Dion woke suddenly in the darkness, gasping quietly. It took him a second to recognise his location, as well as how and why he'd found himself in this place. He centred his body, felt the heavy branch beneath him, and remembered. A vigorous breeze had picked up while in slumber. The neighbouring trees were all swaying, breathing into each other then out. He moved to turn his head, but found he couldn't. All but his eyes were paralysed, as if he were just another branch protruding from the tree. Stifling the sting of panic that came with this realisation, he rotated his eyes to the left, and was relieved to see Schwinn still strapped securely in place, lost in oblivion, snoring so loud that it could be heard over the gusting of the wind.

  'Blasted haul.' Thought Dion. 'Might as well call to the wolves with birdsong.' But what had awakened him? Was it the clean kiss of the wind on his cheek? No. There was little sound. It was something that had signalled into the now-lost dream that carried him through to his waking state. Then he remembered. Gentle footsteps in the snow. He darted his vision downwards, but the way was greatly occluded by the many beams and leaves. He searched through the gaps, the rare patches of snow that appeared and then dissapeared with the swinging tree.

  But he needn't have looked downward. His attention was suddenly snapped to the beam on which he lay propped. About two yards from him, in a spot that was seconds ago unoccupied, sat a man shrouded in black. Or at least it had the general shape of a man. It was more a silhouette, featureless, save for the outline. Dion tried to reason with what he was seeing. It must be a dream, but the picture was far to real for this to be the case. He wanted to reach for his sword but he remained stuck-still.

  'Are you lost, wanderer?' The being said softly, steadily. It seemed to be staring downward rather than at Dion.

  'What are you?' Asked Dion, with a forced calmness, 'Be you the third man? How did you immobilise me, by poison in my sleep?'

  'I have been called many things over the ions, The Third Man being one of them. If it is your wish you may call me this. But it was not I who fixed you rigid, that is your own body's doing.'

  'Why are you here? I'm not lost, I know my way to Dwyr Hallt. I've no need for your compass. Leave me be.'

  'You think navigation is our sole duty?' The thing now seemed to turn to face Dion directly, its inky darkness hiding any feature. Dion had always trusted in his near-mystical night vision. The ability even gave way to his legend, 'The Full Moon Rider' they called him, but he could see nothing but the basic humanoid shape.

  'What do you speak of?'

  'Your way is lost, Dion Cylith, your fate misaligned.'

  'How could you know this?'

  'It's all we know, all we see.'

  'I don't believe in fate.'

  'It's not a belief, it's a truth. You're a leaf trapped in an eddy, Moon Rider. There is a place for you in the near-foray. A call to arms once more.'

  'Fine, how do I... realign?' Dion's vision was starting to grey at the edges, his own voice becoming muddy, blurred.

  'When you reach the town of Dwyr Hallt at midday next, when you have sold your captive, you will be presented with a choice in the form of an opportunity.'

  A tiredness was setting in Dion now. A delirium almost. 'How will I know when I see it?' He asked.

  The being turned back to face the ground. 'Call it a message from the Gods.'

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Dion snapped awake into broad daylight, flailing a hand against the tree trunk for support. The world about him was bright, calm, without a whisper of a breeze, and in the distance he heard the gentle call of a goldfinch. The branch that stretched out before him was absent once more, save for the odd twig and loose powder-green leaf.

  'A dream, nothing more.' He thought. But he could remember every word, every sense - the smell of the breeze, the resonance of the Third Man's voice. After the paralysis he'd just experienced he was eagre to move, to stretch his legs. He woke Schwinn and offered him some water and dried fish, before taking some himself. The captive was groggy, pitiful-looking, but was glad of the sustenance.

  It took five hours at a steady pace for Dion to drag Schwinn into the town of Dwyr Hallt. The sun was high and warm as he ambled up the main street. Its light screamed off the dazzling snow, causing Schwinn to complain ad nauseum of a 'disabling headache.' Dion pulled him up the steps and through the main door of the constabulary barracks, grunting as he dropped the cord to the ground, before nodding respectfully at the Acting Frontstock behind the desk.

  The chubby, rosey-cheeked Officer looked up from the notes he was writing. 'Ah you got the blighter! I have to say old boy, I was worried even the Full Moon Rider would get turned around in those mountains.'

  Dion took off his bearhide gloves and went to bathe his cold, calloused hands in the warmth of the fire. 'Easy haul'. He said, without turning around. 'Payment?' Came next.

  'Ah yes. Seven ryals I believe?'

  'Nine alive.' Corrected Dion, pointing from the fire at the groaning swindler on the floor.

  'Of course! Sorry, we don't usually receive them... intact.'

  The Frontstock was acting much more chipper than when Dion had stood in the room a week ago to the day. He preferred the more surly form, there was less talking with him, and Dion was sick of hearing jabber after three days with Schwinn.

  A young marcher had now started to pull Schwinn into one of the cells that lay at the back of the room, but he stopped beside Dion and looked at him with a childish awe, his mouth slightly open. 'Glad to have met you, sir.' Said the Marcher bashfully. He dropped Schwinn's legs onto the wooden boards so he could salute. Schwinn let out a yelp of anger.

  Dion acknowledged the flat palm pressed tightly against the Marcher's chest, smiled wanly and patted the young man on his thin shoulders, before walking over to the Frontstock, who had a large tin lockbox open before him on the desk.

  'Lets see... nine ryals, minus council tax, minus Ruskel tax, minus Orosian tax, minus claimant tax, minus common tax...' muttered the Officer.

  Dion turned to scan the claimant wanted board that stood by the door, and to his pleasant surprise noticed a fresh reem of parchment placed there. But, when he looked closer, was struck by a cold chill, just as he'd felt in the dream high on that branch.

  He ripped the notice from the board, tearing one of the top corners, and slammed it on the table before the Frontstock Officer, causing the man to jump back suddenly, spilling a scattering of coins from his hand. 'What in the high hills...?' He exclaimed.

  'Where did this come from? What news do you have of this?' Interrupted Dion.

  The Officer took the page, his cheeks now flush with an even deeper brush of pink. 'Oh that was received late last night. Arrived by way of a cliffwalker. Told me it's being sent to all the major Ruskel outposts straight north of Witchtown, ours was the second stop actually. Must've cost The Vicariate a fair few coins to get it delivered by cliffwalker let me tell you. Although they've got plenty to spare. Don't know why they didn't just send a falcon but I guess they don't trust them birds. I know I don't sometimes...'

  Dion grew impatient. 'This bounty was placed by the Vicariate?' He asked.

  'Yup.' Responded the Officer, seemingly unfazed by Dion's rudeness. 'Been a long time since we've had one from the church rather than the Councillor's Assembly. Even had to check the lawbook to make sure they weren't breaking any rules. I like to be dutiful, know what I mean? But you know what the Vicariate are like. Free to do what they please.'

  'This says it's a... fifty-five ryal reward?' Dion trailed off. 'Who is this?'

  'Some cultist by the looks of it.'

  Dion studied every line on the drawing of the wanted man. Ugly, with a heavily wrinkled and scarred forehead, strong, overhanging brow and thick beard split at the end by two braid ties.

  'A message from the Gods...' He thought.