Darkness creeps softly over the hill, and the moon rises in its wake. The still night air is thick with tension as the chill of autumn drifts like dying leaves down into the valley below. No wind rustles through the branches of the ancient oaks that spring like sentinels from the valley's loins, and only the steady beat of hooves upon the ground disturbs the silence.

Along the well worn track that follows the contours of the valley, two fine horses trot, pulling behind them a covered coach. Moonbeams shine through the eerie darkness and play over the cart, revealing wooden shutters bolted fast. Outside the cart sit two dark figures, with hoods drawn up against the cold. One figure holds the horses' reigns in hand, and prompts them forward. The other clenches a pipe between his teeth, sending small puffs of fragrant smoke into the frigid sky.

A sudden gust of wind stirs the sentinels from their slumber, and they shake their mighty bows in response, sending forth a shower of dead and dying leaves. A grouse is also roused from sleep and dashes across the track, causing the horses to rear and whinny. The coach halts, and the driver descends to calm his horses. The other man moves towards the back of the cart, and snuffs his pipe.

Withdrawing a key from a small pouch at his waist, the man proceeds to unlock the two wooden doors which open onto the interior of the coach. The driver joins him, holding a torch in one hand, the other resting on the hilt of the sword at his side. The man with the key swings open the doors, and steps back, gesturing towards the opening. In the torchlight, five shadows appear on the rough wooden walls inside the coach. Each is bound and gagged.

A fine rain begins to fall, causing the driver's torch to flicker. He returns to the front of the coach, as his companion closes the doors to the cart and locks them. When finished, the man pauses to look at a gnarled oak whose branches overhang the road, before pulling his cloak tightly around him, and rejoining the driver.

The hardening rain beats a frantic patter onto the roof of the coach, and extinguishes, the torch. Both men and beasts are cold and tired, but carry on into the night. A sudden wind whips rain into the faces of the driver and his dark companion, then dances through the branches of the old oak tree, shaking its leaves. Their rustling sounds like the laughter of one who knows much about things to c