flinging it away into the trees, she bit her lip to keep from crying out in horror and shame. The wind had picked up quite a bit, and was now whipping her hair around her face. She could feel herself shake as she cast her mind back a few seconds.

What had she done? She was a murderer now.

No, she couldn't think about that or she would go mad. Madness wasn't a good option – it was too early in her mission to be going mad.

Loosing the horses, she let them run away to find a better home. As she let the last one go, she wondered whether she should have kept one for herself. She couldn't keep walking like this – she'd never get anywhere. Neither could she ride. And if she were riding a horse, it would draw more attention to herself, something that she couldn't afford. No, it was better to walk.

She left the campsite, still feeling incredibly guilty about what she had done. As she walked, she felt hunger lick at her belly once again; a reminder of how little she had eaten. There had been a constant light-headedness and a dull buzzing in her ears while she had been running, but it had been dulled down by adrenaline. The adrenaline had worn off now, and the light-headedness was coming back in a heavy dose.

The wind stopped abruptly, and she swayed suddenly, grabbing hold of a tree to keep herself upright. How could she be this weak and not have noticed? Was she in shock?

The dull buzzing became a roaring darkness, and she slumped against the tree, welcoming the darkness as a respite from weariness and exhaustion.

There was a pair of arms helping her up suddenly, and a voice, although she couldn't hear what it was saying. Was it her father? No, it was too young… but then the voice had morphed into her father's. "Father?" she mumbled. "I can't hear you."

The pair of arms were supporting her, and moving along. "I'm not your father," the voice said brusquely. But it was her father's voice, so how could it not be him?

Lianne sighed, and allowed herself to be carried onto a horse. She slumped against the rider, and mumbled, "I knew you weren't dead, Father." There was a faint smile on her face.

"I'm not your father, I told you," answered the voice, sounding irritated. "My name is Murtagh."


A/N: Not the best ending, I know, but it serves its purpose. Please review!