Lesh turned back to see two men, still carrying the colors of their dead boyar. The apple tree hanging on their chests was an insult. Their beards had grown from the long march and their blades had been busy even though they’ve met no enemies.

Yes, he knew them. Not these two in particular, but their kind. Traitors. Deserters. Just the men Lesh aimed for when he wanted to pull an army apart. Those who held allegience to no one but themselves, those who hold a grudge in their heart, those who eye the heirloom on their friend’s neck, thinking of how they would snatch it once he dies. Their hands rest on their swords when there’s a fight in their camp, waiting for work.

It’s these men Lesh had exploited time and time again. It’s these men that did his work last night unknowingly. But now they found their way to his doorstep.

“We saw you sneaking around the camp. You took some food didn’t you? We reckoned you might want to give something in return for it?” - one of them said.

He was short and strong, a clenched square jaw surrendered his brutish nature. A strong man, no doubt, but not a soldier. The clumsily tied sword on his hip spoke that his strength came from throwing bales, not swinging a sword.

“That food wasn’t yours, dead men’s food has no owner.” - Lesh replied.

“Since our lord has deceased in unfortunate circumastances, we lead the company now.” - the square man’s companion said.

If it wasn’t for the weapon on his waist and the leather armor on his chest, Lesh would’ve mistaken him for a child. He was so thin, his clothes looked like they were put over a scarecrow.

“You can’t rule over corpses.”

“We rule nonetheless and you will have to repay us for our people’s generosity.” - the thin one continued, he seemed more eloquent than the other.

“You’re in our debt.” - the burly one said and rested his hand on the hilt.

Hope didn’t wait for him to draw his sword. She had heard that conversation before. It was other men and she had a different master, but the words said and the way the palm hugged the swordhilt was the same. She had already lost one master and she didn’t intend on losing another.

Before Lesh could do anything, she jumped out from his hands and sunk her teeth in the inside of the square soldier’s thigh. He screamed, his hands instinctively left the weapon and tried to pull the dog away. But while he had one sword, Hope had two rows of knives on her jaw and if she lets go, she would take a piece of him with her.

The second traitor pulled his blade out but he hesitated, fearing he would hit his partner. The dog and the other soldier were a mess of limbs, blood and swear words. So he started kicking Hope and she turned her attention to him, leaving the first one in the dirt, holding his leg. The thin man jumped back, evading her bites until the chain reached her limits and the dog couldn’t advance no more.

“Is this as far as you go? I’ll show you now, you bitch” - he said, looked at Lesh, gripping the sword tightly in his hand.

Hope was barking at him and baring her teeth, pulling at the chain. She only needed a couple of steps, just a few inches more.

She couldn’t realise what was coming at her.