《Wings of Sorrow (Rewrite)》


 Ch 1: A Dallop of Ale and a Drop of Blood

    Grim fingered the silver lion, feeling the smooth contours of the coin, before laying it down on the wooden table. Across from him, Billy grinned a gap-toothed smile as he reached for the cup of dice. Grim watched as the rugged man shook the cup and released the dice. They spilled onto the table, bouncing across the gaps in the wood.


    Seven.


    To Grim¡¯s right, Edgar groaned. Billy barked a coarse laugh as he scooped up the small pile of coins. Grim smirked. ¡°I think that¡¯s your sixth win in a row. Must be your lucky day.¡±


    Billy ran a hand through his graying hair. ¡°The dice love salty old bastards. When you get to my age, the sun will shine out of your arsehole too.¡± Billy turned from Grim, raising his hand to flag down one of the serving girls. ¡°Another round, m ¡¯dear,¡± he yelled over the din of the tavern.


    Edgar snorted, sharing a glance with Grim. They both knew Billy was cheating, just not how. But, as long as he kept buying their drinks, it was hard to care.


    Grim shifted in his chair, the links of his armor clinking as he gazed across the well-kept tavern. The place was filled to the brim with hardly an empty chair in sight. The sounds of merriment and drunken laughter mixed with the high notes of a lyre filled the air. His eyes drifted to the far side of the room where eight men in green cloaks sat, nursing their drinks. Their distinctive tanned skin and southern features set them apart from the other patrons, marking them as outsiders.


    The locals gave them a wide berth, and when one of the men glanced his way, Grim averted his eyes. The last thing he wanted was to pick a fight. He assumed they were on patrol, same as his squad. There was no reason for the Southerners to give them trouble, but their presence still made him uneasy. Tension always filled the air when Greencloaks and Rillish soldiers shared a room.


    His skin itched as he felt their eyes on him. He forced himself to focus on the homely bar girl bringing them their drinks. He smiled at her, trying not to let his nervousness show.


    ¡°Here you are, sirs,¡± she said, setting the wooden mugs on the table.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Grim muttered as he grasped the mug, feeling the cool foam splash over his hand as he sloshed it around. He took a long draw of the bitter brew, releasing a satisfied sigh as he finished.


    The girl curtsied to him. ¡°Course m¡¯lord,¡± she said before turning away to return to fetch the next mug of ale on the bar.


    Edgar chuckled. ¡°She just call you a lord?¡±


    Grim narrowed his eyes. ¡°I am a lord.¡±


    Billy knocked his mug against the table. ¡°Aye, and my cock hangs below my knee,¡± Billy said, ¡°Only one of those statements is an exaggeration.¡±


    Grim rolled his eyes. Admittedly, he didn¡¯t feel too lordly after being shafted with guard duty during the ass end of winter. The snow outside nearly came up to his knees. Patrolling this time of year meant walking from the castle to the nearest tavern and hoping you didn¡¯t lose a toe or two along the way.


    Billy sighed, leaning back in his chair. ¡°Besides, you shouldn¡¯t be saying that too loudly with the King¡¯s boys hanging around,¡± he said, nodding in the direction of the green-cloaked soldiers.


    Grim tugged at the fur and mail armor around his neck, doing his best to hide the raised brand running along his throat- an elongated X that marked him a bastard. He could still remember his piercing pain and smell of seared flesh. The look in his father¡¯s eyes as he held the glowing iron to his son¡¯s throat. That look was as branded to his mind as his flesh.


    Cold. That was the only description for the man.


    Grim drank.


    Edgar spoke up in a low voice. ¡°They¡¯re eyeing us,¡± he trailed off.


    Grim glanced toward the table across the room. Sure enough, the Greencloaks were looking their way as they talked among themselves.


    Grim ran a hand along the axe hanging from his belt. Billy followed his gaze. ¡°C¡¯mon. Let¡¯s get the hell out of here before they start something.¡±


    Billy rose to his feet, and Edgar followed suit, their hands now resting along the haft of his axe. Grim tossed an extra silver lion onto the table before slinging his iron-rimmed shield over his shoulder and following in their wake as they headed towards the door.


    A drunken voice called from the Greencloak table. ¡°Oi, Thorne boys! Where you running off to?¡±


    Grim ignored him, following close on Billy¡¯s heels as he led them between the crowded tables.


    The voice called again ¡°Hey Bastard, don¡¯t leave yet. I was just about to tell the story of when I plowed your mother.¡±


    Grim froze in his tracks, his hand tightening around the haft of his axe. Other conversations around the room died as patrons sensed the rising tension.


    ¡°Cost a pretty penny. An Earl¡¯s bitch doesn''t come cheap,¡± The voice continued.


    ¡°Boy. Ignore them. C¡¯mon,¡± Billy beckoned.


    Grim marched forward with leaden feet. His mother was famously a whore. His father was forced to set her aside after the war in favor of a southern bride. She did what she needed to survive. While he could barely remember her face, the words still set his temper aflame. He gritted his teeth and marched forward.


    Edgar spat in the direction of the Greencloaks as they walked past. The soldiers responded with guffaws. Another voice called out. ¡°Just like a Rillman to show his back.¡±


    Billy put his hand to the door leading outside.


    ¡°Reminds me of Varna,¡± The voice continued.


    ¡°Where?¡± another Greencloak asked.


    They collectively broke out into heightened laughter. Grim winced. All that was left of Varna was ruins. All that was left of its people- bones and ashes. The second largest city in the Rills was long ago wiped off the map at the behest of the King.


    Billy¡¯s hand fell from the door. Grim knew he¡¯d been there when the city was lost- watching as it burned from afar. It was one of the few stories he wouldn¡¯t talk about.


    It¡¯d been twenty years, but some wounds never heal.


    As Billy turned to face the Greencloaks, Grim locked eyes with Edgar, edging uncomfortably. Billy spat on the tavern floor. ¡°Aye we lost the city, but I¡¯ve got ten notches in my axe with your fathers¡¯ names in them from that day.¡±


    The tavern fell quiet. Even the music had stilled, the bard having seemingly disappeared into the shadows of the bar. Those patrons unfortunate enough to have picked a seat between the Greencloaks and the door were rushing from their seats, away from the growing conflict.


    The Venaran officer at the table rose to his feet. He was a gentleman of soft edges with fancifully tailored facial hair across his round face, his distinguished station marked by the golden sun clasping his cloak around his shoulders. The man leaned on the table, a swarmy grin spreading across his face as he met Billy¡¯s heated gaze. ¡°I think I just heard the King¡¯s peace be broken. If you boys lay down your arms and walk away with your tails between your legs, I¡¯ll let it slide.¡±


    ¡°Come get them,¡± Billy said, raising his axe.


    The officer hesitated as he sized Billy up, nervousness in his eyes. But he had the numbers. He drew the blade at his side.


    Grim drew his axe and hefted his shield, falling in at his sergeant¡¯s side. Edgar rushed to followed suit as the Greencloaks collectively drew their swords, the bronze glimmering as it reflected the firelight.


    Grim took a deep breath as his pulse pounded. He¡¯d never been in real combat before. His palms began to sweat, and he tightened his grip on his axe as the Greencloaks approached, forming a wide ring around them.


    Billy edged their unit away from the open area in front of the door, closer to the table they vacated. Less room for them to be surrounded. Their opponents fanned out as they prepared to charge. Grim braced himself.


    As the Greencloak officer raised his sword to signal the attack, the door of the tavern slammed open, revealing a score of men bearing masks resembling a hoard of various animals. Billy cursed beneath his breath, ducking beneath his shield as the distinctive twang of bowstrings sounded.


    Grim grunted as an arrow slammed into his shield, nearly knocking him back a step. He dug in his heels, glancing to Billy and Edgar. Arrows sprouted from their shields, but they were no worse for wear. Pandemonium exploded into being as screams of pain and alarm rent the air. Grim snapped his eyes back to the Greencloaks. They were caught in the flank, the arrows decimating their numbers. Wounded men clutched at the arrows piercing their lungs as they reeled from the masked warriors streaming through the door, leaving trails of blood in their wake.


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    The newcomers roared, rushing into the tavern, their feet pounding against the floorboards. Civilians tripped over each other as they scrambled from the charge, many running to huddle behind Grim and his companions. Grim broke the arrows off his shield with his axe, straining at the effort as he watched the butchery unfold, Greencloak blood watering the floorboards.


    ¡°Hold,¡± Billy muttered, as if they had a choice.


    It had barely begun before it was over, the strangers wiping their bloody axes on the cloaks of the fallen. Grim scanned the masks as dark eyes watched him from behind the facades of bears, wolves, rams, and human skulls. It seemed all the Rillish clans were represented tonight. They were the Sons of the Reaper, self-proclaimed freedom fighters. For Grim¡¯s part, he didn¡¯t think men like them were worth the shit beneath his boot, and they constantly proved him right. Everything they did just made the occupation worse.


    He watched as they dragged anyone dark-skinned enough to be from the lands south of the Rillls to the center of the floor and unceremoniously caved in their skulls, piling the bodies atop the fallen soldiers. While some worked, others took seats at the tables, finishing off the dregs of whatever beer was within reach.


    A man wearing a wolf¡¯s mask broke from the pack and approached them, meeting Billy¡¯s gaze unapologetically. ¡°We have no quarrel with you-¡±


    Billy cut him off. ¡°Sure as shit didn¡¯t feel like it a moment ago,¡± he said, glancing to the pair of arrows sticking from his shield.


    The masked man ignored that, laying his axe over his shoulder. ¡°Give us the rest of the southerners and we¡¯ll let you and your men go.¡±


    Grim glanced behind him to see a dark-skinned man and woman huddled amongst the score of pale Rillish faces. They met his gaze with wide, pleading eyes.


    Billy hesitated a moment. ¡°Take them,¡± he said, lowering his shield and stepping to the side. An objection stuck in Grim¡¯s throat. He swallowed hard and lowered his arms.


    No point in dying with them.


    Grim felt sick, taking in the look of betrayal on their faces, lowering his head as he stepped to the side. What crime had they committed? Being born?


    The pair cowered, screaming as the wolf approached with a pair of comrades in tow, his every step darkening Grim¡¯s dread. Their cries were soon cut short as their corpses joined the pile. Bile rose in Grim¡¯s throat, burning as the attackers smeared blood from their victims across their wooden masks. Without another word, the bloodied Sons funneled from the tavern, disappearing into the snow and darkness outside.


    As the last man disappeared from the tavern, Billy released a sigh of relief, letting his shield clatter to the floor, collapsing into a nearby chair. Beads of sweat dripped from his forehead despite the cold air billowing in from the open door. ¡°That could have been a lot worse,¡± he said, voice tinged with relief.


    Grim grimaced in agreement, looking over the dead as he walked amongst them, boots squelching through their blood. The woman lay atop the pile, her brown eyes glistened with residual tears, face a rictus of fear. He leaned over and closed her eyelids with a gentle hand, sighing as he did so.


    Edgar watched him quietly, his gaze shifting toward the door. ¡°We should get out of here before another troop of Greencloaks wanders by and tries to pin this on us.¡±


    Around the tavern the patrons whispered, the occasional sob breaking the muffled quiet. After a long moment, Billy nodded in agreement with Edgar. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a gloved hand. ¡°Aye, let¡¯s get back to the castle.¡±


    The surviving patrons were already filing out, doubtless having the same thought and not wanting to stick around for whatever reprisal was sure to come. Grim fell into step beside Billy as he led them out onto the snow-covered street. Outside, trails of blood disappeared into the darkness of surrounding alleyways. He could almost feel their eyes on him as he trudged down the cobbled streets of the inner city.


    Gargantuan piles of snow lined the roadway, nearly as tall as Grim stood. He couldn¡¯t wait for the thaw. Spring was near. They walked in silence down the dark streets, following the flickering light of the torches that hung from sconces along the roads. A gust of wind blasted down the roadway, sending up a flurry of snow. Grim cursed as he brushed ice from the brown curls of his beard.


    ¡°Cold as the Reaper¡¯s tits,¡± Billy muttered as he turned right down a side street, leading to the market square.


    Grim could only grunt in agreement, his ears already going numb.


    ¡°So, who¡¯s going to tell the Earl?¡± Edgar asked, glancing between Grim and Billy.


    Grim scowled at the thought. ¡°Any chance he won¡¯t find out we were there?¡±


    Billy snorted.


    Grim sighed. ¡°And you want me to break the news, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Who better than his favorite son?¡± Billy asked, a grin splitting his face despite the cold.


    ¡°I¡¯m his only son,¡± Grim muttered.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t say you were a good one,¡± Billy answered, ¡°But, he¡¯s less likely to skin you alive than he is me.¡±


    Grim shook his head. He had his doubts. ¡°Fine, I¡¯ll see if I can catch him tonight.


    They continued in silence down the roadways, the icy snow crunching beneath their boots. The roads were deserted, the wind howling as it screeched through the alleys. Grim released a sigh of relief as the buildings and piles of snow fell away to reveal a wide-open square filled empty merchant stands, their canopies hung heavy with ice. Small mountains of snow were pushed to the edges of the square. Only the most important roadways were left open this time of year. But, it hardly mattered; the market saw little foot traffic until the thaw.


    Grim¡¯s eyes inevitably drifted towards the circle of crosses raised in the center of the square. Silent corpses hung from the crosses, suspended by iron nails rammed through their elbows. The weight of their own bodies grotesquely twisted their shoulders into a mockery of wings. Around their necks were wooden signs detailing their various crimes. Most simply read ¡®traitor¡¯.


    The lucky ones were hung in winter. The cold ensured they didn¡¯t last long. In summer, their cries could be heard for days unless cut short by their loved ones. Otherwise, it¡¯d be a race between thirst and the inevitable purification of their wounds.


    Edgar followed Grim¡¯s gaze. ¡°Poor bastards,¡± he muttered.


    Grim could only nod in agreement as he stared at the frosted corpses.


    Billy grunted. ¡°Quit lollygagging, lest we be joining them in the morning.¡±


    Edgar paled a shade whiter and Grim shared his concern. Would the Marshall think to make an example of them? Was standing aside treason? He felt sick just thinking of it, his mind rushing back to faces of the southerners he let die. What they¡¯d done was certainly a betrayal. Of that, he was sure.


    Grim averted his green eyes from the corpses and looked skyward, to where Bleakridge castle sat high above the city proper, perched upon the cliff face that gave the castle and city their name. Torches along its ramparts glowed like stars in the night, a siren¡¯s call to safety and warmth.


    Grim redoubled his pace, his comrades trudging after him as they trekked through the darkness.


    ***


    Grim took a long, deep breath as he stood just beyond the door to his father¡¯s bedchamber, praying his breath didn¡¯t reek too harshly of ale. He ran a hand through the coarse, dark curls of his growing beard. Divines, he desperately needed a trim. It was getting out of hand. Doubtless, his father would disapprove. He sighed, glancing to the flickering firelight streaming through the crack beneath the door.


    The clack of boots against stone sounded behind him and Grim squinted at the pair of Briar Guards, his father¡¯s elite soldiers, patrolling the halls of the inner keep. They shot him quizzical looks as they passed. It was the fifth time they¡¯d passed in the many minutes Grim spent staring dumbly at the door. He grumbled, gritting his teeth as he raised his fist to knock, pounding against the oaken door.


    He heard the scrape of wood against stone followed by the padding of footsteps. A moment later, the latch clicked, and the door opened to reveal his father. Stony, gray eyes regarded him from a face of hard lines and harsh edges. His father was one of the few men who could meet Grim¡¯s gaze at eye level.


    A moment of stiff silence passed between them, his father seeming to read him like an open book. A hint of a frown tugged the corner of the man¡¯s lips. ¡°What happened?¡± He asked.


    Grim averted his eyes, glancing past his father into the foyer beyond. The hearth was lit, its lonely light casting a warm glow over the pair of wooden sitting chairs and green banners lining the stone walls. Trophies from battles long past. Grim swallowed, then walked inside, closing the door behind him.


    His father gestured for him to take a seat in one of the foyer¡¯s intricately carved, wooden chairs near the fire. Grim obliged, feeling the warmth of the fire grow more intense as he drew nearer. He shrugged off his cloak and draped it across one of the sitting chairs as he fell into it. He released a deep breath then told him what happened at the tavern, knowing that sparing any detail would only make things worse when the Earl found out himself.


    As Grim finished his story, his father maintained an expression of stony calmness. Grim fidgeted under his gaze as he waited for the chastisement to begin, their punishment to be revealed.


    The Earl said nothing, letting the silence linger until he finally rose from his seat, walking to the bar along the far wall. He grabbed a carafe full of a deep red liquid and a pair of iron goblets. As he placed them on the small table between the chairs and began to fill them, Grim looked around, noticing the sheaths of paper scattered along the desk tucked in the corner of the room, thin, slanted words illuminated by the candlelight. His father rarely slept these days, the effort of keeping the city from falling into anarchy occupying his days and nights. Grim did not envy the man before him.


    His father fell into the chair beside him and passed Grim a goblet full of the wine. Grim took a long draw from it. As he swallowed the burning liquid, his father spoke, ¡°You were leading your squad tonight.¡±


    Grim blinked, his confusion made evident by the look he gave the Earl.


    ¡°It¡¯s the only way the other men will survive this. They won¡¯t kill you- probably.¡± The Earl drank deeply from his goblet.


    Grim swallowed, ¡°Kill? We didn¡¯t do anything.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s one way to look at it,¡± his father agreed, nodding. He lifted his head to meet Grim¡¯s gaze. ¡°Or you distracted the Venaran soldiers for an ambush by the Sons. Perhaps you¡¯d been planning this attack in secret. Maybe you laughed as they killed the southerners. Maybe you even joined in the killing.¡±


    Grim¡¯s face drew a hard line. ¡°I didn¡¯t do any of that.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter what you did,¡± his father said, ¡°It only matters what people say you did.¡± The Earl¡¯s goblet clanked as he set his goblet down on the small end table. ¡°Tell me, what makes a better story- The bastard who stood helplessly by as rebels massacred some southerners? Or, the bloody bastard who joined in the murder for the fun of it?¡± The Earl leaned forward, holding Grim¡¯s gaze. ¡°Which story do you think the Sons will tell?¡±


    The blood drained from Grim¡¯s face as the gravity of the situation dawned on him. ¡°But- I-¡± He trailed off, realizing there was nothing to say. He set the goblet on the table, its contents forgotten as he rubbed at his eyes with his other hand, pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger.


    The ensuing silence dragged on as they both stared into the flames of the hearth. ¡°What will they do to me?¡± Grim asked, dreading the answer.


    His father was quiet a long moment, his brow creasing into a slight furrow as he considered the question. ¡°That¡¯s for me to negotiate.¡± He ran a hand through his slowly graying black hair, releasing the strands with a small sigh. ¡°Get some rest. I suspect we¡¯ll be having an unexpected meeting with the Venaran Marshall tomorrow.¡±


    Grim nodded stiffly, wordlessly rising to his feet. He grabbed his cloak off the chair and glanced over his shoulder at his father as he walked to the door. The man¡¯s eyes were locked on the fire, his jaw tense. Grim passed through the doorway into the hall. Behind him, the latch clicked shut with a sense of finality.

 Ch 2: Homecoming

    Harren gripped the reins of his horse tightly in his gloved hands as he led the beast down the cobbled boulevard of the King¡¯s Road. Behind him, his retainers held their reins in similarly, white-knuckled grasp as they watched the unnaturally pale faces of the Rillmen watching them from the sides of the road. They looked famished, starved like stray dogs, eyes sunken, begging for scraps.


    For that matter, they smelled little better than mongrel mutts, their odor lingering along the road. A noble pang of pity struck a chord in Harren¡¯s heart and he took a hand from the reins to loosen his coin purse. He scooped a handful of silver Lions and flung them into the gutter by the edge of the road. The coins stuck in the snow and shit along the road, gleaming in the sunlight.


    Passersby stopped in their tracks and dove for the scattered wealth, fighting among themselves. The sight sickened Harren and he turned away lest he regret his generosity. His younger brother, Brian, pulled his horse alongside Harren. ¡°Do they all live like this?¡± Brian asked, a mingled sense of disgust and surprise in his voice as he looked around at the slums.


    Harren grunted and shook his head as he followed his brother¡¯s gaze, taking in the crumbling wooden structures leaning on each other for support, seeming to bend from the weight of the snow atop them. Shit filled gutters were mere feet from where people laid their heads to sleep. It was rare to see a face that didn¡¯t seem to beg for sustenance. All this was commonplace to the areas beyond the city walls that the Rillmen quaintly referred to as the ¡®Outwalls¡¯.


    ¡°It¡¯ll be better once we¡¯re in the inside the city walls,¡± he said, ¡°Passing through here is a necessary evil.¡±


    Harren looked up to the castle perched on the high cliffs in the distance, a monolithic monstrosity. A sigh escaped his lungs. There was nothing he hated more than attending court here, but it was his duty to advance the interests of his family- and his own.


    Still, he could have used another few weeks at his family estates in Caldwyn. He was little more than a child when his father was awarded the land, right on the border between Venar and the Rills. Or, rather right over the border. That arbitrary line set after the war meant he technically owed his fealty to the Earl of Bleakridge. He rolled his eyes at the thought.


    ¡°Harren,¡± Brian yelled.


    The alarm in his brother¡¯s voice snapped him from his thoughts. His eyes followed his brother¡¯s gaze to where a woman struggled among a group of men. They were pawing at her, their movements becoming more aggressive by the moment. Her scream was stifled as one of the men clamped a hand around her throat. The woman was pretty, and her eyes seemed to lock onto them with a look of desperate pleading as she was dragged toward a nearby alley, her feet kicking in the filthy snow.


    Harren leaned over in his saddle and grabbed the reins of his brother¡¯s horse, yanking back as hard as he could as the boy dug his spurs into the horse¡¯s flank. Confused, the horse reared, kicking its legs in the air as Brian tumbled from the saddle onto the snow dusted cobblestone.


    Brian cursed as he scrambled to his feet. He looked up to Harren as he fumbled with the sword at his waist. ¡°What are you doing?¡± he cried, ¡°we have to help her!¡± His eyes snapped back to where the woman disappeared into the alley, her hands clawing at her assailants.


    ¡°It¡¯s a fucking lure,¡± Harren snapped more harshly than he intended to. He took a deep breath to calm himself, wondering how furious his father would be if Harren let Brian get killed on his first day in the city.


    His brother hesitated, brow furrowed in confusion. ¡°Lure?¡± he asked.


    ¡°If I let you chase after her, another dozen men would have ambushed you in that alley, killed our guards, and held us for ransom. It¡¯s an act the Sons like to play on nobles.¡±


    A frown creased Brian¡¯s lips. ¡°And if that wasn¡¯t an act?¡±


    ¡°Get on the horse. Don¡¯t leave the road,¡± Harren said.


    Brian¡¯s frown deepened, but he obeyed. Once he was mounted, Harren set their column into motion once more at a quicker pace. It was rare, but he¡¯d heard stories of ambushes along the King¡¯s Road itself. The sooner they got to the gates, the better.


    Harren felt better once they caught up to a merchant caravan traveling the same path to the city. The caravan guards also seemed to relax a little with a half-dozen more swords on their heels. Harren slowed his pace to match that of the train of trundling carts, preferring the safety in numbers to speed. He kept an eye on his brother, making sure he wasn¡¯t about to ride off the road on some new heroic venture. If they were taken from the road, the garrison wouldn''t even bother searching for them.


    But Brian was young, and this was his first time in the city. He had a lot of hard lessons to learn. It was Harren¡¯s job to ensure they didn¡¯t kill him. He fingered the coarse hairs along his chin as they followed the caravan. Gods, he¡¯d kill for a shave and a bath. There had been little time for either on their journey north from Caldwyn. Father wanted to make sure Brian made it in time for the Marshal¡¯s annual competition.


    It was a rite of passage for young Venaran noblemen in the Rills, with prestige and glory going to the winner. Harren had won his year, and the expectation was that Brian would do the same. Harren¡¯s other job was to make sure that happened. A smirk creased his lips as his hand drifted unconsciously to the hilt of his bronze sword. He was sure he¡¯d enjoy that task.


    As the front of the caravan neared the gate set into the high, stone walls, Harren drew his mount around the carts, galloping past them toward the gate guards who stood waiting.


    The merchant seated on the cart at the front of the column raised his hands and ground the caravan to a halt, letting Harren and his comrades cut in front of him at the gate. The southern merchant bowed his head in deference as Harren passed by- as it should be. Harren nodded toward the merchant, grateful for the proper display of respect. He turned his attention to the gate guards. They were split into two distinct groups, each occupying one side of the stone archway.


    To his left were good Venaran soldiers dressed in gleaming bronze lamellar armor with green cloaks adorning their shoulders. To his right were Rillish soldiers dressed in drab iron chain, their thick beards doubtless hiding a plethora of fleas.


    Harren led his group to the left where the Venaran soldiers had averted their eyes in deference. To his right, the Rillmen watched them with looks that bordered on insubordinate. They never showed the proper deference. But that was the least of what bothered him about these people.


    One of the Venaran guards stepped forward, eyes still averted. ¡°Baron Barrington, welcome back my lord.¡±


    Harren smiled, pleasantly surprised that the guard recognized him. He technically wasn¡¯t a Baron until his father passed, but he appreciated the dignity it communicated. He¡¯d put in a good word for the post with the Marshal. ¡°Good morning, Sargent. I would say it¡¯s good to be back, but-¡± he trailed off.


    The soldier displayed an understanding grin. ¡°Just six months left on my deployment, lord. Just taking it a day at a time.¡± The grin fell away from the man¡¯s face, and he straightened himself. ¡°I apologize for any inconvenience, lord, but the Marshal has instituted martial law within the city for the day. I¡¯m going to have to insist two of my men accompany you to your destination to ensure you aren¡¯t unnecessarily harassed by our patrols.¡±


    Harren interpreted that as ¡®It¡¯s dangerous, and I want to cover my ass if something happens to you,¡¯ but he could appreciate that.


    Brian pulled his mount alongside Harren. ¡°Did something happen?¡± The guard nodded. The Sons struck in the night. Caught several of our patrols. Only a few men survived. The Marshal locked down the inner city until the culprits are found.


    ¡°And if they made it beyond the wall?¡± Brian asked.


    The guard shifted uncomfortably.


    ¡°We¡¯ll discuss that later, Brian,¡± Harren said, sparing the guard from having to admit it didn¡¯t matter whether the ¡®culprits¡¯ had committed the crime, just that they had committed a crime. The Marshal had likely already drafted the lineup for an execution tomorrow. The martial law was just a show. He was flexing his military might just to remind the Rillmen he could.


    ¡°For now, we¡¯d appreciate the escort,¡± Harren added.


    ¡°Of course, lord.¡± The soldier bowed, then gestured toward two of his men.


    Harren waited while the two Venaran Soldiers grabbed their mounts from the hitching post past the gate. He gazed across the finely crafted stone buildings with steep, triangular roofs. Most had real windows, though the shutters on many were latched shut. The streets were clean aside from the snowdrifts plied to the side of the roads. The air even smelled cleaner. It was like walking into a new world compared to the squalor a few dozen paces behind him.


    Beside him, Brian was glancing over his shoulder, taking in the disparity. It had struck Harren as well when he first arrived, nearly seven years ago. It just was. No sense lamenting it. He put a hand on Brian¡¯s shoulder as the pair of mounted gate guards approached. ¡°We¡¯re headed to the Marshal¡¯s Manor,¡± he said.


    The guards gave a slight nod before spurring their horses into a canter down the main boulevard. Harren followed in their wake, glancing over his shoulder to make sure their family retainers were still on his heels.


    The streets were deserted aside from the odd group of Venaran or Rillish guardsmen paroling the streets. The uneasiness between the two groups was palpable. If Harren could have his way, he¡¯d have thrown out the Earl and the remaining vestiges of his authority in favor of a Venaran military government long ago.


    This compromise established at the end of the war made him uneasy, but he logically knew that the cost of another war would be immense. Nearly half a million of his countrymen died to subdue the Rills. Harren shook his head, trying to conceive that number of people. It was more than lived in this entire city, and its scale was still hard for him to grasp, even after all these years.


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Nearly twenty minutes passed as they wound through the maze of streets deviating from the King¡¯s Road before he saw the walls of the Venaran fort. Six city blocks had been leveled to accommodate the complex. Inside was everything the Marshal needed to exert his influence across the entire province. Nearly forty-thousand men were spread across the vast expanse of land- two whole legions.


    Inside that fort was also the only man who could elevate Harren¡¯s status above that of a frontier noble. He longed to someday see the court of Venar, to take part in that grand assembly. To be away from-


    Here.


    Harren sighed, waiting as the soldiers leading him discussed briefly with the gate guards. They bowed in his direction before calling to the gatehouse above to open the gate. He heard gears turning in the wall before the portcullis began to rise.


    Harren rode through with his brother, unopposed. Large stone barracks sat in rows to either side of the small road leading through the military complex. Hundreds of Venaran soldiers milled about, seeing to supplies or running drills in the small fields cleared for that purpose.


    Harren ignored their bows as he and Brian rode through, making their way towards the Marshal¡¯s residence. After a couple blocks, the drab, utilitarian buildings gave way to a short field leading up to a cast iron fence that stretched from the far eastern wall to the western. It separated the military facilities from the Marshal¡¯s residence. The disparity mirrored that of the inner city and the outer. Beyond the fence, were winding paths between carefully pruned evergreen trees. In the warmer seasons, there would be a beautifully crafted garden present. Even now, the trees granted an attractive layer of privacy to the manor beyond.


    The guards posted at the entrance were dressed in a heavier form of armor, thick bronze plates bolted onto a heavy leather cuirass. Harren knew from experience the hell it was to wear that for long periods of time. If the men were at all fatigued by it, they showed no sign, not even twitching as Harren rode past them into the garden.


    He led Brian down the paths beyond, winding through the frosted trees. He couldn¡¯t wait to get in front of a warm fire. A cold gust of wind made him wince as the trees fell away before him, revealing a manse that dwarfed the size of all buildings he¡¯d seen save for that monstrous castle the Earl lived in, high above the city.


    He led his horse around the large fountain sitting before the manse, acting as a guiding rotunda for the carriages that pulled up to the large double doors on the far side. Guards patrolled the grounds and stood watch at the entrances. Footmen waited at attention alongside them. Harren could see their struggle to avoid shivering while in his sight.


    Harren dismounted alongside his brother and turned to their retainers. ¡°You have coin for the return trip?¡± he asked their sargent, a rough-cut man from his father¡¯s estates.


    ¡°Yes, lord. We¡¯ll return at the turning before the thaw to bring any word from the Baron,¡± he said, ¡°Do you have any further need of us?¡±


    ¡°No, you are dismissed,¡± Harren answered.


    The sergeant and his companions bowed In their saddles before turning their steeds, doubtless off to the nearest brothel as commoners were want to do.


    Harren shook his head and walked to the doors of the manor as the servants emerged to see to their horses. Behind him, Brian thanked the men. Harren refrained from rolling his eyes. As he ascended the steps, the guards by the door moved to block his path.


    Harren waited patiently as one of the guards lightly rapped against the door. The click of a lock sounded from the other side, and the door opened to reveal a finely dressed gentleman with a buttoned green jacket and matching pants. His jacket was emblazoned with a golden sun above his heart, spun from thread of gold.


    The spindly man quickly stepped forward, waving his hands at the guards like he was shooing away a pair of dogs. ¡°Shoo. Shoo, you brutes. Can¡¯t you see this is one of the Marshal¡¯s honored guests?¡±


    The guards grumbled beneath their breath as they stepped to the side, offering Harren a slight bow of their heads.


    The finely dressed servant pressed his back against the open door and gestured for Harren and Brian to enter. ¡°It is good to see you again master Barrington,¡± the man said as they entered the opulent entrance hall.


    Harren was a little abashed to say he didn¡¯t remember the man¡¯s name, though he certainty recognized him. He pretended to be distracted by the sight of the twin marble staircases wrapping around the far side of the room. Between them was a grand tapestry depicting a golden sun on a field of green, the King¡¯s sigil. More guards lined the long hall, their armor finely polished and shining in the candlelight from the chandeliers high above.


    ¡°Likewise,¡± he said absently. Harren gestured to Brian, ¡°This is my brother, Brian Barrington. He¡¯s here for the Marshal¡¯s competition this year.


    The servant bowed deeply. ¡°Welcome, lord. My name is Calvin. If there is anything I can do to make your time here more comfortable, you need only let me know.¡±


    Calvin. Harren made a mental note. It paid to remember the names of the higher ranked servants.


    Calvin continued, ¡°Shall I get you settled in your rooms, and perhaps have our maids draw a bath?¡±


    Harren noted the not-so-subtle hint but ignored it. ¡°Actually, if the Marshal is available, I¡¯d like to greet him and quickly introduce my brother before we get settled in.¡±


    A small frown tugged at Calvin¡¯s lips, but it disappeared so quickly Harren almost missed it. ¡°Of course, sirs. The Lord Marshal is currently at work in his study, but I believe he will have a moment to greet new guests.¡± He turned on his heel toward the stairwell, ¡°Come with me.¡±


    Harren followed Calvin with Brian trailing in their wake. Their footsteps echoed in the vast chamber as they reached the stairs and slowly ascended to the second floor. The halls above were filled with artwork framed in gilded, gold frames. Most were depictions of historical victories by the Venaran forces over the Rills. He recognized the Marshal¡¯s face in more than a few but was unsure how much of that was truth rather than vanity.


    They passed several nobles in the halls, some of whom Harren recognized from his years spent here. They were of various ages and backgrounds. Most were younger men, here for the competition. They were sizing Brian up with appraising gazes. Others were older and here to curry favor from the Marshal, like Harren.


    Harren ignored them for now, focusing on trying to remember the proper cadence of a bow to somebody as high ranking as the Marshal. It was rare that Harren had to do more than nod his head. The Marshal was not one to care, but it was only proper to attend to decorum on a first introduction.


    Harren licked his lips as Calvin stopped outside one of the doors and rapped lightly on the wood. A muffled voice sounded from within, ¡°Come in.¡±


    Calvin turned the knob and entered as Harren followed. The room was large, but not overly so, with a fine oaken desk covered by neat stacks of parchment. Bookcases lined the walls, flanked by sitting chairs and a plush, green rug ran the length of the room.


    Calvin stepped onto the rug, before turning to gesture toward Harren. ¡°Your Grace, Barronet Barrington has-¡±


    Calvin cut off as the Marshal waved his hand dismissively. ¡°I know who he is, Calvin. You may go.¡±


    Calvin bowed in acknowledgment. ¡°As you say, your grace.¡± The man turned on his heel and passed by Harren as he entered the room with Brian in tow. Harren knelt into a deep bow, with what he hoped was the correct arm behind his back. Brian followed his example.


    ¡°Get up, you fops.¡± The Marshal said as he rose to his feet, setting his quill into the inkwell.


    Harren grinned as he rose to his feet. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you, your grace.¡± He gestured to his brother. ¡°My brother, Brian, is accompanying me this year for the competition.¡±


    The Marshal locked his eyes on Brian, and Harren could tell Brian was doing his best not to shrink from the man¡¯s gaze. The Marshal held out a hand for Brian to shake. ¡°Marshal Cavius Longreen,¡± he greeted.


    Brian reached out and clasped the man¡¯s hand, giving it a firm shake. ¡°Brian Barrington, at your service my lord - er, your grace.¡±


    Harren fought the urge to chuckle, and he caught a hint of amusement in the Marshal¡¯s eyes as Brian let his hand go. He reached out and patted Brian on the shoulder. ¡°If you do half so well as your brother has, then then you¡¯ll make a fine showing.¡±


    Harren fought the urge to beam at the compliment. ¡°He¡¯s destined to win,¡± Harren said, ¡°It¡¯s what Barringtons do.¡±


    The Marshal snorted. ¡°Well then, why don¡¯t you pour us a trio of winning drinks so we can give a toast to the Goddess for luck.¡±


    Harren nodded. ¡°Of course, sir.¡± He walked to the Marshal Longreen¡¯s desk where a crystal decanter filled with brown liquid, sat atop a golden tray next to four neatly arrayed goblets. Harren poured the drinks as the Marshal led Brian to the sitting chairs along the wall.


    As he measured the liquor, Harren glanced to the papers on the Marshal¡¯s desk, catching sight of a requisition letter bearing the royal crest with a space left empty for the King¡¯s seal. The Marshal was requesting another legion. Harren bit his lip. Trouble on the horizon, or a game of politics? Sometimes it was hard to tell.


    Harren turned away from the desk, carrying the three cups. The Marshal was hunched over with his elbows on his knees, chuckling while his brother wore a slight grin. Harren missed what had made the man laugh. The Marshal straightened as Harren passed him a glass. Brian looked at him uncertainly as Harren handed him his drink.


    It occurred to Harren then that Brian had never had anything stronger than wine. Father wasn¡¯t a fan of the harder stuff. ¡°It¡¯ll put some hair on your chest,¡± Harren said with a wink.


    Brian ignored Harren, taking a careful sip. Harren was almost disappointed when he didn¡¯t sputter. Harran drank from his own glass as the Marshal did. It was damn fine whiskey. The Marshal released a satisfied sigh and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. ¡°I feel I should admit that I have ulterior motives for inviting you for a drink, Harren.¡±


    Brian looked to Harren as he raised a quizzical eyebrow. ¡°I¡¯m at your service, your grace.¡±


    The Marshal nodded as if he expected nothing less. ¡°I can assume you heard about the events that transpired on the eve of your arrival.¡±


    Harren nodded.


    ¡°Nasty business that,¡± the Marshal said. He glanced to the sheafs of paper lining his desk. ¡°The event has unfortunately left me shorthanded. Most of the men killed were off-duty officers.¡±


    Harren fought a grimace. He saw where this was going.


    ¡°I was hoping you could take a command for the duration of your stay here. I need men with experience leading. More so, I need men of proper breeding. It could be months before the King is able to send suitable replacements.¡± The Marshal took a sip from his glass before continuing, ¡°You will, of course, be given the full rank of Prefectus along with all its privileges, and will be outside the normal chain of command, directly answerable to myself.¡±


    Harren pretended to weigh his options a moment. The rank and opportunity to operate outside the normal command chain was a consolation prize. The Marshal knew this was beneath him. Bastards and third sons became officers, not heirs. However, there was really only one answer.


    ¡°I¡¯d be honored to serve, your grace.¡±


    A smile crossed the Marshal¡¯s face. ¡°Excellent. Meet me tomorrow morning, and I¡¯ll take you to your posting.¡±


    Harren nodded. ¡°As you say.¡±


    The Marshal raised his glass. ¡°Then let us give a toast to the Goddess to bless your command and young Brian¡¯s performance with luck.¡±


    Harren and Brian clinked the Marshall¡¯s glass with their own. As Longreen swallowed the entire contents of his glass, Harren followed suit. Their audience was over. ¡°Thank you, your grace,¡± Harren said, plucking Brian¡¯s still unemptied glass from his hand and setting it on a nearby table. ¡°My brother and I are quite weary from our journey and ought to retire to our chambers to rest.¡±


    The Marshal nodded. ¡°Of course. I¡¯ll see you on the morrow.¡±


    Harren nudged Brian then turned from the Marshal, walking from the room.


    ¡°And Harren,¡± the Marshal called out ¡°have Calvin send one of the maids in here. The room could use some tidying.¡± He paused. ¡°The one with black hair,¡± he added.


    Harren nodded his acknowledgment as he walked into the hallway with Brian, shutting the door behind them. Calvin was still waiting by the door for them, his posture ramrod straight and arms behind his back. ¡°Did my lords have a pleasant conversation?¡± he asked.


    Harren nodded absently. ¡°The Marshal requests you fetch one of his maids.¡±


    ¡°The one with black hair?¡± Calvin asked.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Harren answered. ¡°I know my way around the manor. You may see to the Marshal¡¯s needs.¡±


    Calvin looked relieved. ¡°Thank you, sir,¡± he said before setting off down the hall at a brisk pace. The Marshal was not the most patient of men.


    ¡°Why the black haired one?¡± Brian asked.


    ¡°She¡¯s not a mistress if you call her a maid,¡± Harren whispered. ¡°There are many open secrets here that are known, but not spoken of. You¡¯ll catch on.¡±


    Harren led Brian down the hall. The boy looked uneasy, and Harren shared his apprehension. His own stay here had just become significantly more dangerous.

 Ch 3: Faith and Coin

    The lump in his throat was so big it felt as if he were trying to swallow a boulder. His legs ached from dangling off the edge of the wooden bench beneath him, its sharp corners digging into his thighs. He waited in darkness. The drawn curtains about him drowned out the light and made it hard to see the thin mesh separating him from the other side of the confessional box.


    The priest knew he was waiting. Southern churches always had a single priest in the nave to tend to the flock, and when Kid walked into the church, he¡¯d locked eyes with the dark-skinned man. Upon seeing Kid''s dirt-stained outfit, the priest stopped praying and watched him. Kid knew he was just waiting for an excuse to kick out the Outwaller.


    The irony made Kid smirk humorlessly. It wasn¡¯t funny. Not really. But this Outwaller was determined to outwait and outwit this priest. It was going to be outstanding. The thought brought a real grin to Kid¡¯s face and gave him the nerve to keep waiting. For all the Venaran clergy preached about the love of the Goddess and her capacity for forgiveness, he had yet to see any of it. The man couldn¡¯t ignore him forever.


    Kid jumped in surprise as the curtains rustled on the far side of the mesh barrier. ¡°Are you okay son?¡±


    Kid shook his head, looking to his feet. ¡°Forgive me father for I have sinned.¡±


    Kid saw the outline of a frown through the mesh. ¡°What happened child?¡±


    ¡°I only have three to talk about father. I¡¯m ashamed,¡± he said, fighting the urge to wring his hands.


    ¡°There is nothing to be ashamed of when you come for the Goddess¡¯ forgiveness. Anyone can make a mistake. Fewer can admit them. Tell me son, and be proud.¡±


    Kid wrung his hands, a chill running down his spine. ¡°My first sin, sir, is one of envy,¡± he said, forcing his hands apart.


    ¡°Go on.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve often coveted the golden necklaces worn by priests and priestesses, sir. I¡¯m ashamed to say that that envy led me to another sin.¡± Kid hesitated. This was where it could all come apart. ¡°Theft, sir. And it¡¯s of a rather personal nature to your church, sir.¡±


    Kid could hear the wooden bench creaking as the priest leaned forward. ¡°Did you steal Mother Helena¡¯s grace?¡±


    Kid swallowed. ¡°I have it with me,¡± Kid exclaimed, trying to forestall the priest¡¯s outrage. ¡°Guilt overcame me, and I tried to return it last night sir but-,¡± He paused, as the priest opened the mesh between them, his dark eyes staring into Kid¡¯s soul.


    Kid tried to continue his lines, but the man talked over him, raising his hands in a calming gesture. ¡°All that matters now, is that you are here,¡± he said, ¡°How can I help you? Do you need food? Work? I can give you either if it would help.¡±


    Kid¡¯s mouth worked silently, the prepared lies about the unfaithfulness of the man¡¯s wife falling from the tip of his tongue into oblivion. Of all the reactions he expected, kindness was not among them. He swallowed and dug the necklace he had stolen out of his pocket. He looked at the leather tong and the golden dove shaped pendant hanging off the end. The symbol of the Goddess. A deity he was unfamiliar with.


    He couldn¡¯t bear to meet the priest¡¯s eyes as he passed the necklace through the window. The man grasped his hand, taking the pendant. As Kid pulled his arm back, the man held him in place. Kid looked up, a lance of fear running through him.


    The priest was frowning. ¡°There¡¯s too much fear in you for one so young.¡±


    Kid jerked his hand free. ¡°If your charity extended beyond the wall then maybe I wouldn¡¯t have to be afraid.¡±


    The priest was quiet a long moment. ¡°I can only help those who seek me out. Forgiveness needs to be asked before help can be given. You did the right thing coming here. Few of your kind have respect for the Goddess.¡±


    Kid fought the scowl threatening to alight his lips at the phrase ¡®Your kind.¡¯ ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± he whispered, ¡°I need help.¡±


    The priest graced him with a sad smile. ¡°We all do sometimes. It¡¯s nothing to be ashamed of.¡± He held up the golden pendant. ¡°I¡¯ll return the pendant to Mother Helena. I¡¯m sure she¡¯ll welcome you to our little home with open arms.


    Kid almost winced as the man turned from him and left the booth. Kid followed him out. ¡°Sir?¡± Kid asked. The priest glanced at him over his shoulder. ¡°I-¡± He swallowed, looking at the marble tiles. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    The priest smiled. ¡°Wait here. I¡¯ll be right back.¡± He turned away and walked through a side door, leaving Kid alone in the church¡¯s nave. Guilt churned in Kid¡¯s stomach as his eyes alighted on the donation box by the altar, the crowbar hanging heavy in his jacket pocket. His feet felt leaden as he made his way to it, pulling the cold length of iron from his coat.


    He stared at the box for a long moment, hesitating even though he knew speed was of the essence. The priest could come back through the door at any minute, declare him a thief and have him sent to the labor camps. Kid bit his lip as he laid the length of iron along the top of the wooden box and let go. He couldn¡¯t do it. The man didn¡¯t deserve this.


    His gaze lingered on the altar a moment before he turned away, walking between the pews to the door on the far side of the room. His stomach grumbled as he walked across the church, almost convincing him to turn back. Kid held his course. As he placed a hand on the door leading outside, he heard the creaking of hinges from the nave. He flinched involuntarily, frozen for a moment, though he knew he had nothing to fear.


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    The padding sound of footsteps sounded behind him, and Kid looked over his shoulder. It was the woman he stole the necklace from, Mother Helena. She was an older woman, lines beginning to set into her plain features. Her hair was twined into a tight braid that hung over her shoulder, gray intermingling with the brown.


    He could still remember her scream as he tore the pendant from her throat and disappeared into an alley. Kid frowned and pushed the door open, letting in a stream of sunlight and a gust of cold air.


    ¡°Wait!¡± She called, an almost pleading tone to her voice as her pace quickened.


    Kid hesitated, tensing as she neared, ready to dash to the anonymity of the streets outside. He bit his lip as she closed the distance, her hands clutching her skirts to keep them from tripping her. She was winded as she stopped mere paces away. ¡°You don¡¯t have to go,¡± she said.


    Kid couldn¡¯t meet her eyes and he made a careful study of the marble tiles of the floor. He stayed silent.


    A frown crossed the woman¡¯s face, and she took a step toward him. Kid stepped away, pushing the door wider. Mother Helena raised her hands in a calming gesture and Kid caught sight of her pendant clutched in one.


    Slowly she reached toward him, the gold shining in the beam of sunlight. ¡°Take it, please,¡± she said.


    Kid felt tears brimming in his eyes. ¡°I- I can¡¯t- I¡¯d just pawn it for food.¡±


    She shook her head, pressing her hand forward with conviction. ¡°Then it will be put to good use,¡± she said, her frown turning into a slight smile.


    Kid felt a tear run down his cheek as he reached out to her, his pale skin a sharp contrast to her bronzed flesh. He clutched the gold in his palm, her fingers brushing his as she released the pendant. Kid stared at the gold in his hand. ¡°Thank you,¡± he whispered.


    ¡°Go with peace,¡± she said, ¡°And there will always be a bed here if you need one.¡±


    Kid swallowed, nodding noncommittally.


    She said nothing more as he slipped between the doors and walked down the steps of the church to the streets of the inner city below. He let out a deep breath, the tension bleeding from him.


    Divines, he was a shit thief.


    He shook as a chuckle escaped his lips then looked to the golden bird he cradled in his palm. He wouldn¡¯t sell it. Not yet. It''d only been a day since he''d eaten. He could keep going. Kid looked down the frosty streets. Most honest folks were at work by now, and the streets were- empty?


    Kid blinked, looking both ways down the street and not seeing a single soul. The shutters were latched shut on most homes. The hairs on his arm stood up. Something had happened while he''d been in the church. At sunrise, the city had seemed normal.


    Kid bit his lip. He needed to get beyond the city walls where it was safe- relatively speaking. He set off at a brisk pace, keeping a wary eye out for guards. On a normal day, they''d question his presence here without an adult. He might end up with a beating or the confiscation of whatever coin he had on him for the guard''s gambling purposes.


    But today, Kid felt something more serious was going on. Kid''s breath caught as he caught the shine of sunlight against metal turning around a corner. He dove into the nearest alleyway. The corridor between the two buildings was blocked by a wall of snow twice as tall as he was. Kid pressed his back to it, trying to make himself as small as possible.


    He held his breath as he heard irregular stomping sound of boots against cobblestones. A moment later, Kid saw the first man in the group begin to pass. His cloak was black and held the blood-red Briar of House Thorne. The Earl''s men. The guard bellowed a laugh that echoed to his comrades behind him. Blessedly, they did not seem to be very alert, kicking at small snow drifts and fussing with their cloaks as they trudged down the boulevard.


    Kid froze as he locked eyes with the last man in the group. The soldier stopped, a frown crossing his bearded face as his hand fell to the axe at his side. Kid felt as if that moment lasted an eternity as he gazed into the man''s dark eyes. The guard shook his head and turned from Kid, following his squad.


    Kid finally remembered to breathe, and his breath came too quickly. That was not normal. The man had just spared him some cruel fate, of that Kid was sure. He considered running back to the church to seek sanctuary there, but that would take him past the group of guardsmen. Besides, he needed to check on his mother. He didn''t know how long she''d manage to last without him.


    Kid mustered his courage and peeked around the corner of the alley. The street was clear, and the Thorne soldiers had their backs to him. Kid dashed around the corner, running to the next intersection clear of snow. He turned down it, heading in the direction of the gates.


    From behind, he heard the scuff of boots against the cobblestones. Kid didn¡¯t hesitate, taking off in a sprint down the street. A series of curses sounded from behind him, followed by the thumping sound of boots pounding down the street. Kid glanced over his shoulder to see a half dozen Greencloaks pursuing him from nearly a block away. They were gaining on him.


    Kid¡¯s breath came in ragged gasps as he ran. His eyes alighted on a patch of ice lining the corner of the intersection ahead of him. He leapt over it, diving into a roll. He winced as his shoulder collided with the cobblestones, but the roll took most of the force from it. He stumbled to his feet, continuing at a run as adrenaline coursed through his veins.


    As he neared the next intersection, he heard a yelp followed by a series of crashes and curses. Kid turned the next corner, not sparing a look back. The street was clear ahead, but Kid dove into the nearest alley. This one was also filled with snow, but Kid began to burrow, digging out clumps of the powdery snow as he forced his frame into the snow drift. Kid¡¯s hands quickly went numb as he clawed his way forward, an animal terror driving him forward until he felt the oppressive weight of the snow across his whole body.


    Kid waited, carefully maintaining the pocket of air around his face. He could hear the sound of footsteps on the road beyond the alley. He couldn¡¯t make out the words, but the tone of the guards was decidedly unpleasant. Kid kept very still, glancing at the golden pendant still clutched in his hand. He tucked it into the sleeve of his jacket, tying the leather tong around his forearm as well as his numb fingers would allow.


    Kid waited in the snow, shivering. Had they gone? It was impossible to tell from inside the snow drift. But, he couldn¡¯t stay here much longer unless he wanted somebody to find his frozen body here after the thaw. He listened intently for a moment. Nothing but the wind.


    He took a deep breath before he pushed himself backwards, kicking with his feet to clear the snow behind him. A moment later, he felt his leg emerge into the air outside. A hand grabbed it. Kid screamed as he was roughly dragged from the snowdrift. A dark-skinned soldier in a shining bronze helm stood over him, fist raised.


    Kid spat blood, head reeling and spots dancing across his eyes. He saw the man raise his hand again, then all went black.

 Ch 4: Beatings and Bastards

    Waves crashed against the cliffs below the castle in a soothing rhythm as Grim laid out his equipment. It was standard fare for a soldier. An iron set of mail and matching helmet, accompanying an axe of the same metal with a four-inch spike adorning its top. The metal was good wrought iron. Not like that cast-iron crap they made cheap tools and kitchen ware from. This iron was forged to take a beating and last. Grim had put it to the test over the years. Even now, several of the iron ringlets on the armor were burst open. He needed to get it mended sometime soon, but he somehow kept finding a reason to be in a tavern instead.


    He sighed and pulled the heavy coat of iron chain over the thick padding of his gambeson. They used blunted weapons in practice, but getting hit with an iron club still felt like getting hit with an iron club no matter what you wore. Grim didn¡¯t mind. He rather enjoyed sparring. It kept his mind off other matters and was a great escape. For a moment, the only thing in the world was your blade and your enemy¡¯s. There was a beautiful simplicity to It, and Grim was good at it. He left the axe where it lay and pulled the helmet on over his head, keeping the visor open for the moment.


    Grim turned to the practice area. It was little more than a large field of hard packed dirt along the seaward side of the castle. It directly abutted the cliff face, looking out over the Meridian Bay in the distance. All about the yard, dozens of soldiers were sparring. Their weapons clashed in the chaotic sound of battle. To the side of the field were several tables and benches where spectators could watch and make bets on the fights. They were often more filled than the yard itself, and today was no exception. Men and women from the castle staff were cheering on their chosen combatants in various duels. Money switched hands as one soldier or another ate dirt.


    As Grim hefted a shield and grabbed a blunted axe from the wall, he caught sight of Edgar emerging from the barracks. Grim raised a hand in greeting to the man as he met Edgar¡¯s eyes. Edgar nodded in his direction as he walked around the edge of the practice yard. The guardsman was already dressed in mail, a thick, round shield strapped to his arm. He looked as tired as Grim felt. Sleep did not come easily last night. Grim imagined Edgar and Billy had similar troubles.


    ¡°Morning,¡± Edgar greeted as he pulled a blunted axe from the rack. ¡°You up for a bout?¡±


    Grim nodded his assent as Edgar laid his sharpened axe on a nearby table. Together they walked onto the hard packed dirt, looking for a cleared area. They settled on a clear spot along the parapets by the cliff edge. ¡°You look like Hell,¡± Grim said.


    ¡°Feel like it too. Captain Roland rolled me out of my bunk last night to question me about what happened in the tavern. Scared the piss out of me.¡± He rolled his shoulders as they squared off, readying their shields. ¡°Safe to assume you had a chat with the Earl?¡±


    Grim nodded. ¡°We¡¯re expecting a visit from the King¡¯s men at some point today. If anyone asks, I was leading the squad. Less punishment for me than for Billy.¡±


    Edgar nodded. ¡°Thanks.¡±


    Grim shrugged as it were of no consequence despite the nervous tingle going up his spine. He hefted his axe. ¡°You ready?¡±


    Edgar mirrored Grim¡¯s shrug and rolled his eyes.


    Grim chuckled then rushed Edgar, shield first. Edgar braced himself as their shields collided. He pivoted, redirecting Grim¡¯s charge.


    Grim dug his heels into the dirt, arresting his momentum. He swung his shield around, catching Edgar¡¯s axe as he swung with his own. Edgar deftly sidestepped, Grim¡¯s axe barely clipping his shoulder.


    He cursed, ramming his shield into Grim¡¯s.


    Grim grunted, feet skidding across the dirt. Edgar got under him and had the leverage. Grim let go of his axe as he fell. He grabbed Edgar¡¯s axe arm and dragged them both to the ground.


    They landed in a tumble of flailing limbs as they punched and kicked at each other. Grim was the stronger and heavier of the two, and he eventually managed to pin the smaller man in a chokehold. Edgar growled, struggling to breathe a moment before he tapped Grim¡¯s arm.


    Grim released him and Edgar rolled away, gasping for air. Grim staggered to his feet, holding his hand out to Edgar as the man rubbed at his throat. There were marks along his neck where the links of Grim¡¯s armor dung into his neck. Edgar took a deep breath before taking Grim¡¯s hand and rising to his feet, ¡°I forget what a big fucker you are until you have me in a damn choke hold.¡±


    Grim bent over to retrieve his abandoned axe and rested it along his shoulder. ¡°Didn¡¯t stop you from knocking me on my ass.¡±


    Edgar shrugged then banged his axe against his shield. He made a slow approach toward Grim, coming in at a slight angle to his right. Grim waited for Edgar¡¯s approach, legs bent and ready to spring. When he was almost in range, Grim rushed forward. He rammed the edge of his shield towards Edgar¡¯s face. Edgar ducked, striking forward with his axe.


    Grim swatted it away with his own, leaping to the side as Edgar rushed with his shield. They squared off once more, pacing in a circle. Grim could feel the sweat along his brow cooling in the frosty air. He released a deep breath, fog spilling from his helmet.


    He charged forward with a heavy overhead blow. Edgar caught it on his shield, staggering beneath the force. Grim caught Edgar¡¯s return strike on his shield as he bulled forward.


    Grim¡¯s eyes widened as he realized Edgar caught the lip of his shield with his axe head. He lurched forward uncontrollably as Edgar pulled.


    Edgar slammed his shield into Grim¡¯s side, sending him tumbling.


    Shit.


    Grim hit the ground and rolled to the side, narrowly missing a stomping boot. He struck out with his axe as he scrambled away. A swing and a miss. Grim¡¯s head rang like a gong as Edgar¡¯s axe slammed into the side of his helmet.


    Grim flopped against the dirt, vaguely aware of cheers coming from the stands along the practice field. Stars swam in his vision as he slowly remembered who he was. He let out a groan as he sat up. Edgar stood over him, a smug expression on his face. He reached out to Grim and Grim took his hand, staggering as he found his feet.


    ¡°Fuckin hell,¡± Grim said, pulling off his helmet, ¡°You trying to crack my head open?¡± Grim¡¯s eyebrows rose when he saw the dent in the iron. ¡°Not bad.¡±


    Edgar chuckled. ¡°Thought you weren¡¯t getting back up for a moment.¡±


    Grim shook his head, pulling the helmet back on his head. ¡°Me too, but I can still see straight. Up for another?¡±


    Edgar nodded, readying his shield. They fought through several more bouts over the course of the morning. Grim mentally tallied the welts he gained along his shoulders, but he was giving as good as he got until the last bout.


    The ground cooled Grim¡¯s back through his sweat stained armor while he held the back of his thigh. He grimaced at the shoots of pain running through his leg. Edgar ignored him, leaning against the battlements overlooking the sea. The man breathed heavily after their final bout. Grim took the brunt of the beating in that round, only able to land a single blow. His pained grimace turned into a crude smile of satisfaction as Edgar rolled one of his shoulders, wincing in pain.


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    Grim grumbled as he forced himself to his feet. He staggered over to the parapets next to the soldier. ¡°Think I had enough.¡± Grim said.


    Edgar nodded in agreement ¡°Any idea when they¡¯re going to come for us?¡±


    It took Grim a moment to realize he was talking about the Venarans. Grim shrugged, wondering the same thing himself.


    He flexed his leg as he leaned across the parapets and was rewarded with fresh pain. ¡°Divines man, you hit like bear.¡±


    ¡°And you hit like my mother,¡± Edgar answered.


    ¡°Gee thanks.¡±


    ¡°That was high praise.¡±


    Grim rolled his eyes and let out a sigh as he took off his helmet. His sweaty hair steamed in the cold air and damn did it feel good. Edgar did the same, running a gloved hand through his dark hair. Edgar spoke in a low voice, ¡°I thought about running last night and taking refuge beyond the wall. Just in case.¡±


    Grim¡¯s eyebrows raised at the admission. ¡°What changed your mind?¡±


    Edgar released a breath, watching as the frosted air dissipated. ¡°Figured you and the Earl would do right by me and Billy. Only other option would be joining the Sons.¡± He shook his head, the distaste plain on his face.


    Grim turned towards the sea, slumping against the stone parapet and looking down at the cliffs far below as waves crashed against the stony edifice. A gentle breeze drifted over them, cooling his body as it steamed in the chill air. Edgar leaned against the stone next to him, looking over the bay.


    They watched the glittering waves in the bay below and the dozens of passing ships for a long moment in silence. The sun was high in the sky. Dozens of fishing boats were pulling in the morning¡¯s haul while foreign merchants sailed from all corners of the Meridian Bay.


    The dockyards themselves, buzzed with activity. From these heights, Grim could see the thousands of people passing through the city like ants crawling through a maze. Ships vomited their cargo onto the piers. Crates from Tara, filled with silks, spices, wine, honey, jewels and a thousand other things most people in Bleakridge could only dream of. The city was the heart that pumped the lifeblood of trade between the two empires, its port cutting the travel time between the two capitals nearly in half.


    ¡°Ever wonder what it¡¯d look like on fire?¡± Edgar asked.


    Grim blinked in surprise. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t think we¡¯re headed in that direction?¡± Edgar asked. ¡°The writing¡¯s on the walls. Literally. You need only walk around the Outwalls to see it. Greencloaks disappearing while more and more Sons get their wings.¡±


    Grim frowned at the phrase ¡®get their wings¡¯ thinking of the men nailed to the cross, their shattered shoulders twisting them into a mockery of a bird. ¡°I think both are getting their just desserts. I¡¯d rather they not use my city as their pyre though.¡±


    ¡°Fire burns whoever touches it.¡±


    ¡°Including women and children,¡± Grim retorted.


    Edgar didn¡¯t answer for a long moment as he pulled a flask from a pocket. Grim listened with interest as the soldier unlatched the lid and took a long draw. ¡°To hell with that,¡± he said, ¡°Want a drink?¡±


    Grim nodded, grabbing the offered flask and taking a long draw of the burning liquid. Whiskey. Good stuff too. Grim exhaled after swallowing, feeling the burn warm his breath and belly. He passed it back to Edgar who took another drink. ¡°Why serve the Earl?¡± Grim asked.


    Edgar hesitated, the flask held before his lips. He sighed, lowering the drink. ¡°Lots of reasons,¡± Edgar said. He paused, seeming to collect his thoughts for a moment. ¡°You can only stand by and watch for so long. I''m sure you''ve seen a lot of death."


    ¡°Yeah, we live in Bleakridge.¡±


    Edgar snorted humorlessly and spat over the ramparts into the sea below. ¡°Ever had somebody you love taken from you?¡± he asked, passing the flask.


    Grim paused, the metal rim almost touching his lips. ¡°Not for a long time,¡± he whispered.


    Edgar nodded. ¡°The way I see it, when you do, you have two options. You lose yourself to hatred for whoever did the killing. Or, you take a step back and try to stop the same from happening to others. That¡¯s why I joined the guard.¡± Edgar let out a slow sigh. ¡°What we¡¯ve got down there is a cesspit of hate, death and money. Me- I just do my best.¡±


    ¡°Being the Earl¡¯s man is the best there is?¡± Grim asked. ¡°That¡¯s hardly hope inspiring.¡±


    ¡°The best the likes of us got, bastard.¡±


    Grim could hardly argue with that. They stood that way for a long moment as the sun continued to rise. Grim shook his head. ¡°Thanks for the drink.¡±


    ¡°Any time,¡± Edgar answered.


    Grim gave the bay a final look before he rose from his perch and turned. He blinked in surprise when he saw his sister, Ilyena, walking towards him across the practice field. Well- his half-sister. She had jet black hair much like their father had when he was younger, and they shared the same gray eyes. Her skin was several shades darker than Grim¡¯s, betraying the southern heritage of her mother. It was almost enough to make her look southern. Almost.


    The guardsmen in the yard were doing their best not to make eyes at her as she strode purposefully toward Grim. They were doing a poor job, but Ilyena didn¡¯t seem to notice or care. Whatever drove her to come to the yard must¡¯ve been important. He couldn¡¯t remember the last time he¡¯d seen her this side of the castle.


    ¡°I have a feeling that I have to meet with some Venarans soon,¡± Grim muttered, glancing toward Edgar.


    Edgar took a final drink from his flask before tucking it into his jacket. ¡°Good luck,¡± he said.


    Grim nodded and walked toward his sister, meeting her near the middle of the yard. She didn¡¯t break stride, turning on her heel as she reached him and pushing him faster toward the keep proper. ¡°What did you do?¡± she whispered through clenched teeth, ¡°The Venaran Marshal is here looking for you.¡±


    ¡°Afraid your friends will gossip?¡± Grim asked.


    ¡°No, I¡¯m afraid they¡¯ll hang you, you dolt. This hardly seems like a social call.¡±


    A slight frown broke Grim¡¯s calm facade. ¡°I watched some Sons kill some Venarans. Would¡¯ve been my head if I intervened.¡±


    A slow breath escaped Ilyena¡¯s lungs as they lapsed into silence, crossing the edge of the practice yard. A moment later, she spoke, ¡°You remember the proper way to greet and address the Marshal, right?¡±


    Grim shrugged. ¡°Bow and thank him for the privilege of licking his boots, then apologize for the offense of my presence. Piece of cake.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re an ass,¡± she whispered as they walked through the large double doors leading into the Keep.


    Grim nodded in agreement as they walked through the halls illuminated by torchlight. The corridors were long and twisting, some ending abruptly. It was all designed to confuse invaders, but Grim had memorized the layout long ago.


    She grabbed him by the arm, stopping him in his tracks. She looked at him intently, her gray eyes meeting his green. ¡°Please, play nice. For me. I don¡¯t want to be an only child.¡±


    Grim was quiet for a long moment, a tingle of fear running up his spine. His sister was usually unflappable and certainly not one prone to begging. A group of maids passed them, carefully not looking in their direction as they carted dirty linens. ¡°Fine, I¡¯ll play nice, but only because you asked so nicely.¡±


    She shook her head, leading them deeper into the castle toward one of the stairwells where they ascended to the fifth floor. They passed countless servants. Grim usually tried to make a point of greeting the ones he knew but found it difficult to focus on anything except the upcoming confrontation.


    They were heading toward his father¡¯s private chambers. Whatever was to be discussed, the Venaran¡¯s did not wish it public. Grim wasn¡¯t sure whether that was a good thing or bad. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as they reached the heavy wooden door. Ilyena rapped it lightly.


    ¡°Come in,¡± came a muffled voice from the other side.


    Ilyena paused, shooting Grim a meaningful look, then opened the door, striding into the warm light from the hearth. Grim followed in her wake, noting the half-dozen Venaran soldiers crowded into the far corners of the room, their eyes boring into him. He fought the urge to swallow as he laid his eyes on the Marshal. An older man- mayhaps a decade older than his own father with a slight paunch and a face that was likely once considered almost handsome.


    The man sat in the same chair Grim had occupied last night, next to the Earl. Both watched him.


    Grim came to a halt before them, hesitating before burying his pride and falling into a stiff bow. ¡°Your grace,¡± he managed.


    As he rose, he met the Marshal¡¯s eyes. The man¡¯s expression revealed nothing, but Grim caught him fingering the hilt of the sword at his waist. The man rose to his feet, barely coming up to Grim¡¯s shoulder. Grim looked down on him, privately pleased he could.


    ¡°Arrest him,¡± The Marshal said.


    Grim blinked in surprise by the abruptness, then stumbled as two of the soldiers grabbed his arms. Grim struggled in their grasp, not sure why he bothered as they forced his arms behind his back and clasped them in iron manacles.


    ¡°Can I-¡± Grim¡¯s words were cut off by gloved fist crashing into the side of his face. Grim spat blood, his ears ringing as he realized he was now on his knees.


    He supposed he couldn¡¯t.


    As they dragged him to his feet, he swayed unsteadily. Ilyena held her hands over her mouth, a horrified expression written across her face. Their father watched impassively.


    The Marshal looked toward the Earl. ¡°Thorne, I¡¯ll keep you appraised of his progress. See to it that the other does not disappear in the meantime. My men will be back for him. And the old one, I trust you understand his orders?¡±


    The Earl nodded, his eyes not leaving Grim. ¡°Do your duty, son.¡±


    Grim blinked, a frown creasing his lips. He couldn¡¯t remember the last time his father called him ¡®son¡¯. The brand along his neck itched, reminding Grim that while he had a father, his father had no son. Was that a way of saying goodbye?


    Grim said nothing in response.


    ¡°Take him to the pens,¡± The Marshal said with a wave, ¡°The Earl and I have more to discuss today.¡±


    Grim stumbled as he was yanked toward the door. Grim caught his sister¡¯s eyes as the door shut behind him. She looked afraid.

 Ch 5: The Reaper

    Lissa swayed in the candlelight illuminating the small house. The shadows of the adults around her flickered along the walls as they moved in concert to her. The men in the room hummed, a deep, rumbling sound echoing between the walls. She let her eyes drift back to where the priestess stood at the front of the crowd. She was an old woman. Perhaps the oldest Lissa had ever seen. Her skin was withered with age, and her hair colored a silver that glowed like moonlight. She wore a robe that seemed to be made of feathers plucked from ravens and from her neck dangled a necklace laced through with the skulls of small creatures. Her eyes were locked on the man approaching her, her gaze piercing.


    The man didn¡¯t seem to notice, his eyes fixated on the rust-colored altar the priestess stood next to. When he was close enough to touch it, he knelt, head bowed. The priestess stepped toward him and put a hand atop his head. ¡°I see you, Calder,¡± she said, her voice carrying above the rumbling humming.


    Calder raised his eyes, looking up to the tapestry above the altar. It depicted a woman in black, her eyes cast in shadow. In one blood-drenched hand she held a similarly stained dagger at her side. In the other she held an orb, blacker than the darkest shadows. Her lips were curved into a smile, at odds with the tears of blood running down her cheeks. A thickly built creature covered in armored plates lay curled about her feet, seeming content.


    ¡°Do you freely give of yourself, to our lady?¡± The priestess continued.


    Calder nodded, swallowing. ¡°I do, Ma¡¯am.¡±


    The priestess held out her hand. Calder raised his own, placing it in hers, palm up. The old woman pulled a long knife from the sheath at her hip, holding it up in the air so that it glimmered in the firelight. ¡°I see you, Reaper. In all our futures, for you are inevitable,¡± The priestess said, looking across the room as the humming abruptly stopped, drowning them in silence.


    Lissa shivered in the quiet, glancing up to the tapestry. She could swear the woman¡¯s grin had deepened. Lissa bit her lip as the priestess held the moment.


    The priestess broke the silence, her voice shattering the peace. ¡°To you, our lady, we give this sacrifice. May you delay your coming.¡±


    Lissa watched as she lowered the Knife to Calder¡¯s palm. The man fought the urge to wince as the priestess cut a line into his palm, drawing the blade across its length. Droplets of ruby blood fell from his fingers to the floorboards below. A creature emerged from the shadowed corner of the room. It seemed to mirror the beast wrapped about the woman¡¯s legs on the tapestry. It lumbered forward on four legs, its thick claws digging small furrows in the floorboards. A long tongue flicked from its snout, lapping at the droplets of blood falling to the floor.


    Lissa glanced up to her mother, Hilda, standing beside her. There was no alarm in her eyes. To the contrary, she was smiling.


    The priestess pushed at it with her foot, trying to get the creature to back away from the proceedings. A few chuckles sounded from the crowd. Eventually the old woman gave up, rolling her eyes as she pressed Calder¡¯s bloody hand to the altar.


    The man¡¯s body tensed as the altar pulsed. Every vein along his body went taut, seeming to rise from his flesh. His skin grew paler by the moment as he gasped. Tears began to fall from his eyes as his jaw clenched. From where he touched the altar, a black cloud was spreading across the surface, tendrils seeming to reach outward before fading into stone.


    The priestess ripped Calder¡¯s hand from the altar, steadying the man as he swayed, gasping. Lissa held her breath, but after a moment he shook his head and found his footing, returning to the crowd.


    The priestess held out her hand as if to ask who was next. Lissa felt her feet carrying her forward, curiosity propelling her. Her mother put a hand on her shoulder, holding her back. Lissa looked up at her, meeting her dark eyes. There was a smile in them, but her head shook with a firm ¡®no¡¯.


    Lissa didn¡¯t let her disappointment show. She was fourteen years old, nearly a woman in her own right. She should¡¯ve been able to choose. Lissa crossed her arms as a woman from the crowd stepped forward, the deep humming from the men starting once more. She watched as four more people went through the ritual, the altar darkening each time.


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    The creature seemed to lose interest in lapping up the stray drops of blood and lumbered into the crowd. People reached out to pet it, scratching the creature between its thick scales. It trilled in pleasure, a soft sound but one that carried over the humming. The priestess shot it an annoyed glance but did nothing to stop it as she saw to the next sacrifice.


    Lissa watched as it stomped in her direction. All her fear of it had fled in the face of how cute it was. Its beady, black eyes seemed to lock onto her as it stomped across the floorboards, the wood bending beneath its weight. Her mother reached out and caressed its snout as it neared. It flicked its long tongue, wrapping it around her forearm. Her mother¡¯s expression soured as she pulled her arm away, wiping at the spittle.


    Lissa stifled a chuckle before reaching out to the creature herself. Its thick, black scales were cool to the touch as she ran her hand across them. Her eyebrows raised as they began to rapidly warm and shake. People in the crowd began to stare and Lissa froze. All at once, the creature¡¯s scales snapped upright and a warmth began to radiate across the room, stifling in the confined space. The beast trilled in pleasure.


    Lissa grinned, a feeling of connection running between her and the strange creature. She looked up at her mother. There was a mixed look of awe and horror in her expression.


    Lissa squealed as her mother grabbed her arm, ripping it from the creature, as she dragged her though the crowd which parted in confusion. Lissa looked over her shoulder as her mother yanked the door outside open, letting in a rush of cool air. The creature was reared on its hind legs, standing nearly as tall as a man. It reached out to her with one claw in a disturbingly human fashion. Behind it, the priestess was pushing her way through the crowd as quickly as her old bones could move.


    The woman¡¯s eyes locked with Lissa. ¡°Wait,¡± she cried.


    The door slammed shut behind Lissa as she and her mother stumbled out onto the streets of the Outwalls. For a moment, the sunlight was blinding, and Lissa struggled to keep up as her mother pulled her down the frosted streets at a brisk pace. Lissa looked behind them as the house receded, then disappeared around a corner.


    ***


    Hilda walked at a brisk pace, fear driving her onward as she clutched her daughter¡¯s arm. She wasn¡¯t sure where she was taking them, only that she wanted to distance them from what happened. Passersby shot curious gazes in their direction, some likely considering them easy marks before realizing who they were. Divines, there were Sons in that room. Marc would know what Lissa had done before long. If Marc knew, he would tell James. Her husband would be furious. And worse, she could already see the pain of betrayal in his eyes.


    Lissa began to resist her pull and Hilda blinked, realizing she was digging her nails into the girl¡¯s arm. Hilda released her. ¡°Sorry,¡± she whispered.


    Lissa rubbed at her arm then shivered. ¡°You forgot our cloaks,¡± she said.


    Hilda blinked, realizing Lissa was right. They couldn¡¯t afford a new pair. ¡°I¡¯ll get them later, hon. Let¡¯s just go home.¡±


    Lissa took a step away from her, shaking her head. ¡°Not until you tell me what happened.¡±


    Hilda swallowed the lump in her throat. ¡°You have to let me tell your father first.¡±


    Lissa frowned, then nodded her assent. Hilda took a deep breath, looking down the street. The filth ridden road looked much like any other in the Outwalls. It teemed with hungry faces in layers of ratty clothes. Some were on their way to provide unskilled labor in the foundries of the inner city, others to work as porters for the hundreds of merchant ships that passed through the port daily. Both paid a pittance.


    After a moment, she spotted Lissa¡¯s shadows. A pair of large men dressed in thick leather armor lounged against the wall of snow lining the road. They met her gaze, one raising a quizzical eyebrow at her as if to ask, ¡®the fuck you doing?¡¯.


    Hilda sighed. She wished she knew. She turned back to Lissa, satisfied that the pair were too far away to hear their conversation, and ushered her to the side of the road. She wished she never brought Lissa there, wished that she had listened to James. She convinced herself that the girl should have the right to learn her own people¡¯s religion. It was dangerous to openly practice with the occupation, but he never imagined- this.


    Hilda took a deep breath, steadying herself. ¡°That creature you touched was a Keeper. They¡¯re sacred to the Reaper. And-¡±


    Lissa cut her off, ¡°What do they keep?¡±


    Hilda blinked, surprised by the question, but a smile crossed her lips at her daughter¡¯s curiosity. ¡°Souls. If one gets lost on its way to our lady, they can supposedly return them to her embrace.¡±


    Lissa¡¯s eyes widened a fraction. ¡°And what happened when I touched it?¡±


    Hilda bit her lip, nearly drawing blood. ¡°I don¡¯t know the specifics of it, but it means you have the aptitude to be a priestess. A real one who can carry out the rituals.¡± Hilda ran a hand through her hair. ¡°It¡¯s very rare,¡± she finished, pushing down her welling fear. It was even rarer since the Venarans outlawed it, slaughtering the clergy. There were only a handful remaining after all these years.


    Lissa was quiet, her gaze thoughtful. Hilda looked down the street to where their shadows waited patiently. A shiver ran down her spine that wasn¡¯t related to the cold. ¡°Come on. Let¡¯s get home before we freeze.¡±


    Lissa nodded absently, following as Hilda began to walk.


    ¡°Mom,¡± Lissa called out.


    Hilda paused, looking over her shoulder.


    ¡°What if I want to learn to be one?¡±


    Hilda¡¯s mouth worked silently, the image of her daughter getting her wings coming unbidden to her mind. In the end, she said nothing, turning away and beginning the walk home.

 Ch 6: From Court to Command

    Harren checked his reflection, looking for any imperfection in his appearance. He was dressed in his formal wear for the evening banquet. After some sleep in a real bed, a hot bath, and a shave, he was finally beginning to look like himself again. He tugged at the lapels of his green jacket, pulling it snug around his broad shoulders.


    He took a deep breath, glancing through the window of his room to where the sun hung low on the horizon. The Marshal had set Harren and Brian up in rooms on the eastern wing of the manor, among the various other young Venaran nobles in attendance. The accommodations were small yet comfortable with a pair of bedrooms and a foyer large enough to sit three or four near the hearth.


    Harren gave his reflection a final look before turning on his heel and striding through his door, across the foyer and into the hallway outside. Brian was waiting for him, leaning against the far wall of the hallway. At Harren¡¯s approach, Brian blinked as if coming out of a haze. ¡°Divines, you took your sweet time.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t rush perfection,¡± Harren answered, walking past his brother and down the hall. Brian rushed to catch up, coming abreast Harren. Their boots clacked against the hardwood floors, drawing the attention of the servants they passed in the halls. Harren adjusted the sword at his waist as they reached the top of the stairs above the manor¡¯s great entrance hall. He could hear the mummer of voices sounding from below long before he could see down into the great hall.


    As he crested the balcony, he saw that the long hall below had been transformed. Where soldiers had stood in neat rows beneath the chandeliers, there now sat two rows of great tables. Dozens of nobles were in attendance, visiting from their various estates from across the Rills.


    Most of the families were newly monied from after the war. Descended from junior officers who had distinguished themselves in some way. Whatever land wasn¡¯t left to the Earl was carved up and divvied amongst the third and fourth sons of noble families who had to work to sustain their lineage. Even a few commoners had been elevated by the king. Harren scanned the table. None of them were in attendance. The Marshal tended to suggest they leave.


    He glanced to his brother as they waited at the top of the stairwell. The boy looked nervous. This would be his first real introduction to the court at large. The nobles below were glancing up at them to ascertain who the newcomers were and their value. Harren looked down on them, a fake smile alighting his lips as he began to descend the stairs. Brian followed suit.


    The Marshal sat at the head of the table on the right of the hall, flanked by his wife and daughter. The rest of the guests gave them a respectful distance. It was an unspoken rule that the Marshal would join his guests if he wanted to socialize, not the other way around.


    As Harren reached the hall¡¯s floor, his eyes alighted on an old friend. A real grin broke through his false smile as he walked toward a man his own age sitting along the table, Rafe. His features were decidedly Venaran, though he made the unusual choice to sport a beard. Harren knew from experience that it was to hide the man¡¯s decidedly disappointing chin.


    Harren absently ran a hand along his own jawline as he neared. Rafe was leaned in close to a young noble girl who, from her girlish features, was barely eligible for marriage. As she tittered at something Rafe whispered, Harren slapped his hand on Rafe¡¯s shoulder, making the man jump in surprise.


    Rafe turned in his seat to look up at Harren, and a grin split his lips as he leapt to his feet. ¡°Goddess¡¯ tits, Harren. You nearly scared the piss out of me.¡± Rafe released a bellowing laugh as he embraced Harren.


    Harren patted the Rafe on the back as the man swayed. He could smell the wine on the his breath even this early in the day.


    ¡°What¡¯s it been? Almost a year now?¡± Harren asked as he released Rafe.


    Rafe nodded, tugging at the lapels of his green jacket. ¡°Ten months and a week since you left me to rot here, you bastard.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you had a real hard time finding a drinking partner,¡± Harren said, rolling his eyes.


    ¡°I had a hard time finding one with pockets as deep as yours,¡± Rafe answered, crossing his arms, eyes drifting to Brian.


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    Harren snorted. The man probably wasn¡¯t lying. Rafe was coarse, but he was reliable for his lack of interest in his own reputation. He also happened to be of the right breeding which was just icing on the cake.


    ¡°Where are my manners?¡± Harren asked. He gestured to Brian, ¡°This is my brother, Brian.¡±


    Rafe looked the young man up and down. ¡°Bah, the other contestants will chew him up and spit him out. You sure he even stopped suckling your mother¡¯s tit?¡±


    Brian blushed and his eyes narrowed, but he didn¡¯t say anything. Harren patted Brian¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Reasonably sure,¡± he answered. ¡°And,¡± Harren paused, ¡°We¡¯ll be keeping a watchful eye on him during the competition.¡±


    Rafe gasped, putting a hand to his chest as a mock look of surprise crossed his face. ¡°Harren, are you suggesting that we might interfere in this most fair and equitable competition?¡±


    Harren narrowed his eyes at Rafe¡¯s careless volume. He spoke through gritted teeth. ¡°Of course not. I¡¯m merely suggesting we guide him along the way.¡±


    Rafe laughed, falling back into his seat beside the girl he was wooing a moment before. The man blinked as he caught sight of her. Harren got the impression that he had already forgotten she was there. Rafe shook his head. ¡°Divines, where are my manners?¡±


    He introduced the girl, but Harren didn¡¯t recognize her surname and promptly forgot who she was, comfortable in the knowledge she was of no consequence. This was likely her first year at court and she hadn''t been here long enough to learn of Rafe¡¯s reputation- or lack thereof. He¡¯d ruin her within the week, a flood of broken promises in his wake.


    But that was none of his concern. Harren bowed deeply as Rafe finished his slurred introduction, plucking the girl¡¯s hand and gently kissing it. She was pretty with fine features, and he could tell by the look in her eyes that she was starstruck by his attention. A pang of pity ran through him as he released her.


    He forced a smile to his lips and put a hand on Rafe¡¯s shoulder. ¡°My lady, this man has saved my life half a dozen times in our ventures through the city. You could not be in better hands.¡±


    A wide smile crossed her lips and she leaned closer to Rafe. ¡°It is truly a pleasure to meet such esteemed company so early, my lords.¡±


    Harren only half-heard her as his gaze drifted across the hall. The Marshal had risen to his feet and was making his rounds amongst the nobles. Harren looked past him to where his daughter, Carys sat at the head of the table.


    ¡°I assure you, the pleasure is all ours,¡± Harren said a little quicker than he intended. ¡°I apologize for my brevity, but I have to check up on another old friend.¡±


    Rafe rolled his eyes.


    Harren narrowed his. ¡°Rafe would you keep an eye on my brother for me. Make sure he doesn''t get himself in trouble.¡±


    Rafe waved as if it were nothing. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I am trouble, and he certainly isn¡¯t getting into me.¡± Rafe winked.


    Harren smirked while Brian appeared visibly uncomfortable. Harren patted his brother on the shoulder and walked alongside the tables, giving the guests who glanced his way a polite nod of greeting as he shook hands and spoke briefly with the other nobles, making the rounds to speak with the important figures in the room. Being one of those figures was a mixed blessing.


    Many of the guests he met were new faces- young men and women in attendance for the competition the boys would go through. How well each of the boys did in the coming months could very well affect their marriage prospects.


    Harren had abstained from such commitments, though not for a lack of offers. He had his sights set on a higher prize. As of this year, she was ripe for the plucking.


    As he reached the head of the last table, the Marshal¡¯s daughter, Carys, caught his gaze. She was attractive enough, with a slim figure and bright eyes. All of that was irrelevant in the face of the prestige of marrying into a Marshal¡¯s family. It would open the doors to the king¡¯s court in Venar and present thousands of opportunities for him.


    He smiled warmly then tore his gaze from her, realizing he was staring at her like a dog at turkey leg. He turned his eyes to the lady of the house, Cassandra Longreen. As he neared, he fell into a deep bow, deeper even than he had given the Marshal. Cassandra was a stickler for decorum. He still remembered the day she had a guard lashed for not bowing deeply enough. He¡¯d be surprised if she did the same to him, but it never hurt to be too respectful.


    Cassandra languidly reached a hand toward him. He took her hand in his and gently kissed the emerald encrusted ring wrapped around her index finger for just that purpose, careful not to let his lips so much as brush her skin.


    She retracted her hand, her dark eyes looking him up and down. ¡°Harren Barrington,¡± she greeted, ¡°It¡¯s been some time since you¡¯ve been our guest, but I¡¯m sure you¡¯re aware that you¡¯re allowed to partake of the food on display.¡± She gestured to the wide array of foodstuffs spread across the tables. ¡°You must be famished after so many days on the road.¡±


    Harren donned his most charming smile. ¡°And yet, I find myself more starved for your company, my lady.¡±


    She smirked, raising a meticulously groomed eyebrow. She gestured to the vacant chair of her husband. ¡°Please, stay a moment and we can see to both needs.¡±


    Harren mentally patted himself on the back. Flattery went a long way with Cassandra. As he was about to take his seat and greet Carys, a hand landed upon his shoulder. He turned to see the Marshal a mere pace away. ¡°Prefectus, I have need of your service this morning.¡±


    The man¡¯s grim tone was unmistakable. Harren swallowed, his hand falling to the sword at his hip.

 Ch 7: Cages of Circumstance

    Grim stared at the walls of his cell, watching the sunlight shining through the bars of his window slowly creep across the far wall. He sighed, wincing as pain spread from where the Greencloak had punched him. He turned his gaze to the new cellmate they had deposited with him early in the morning. The young boy was splayed across the bed of straw where the Venaran¡¯s had thrown his limp body. The guards had deposited him earlier this morning and Grim wondered what somebody so young could have done to end up here.


    He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Across the room, the boy began to stir. Grim blinked as the kid¡¯s eyes flickered and he released a groan. Grim said nothing as the boy levered himself to a sitting position with shaky arms, taking in his surroundings. After a moment, he locked eyes with Grim. ¡°Greencloak fort?¡± he asked.


    Grim nodded.


    The boy cursed beneath his breath. ¡°Any idea what they¡¯re going to do with us?¡±


    ¡°Nothing good,¡± Grim answered.


    The boy narrowed his eyes at him, looking him up and down. ¡°You look too rich to be in here.¡±


    Grim chuckled. ¡°You look too young to be in here.¡±


    ¡°A symptom of not being rich,¡± the boy answered.


    Grim chuckled darkly. ¡°I¡¯m a Thorne soldier. Got caught letting Greencloaks die.¡±


    ¡°A worthy cause,¡± the boy said, his eyes flickering about the cell as if a way out would magically appear. A moment of silence passed between them before the boy spoke again. ¡°Why?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Why, what?¡±


    The boy flexed his fingers around his wrist, as if protecting something there. ¡°Why did you let them die?¡±


    Grim scratched at a small tear in the leather of his gloves, considering. ¡°Sons got them. I didn¡¯t want to join them. Simple as that.¡±


    The boy rubbed his hands together as if trying to will warmth into them. ¡°Hardly seems like a good reason to be in here.¡±


    Grim pulled the leather gloves from his hands and tossed them to the boy without a word. The boy stared for a minute before grabbing them and pulling them over his fingers. The gloves were comically oversized, but Grim took solace in the slight smile that crossed the kid¡¯s face.


    It was the least he could do before they killed the boy.


    In the distance, Grim heard a muffled clank. He sighed. Guards coming. He soon heard the gentle padding of boots from beyond his cell door. The lock clicked a moment later, and the door swung open.


    Grim locked eyes with Harren. His lip curled with distaste at the sight. Harren mirrored his expression, making it clear that the distaste was mutual. ¡°Get up, bastard. The Marshal wants to see you.¡±


    Grim snorted, not moving. ¡°What¡¯ll it be? Labor camp? A hanging? Maybe I¡¯ll get my wings?¡±


    ¡°One can hope,¡± Harren answered, ¡°and the longer you keep Longreen waiting, the more likely you¡¯ll spend the next few days on a cross.¡±


    Grim grunted, then rose to his feet, his desire to be obstinate less than his desire to live. ¡°After you,¡± Grim said, gesturing to the hall beyond the cell.


    Harren just stared at him, hand on his sword.


    Grim shrugged and walked out of the cell, sparing the boy a final glance. Another pair of guards waited in the hall. They held a pair of bronze manacles and clamped them around Grim¡¯s wrists before they fell in behind Harren. Together, the Venarans herded Grim through the halls.


    They needn¡¯t have bothered. Grim clearly remembered the way from when they¡¯d first dragged him here. He didn¡¯t really believe they¡¯d give him a chance to escape, but he held on to the memory regardless. It never hurt to be prepared.


    He was surprised when they passed the door leading outside. He¡¯d assumed they were headed to the Marshal¡¯s estate. Instead, they lead him to a hallway lined with more cells. These had iron bars for doors and Grim could see dozens of Rillmen rotting beyond the doors. They eyed him like wolves as he passed. Grim swallowed as he caught sight of the Marshal at the far end of the hall. The man stared into one of the cells, flanked by another two Venaran Regulars.


    As Grim neared, the Marshal turned toward him. ¡°Thank you Harren. That will be all here. Gather the prisoners we will be dispensing of in the yard. I¡¯ll be with you shortly.¡±


    Grim could sense Harren¡¯s nod as the nobleman strode away back down the hall. The Marshal turned his attention to Grim. ¡°Come,¡± he beckoned.


    Grim drew closer, fantasizing about wrapping his manacles around the man¡¯s throat. He let out a quiet sigh. He knew the guards would kill him before he could so much as touch the man.


    Grim stood a pace from the Marshal and followed his gaze into the cell. Five men and women were packed like sardines in the tight space. The stench was- unpleasant. Grim¡¯s eyes widened as he caught sight of Edgar beyond the bars.


    ¡°What is this?¡± Grim asked.


    The Marshal ignored him. ¡°When I heard of your transgression, my initial reaction was to give you your wings to make an example of you.¡± The Marshal let that statement linger in the air a moment as the hairs on the back of Grim¡¯s neck stood on end.


    ¡°However,¡± Longreen continued, ¡°your father convinced me to show mercy.¡±


    Grim felt the tension in his shoulders lessen. He wondered what this mercy had cost.


    Longreen turned from Grim and looked into the cell. ¡°For the foreseeable future, you will be my ward and receive a proper Venaran education. Part of that education is going through this year¡¯s competition.¡± He turned to meet Grim¡¯s gaze. ¡°I trust you are aware of the rules?¡±


    Grim thought he was going to be sick. ¡°Partially. I never paid much attention.¡± he said, eyes drifting to Edgar.


    The Marshal grunted. ¡°Then let me educate you. There will be four rounds, testing your worth as a Venaran noble. The first trial is on Venaran history. The second is a dueling tourney. Third is a race testing horsemanship which will culminate in the final, being the grand hunt.¡±


    Grim frowned. ¡°I don¡¯t know anything about these.¡±


    Longreen gave him a level look. ¡°Then you¡¯d best learn. The tools to do so will be made available to you.¡± He looked from Grim to the prisoners. ¡°To assist in your motivation, I¡¯ve collected your squadmate from your father.


    Grim followed his gaze, meeting Edgar¡¯s eyes.


    The Marshal continued. ¡°He will serve as your second for the competition, being released from captivity as needed.¡± He gestured to the cell and a pair of guards opened the door, pulling Edgar from its confines.


    The Marshal pulled a knife from his belt, walking to Edgar. He turned his head to Grim. ¡°Every time you displease me. I will take a finger from your man. Every time your showing in a trial disappoints me, I take one. Every time you offend one of my guests, I will take one. Should he run out of fingers, I will take his head, and should you displease me after that, it will be your head.¡± He took a deep breath. ¡°Any questions?¡±


    Grim gritted his teeth, longing to wrap his fingers around the man¡¯s throat. ¡°When does it start?¡±


    ¡°Hands,¡± Longreen said. A guard pulled Edgar¡¯s arm forward. Longreen gripped Edgar¡¯s index finger and hacked at it with the blade. The digit was cleanly severed along with half the man¡¯s middle finger. Blood flowed freely onto the stone floor as Edgar screamed.


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    ¡°That is for your transgressions thus far. The competion begins at the thaw,¡± Longreen answered, ¡°Shouldn¡¯t be long now.¡±


    Grim was quiet, a dark silence hanging in the air as Edgar managed to stifle his scream through gritted teeth. Grim couldn¡¯t meet his eyes.


    Longreen broke the newfound quiet. ¡°This is all part of your education, and through it, we will mold you into a proper Venaran noble.¡±


    ¡°Education?¡± Grim snarled, turning toward the Marshal. One of the guards leveled his spear at Grim¡¯s chest. Grim didn¡¯t even look at it.


    The Marshal met his gaze. ¡°Let me be clear. The only reason you¡¯re alive now is because your father promised your sister¡¯s hand to my son in exchange for your head.¡±


    Grim felt a disgusted scowl spread across his lips.


    The Marshal ignored it. ¡°I will teach you your place and why you should learn the proper respect for your betters. You belong to me now, boy. If you step out of line, I will make your life hell until you learn.¡± Longreen turned to the guards. ¡°Take the bastard to his room and see to the other¡¯s wound. I have other business to attend to.¡±


    With that, the Marshal turned on his heel and walked away. Grim forced himself to unclench his fists as the guards grabbed him and Edgar, pulling them away. He met the haunted eyes of the dozens of Rillmen within the cells on either side. Their eyes were hungry.


    ***


    Hilda took a deep breath as her tavern, the Dancing Bear, finally came into sight. Calling it a tavern was being a little generous. Like the majority of the Outwalls, it was formed from a collection of ramshackle, scrap wood. The nails holding it all together were more rust than iron these days, but it was hers. Hers and James¡¯.


    She shivered as another cold gust of wind blew down the roadway, sending up a spray of icy snow. Lissia winced next to her. Without their cloaks, the walk had been unbearable. Hilda sighed. She hadn''t quite figured out how she was going to explain that to her husband. She could say they were robbed, but why would the thief have left her coin purse? She couldn¡¯t bear the thought of throwing it away. They needed every copper bear.


    Beside her, Lissa shivered. Hilda increased their pace, drawing closer to the door and the chipped sign hanging above it, depicting the bear that gave the establishment its name. She¡¯d painted it herself- long ago.


    As Hilda pushed the door open, she breathed a sigh of relief as the warmth from inside washed over her. She ushered Lissa inside and pulled the door open, making the hinges squeal in her haste. She was already feeling pins and needles in her extremities as they came back to life. The pain was a good one. It meant nothing would fall off.


    She turned to face the common room of the tavern and took in the dozen tables and the bar at far side of the room. They were a finer quality than they had any right to be, resting atop a dirt floor. James was nowhere to be seen, so he must be whittling in the back rooms.


    Hilda looked to her daughter. ¡°Lissa, warm yourself by the hearth a moment. I¡¯ll get started on warming the oven. Once you feel up to it, start cleaning the tables.¡±


    The girl looked up to her with big brown eyes and nodded. Hilda could tell she wanted to talk more about what had happened but, before Hilda said anything to her, she needed to talk to James. ¡°We can talk more about it tonight,¡± she promised.


    Lissa nodded, then scampered toward the hearth. Hilda clenched her hands, willing warmth into them as she crossed the common room toward the bar and the two doors behind it. One was storage. The other doubled as their kitchen and living space.


    As Hilda reached the door, she paused a moment, listening to the steady scrape of iron on wood from the other side. The sound brought a smile unbidden to her lips. She pushed the door open, revealing her husband atop a stool in the far corner of the room, running a small knife along a long length of wood. The scars across his face and body still hurt to look at- a constant reminder of the pain he endured in captivity. They criss-crossed every inch of his once handsome face, highlighting the dent in his skull where a mace had nearly taken him from her in the last war.


    He paused in his carving as he noticed her enter, a lopsided grin appearing on his face. Hilda winked at him and waggled her eyebrows. James snorted in amusement, shook his head, then cut another sliver of wood with his knife.


    Hilda left him to his woodwork for the moment as she saw to the stove. The tavern would be opening at midday, and they would need some stew to go along with the piss they passed off as beer. She grabbed wood from the small pile in the room and began loading it into the nook under the kettle.


    As she arranged the wood, she heard a scuff behind her, then yelped as a pair of arms wrapped around her waist. James¡¯s beard prickled her skin as he kissed her cheek. Hilda couldn¡¯t help but smile.


    ¡°Now why is my wife doing my daughter¡¯s chores? Surely it can¡¯t be out of the kindness of her own heart,¡± he said.


    Hilda looked up at him over her shoulder. ¡°What heart? I sold that for a barrel of ale weeks ago.¡±


    ¡°You did? And here I thought I¡¯d stolen it. Suppose I must¡¯ve missed,¡± He squeezed her a little tighter.


    ¡°Mayhaps you took a lung because I¡¯m finding it awfully hard to breathe,¡± she said, tugging at his arms.


    James smirked and released her from his embrace. ¡°Are you sure my charm didn¡¯t just take your breath away?¡±


    Hilda snorted, not giving that line the dignity of a response. James let out an ear shattering laugh, utterly amused with himself. His laugh was strong enough to be infectious and Hilda found herself chuckling along, much to her chagrin.


    James released her and leaned against the stove. ¡°What¡¯s the damage?¡± he asked.


    Hilda cocked her head. ¡°Damage?¡±


    ¡°From the Market,¡± James clarified.


    Hilda turned from him, returning her attention to the stove. She couldn¡¯t meet his gaze. He really needed to know about Lissa. This wasn¡¯t something she could hide forever, and to try would be selfish. She took a deep breath.


    ¡°We didn¡¯t go to the market,¡± she admitted.


    James¡¯ brow furrowed. ¡°Then where did you go?¡± he asked.


    Hilda forced herself to look James in the eyes. ¡°I took her to see a priestess.¡±


    James¡¯ jaw fell open a hair. ¡°You what? How the hell could you be-¡±


    Hilda cut him off. ¡°Let me finish,¡± she demanded.


    James¡¯ jaw hardened, but he stopped his tirade. His every limb was stiff, and his knuckles were white. She¡¯d rarely seen him so upset. ¡°A Keeper approached her, and she fed him.¡±


    James shrugged. ¡°So?¡±


    Hilda leaned closer to her husband. ¡°James, she fed him.¡±


    Recognition blossomed in his eyes and Hilda could see the anger seep from him, replaced by worry. ¡°No,¡± he said, as if that could change things.


    ¡°She has the aptitude, and she¡¯s asking questions that I can¡¯t answer,¡± Hilda said.


    James ran a scarred hand over his face. ¡°She doesn¡¯t know what happened, we can keep it from her.¡±


    Hilda shook her head. ¡°People saw. Marc¡¯s people saw,¡± she said quietly.


    James scowled. If they kept it from her, Marc would tell her everything. Family bonds only went so far in the man¡¯s crusade. ¡°I can¡¯t let her become one of them. The Venaran¡¯s will kill her if they find out.¡±


    Hilda bit her lip, glancing over her shoulder to the closed door behind them. ¡°I don¡¯t think we have a choice. This is beyond you or me. She was picked.¡±


    James barred his teeth. ¡°Picked to die?¡±


    ¡°We all die, James.¡±


    ¡°Not at fourteen,¡± he yelled, his voice echoing in the room.


    Hilda¡¯s eyes widened. James¡¯ hands were shaking, and his breath came in gasps. He leaned against the wall, trying to calm himself.


    Hilda rushed to him and held him by the arm, stroking his back. There were tears in the corners of his. He rubbed them away, taking a deep breath. ¡°Sorry,¡± he whispered, looking past her to the door. ¡°We need to talk to her. There¡¯s no point in us arguing behind closed doors.¡±


    Hilda frowned as he walked past her and pushed the wooden door open. James hesitated as he looked into the common room, a look of surprise crossing his face. Hilda followed in his wake, catching sight of a dozen men lounging at the tables, dressed in iron chain with axes dangling from their hips and longbows near at hand. A lance of fear shot through her that settled into a mild uneasiness once she caught sight of Marc sitting next to Lissa, a flagon of cheap beer in his hands. He looked much like James had before the scars, handsome with sharp features and piercing eyes that always seemed to hint at violence. Hilda bit her lip. He wouldn¡¯t hurt his niece, or take her against her will, would he?


    ¡°Marc,¡± James greeted.


    ¡°James,¡± Marc acknowledged, just as tonelessly.


    They had the same build and though you couldn¡¯t see it through James¡¯ scars, the two were often mistaken for twins in their youth, before the war. That time had long since passed. James crossed his arms. ¡°I see you brought your dogs for a walk.¡±


    Cold stares from around the room burrowed into James, but he didn¡¯t so much as flinch. Marc smiled, his brown eyes flickering in the firelight. ¡°Relax James.¡± Marc patted the table. ¡°Both of you, come join us. I was just telling Lissa about how she could very well be god-touched.¡±


    Hilda winced as James balled his hands into fists. She grabbed him by the arm. ¡°James, let¡¯s sit and talk about this.¡±


    James woodenly moved to the table and took a seat across from Marc. Hilda squeezed in between Marc and Lissa, holding her daughter¡¯s hand beneath the table. Lissa looked between the adults at the table, confusion evident in her eyes. Hilda squeezed her hand.


    James leaned forward across the table. ¡°You need to get out of my house, now. This is a family matter.¡±


    The men around the room bristled while Marc leaned back in his chair. ¡°And am I not family, brother?¡±


    James didn¡¯t answer as he met Marc¡¯s gaze.


    Hilda cleared her throat. ¡°Marc, why don¡¯t you tell us what you came here for?¡±


    Marc looked to Lissa. ¡°You know it¡¯s not safe for her here. Not anymore. People saw.¡± He ran a hand through his hair. ¡°It might not be today or tomorrow, but someday someone will tell them where and what she is. Whether that secret be pried through gold or blood is irrelevant. This is a fact. I can keep her safe.¡±


    ¡°You mean that you can use her,¡± James growled.


    A scowl crossed Marc¡¯s face. ¡°I mean that I have somebody who can train her, so her ignorance doesn¡¯t kill anybody.¡±


    James opened his mouth to respond, but hesitated, looking down at the wood grain of the table. Hilda could almost see the gears turning in his mind. A frown crossed her lips. She hadn''t considered the implications of what Lissa might do without the ability to control it. There were horrific stories from before the war, before the Venaran¡¯s purged those touched by the Reaper with fire and bronze.


    Hilda looked to her husband. ¡°James, he¡¯s right.¡±


    The wounded look in his eyes almost made her regret speaking up. A deep sigh escaped his lips. He returned his gaze to Marc. ¡°So, what do you propose?¡±

 Ch 8: The Priestess

    Lissa held her father¡¯s arm tight as they followed Marc¡¯s men down the streets of the Outwalls. Passersby clung to walls on either side of the road as they made their way forward, eyes following in their wake. Her uncle strode confidently in the lead, smiling wolfishly at the residents. A handful of corner girls called out to Marc and his men offering them favors for a bit of coin.


    Marc yelled back that they¡¯d be doing them the favor and his men laughed, waving off the girls. Lissa blushed and her father showed no mirth, looking down at her and the lapels of the oversized coat he¡¯d given her. It was his only one and, though he didn¡¯t let it show, it was clear from the gooseflesh along his neck that he was freezing. It made her feel her feel as guilty as she felt loved.


    Her father had told Hilda to stay with the tavern, not wanting her to catch a chill without her jacket or open the doors late. They tried to hide it from her, but she knew they needed the money.


    Lissa quickly became aware that they were retracing her steps from earlier in the day, heading back to the priestess¡¯ residence. The realization made her annoyed with her mother for dragging her away in the first place.


    Sure enough, within another few moments, she caught sight of the home. It was larger than the surrounding shacks and of a finer craftsmanship, though not so ostentatious that it appeared out of place in the Outwalls.


    Her father clearly recognized the building. He called to Marc, ¡°I assumed you¡¯d be taking her to the Undercity.¡±


    Marc glanced over his shoulder. ¡°She¡¯s my niece and my blood. If she¡¯s going to learn, it¡¯s going to be from the best.¡± He gestured to the home they were approaching. ¡°Crazy old bat won¡¯t relocate. Said she¡¯d sooner die than live underground.¡± He shrugged.


    ¡°How¡¯s this safer than her home?¡± James asked.


    ¡°Nobody gives two shits if Venar comes for you except me. If Venar comes for her, they¡¯ll have to pry her from the cold, dead hands of the Outwalls,¡± Marc answered.


    James didn¡¯t respond, clearly conceding the point.


    Lissa looked between her father and the house. ¡°Who is she?¡± she asked.


    Her father was quiet a moment. ¡°She¡¯s a high priestess of the sect of the Reaper. I don¡¯t know her. I just know of her. She¡¯s twice god-touched, which might be why the Venarans have left her be?¡±


    ¡°Twice?¡± Lissa asked.


    James frowned. ¡°Our people have primarily worshipped the Reaper. Her domain is the afterlife. Her counterpart is the Goddess, mistress of all things living and the patron deity of Venar.¡± He looked to Lissa. ¡°Some people have a connection with one of the gods that lets them draw on their power.¡±


    ¡°And the priestess is connected to both?¡± Lissa asked.


    James nodded. ¡°A rarity in an already rare phenomenon,¡± he said, ¡°and probably why the Venarans have left her alone.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s not just holy but wholly holy,¡± Marc quipped


    Lissa pursed her lips as Marc neared the door to the home and knocked. She looked back to her father. ¡°Why do they hunt us?¡±


    ¡°Because they fear you,¡± he answered.


    Lissa was quiet as she looked back to the door. Marc¡¯s men were dispersing, forming a perimeter around the building. They held their hands tight against the axes hanging at their hips as they eyed the nearby roads and alley ways. Pedestrians who caught sight of them tended to search for another route.


    The door opened, revealing the priestess from earlier today. Her gaze and bearing were just as striking as they were during the ritual, but she now wore a simple wool dress as if she were no different than any other old woman.


    Marc greeted her with a slight bow. The priestess didn¡¯t seem to even notice him, her eyes finding Lissa. A wide smile crossed her lips.


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    The woman turned back to Marc. ¡°I swear, boy. If she¡¯s not here of her own will-¡±


    ¡°I am,¡± Lissa interjected before Marc could respond. She felt her father squeeze her arm before letting her go. Lissa walked forward, joining Marc on the home¡¯s stoop.


    She narrowed her eyes as if searching Lissa¡¯s face for a lie, then an easy smile fell across her lips. ¡°Well, my dear, you apparently have poor taste in company.¡± She eyed Marc. ¡°But, we can rectify that.¡±


    She looked the Leader of the Sons in the eyes. ¡°Shoo,¡± she said, dismissively waiving her hand at him.


    To Lissa¡¯s surprise, Marc bowed. ¡°As you wish,¡± he said. Without another word, he spun on his heel and moved to return to his men.


    Lissa regarded the woman with wide eyes. She¡¯d never seen her uncle let somebody speak like that to him. ¡°I¡¯m Melissa Elania Haverson, but people call me Lissa,¡± she said, voice almost a whisper.


    The old woman leaned against the door frame, shooting Lissa a quick glance. ¡°I¡¯m Melna. Just Melna.¡± Her gaze drifted back to Marc and she rose her voice. ¡°I see you Marc, and I¡¯m disappointed.¡±


    Marc patted James on the shoulder as he passed, looking back over his shoulder. ¡°Then you have a lot in common with my brother.¡±


    James shrugged Marc¡¯s hand off his shoulder with a scowl then walked forward to join Lissa and Melna. Lissa blinked in surprise as her father knelt to one knee before Melna.


    ¡°I see you, James,¡± Melna said.


    Lissa and James looked up to the woman in surprise.


    Melna gestured for James to get up. ¡°I know your story. Many people prayed for you in the early days. Some still do.¡±


    As James rose to his feet, he ran a hand over his face, feeling the raised scars crisscrossing his skin. ¡°I wish they didn¡¯t. I¡¯m no hero. Plenty of others just like me.¡±


    Melna looked past him, her eyes drifting to Marc and his men. ¡°No, not really.¡±


    James frowned. Lissa followed Melna¡¯s gaze to Marc. He and his men were conferring with a young man who had just appeared. Her uncle cursed and roared, ¡°On me,¡± as he raced down the boulevard. His men followed at a sprint, drawing axes and readying bows.


    They watched them disappear down the warren of streets, frowning. Melna broke the silence. ¡°He is great, but also wrong in so many ways.¡±


    James nodded solemnly as Lissa looked between them.


    ¡°Come inside. I¡¯ll make us a pot of tea and we can discuss the future. I¡¯ve kept you in the cold too long.


    Melna stepped inside with James and Lissa in her wake. The home was well-furnished by the standards of the Outwalls. Sturdy furniture which had been pushed to the walls for the service now sat in its rightful place. The main room held a large table covered by a white tablecloth with chairs surrounding it. The walls to the left were covered in cabinets and strange looking tools. To the right was a small sitting area with books scattered about and piled on top one another. The far end of the home held a stairwell leading to the second floor and the hints of a kitchen could be seen behind the stairs.


    Lissa barely noticed these things as her eyes inevitably drifted to the altar at the far end of the home. It was tucked to the right of the stairwell leading to the second floor. It was the rusty red color it had been before the morning¡¯s ritual. She¡¯d missed whatever the culmination was.


    The Reaper stared down at her from the tapestry above the altar. Lissa blinked and rubbed at her eyes. The portrait was different. The dagger the woman held this morning was gone, though she still held the dark orb. The armored Keeper that had been lying by her feet now sat on its haunches, beady eyes looking down at Lissa.


    Lissa stood frozen, staring at the tapestry, wondering if she would catch them moving.


    Melna looked over her shoulder at them as she walked to the kitchen. ¡°Please have a seat. I¡¯ll be back with tea in a moment.¡± She caught Lissa¡¯s gaze fixated on the tapestry. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, darling. You¡¯re not mad. Our Lady moves as she wills.¡±


    Lissa swallowed as Melna disappeared around the corner into the kitchen. She tore her eyes from the tapestry and followed James to the table, taking a seat next to her father. He seemed- pensive.


    ¡°What did she mean when she said people prayed for you?¡± Lissa asked.


    James was quiet for a long moment, looking down at his scarred hands splayed across the white tablecloth. She could sense his discomfort at the question, his eyes growing distant.


    ¡°I-¡± he hesitated. ¡°I led the garrison at Varna the day it burned.¡±


    His right hand began to tremble, and he clenched it into a fist. ¡°We were given orders to retreat and abandon the city.¡± He shook his head, then turned to meet Lissa¡¯s gaze.


    His eyes lacked their usual glimmer of life. ¡°We bought time for a lot of people to escape the city, but not nearly enough.¡±


    He looked away as if meeting her gaze hurt. ¡°Every one of my men died, except for me. Venar took me captive and gave me these scars.¡±


    Lissa placed her hand over his atop the table. She¡¯d always wondered but was too scared to ask. She didn¡¯t know what to say.


    James smiled sadly. ¡°I always meant to tell you, but at first you were too young, and then there was never a good time.¡± He shook his head.


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t matter. I¡¯m just- sorry. I-¡±


    He cut her off by grasping the hand she held over his. He raised it to his lips and kissed it gently. He looked into her eyes as he cupped her hand in his own. ¡°Don¡¯t be. I love my life, and I love my family. The bad times are behind me, and that¡¯s where they¡¯ll stay.¡±


    Lissa tackled her father in a tight hug, clinging at him as he wrapped his arms around her. ¡°I love you too,¡± she whispered.


    He squeezed her just a bit tighter.

 Ch 9: The Breaking of the Broken

    Billy felt ill. Only time he¡¯d ever felt like this was when he watched Varna burn, safe in the hills his Lord told him to hide in, like a damned coward. The screams still haunted him even after all these years. Today he¡¯d be adding more voices to the cacophony.


    He watched as the Greencloaks rounded up dozens of prisoners from whatever hole they¡¯d been kept in, deep beneath the earth. He watched without feeling as one of the Rillmen being dragged into line tripped. The nearest Greencloak kicked him until he found his feet. Blood trickled from the man¡¯s mouth as he fell into line.


    Billy spat on the ground. He used to think hell was a place. But the older he got, the more he believed that hell was what men did to each other. His hand fell to the iron axe at his hip. He felt its weight today.


    As Billy watched near a hundred prisoners gathered before the gates of the Venaran fortress, he became certain today would be the day he died. The thought was not unwelcome. He shook his head, turning his attention to the young southblood strutting his way like a peacock in heat. Must be highborn the way the soldiers deferred to the little shit stain. Billy considered wiping the man¡¯s smirk off his face with his fist but couldn''t find the will.


    Billy sighed as he rose to his feet from the bench by the fort¡¯s main gate. The noble halted a few paces from him, about a pace from striking distance with Billy¡¯s axe. Smart boy.


    ¡°Bill Billson?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Aye,¡± Billy answered.


    ¡°I trust you know your duty?¡± he asked.


    Billy¡¯s jaw tightened. He took a deep breath. ¡°Aye.¡±


    ***


    A sparse crowd lined the streets as Kid marched down the boulevard, one link in a long chain of prisoners being paraded down the frosty streets. The bronze manacles were cold, and Kid was thankful for the oversized gloves the Thorne soldier had given him. They were all that kept his hands from going numb as a biting wind cut through the ranks of prisoners. Kid shivered, clutching at the golden, dove shaped pendant Mother Helana had given him. He was thankful the Greencloaks hadn''t spotted it wrapped around his wrist, but he had a sinking feeling it would do him little good.


    Above the heads of the prisoners ahead of him, he could see a wooden stage raised in the market square. Several gallows rose from the stage, their nooses swaying in the breeze. Kid took a deep breath, savoring the crisp air. He licked his lips, glancing to the two score Greencloaks escorting their merry band of miscreants. The guards were barely sparing the prisoners a glance, their eyes fixed on the bystanders. Kid swallowed, hoping against hope that the Sons would come for them. He scanned the growing crowd as he entered the square. The faces looking back at him were an odd mixture of rich southerners interspersed with affluent Rillmen. Their clean faces and tailored clothes bespoke of a life spent profiting off the misery of people like him.


    Kid¡¯s heart sank as he looked into the crowd, hoping against hope to see the masks of the Sons staring back at him. There were none to be seen. No rescue was coming. His hands began to shake, the chains that bound them clattering. Anger and fear warred within him, and he clenched his jaw to fight the helpless tears that came unbidden to his eyes.


    The Venaran soldiers forced them onward, prodding along any laggards with the pointy end of a spear. Kid stumbled to the frosty ground as a soldier shoved him in front of the platform. Kid huddled into a ball, trying to hold in the vestiges of warmth that the wind sought to pry from his grasp. Around him, dozens of other prisoners were being shoved intor place. Jeers sounded from the growing crowd around the scaffolding as the soldiers formed a perimeter. It was hard to tell whether they mocked the prisoners or the guards. Kid supposed it hardly mattered.


    The prisoner next to Kid elbowed him. Kid turned to regard the man. A thick, matted beard adorned his face, speaking to many months in captivity. His eyes were haunted as he met Kid¡¯s gaze. ¡°Boy, you ever been to one of these?¡±


    Kid licked his lips and shook his head, not trusting his voice to not crack.


    The man sighed, releasing a fog of warm air. ¡°Their mercy is no mercy. When they call ye, stand tall and meet your end, axe in hand. The Reaper does not smile on those who go gently into the dark.¡±


    Kid swallowed, forcing the words he¡¯d been dreading out, ¡°So there¡¯s no hope?¡±


    The man was quiet a long moment. ¡°Not since they took me daughter from me, no.¡±


    ¡°What was her name?¡± Kid whispered.


    ¡°Leah. Leah Carversdottir. Carved her name into the backs of a half dozen Greencloaks to end up here.¡± He sighed. ¡°What brings you here, boy?¡±


    ¡°Got caught on the wrong street at the wrong time,¡± Kid said, clutching tight at the golden pendant in his palm.


    The man shook his head. ¡°Same as me girl, but they did her worse.¡±


    Kid didn¡¯t ask. He didn¡¯t need to.


    A trumpet blared from atop the scaffolding, drawing everyone¡¯s gaze and silencing the growing crowd in the market square. Three men stood atop the platform, two Venaran soldiers dressed in bronze plated coats and a Rillish soldier dressed in chain.


    One of the Venaran men pulled a long, rolled piece of parchment from the inside of his coat and addressed the crowd, ¡°Good citizens of Bleakridge, and subjects of Venar, we are here today to bear witness to sentencing of convicted criminals who have upset the King¡¯s peace.¡± The man paused, casting his gaze across the hundreds of faces arrayed around him. He gestured to the Rillish soldier on the stage. ¡°Bill Billson will serve as Justicar for any who seek to take their trial before the gods.¡± He then gestured to the other Venaran soldier. ¡°Jefran Laman will serve as his second.¡±


    The crowd waited in hushed anticipation as the soldier¡¯s gaze drifted to the prisoners and he unrolled the parchment in his hands. ¡°Vance Torson!¡±


    Kid watched as a pair of Greencloaks hauled the prisoner closest to the stage to his feet, a young man of maybe seventeen years. He walked willingly up the stairs of the stage, a look of grim determination written across his face. Kid hoped he had half so much courage when his time came.


    The announcer regarded Vance a moment longer before continuing to read from the scroll. ¡°For the crime of treason and murder of the king¡¯s men, the Lord Marshal has sentenced you to death. Do you choose Mercy or the trial?¡±


    Vance spat at the man¡¯s feet ¡°Trial.¡±


    The crowd cheered in approval as Vance was armed with Axe and shield. Kid noticed Vance¡¯s hands were shaking as squared off against the Rillish soldier.


    ¡°Begin!¡± The announcer roared.


    Vance roared with him and charged his opponent, axe swinging in a wide arc. The soldier stepped forward quickly inside the reach of the axe. The haft bounced harmlessly off his shoulder as he rammed his shield into Vance¡¯s gut.


    Vance collapsed to his knees, breath coming in ragged gasps. Before he could find his feet the soldier¡¯s axe bit into the nape of his neck.


    The abruptness and brutality left Kid wide eyed and speechless.


    ¡°A good death,¡± the prisoner next to him whispered.


    Kid said nothing, clenching his fists to stop his hands from shaking.


    ***


    Billy grunted as he ripped his axe from the third man that day, the corpse lifelessly thudding against the blood-smeared wooden planks. A pair of Venarn dogs appeared to haul the corpse of the stage. Billy breathed heavily from the exertion, the thrill of combat warring with his disgust. Was this what he¡¯d been reduced to? A puppet for the king who stole his life? Billy knew the answer to that question as he gazed into the dead eyes of the boy being dragged from the stage.


    His hands shook as he pulled the flask from the pouch at his belt and took a long draw of the cold whiskey.


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°Ana Carlsdottir!¡±


    Billy cringed as the next name was called. From the shrinking crowd of prisoners, a girl was pulled to her feet. She couldn¡¯t have been more than sixteen, barely even a woman. She refused to climb the stairs and screamed as the Greencloaks dragged her up and threw her to the ground before Billy and Harren. Auburn curls ringed her face, partially concealing the tears running down it.


    Harren¡¯s gaze lingered on her a moment before continuing to read, betraying some vestige of a conscience. ¡°Ana Carlsdottir, you are found guilty of adultery and fornicating with the enemy. We have a confession from the man in question and hence find you guilty. As your husband refuses to vouch for you, you are condemned.¡±


    Her sobs echoed across the square as Harren paused. ¡°Do you choose Mercy or the Trial?¡±


    Ana¡¯s gaze drifted to Billy. The fear in her eyes sent a rush of shame through him. His daughter would have only been a few years older. The thought brought memories of Varna to him unbidden. Watching his home in flames, walking through the ashes in the aftermath, finding the charred-¡±


    Billy was torn from his thoughts as his name was called. Harren was addressing him. ¡°The condemned has chosen mercy.¡± Annoyed groans came from the crowd.


    Billy walked to the kneeling girl and offered her his hand. She looked up at him with terrified eyes and shook her head. He knelt beside her and put a hand on her shoulder. He hesitated before offering his flask to her.


    She looked at it with confusion in her eyes. ¡°Why?¡±


    He didn¡¯t answer.


    Hesitantly, she took the flask and drank from it. ¡°I won¡¯t waste too much,¡± she said, handing it back.


    Billy swallowed, offering her his hand. A sob escaped her lips as he pulled her to her feet. He followed her gaze to the gallows. ¡°I¡¯m sorry dad,¡± she whispered, shaking.


    Billy¡¯s words were choked as he spoke. ¡°Come lass, it will be quick. That much I can offer.¡±


    She was quiet a moment before stepping forward and climbing onto the stool beneath the noose. The girl shook as Billy tightened the noose around her throat.


    Billy stared at her, unsure he could take the next step when Harren walked over and kicked the stool out from under her. The rope failed to break her neck and she thrashed, arms straining against her manacles, causing rivulets of blood to start pouring down her wrists to the ground. The blood vessels in her eyes burst as her pupils flickered at the crowd.


    Billy walked to her and yanked hard at her feet.


    A snap echoed across the plaza and Ana fell still.


    Billy¡¯s hands shook with an impotent rage. The only thing he hated more than Venar right now was himself. Over twenty years of service to the Rills and this was his reward? When did it end?


    Billy didn¡¯t even hear the next name called or the crime. His eyes were fixed on Ana as she swung in the breeze. ¡°Reaper take you softly into the dark,¡± he whispered.


    Only when his name was called did he turn from her to face his next victim. A young boy this time. Not even a man. He wore the oversized gloves of a Rillish soldier. The son of one of his brothers in arms perhaps? The boy was already taking the offered axe and shield from Billy¡¯s second, the weight of both making him slump. A slight smile managed to climb onto Billy¡¯s lips. He¡¯d forged well over a hundred boys into men and every damned one was surprised by how heavy a shield was.


    The grim reality settled back in as the boy met his eyes and Billy found terror there.


    ¡°Begin!¡± Harren called.


    Neither Billy nor the boy moved. Billy¡¯s feet felt rooted to the planks beneath them, as he remembered the smell of charred flesh.


    ¡°I said begin,¡± Harren called. ¡°Do your duty soldier.¡±


    His duty. Billy felt tears form in the corners of his eyes as he shook his head.


    ¡°There will be consequences for this,¡± Harren warned.


    Billy said nothing, thinking of the way his wife¡¯s eyes used to crinkle when he made her laugh. Gods he wanted to see her again. He looked to the gold band around his ring finger.


    ¡°Jefran, finish this,¡± Harren said, addressing Billy¡¯s second.


    The Venaran soldier nodded, drawing his sword and taking a step toward the boy. Billy raised his axe and swung forward with all his might.


    Jefran¡¯s head snapped back as Billy¡¯s axe split his skull. Billy released the axe and swung his shield with two hands. The rim caught Harren in the chest and sent him flying from the stage with a yelp.


    The crowd around him exploded into pandemonium. Alarmed screams echoed that the sons were attacking. The Venaran guards struggled to maintain order as a half dozen of them rushed for the stairs of the platform.


    Billy whirled on the young boy, who stared at him as if he had sprouted horns. Billy ripped the axe from his hand and hauled the boy along by his shield arm, mind whirling. They leapt from the platform, landing in a heap on the cold cobblestones.


    The crowd closest to them screamed in horror, recoiling from his proximity. The two guards closest to them turned from the crowd to face them.


    The first was too slow as Billy¡¯s axe tore through his hamstring. He fell screaming as Billy caught his comrade¡¯s sword on his shield and pushed the man away.


    As the Greencloak staggered backwards, Billy hauled the boy behind him and dove into the crowd. Pandemonium ensued as Billy was caught in a tide of panicked chaos. People were running in all directions, trampling their fallen neighbors and sliding on the snowy cobblestone.


    Billy trudged onward, shoving his way through the crowd and dragging the boy in his wake. In the distance he could hear bells ringing an alarm. They needed to get beyond the walls. There was nowhere else to go. He roughly shoved a woman adorned in a rich fur coat to the ground and managed to break through the press of bodies. He looked over his shoulder to the boy who stared back at him, wide-eyed. ¡°Me name¡¯s Billy, now run,¡± Billy hissed as he took off at a jog toward the Outwalls.


    ***


    Kid stared wide-eyed at Billy as the grizzled old man released him and took off at a jog toward the southern gate. Kid hesitated a moment then followed in his wake. He could slip away into the crowd for a time, but they would be looking for him. He ran, barely able to keep up with the brisk pace the Rillish soldier set as they raced down the cobbled roads. Bells rang out a warning as the streets quickly cleared of pedestrians. Soon, it felt as if Kid and the soldier were the only ones on the road.


    Time passed in a blur as he panted, energy waning as the ramparts of the gate came into sight a few blocks away. A cry of alarm sounded behind him, and Kid risked a glance over his shoulder. At least a dozen Greencloaks were in pursuit, and more seemed to be pouring out of the alleyways and streets in their wake. The sight reinvigorated Kid and, for the second day in a row, he found himself running for his life. He really needed to stop making a habit of this.


    The gate neared in the distance and Kid¡¯s heart sank as he saw four Greencloaks by the gate, looking their way with confused expressions. They were drawing their weapons warily. The Thorne guards next to them fingered their weapons but made no hostile moves.


    ¡°Halt!¡± One of the Greencloaks roared. Kid could barely hear him for the air rushing past his ears. Billy only increased his pace, leaning forward with his shield raised.


    Kid struggled to keep up as the distance grew between them. He gave a silent prayer to any gods who were listening as they closed on the Greencloaks forming ranks by the gate. He watched helplessly as Billy crashed into the Venaran soldiers, his momentum flinging two from their feet. He turned a blade with his axe while another rebounded off his mail coat. Billy whirled with a right hook, the rim of his shield crushing a man¡¯s face as his fallen opponents struggled to their feet.


    Billy turned on his remaining standing opponent as Kid dove, tackling the man¡¯s knees. Kid felt the weight of the man fall atop him as specks of blood spattered his cheeks. Kid scrambled out from under the body as men screamed and metal clattered. He could see the way to the Outwalls. It was clear. He tried to run as an iron grip seized his arm. He struggled helplessly and looked over his shoulders into the eyes of the Thorne soldier holding him. ¡°Please,¡± he whispered.


    The man frowned and released him. Kid turned, feeling more flecks of blood fall across his arm. A Greencloak crawled across the ground before him, clutching at his bleeding throat as his lips mouthed words of aid. Kid didn¡¯t spare him a second glace, his eyes finding Billy still standing amidst a sea of carnage. The Thorne guardsmen looked on with conflicted expressions.


    Kid ran and Billy followed, the cries of their pursuers growing closer. Kid immediately left the paved road leading out of the city and dove into the warren of alleys and snow drifts that comprised the Outwalls. Small trenches were dug between snowdrifts and Kid ran through them, his feet crunching through the snow, keenly aware of the tracks he was leaving behind him. He weaved through the alleys, avoiding the routes he knew to be blocked by snow. The sound of pursuit had grown more distant but had not abated.


    As they staggered out of a narrow alley onto a wider street, Kid heard a thump behind him. He paused and looked back to Billy who had fallen to the ground. He clutched at his side, his fingers blood red. Kid froze, eyes drifting the way they came and seeing the flecks of blood in the snow. Billy followed his gaze.


    ¡°Leave me,¡± the man groaned. Kid shook his head, falling to his knees next to the man and tearing at his sleeve. The shoddy stitching gave out and he ripped the fabric away, pressing it to the gaping hole in the man¡¯s coat and mail. He didn¡¯t know what else to do.


    Billy¡¯s fingers grasped the collar of Kid¡¯s shirt. ¡°Boy, go.¡±


    Kid shook his head, struggling to hold back tears of helplessness. He was always helpless to do anything. Kid ground his teeth as the sound of boots crunching in the snow drew nearer. His fingers clutched at the golden dove in his palm.


    Kid shook as he clutched at Billy¡¯s hand and pressed the pendant into it. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he whispered, ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Kid turned to run and froze as men began to appear from the alleyways ahead of him. Men in masks who held great longbows. The man in front raised a finger to his mask as if telling Kid to keep quiet. Kid swallowed and as the drawstrings of the great bows creaked, he dropped to the ground. He held his eyes tightly shut as the calls of the Greencloaks grew louder and the crunch of snow drew nearer. Calls of triumph sounded as they caught sight of him and Billy lying in the snow. Kid clenched his teeth and made himself as small as possible.


    Bows twanged and men screamed, followed by a roar. Kid put his hands over his head as boots stomped past him. The sounds of violence erupted and were swiftly laid to rest. Kid¡¯s breaths came fast, and he tried to calm himself as he opened his eyes. There must have been twenty dead Greencloaks lying in the snow, pierced with arrows and throats slashed. The streets were filled with an ooze of red slush.


    The man who had hushed him stood nearby, regarding Kid. Kid looked to Billy who was being seen to by a pair of Sons.


    ¡°Your friend will be okay if I have anything to say about it.¡±


    Kid looked back to the masked man who was offering him his hand. Kid hesitated before reaching out and accepting the aid. The man effortlessly pulled him to his feet. ¡°Thank you,¡± he whispered, glancing back to the pile of dead. Was that the price of his life? Twenty dead men? It seemed a poor trade.


    ¡°Get him to the priestess,¡± The masked man called. The other Sons responded immediately, hefting Billy into the air and setting off down the road.


    ¡°Come if you like, but you are free to go,¡± the man said.


    Kid swallowed, shuffling his feet against the stone. ¡°And if I come?¡± he asked, looking up at the masked man.


    The man met his gaze. ¡°Brave men are always welcome to the Sons.¡±

 Ch 10: Disgrace and Ignominy

    Harren took a deep breath as he stood outside the Marshal¡¯s door. He was certain the man already knew what happened from the cold silence with which he was greeted upon entering the estate. He winced as he raised his arm to the doorknob. That fucking Rillman broke one of his ribs and damn near broke his skull. He gritted through the pain as he grasped the handle and twisted the door open. Harren walked inside as it swung open on soundless hinges.


    The Marshal sat at his desk on the far side of the room, his eyes rising to meet Harren¡¯s with a simmering anger. Harren opened his mouth to speak.


    The Marshal raised his hand, cutting him off. Harren swallowed as the man rose to his feet. ¡°Prefectus, do you not salute in the presence of your commanding officer in a time of war?¡±


    Harren snapped to attention, the hairs on the back of his neck rising.


    The Marshal walked close enough to him that Harren could smell the hints of whiskey on his breath. ¡°Do you know what is done to officers in the Venaran Army who fail as absolutely as you just did?¡±


    Harren shook his head, not daring to speak.


    ¡°In the last war, I had a junior officer given his wings for sending his men into an ambush,¡± the Marshal said. ¡°He didn¡¯t lead them, he sent them.¡±


    Harren looked to his feet, a shiver of fear running down his spine. ¡°I-¡±


    ¡°You will not fucking speak,¡± The Marshal roared.


    Harren winced, fighting the urge to step backwards.


    ¡°On your first fucking day, you let prisoners incite a riot that left twenty dead Venaran citizens, you ordered your men to pursue the prisoners into the Outwalls, and then you gave the remaining prisoners their wings.¡± The Marshal gritted his teeth, fists clenched. ¡°You made us look not only foolish, but cruel as well. Cruelty without strength is a brittle tool, likely to snap when you need it most.¡±


    The Marshal sneered and shook his head, turning from Harren, picking up the brown glass of liquor on the table and downing the dregs. He very carefully placed the glass back on the desk. ¡°What do you think I should do with you, Barrington?¡±


    Harren forced the words out, ¡°Will I be given my wings, sir?¡±


    The Marshal turned to face him, leaning back against the edge of his desk. ¡°All that saves you from that is your father¡¯s name.¡± The Marshal paused, letting that sink in. ¡°Instead, you will personally oversee any patrol into the Outwall and be responsible for ensuring the Kings Road is kept safe from the Sons.¡±


    ¡°So, I¡¯ll manage the operations?¡± Harren asked. It was beneath him to work beyond the wall, but he would do his part to keep the Marshal happy.


    The Marshal shook his head. ¡°Personally oversee. If there are two patrols operating beyond the wall, you will be at the very front of one of them,¡± the Marshal said, ¡°If we raid a rebel operation, you will lead the vanguard. Is that clear?¡±


    Harren met the man¡¯s eyes. ¡°This is a delayed death sentence.¡±


    ¡°But an honorable one,¡± the man spat, ¡°worthy of a Barrington.¡±


    Harren said nothing for a long moment. There was nothing to say. To run would be desertion and nothing would protect him from the King¡¯s justice. ¡°Understood, sir. I¡¯ll return to my quarters and prepare for my new role.¡±


    ¡°You have no quarters here and no personal belongings,¡± The Marshal said, ¡°All that you own from here on will be standard army issue. Your bunk is in Barracks number three, and your men are expecting you. Don¡¯t expect a warm reception.¡±


    Harren¡¯s eyes widened at the insult, anger welling up inside him. His fists clenched at his sides, ¡°Sir,¡± he growled.


    ¡°Get out of my sight.¡± The Marshal turned away, dismissing him.


    Harren turned on leaden feet, and forced himself to leave the room, stepping into the hallway.


    A voice called to him in the hall, ¡°Fuck me, I could hear that from out here.¡±


    Harren turned to see Rafe leaning against the wall outside the Marshal¡¯s office. He scowled.


    Rafe smiled in return. ¡°Gonna be awfully hard to woo the Marshal¡¯s daughter from the barracks, eh Barrington?¡±


    ¡°Go to hell, Rafe, and leave Carys out of this.¡± Harren responded, very much not in the mood for the man.


    ¡°Why? You gonna let the Sons nab her too-¡±


    Harren cut him off with a sharp jab to the face. Rafe stumbled backwards, hands pressed to his face, blood trickling from his nose. ¡°The fuck, Harren?¡±


    Harren drew the sword at his hip and raised the tip under Rafe¡¯s chin, pushing him backward until he was pressed against the wall.


    ¡°Divines man,¡± Rafe breathed, ¡°I was only trying to add some levity.¡±


    Harren spoke coldly, ¡°I¡¯m already dead, so tell me what I have to lose by stopping the tide of shit falling from your lips?¡±


    Rafe smiled a bloody smile, ¡°The only man of consequence who will ever speak to you again outside the gallows.¡±


    The only thing that kept Harren from driving the blade through the man¡¯s throat was the knowledge that he was right, and that further disgrace would only tarnish Brian¡¯s name further. He pulled the sword from Rafe¡¯s throat and put it in his scabbard.


    His hand had hardly left the hilt when Rafe¡¯s fist crashed into his face. Harren staggered backwards and Rafe shoved him, sending him tumbling to the ground.


    Harren landed in a heap and struggled to his feet, wincing as his ribs ached in protest. By the time he found his feet, fingers wrapped around the hilt of his sword- Rafe was gone.


    Harren took a deep breath, rubbing at the new bruise on his cheek. He supposed he should have seen that coming.


    He was alone in the hall, and he found that his hands were shaking. He clenched them into fists and set off down the hall. If he ever got his hands on that Rillman from the trial, he was going to kill him slowly and enjoy it.


    As he walked down the halls, a hushed silence followed him. Conversations died at the mere sight of him, and the stares of his peers haunted him like ghosts, exacerbating the bitter taste of shame. Men and women who just this morning sought his praise and attention now stared at him as if he walked the gallows. News certainly spread fast.


    Harren rested his hand atop the hilt of his sword and held his head high, trying his best to appear unconcerned as visions of dead men in green cloaks drifted through his mind. Divines, he wanted to vomit.


    When he reached his old quarters, he found them emptied of his belongings as the Marshal had said. Brian sat in one of the foyer¡¯s two chairs, wringing his hands. At Harren¡¯s approach he raised his gaze and stood from the chair.


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    ¡°Thank the Goddess you¡¯re okay,¡± he said, crossing the distance and embracing Harren.


    Harren was taken aback and stumbled as his brother hugged him. He choked a moment as the weight of the day threatened to crack his fa?ade of control. He coughed and pushed his brother off him. ¡°Thanks for the concern, but I¡¯m no worse for wear. This is just a setback.¡±


    Brian frowned and nodded. ¡°Of course.¡±


    Harren looked around the stripped room. ¡°They take everything?¡± he asked.


    ¡°King¡¯s property now,¡± Brian confirmed.


    That made Harren grimace. ¡°They should have given you stewardship of my belongings.¡±


    Brian shrugged and fell back into his chair with a sigh. ¡°Marshal said they¡¯re being requisitioned to help pay the king¡¯s tithe to the families of the men who died today.¡±


    A pang of guilt ran through Harren. ¡°A worthy cause,¡± he muttered, taking a seat in the other chair, leaning forward and holding his head in his hands.


    Harren sighed after a long moment, looking to his brother. ¡°I¡¯m to be quartered in the barracks as punishment and will be occupied with keeping order beyond the wall. You¡¯ll have to navigate court on your own.¡± Harren paused a moment. ¡°You¡¯ll have to ensure our name survives this.¡±


    Brian bit his lip. ¡°That bad?¡±


    ¡°That bad,¡± Harren confirmed with a sigh.


    Brian shook his head. ¡°Bullshit.¡±


    Harren arched an eyebrow ¡°Bullshit?¡±


    ¡°Bullshit,¡± Brian confirmed. ¡°The brother I know would never accept defeat. What happened to your spine?¡±


    Harren grimaced. ¡°Watch it.¡±


    ¡°Or what?¡± Brian asked, ¡°You¡¯ll sigh again?¡±


    Harren fought the urge to sigh. ¡°Fuck off.¡±


    Brian chuckled. ¡°That¡¯s more like it.¡±


    A small smile crossed Harren¡¯s lips.


    Brian leaned back in his chair. ¡°It¡¯s not over yet.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just beginning,¡± Harren confirmed.


    ***


    Harren stood outside the wooden door set into the polished stone of Barracks #3. Inside were the five-hundred commoners he¡¯d be rooming with. He¡¯d never lived with anyone outside the nobility.


    He got strange looks from soldiers passing by. His equipment was a cut above the standard issue bronze plated leather jacket and short sword and marked him as an officer and a noble. He didn¡¯t feel particularly noble today.


    As he was about to enter the building and figure out where he was bunked, a voice called out to him, ¡°Lord Barrington?¡±


    Harren turned his head to see a thin soldier approaching him. The man was dark featured with a narrow face and a pair of seeing lenses rested atop his nose. A small bronze locket hung around his neck.


    ¡°Yes?¡± he asked.


    The man gave him a slight bow, which Harren would have found insulting yesterday. ¡°I¡¯m quartermaster Gavin Acron of the sixth legion, fifth cohort.¡±


    He paused and Harren stared blankly at him. As pause grew uncomfortable, Gavin raised an eyebrow and continued, ¡°Which you now command, no?¡±


    Harren cleared his throat. ¡°Of course.¡± He fought down his annoyance. Was the Marshal intentionally light on details to make him look like an idiot?


    Gavin nodded. ¡°Great. I¡¯ll show you to your quarters, sir, and there we can go over a number of issues requiring your immediate attention.¡±


    Harren nodded, relieved to finally be getting some direction. ¡°After you.¡±


    Gavin set off at a brisk pace, throwing open the door of Barracks #3 and walking inside. Harren followed in his wake, emerging into a large common room. Four long tables occupied the corners of the room and dozens of men sat at them, playing cards, rolling dice, and drinking.


    As Harren entered, the merry atmosphere began to sober. Heads began to turn to him and Gavin as they walked toward the center of the room. Gavin hardly seemed to notice, but Harren felt noticeably out of place. Some of the gazes seemed to border on hostile. He did his best to ignore them as he followed Gavin past the tables. Three hallways branched from the common room, emptying into a west and east wing whose walls were lined with dozens of cots stacked three high, the soldier¡¯s meager belongings stuffed under the beds or hanging in sacks from the bedposts.


    Gavin led him to the north hall which opened into a mess hall. It was near dinner time, and there must have been a hundred men lined up. At the head of the line, a cook slopped some form of gruel into bowls. The sight and smell turned Harren¡¯s stomach, but the soldiers seemed grateful, taking the bowls as quickly as the cook could dish them.


    Gavin didn¡¯t spare the sight so much as a glance as he weaved them a path through the men. While he received curious and hostile looks in equal measure, it did not escape his notice that the men sharply deferred to Gavin, granting him the right of way when their paths crossed.


    Halls branched from this room in a similar fashion to the common room, with more bunks lining the walls of the wings. Harren never imagined the possibility of so many men living in such close quarters. There must have been room for two or three hundred just in this barracks, and there was a total of thirty just like it stacked on the estate¡¯s grounds.


    Gavin led him down a final hall from the mess which ended in a long corridor stretching the length of the building with three wooden doors set into the stone. Gavin led him to the leftmost door and turned to face him, pulling a ring of keys from his belt and passing them to Harren. ¡°These are the keys to your quarters, mine and the storage room for this barracks and the other three belonging to the fifth cohort. Only you and I possess these keys to prevent the men from getting,¡± he paused, ¡°curious.¡±


    Harren nodded, taking the offered ring and holding it tightly. ¡°I¡¯ll keep them close,¡± he said.


    Gavin nodded, seeming satisfied with that. ¡°I¡¯d understand if you¡¯d prefer to rest after the,¡± he paused again, ¡°events of the day,¡± he finished.


    Harren scowled.


    Gavin didn¡¯t seem to notice as he continued. ¡°However, your busy schedule permitting, I would like to discuss the issues currently facing our operations.¡± He turned to the door of the room they stood before and began flipping through the keys on his rings. ¡°It¡¯d be best for everyone involved if you¡¯re abreast of the predicament your predecessor left us in before-¡± he bit his lip as he found the correct key and twisted it in the lock. ¡°His untimely demise,¡± he finished.


    Harren pursed his lips. ¡°By all means.¡±


    Gavin nodded, pushing the door open and entering his quarters. Harren was surprised by the size. It was small by the standards he was used to, but had room for a bunk, a small table with two chairs and a washbasin. Each was as unremarkable as the last, but they would serve for now.


    The table was layered with neat sheafs of parchment, many of which bore the Marshal¡¯s seal. ¡°Please, take a seat,¡± Gavin said, gesturing to one of the chairs.


    Harren took a seat and Gavin followed suit, sighing and pushing his lenses up his nose as he looked down at the sheafs of parchment. ¡°Sir, how much do you know of our operations in the fifth cohort?¡±


    ¡°We guard the King¡¯s Road and perform operations in the Outwalls. It¡¯s-¡± Harren paused, ¡°An unenviable job.¡±


    Gavin nodded, meeting his gaze. ¡°Indeed. Nobody seeks assignment to the fifth cohort intentionally. Our ranks are filled with the undesirables from the Fifth and Sixth Legions. As such, our ranks are constantly understaffed. There¡¯s currently barely over six hundred men in our cohort.¡±


    Harren¡¯s eyebrows raised. That was well under half-strength. ¡°It sounds like we¡¯re set up to fail.¡±


    Gavin shook his head. ¡°We¡¯re not set up to do anything. I wanted to dispel any notions you had that this is anything but a punishment duty.¡±


    Harren scowled, leaning against the table. ¡°I was well aware of that.¡± He sighed. ¡°Is there any good news?¡±


    Gavin shrugged. ¡°I have yet to hear any of the men plotting your demise, if that counts?¡±


    Harren snorted. ¡°Maybe you¡¯re not listening hard enough.¡± He shook his head, and hesitated as he saw no mirth in Gavin¡¯s eyes. ¡°You¡¯re not serious, are you?¡±


    Gavin presented him with a thin smile, raising the corners of his lips. ¡°No one dies in a vacuum, sir.¡± He leaned forward, lowering his voice, ¡°Some die because the Sons know where they¡¯ll be drinking with their fellow officers.¡±


    Harren felt a chill run down his spine as he met Gavin¡¯s hard eyes. His hand instinctively fell to the sword at his hip as he heard the floorboards creak beyond the door. ¡°So that¡¯s how this is going to be?¡± he asked.


    Gavin pushed his lenses up the bridge of his nose as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs. ¡°I find it¡¯s important to outline the terms of our relationship from the start,¡± he said, ¡°To cease the mincing of words and be as clear as possible, the fifth is mine. You will be my voice, or the cohort will find another.¡±


    Harren felt the anger building inside him. He didn¡¯t know what to expect, but he¡¯d never imagined this. ¡°And what¡¯s to stop me from telling the Marshal of this?¡±


    ¡°Tell him what? That your men hate you and threaten your life, that your quartermaster undermines your authority, and that you¡¯re a failed officer?¡± Gavin shrugged. ¡°Be my guest. There is no wrongdoing here that you are not complicit in,¡± he paused, ¡°You may see me lashed for insubordination but, ultimately, it¡¯s your word against your men¡¯s. Don¡¯t make this harder than it has to be.¡±


    Harren forced his hand from the sword at his side, taking a deep breath as he tried to calm himself. ¡°What¡¯s in it for me?¡±


    Gavin¡¯s smile returned with a hint of triumph. ¡°Gold, the acclaim of your men, and a damn fine appearance before the Marshal.¡±


    Harren raised an eyebrow. ¡°And how will you get me that?¡±


    Gavin pushed a sheaf of papers his way. ¡°With a few signatures in the right places.¡±


    Harren looked down at the papers, skimming their contents as he flipped through them. They were supply requisition forms for a Cohort at half strength. ¡°I thought you said our strength was six-hundred strong?¡± As he said it, the pieces clicked together. He met Gavin¡¯s gaze. ¡°Where does the surplus go?¡±


    Gavin¡¯s smile hadn''t fallen an inch. ¡°I¡¯m the quartermaster. Let me handle the details.¡±


    Harren took a deep breath, ¡°Where do I sign?¡±

 Ch 11: Old Friends

    Kid raced down the frozen streets in the wake of the Sons hauling Billy down the road at a jog. They¡¯d roughly bandaged the wound across his gut, but he was still losing blood, ruby drops leaving a trail in the snow. The man¡¯s head lolled, clearly on the verge of losing consciousness.


    Kid panted, his breath fogging in the cold air. He could barely feel his arms, and his legs only gave off a dull ache from the exertion. The Sons were moving at little more than a jog, but he was slowly falling behind as his body reached its limits. If there was anything in his stomach to throw up, he would have already.


    The Son¡¯s leader noticed him falling further behind and slowed his pace to Kid¡¯s. Kid wanted to thank him but couldn¡¯t find the energy between breaths. A moment later, the man¡¯s arms snaked about his waist and levered him into the air. Kid released an indignant yelp as the man slung him over his shoulder and increased his pace, catching up with his comrades. If Kid were less tired, he might have been embarrassed but, at the moment, he was simply relieved.


    Time passed in a blur until the sounds of boots on cobblestone turned to boots on wood. A thumping sounded as if knocking at a door. Whoever knocked clearly didn¡¯t wait for an answer as Kid felt a gush of warm air wash over him and the sky disappeared.


    The world spun and he found himself sitting against a wall. His eyes locked on Lissa and James. He saw recognition blossom in their eyes as they rose to their feet in alarm. An old woman was with them, her eyes cloudy yet piercing as they gazed across him. The Sons hauled Billy into the room.


    The Son¡¯s leader pulled off his mask and spoke, looking to the older woman, ¡°Melna, he needs immediate medical attention. This was the closest place.¡±


    The old woman cursed, grabbing the white tablecloth and pulling it from the table, sending cups and steaming water scattering across the floor. The wood beneath was stained the color of dried blood and was soon hidden as the Sons laid Billy across its surface.


    Billy groaned loudly as he thudded against the wood. Melna immediately began barking commands. ¡°Lissa, see to the boy in the corner. He looks like he¡¯s made of ice. James pull the man¡¯s armor off.¡± Melna¡¯s eyes met Billy¡¯s and she frowned, hesitating a moment. She soon recovered, continuing her orders, ¡°Marc, fetch the shears from the third drawer on the left and cut his shirt from him. Everyone else, back the hell away.¡±


    The room exploded into motion as everyone obeyed her commands. Kid shivered, huddling himself into a ball. His thoughts and every movement felt sluggish. Lissa fell to her knees beside him. She placed her hand on his, but he couldn¡¯t feel it. Her eyes went wide as if surprised by the chill.


    Kid forced a smile to his lips, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. Lissa pulled off her oversized jacket and draped it over them both like a blanket as she curled up beside him. He could feel her body heat leeching into him, and it hurt. The pins and needles that followed felt more like spears and arrows as his extremities slowly came back to life.


    ¡°Wha- What are you doing here?¡± he asked her, teeth chattering.


    ¡°Hush,¡± she said, wrapping her arms over his shoulder as she rubbed life back into him. ¡°I could ask you the same thing.¡±


    Kid winced and said no more. The effort required was too great.


    By the table, Melna had a deep frown set into her lips as Marc peeled away the sticky, red fabric from Billy¡¯s torso.


    ¡°There¡¯s no patching that,¡± Melna said.


    Marc scowled, but didn¡¯t disagree with her assessment.


    Kid¡¯s heart sank. He didn¡¯t really know the man, but he¡¯d wanted to.


    Melna bit her lip as she raised her hands over Billy.


    Marc blinked as he looked to her. ¡°What- don¡¯t-¡± the man stuttered, cut off by a flash of light. Tendrils of pink light flowed from the woman¡¯s hand into Billy, lazily weaving through the air between them. A warm glow filled the room, and everything felt lighter. The flesh along Billy¡¯s torso seemed to knit itself back into place as the man¡¯s eyes fluttered.


    Kid watched the old woman in wonder. Where her eyes had once been cloudy, they were now a piercing blue that seemed to glow with their own light. The wrinkles and lines in her face seemed to deepen and sag with each passing moment as if she aged before his eyes.


    As quickly as it began, the light faded from the room and Melna sagged, leaning her arms against the table. James caught her as her legs gave out. He lifted her into the air and gently rested her in one of the chairs by the table. She shot him a grateful smile as she leaned back, seeming drained.


    Marc frowned down at Billy. The old man¡¯s chest rose and fell gently, seemingly fast asleep. ¡°Why did you do that? We could have lost you.¡±


    ¡°He served with my husband. I owed him this much,¡± she answered.


    Marc took a deep breath but didn¡¯t say anything in response.


    ¡°He needs rest, and so do I,¡± Melna said.


    Marc looked as if he had more questions he wanted to ask, but eventually took the hint, nodding. ¡°Of course. We¡¯ll return tomorrow,¡± he paused, ¡°Thank you.¡±


    The Sons who had carried Billy began to exit the building. Marc paused by the door, looking down at Lissa and Kid. ¡°You good, boy?¡±


    Kid nodded, extracting a hand and forcing his numb fingers into a thumbs-up to demonstrate.


    Marc grinned. ¡°I¡¯ll be back here tomorrow morning. If you¡¯re here as well, I¡¯ll have work for you.¡± He fished a hand in his jacket pocket and pulled a coin from it.


    The coin shined as he flipped it to Kid. Kid nearly fumbled it in his cold fingers. His eyes widened as he got a good look at it. It was a golden Heart, named after the Venaran Heartlands where it was minted. It was enough money to feed him for months.


    He stared up at- Marc. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Marc only smiled in response, turning his gaze to Lissa. ¡°And I¡¯ll check in on you regularly. If you ever need me or your parents, one of the men outside can bring a message.


    Lissa gave him a soft smile. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Marc nodded to her and left without another word.


    ***


    Kid shivered; James¡¯ coat swaddled around his shoulders. The scarred man and his daughter were on their knees, washing away the droplets of blood that had been spilled on the floor while Kid and Melna rested in the chairs by the table. He¡¯d wanted to help, but James had told him in no uncertain terms to stay put.


    Billy was still out cold on the table, but he looked peaceful. Kid wanted to thank him for whatever madness had overcome the man. He couldn¡¯t remember anyone ever sticking up for him like that. The thought brought tears to the corners of his eyes, and he blinked them away.


    This place was strange. He¡¯d never seen anything quite like the altar and tapestry in the corner of the room.


    A creaking sounded from the stairwell. Kid¡¯s eyes widened as he took in the massive creature standing on the landing. It leaned forward and stretched, as if waking from a nap. Beady black eyes regarded him curiously as it thunked down the stairwell.


    Kid wondered if he should run, but nobody else seemed to be concerned by the creature. Melna reached out a hand and the creature placed its snout into her palm, letting her caress its head. It trilled softly in pleasure.


    Kid edged his chair away from the beast. The screech of wood on wood seemed to draw its attention and its gaze fixated on him. Kid held up his hands in a calming gesture, realizing his mistake as the creature lumbered toward him, snout extended.


    An unnaturally long tongue flicked out and ran along one of his hands. Kid winced, looking down at the spittle now lining his palm. The thing fell to its haunches beside him. Sitting on the ground, it still came up to his shoulder, thick scales almost as large as his hands. He tentatively reached out a hand and ran his fingers along its carapace. It was warm to the touch, but not uncomfortably so. It trilled and leaned into his hand. Kid started to smile, his fear fading away.


    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°I¡¯ve always known Kryll to have excellent taste in character,¡± Melna said. ¡°Probably why he stays upstairs while Marc is here.¡±


    Kid barely heard her, his attention subsumed. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°He is a Keeper. A guardian of souls for our Lady dearest,¡± she said, gesturing to the tapestry on the wall.


    ¡°Can I touch him?¡± Lissa asked, rising to her feet and draping her used rag over the back of one of the chairs. Her eyes twinkled with a look of wonder as she regarded Kryll.


    ¡°Best not, darling,¡± Melna answered, ¡°Not until you learn to control your intent. I for one, have no desire to sweat through my blouse.¡±


    Lissa frowned, nodding her assent. James rose to his feet a moment later. ¡°Thank you for taking her in,¡± he said.


    Melna waved at him. ¡°Phaw. The sooner I teach her everything I know, the sooner I can retire from all this.¡±


    ¡°If there¡¯s anything I can do-¡±


    She cut him off. ¡°What you can do is talk some sense into your brother. He¡¯s going to bring a hammer down on us all, and there¡¯s going to be more than just him coming to me for aid,¡± she said, gesturing to Billy.


    James bit his lip. ¡°I can¡¯t-¡±


    ¡°Is that what you told the people of Varna?¡± she interjected.


    James froze, going white as a sheet. Kid looked between the two of them, wondering what the hell was going on. Lissa was deathly quiet.


    ¡°I know you¡¯re a man who understands that doing what feels right isn¡¯t the same as doing what is right,¡± Melna said, a hint of iron entering her voice.


    ¡°I do what is right for my family,¡± James answered, his voice raising.


    Melna shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m sure that¡¯s what Earl Rodger Thorne told himself when he let the city burn,¡± she said, ¡°The fire is coming again. Where will you stand when it does, Gatekeeper?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that,¡± James said.


    Melna sighed. ¡°As you wish, but my request stands, and I make it in earnest. I see you, James.¡±


    James met her gaze but said nothing. He turned to Lissa. ¡°Be good, and if you need me, I¡¯m not far. I love you.¡±


    ¡°I love you too,¡± Lissa whispered as her father walked from the house, leaving Kid swaddled in his coat and wondering if he should run after the man to return it. Kid slowly rose to his feet to do just that.


    Melna¡¯s gaze snapped to him. ¡°Don¡¯t even think about it.¡±


    Kid fell back in the chair. ¡°Sorry- er, Ma¡¯am.¡±


    Melna snorted in amusement as, then her eyes drifted to Billy and softened. ¡°What happened to him?¡± she asked.


    Lissa took a seat by the table, also watching him with interest. Kid shuffled the jacket over his shoulders and told them of how Billy had saved him during his round of the execution.


    Melna was quiet for a long moment after he finished. She shook her head. ¡°Killing children. Every time we push back, they press the boot to our throat harder.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the alternative?¡± Kid asked.


    Melna took a deep breath, rubbing one wrinkled hand over the other as if to will warmth into them. She met Kid¡¯s gaze. ¡°The alternative is to acknowledge that we lost and live in peace so that no more mothers have to raise their son without a father.¡±


    Kid felt as if she¡¯d punched him. He¡¯d never even known his father. Didn¡¯t even know how or if he¡¯d died. His mother refused to even speak on the subject.


    His Mother-


    Divines, he needed to get home to her.


    Kid leapt to his feet, the earlier lethargy of his limbs was nearly gone, though he still felt exhausted. It didn¡¯t matter.


    Melna narrowed her eyes at him. ¡°I thought I said-¡±


    ¡°I need to get home,¡± Kid said, cutting her off and turning toward the door.


    ¡°Wait,¡± Melna called.


    Kid hesitated by the door.


    ¡°Lissa, be a dear and go upstairs. In the second bedroom down the hall there is a wardrobe that may hold a jacket that actually fits our hurried young man. Would you please grab one?¡±


    The girl nodded, rising to her feet and walking up the stairs. Kid frowned. ¡°Thank you,¡± he whispered.


    Melna waved at him as she rose from the chair on shaky legs. ¡°You came in half-frozen, and I¡¯d be a poor host to send you back into the cold without protection.¡± She turned and walked to the kitchen. ¡°And even with eyes as worn as mine, I can tell you haven¡¯t eaten in some time.¡±


    At the mere mention of food, Kid¡¯s mouth began to salivate. He swallowed as Melna appeared a moment later carrying a wicker basket holding a loaf of bread and a pair of apples. He swallowed again as he accepted the basket.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he whispered the second time.


    Melna smiled softly. ¡°People call our Lady the Reaper because she manages the unpleasant duties of death, but that is not all she is. She smiles on sacrifice, much as the Goddess smiles on giving. Life and death- giving and sacrifice. They¡¯re two sides of the same coin, and we sit here fighting over which is shinier.¡± She shook her head.


    Kid was quiet as she turned away from him and returned to her seat by the table. Lissa appeared a moment later, scampering down the stairs with a thick wool jacket in her arms. Kid shrugged off his jacket and traded with her.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he said for the third time, feeling like an absolute lump.


    The corners of Lissa¡¯s almond-colored eyes crinkled into a smile. ¡°If you happen to pass by the Dancing Bear, do me a favor and tell my mother that I think I¡¯ll like it here.¡±


    Kid nodded his assent, then turned to walk through the door into the twilight of dusk.


    ***


    Night had just fallen by the time Kid made it in sight of his home. Evenings this time of year were deathly quiet with few venturing from their homes to the frigid streets unless absolutely necessary. Nevertheless, he¡¯d kept an eye out for the small-time gangs of thugs who would strip passersby of their belongings. The last thing he wanted to do was to lose the bounty Melna and Marc had given him.


    He found himself unconsciously patting his pocket to make sure the golden Heart was still there. As a thief, he knew that was a terrible habit as it just highlighted where his valuables were, but he couldn¡¯t help himself. He¡¯d never in his life held so much money at once, and Marc had given it to him without a thought.


    He knew he¡¯d be back tomorrow.


    Kid looked up at the small shack he and his mother occupied. The timbers had long since started rotting and the roof leaned heavily against the neighboring homes it was wedged between. In all fairness, the neighboring buildings looked to be in little better condition.


    He could smell the stench of sex and excrement through the door and as he opened it, it washed over him in full force. He fought the urge to gag as he walked in. Glass bottles and other assorted trash was scattered across the dirt floor, some of it dangerously close to the smoldering embers of what had once been a fire. The air inside was nearly as cold as it was outside.


    He could see his mother¡¯s bare leg flopped out of the alcove she worked in. She wasn¡¯t moving or even acknowledging his presence. A familiar tingle of fear ran down his spine as he quickly walked to her side.


    The patchwork blanket only partially covered her nakedness, and he did his best to avert his eyes as he pulled it higher across her chest. ¡°Mom?¡± he asked.


    She didn¡¯t respond and he knelt, touching her shoulder and shaking her. Her skin was icy cold. ¡°Mom,¡± he said, more forcefully.


    Her eyelids fluttered open, revealing unfocused eyes. They lazily drifted to him. She reached out an arm to him, trying to caress his face. Her movement made the blanket fall down her chest and Kid looked away.


    ¡°My darling sweet little prince,¡± she purred, a smile creeping across her face.


    Her fingers were colder to the touch than her shoulder was, and Kid winced. She didn¡¯t seem to notice. He grabbed her hand and tucked her arm under the blanket. ¡°You stay here and get comfortable. I¡¯ll get the fire going.¡±


    Her smile grew as her eyelids drooped. ¡°I love you,¡± she said, rolling away from him and cozying into the matted straw and blankets.


    Kid frowned. She only ever said that to him when on the spice. Somehow that just made it worse. He turned from her, setting the remaining food in the corner of the room. She could barely function right now, let alone eat without choking.


    He grabbed some dried leaves and wicker scraps from a small pile in the corner of the room and set them atop the glowing embers of the fire pit. He stoked them with an empty bottle until they caught flame, then added scraps of wood to the fire until he was satisfied it would burn through most of the night.


    Kid looked to his mother. She still lay facing the wall away from him. He gingerly plucked the golden Heart from his jacket and knelt by the far corner of the room. He stuck his fingers into the dirt at the base of the wall, just barely able to get his fingertips beneath the wood of the wall. He pulled upward until the wood shifted. There was a tiny alcove there that held a few copper coins. It was the one hiding spot that his mother hadn¡¯t found yet, and it had the added benefit of being accessible from the rear of the house as well. He exchanged the gold coin for three coppers, staring as the gold shined in the firelight.


    He sighed and pulled the board back into place, turning to face the empty, garbage strewn hovel. Kid cleared a small area on the cold dirt floor by the fire and lay down, doing his best to get comfortable. Thoughts of gold running through his mind as he drifted to sleep.


    ***


    Kid awoke to the feeling of hands rummaging through his pockets. He opened his eyes to see his mother crouching over him. Her hair was matted and face gaunt. She had the hungry look in her eyes she got when she was looking for her next fix. As she noticed his eyes were open, her searching hands transitioned to a gentle stroking along his side.


    She presented him with a motherly smile as she looked down at him. ¡°Good morning my little prince,¡± she said, ¡°I hadn¡¯t seen you in almost a day, and I was starting to get worried. I¡¯m glad to see you home safe.¡±


    Kid had been gone nearly three days, but he didn¡¯t bother to correct her. ¡°Me too,¡± he whispered, rising to a sitting position.


    The fire had died, but the hovel still held its residual heat. The basket of food he¡¯d left in the corner was now empty. He¡¯d expected that, but it was disappointing nonetheless as his stomach grumbled.


    ¡°What mischief did you get up to?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Just managed to cut a purse,¡± he answered. He didn¡¯t want to go into the details and watch her pantomime of concern. He knew she was just trying to get an idea of how much money he¡¯d brought back.


    ¡°And buy some food,¡± she added.


    Kid nodded, reaching into his coat pocket and retrieving the three copper Bears he¡¯d pulled from the wall last night. He held the coins out to her. ¡°I brought you what was left,¡± he said.


    A smile spread across her lips as she snatched the money away, tucking it into the pocket of her tattered dress. ¡°Good boy.¡± She paused, narrowing her eyes. ¡°Where did you get that coat?¡±


    Kid froze. Idiot.


    The smile slipped from her face. He tried to back away from her, but she grabbed him by the sleeve and held him in place. Kid swallowed. ¡°A friend gave it to me.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have friends. Where¡¯d you steal it from?¡± she retorted.


    Kid grimaced. ¡°If I wanted to tell you, I would have.¡±


    She slapped him. Kid winced at the sting in his cheek.


    ¡°Try again,¡± she said.


    He met her gaze, firm in his silence.


    She scowled then released him. ¡°I¡¯ll need to start working soon to support us. Get out and come back once you¡¯ve earned something like a man. As the man of the house You¡¯re supposed to be taking care of me. And yet, here we are.¡±


    Kid didn¡¯t acknowledge her words. He¡¯d heard worse, but it still stung. He nodded his head in assent and turned for the door. She didn¡¯t so much as look at him as he left into the cold morning light beyond.

 Ch 12: A Common Cause

    Grim leaned against the washbasin of his bedroom, staring at himself in the mirror. He¡¯d barely slept last night, and his eyes were bloodshot. He splashed water in his face, rubbing at his eyes. Today would be his first day at Longreen¡¯s court. The thought made him want to jump out his window. He grimaced, itching the branding scar along his neck. He didn¡¯t have much in the way of belongings or clothes, so he pulled on his tunic and trousers from the previous night, knowing he was going to be woefully underdressed.


    He almost looked around the room for his axe before recalling he wasn¡¯t allowed to be armed. Grim sighed, turning to the door of his room and walking into the foyer he shared with some poor Venaran son of a bitch.


    The son of a bitch in question sat in one of the room¡¯s sitting chairs, a book in his hands. At Grim¡¯s approach, he looked up with a smile. He was a young man, perhaps five or six years younger than Grim with neatly parted sandy, brown hair. The gleam in his eyes spoke of a life of comfort and few worries. Grim already hated him.


    The boy closed his book and set it on the small table beside his chair. He rose to his feet. ¡°I heard I¡¯d gotten an interesting new suitemate,¡± he said, holding his hand out to Grim. ¡°I¡¯m Brian Barrington. Pleased to make your acquaintance.¡±


    Grim stared at the proffered hand for a moment before shaking it in the Venaran fashion. ¡°Grim Throne,¡± he answered.


    Brian looked him up and down. ¡°I don¡¯t mean to offend, but I do feel I should let you know that you¡¯re a bit underdressed for the residence.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have anything else to wear,¡± Grim said.


    The boy frowned. ¡°I might have something-¡±


    Grim raised a hand, cutting him off. ¡°Nothing you have is going to fit me.¡±


    Brian looked up to meet Grim¡¯s gaze. ¡°Fair point.¡±


    Grim ran a hand through his hair. ¡°So, what¡¯d you do to get stuck with me?¡±


    Brian¡¯s eyes widened a fraction then he smiled sadly. ¡°I suppose I should have expected you to gather that. My brother, Harren, met the Marshal¡¯s displeasure.¡±


    Grim could tell Brian didn¡¯t want to explain further. ¡°What¡¯d he do?¡±


    Brian frowned. ¡°You didn¡¯t hear?¡±


    ¡°I spent most of yesterday in a cell,¡± Grim answered.


    Brian swallowed, looking away. ¡°I¡¯d really rather not get into the details. I¡¯m sure another noble will be happy to recount the details for you. Many seem rather pleased.¡±


    Grim nodded, not particularly surprised. Harren was a prick. He looked to the door. ¡°Shall we, or would you rather walk separately?¡±


    To Grim¡¯s surprise, Brian held out his hand. ¡°After you.¡±


    Grim nodded a curt thanks and walked from the room into the opulent hall. Rich, vibrant paintings hung in gilded, gold frames. The hardwood floors were a reddish hue, betraying their origin from the province of Boreal. Bowyers in the city paid a fortune to have wood like this imported for its combination of strength and flexibility, and these people used it to line their floors. Grim shook his head as he walked down the hall, looking up at the dramatized portraits of the Marshal leading men into battle.


    Many of the officers who served his father had also served in the war. It was common knowledge that the Marshal was a butcher who led from the rear. Though in all fairness, he¡¯d heard the same said of both his father and the old Rillish King.


    Grim gritted his teeth as he reached the stairwell leading down to the hall where the Marshal held his morning social. He hadn¡¯t been to one of these things since his father forced him as a child. His sister occasionally made the trip to attend, but typically only came to the larger events which Grim was still forced to attend.


    He took a deep breath and began his descent down the stairs with Brian close behind. Eyes drifted to him, and conversations hushed. As he reached the bottom of the stairwell, the nearby nobles found excuses to drift further away. Grim supposed he¡¯d want to distance himself from somebody in his shoes as well. He glanced over his shoulder to Brian who seemed content to follow him toward the food lining the table.


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    Grim hadn¡¯t eaten all yesterday afternoon, and he was ravenously hungry. He grabbed one of the small porcelain plates and loaded it with the small quiches lining the table. He turned and leaned against the table, facing the crowd. There were dozens of younger men and women dressed up in their most extravagant finery, a clear sign that the Marshal¡¯s competition was nearing its start.


    Brian was similarly gathering food on a plate next him. ¡°Brian,¡± Grim said, ¡°When does the competition start?¡±


    Brian chewed through a mouthful of quiche, swallowing before responding, ¡°It won¡¯t start before the thaw. The date is tentatively set for the beginning of next month.¡±


    Grim nodded. He had roughly three weeks to prepare for the first trial. Just a public trivia on Venaran history, of which Grim knew almost nothing. He sighed as Brian settled in beside him.


    As he chewed a quiche, Grim glanced to the boy out of the corner of his eye. ¡°You don¡¯t have to keep me company. I¡¯m well aware that I¡¯m not in style.¡±


    Brian shrugged, pulling a small handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiping the crumbs from his lips. ¡°As it happens, I too am finding myself to be a bit of a pariah. I was hoping we might be able to find common cause in the competition.¡±


    ¡°Common cause?¡± Grim asked, eyebrow raised.


    ¡°An alliance of sorts.¡± Brian answered.


    Grim snorted. ¡°I¡¯m hardly prime material for that.¡±


    ¡°To the contrary, I think your status as a relative outsider will be very beneficial. Do you care what anyone in this room thinks of you?¡± Brian asked.


    Grim snorted again. ¡°The Marshal. Maybe.¡±


    ¡°Then the rules you have to abide by are different than the ones I do. If you¡¯re willing to ruffle feathers and commit some indiscretions for our cause, then I¡¯d be willing to help prepare you prepare for the trials.¡± He looked up to meet Grim¡¯s eyes. ¡°What do you say?¡±


    Grim stared back at him for a moment before holding out his hand. ¡°Deal.¡±


    Brian smiled and gave it a firm shake.


    ¡°Careful, Brian. That¡¯s how men catch fleas,¡± a voice called to them.


    Grim turned to observe a lanky Venaran nobleman approaching. He wore a very unfashionable beard and smelled of wine.


    ¡°Where are you hiding the wine?¡± Grim asked.


    The man smiled, revealing red stained teeth. ¡°I¡¯m afraid the reserves are exhausted, my good man.¡± He bowed his head. ¡°I poured the rest out in a solemn prayer for our good friend Harren.¡±


    ¡°Poured it down your gullet?¡± Grim asked.


    The man grinned then looked to Brian. ¡°I like him.¡±


    Brian took a deep breath. ¡°This is my brother¡¯s friend, Rafe.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve met,¡± Grim muttered.


    ¡°And it¡¯s such a pleasure, as always,¡± Rafe said.


    Grim glanced around the room. ¡°This place is anything but pleasurable.¡±


    ¡°And we agree on so many things,¡± Rafe said, waving his arms with an exaggerated grin.


    ¡°What else do we agree on?¡± Grim asked, crossing his arms.


    ¡°We agree that one of you should win the competition this year,¡± Rafe said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.


    Grim laughed. ¡°And why would that be?¡± he asked, humoring the man.


    ¡°Because.¡± Rafe held up a finger and looked to Grim. ¡°The scandal of a Rillman winning would humor me for years.¡± He held up a second finger and looked to Brian. ¡°And if young Brian were to win, he might be able to ask a boon to save his brother whom I do unfortunately have some care for.¡±


    Grim was about to respond when a voice angrily called his name, ¡°Thorne.¡±


    The conversation around them hushed and Rafe took a quick step away from him. Grim glanced to his left and saw the Marshal¡¯s wife, lady Cassandra Longreen, approaching. He wracked his brain for the proper bow and gave it his best approximation.


    She sniffed as if it were found wanting. ¡°You have been a guest in my house for nearly a day now and have not yet come to pay your respects. Pray tell why?¡±


    Grim fought the urge to scowl but before he could respond, Brian interjected, ¡°Please forgive him my lady,¡± he said falling into a much smoother bow. ¡°I was curious to hear about the city from a native and occupied him for too long.¡±


    She didn¡¯t even look at him. ¡°I did not address you, Barrington.¡±


    Brian swallowed and bowed his head.


    Grim took a moment to calm himself. He knew there was only one answer she would take because this was about humiliating him. ¡°I apologize, my lady. My poor manners are disgraceful, and it is gracious of you to point out my faults, that I may better them.¡±


    She opened her mouth as if she wanted to dig into him further but was having trouble finding traction. ¡°See that you do,¡± she said, holding out her ring.


    Grim reached out his hand.


    ¡°Do not touch me,¡± she said.


    Grim pulled his hand away and bent to kiss the ring.


    ¡°Kneel,¡± she said.


    Grim tensed, anger building. The entire room was watching. He looked past her to where Longreen sat, watching him with interest. Grim bit his tongue, remembering the blod streaming from Edgar¡¯s hand. He knelt before her, leaned forward and gently kissed the ring.


    She pulled her ring away as though a cockroach had scuttled across it. ¡°See that you dress appropriately for the occasion tomorrow or eat with the staff.¡±


    Grim fumed, taking deep breaths as she turned from him, and he rose to his feet. ¡°Excuse me, gentlemen,¡± he said through gritted teeth as he pushed his way to the stairwell. His boots thudded loudly against the hardwood as he marched back to his room. As soon as the door was closed behind him, he screamed, throwing one of the chairs against the wall and watched as it shattered into kindling.


    His breaths came in ragged gasps as he leaned against one of the walls, resting his head against its cool surface. He¡¯d have to endure another six months of this. He felt his fists clench as hate suffused him.

 Ch 13: Brothers in Peace

    The surface of the bar gleamed in the dim morning light as Hilda scrubbed at its surface with a rag. She¡¯d already cleaned it twice before but couldn¡¯t help herself. When she was anxious, she needed to do something with her hands, or she¡¯d go mad. James had barely spoken to her when he¡¯d returned last night. He¡¯d said Lissa was safe and immediately set to helping her run the bar.


    She looked over her shoulder to the backroom. From behind the door, she could hear the scrape of metal on wood as James whittled. The sound was comforting and brought a small smile to her lips. They¡¯d get through this and anything else that came their way.


    Her eyes snapped to the front door as she heard its hinges loudly creak open. Marc strode through alone. ¡°Will that be a table for one, or are you bringing a half dozen friends to pressure my husband?¡± she called.


    Marc shot her a toothy grin as he crossed the threshold and sidled up to the bar, taking a deep breath. ¡°Believe it or not, I actually wanted to apologize for that,¡± he said, ¡°When I heard the news, I was afraid somebody would smell the money and come for a bounty of some kind.¡± He shook his head. ¡°Desperate people do stupid things, and desperation is the one thing the Outwalls has in plenty.¡±


    A slight frown crossed Hilda¡¯s lips. He was likely stretching the truth regarding his intentions, but he had a point. ¡°You¡¯ll need to tell that to James. He¡¯s the one who¡¯s mad at you.¡±


    Marc looked over her shoulder to the door beyond. There were dark rings around his eyes, as if he hadn¡¯t slept. He was quiet a long moment before speaking again. ¡°You got anything to drink?¡± he asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s barely past sunrise,¡± Hilda answered.


    He just stared at her.


    She shrugged and knelt behind the bar, pulling out a large glass bottle and a clay cup. She poured some of the brown liquid into the cup and set it atop the bar in front of Marc.


    She watched him stare at the cup, clearly lost in his thoughts. ¡°Why are you actually here?¡± she asked.


    He blinked, then looked up to meet her gaze. ¡°They held some executions yesterday. Gave a dozen people their wings after it went to shit. I spent the night pulling down the bodies and gave them a resting place in the city¡¯s catacombs.¡±


    He grabbed the cup and raised It to his lips, taking a deep draft of the burning liquid. ¡°One of the girls was barely a year or two older than Lissa.¡± His lips curled back in distaste and Hilda didn¡¯t think it was on account of the shit whiskey.


    She was quiet, a cold shiver running down her spine. ¡°Why would they-¡±


    ¡°Because of what I did. Blood for blood,¡± he growled. ¡°I hate them, and I¡¯m trying to keep that hate from getting my people killed.¡± He placed the cup on the table and curled his hands into fists atop the hard wood.


    Marc stared into the cup. ¡°There is no room for doubt and no place for regret when you are in command. Over two thousand men look to me guidance. If I falter, they will fall to pieces,¡± he said, ¡°I¡¯ve been leading the Sons for nearly ten years now and what do we have to show for it? A list of dead Greencloaks to match our list of loved ones lost?¡±


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    Hilda didn¡¯t answer, sensing he had more to say.


    Marc was quiet a long moment, as he unclenched his fists with an effort. He spoke quietly with an unnerving fervor, ¡°I¡¯m going to end this, whatever the cost. I can¡¯t bring back the dead, but I can make their sacrifice meaningful.¡±


    He reached for the cup, but Hilda stopped him, placing a hand over his. He met her gaze, a hint of sorrow in his eyes. ¡°Kill them all,¡± she said, toppling the cup of liquor and sending its contents spilling across the bar.


    Marc watched it spill over the side of the bar, taking in her meaning. ¡°I have work to do,¡± he said, giving her hand a squeeze.


    Before Hilda could respond, the door behind her creaked open and she pulled her hand away from Marc¡¯s.


    She glanced over her shoulder at James as he took in Marc¡¯s presence. ¡°What¡¯s he doing here?¡±


    ¡°He needed somebody to talk to,¡± Hilda answered.


    James furrowed his brow, scars seeming to knit together. James sighed, releasing whatever anger he was holding on to. He leaned against the bar next to Hilda. ¡°What do you need Marc? he asked, glancing to the spilled drink.


    ¡°I need my brother,¡± Marc answered.


    James was quiet as Hilda looked between the two men. Neither betrayed any expression as if in some idiotic battle of wills. She bit her tongue, knowing from experience that her interference would not be appreciated by either.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± James asked.


    ¡°You know what I want,¡± Marc answered.


    ¡°I told you no,¡± James said.


    ¡°Things have changed,¡± Marc said.


    James scowled, acknowledging the point.


    Marc continued, ¡°Lissa will never be safe until they are gone.¡±


    James¡¯ scowl deepened.


    Marc leaned forward. ¡°Men will follow you. They still tell stories of your stand at Varna.¡±


    ¡°Every one of my men died,¡± James said.


    ¡°And any of mine would happily have traded places with them,¡± Marc answered.


    James was quiet and the silence stretched. Marc pulled a gold coin from his pocket and placed it atop the counter ¡°For the drink,¡± he said, looking to Hilda.


    Marc looked to James as he rose to his feet. ¡°Think on it. The offer is always open, and you know how to find me.¡±


    Without another word, Marc turned from them and strode from the tavern.


    James sighed as he left, and Hilda put a hand on his shoulder. ¡°You¡¯re considering it?¡±


    James nodded grimly. ¡°I might be able to temper his bloodier instincts.¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯d run the tavern?¡± she asked.


    James adopted a tired grin as he plucked the gold coin from the bar and tapped it against the wood. ¡°Might have to hire somebody.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been telling you that for years,¡± Hilda said.


    James chuckled. ¡°And all it took was our daughter being touched by the gods.¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯d have thought?¡± Hilda asked, snaking her hand around his waist.


    He met her gaze, seeing the gleam in her eyes. A warm smile alighted his face as he pulled her close and kissed her.


    She ran her hands along the stubble on his cheeks, broken by the raised flesh of old scars. After a lingering moment he released her, a warm smile on his lips that she mirrored. ¡°What do you think?¡±


    She paused, turning from him and considering her words as her hands absently reached for the rag atop the bar. ¡°I think that I held a funeral for you when we thought you lost, and that cried myself to sleep as I held our daughter in my arms for nearly a month.¡±


    James opened his mouth to speak, but she didn¡¯t let him. ¡°When they returned you to me- what they did to you-¡± She took a deep breath, forcing herself to continue meeting his eyes. ¡°I cared for you morning and night, scraping a living off whatever work or charity I could find.¡±


    A sad smile crossed her lips. ¡°Everyone told me what a hero you were, and about the lives you saved. They talked about it as if we hadn¡¯t been cast aside like so many others.¡±


    She released her grip on the rag and raised a hand to his cheek as a moment of silence passed between them. ¡°I¡¯d endure every hardship pressed on me a thousand times to protect our daughter, and I¡¯d do them a thousand times more by your side.¡±


    She felt the warmth of a tear strike the tips of her fingers. James reached up and grasped her hand in his, giving it a firm squeeze as he pulled it away and covered it with his other hand. ¡°I think once more will be enough.¡±


    She smiled.


    James tried to follow suit but couldn¡¯t seem to manage to bring one to bear. ¡°I¡¯ll find him tomorrow,¡± he said, looking across the tavern floor. ¡°One last day of peace,¡± he muttered more to himself than her.

 Ch 14: Kid & Lissa

    Kid took a deep breath as he stood outside the bakery, fist tightly clutched around the golden coin the Son had given him, as if afraid it¡¯d disappear. As if anyone bothered pickpocketing this deep into the Outwalls. The only people with any real coin would be Sons, and stealing from them was a quick way to find your throat slashed in the night.


    Kid swallowed his trepidation and walked toward the door. With shaky hands, he pushed it open and slipped inside. A pale, portly man stood behind the counter, almost as doughy as his materials. Kid watched, his mouth watering as the baker kneaded his dough with practiced hands. Kid approached the counter as he would a rabid dog, just waiting for it to bite. The baker crinkled his nose, doubtless catching whiff of Kid, and turned to look at the boy. The look on his face was not promising.


    Kid glanced out the corner of his eye at the thickly muscled man sitting on a stool in the corner of the room, sharpening his iron axe with a whetstone. At his hip hung a wolf shaped mask, marking him as a Son. Doubtless, the baker had the privilege of paying for their protection. The man¡¯s eyes followed him as he approached the counter and met the gaze of the baker.


    The baker paused his kneading and wiped his hands against eachother, sending puffs of flour into the air. ¡°Come to beg for scraps, eh?¡± he asked, looking down at Kid from behind the counter. He nodded his head to the Son. ¡°If so, you¡¯d best turn tail, or he¡¯ll give ye what for.¡±


    ¡°I have coin,¡± Kid said a little too quickly.


    The baker looked him up and down, raising a doubtful eyebrow.


    Kid pulled the golden Heart from his pocket and held it up in the light, letting it gleam. The scraping of the whetstone on metal in the corner paused. The baker snorted. ¡°Who¡¯d ye steal that from?¡±


    ¡°Do you sell food or not?¡± Kid asked, ready to bolt for the door.


    The baker paused, then nodded curtly.


    ¡°I just want a loaf of bread,¡± That¡¯s all, Kid said.


    The baker eyed him a moment. ¡°Five silver Lions.¡±


    Kid¡¯s eyes widened. That was half his coin and well over thirty times the cost. ¡°I bought from you for three copper bears last week.¡±


    ¡°Prices change,¡± the baker said. He patted a nearby loaf of bread on the counter ¡°Supply.¡± He held out his hand. ¡°Demand.¡±


    Kid fought the urge to spit in his hand. ¡°I earned this coin working for the Sons,¡± he said, stretching the truth to its limits. ¡°What do you think they¡¯d say if I told them you were treating honest folk this way.¡±


    The Son in the corner chuckled. Kid fought the urge to nervously glance his direction.


    The baker pulled his hand back. ¡°They wouldn¡¯t say a damn thing, because I pay them to leave me be.¡±


    Kid met his gaze with a level stare, fighting the instincts telling him to avert his eyes. After a long moment, the baker grimaced. ¡°A silver lion.¡± Final offer.


    Kid bit his lip. That was still a lot of money. ¡°Throw in a sweet roll and we have a deal.¡±


    The baker narrowed his eyes. ¡°Ye got stones, I¡¯ll give ye that,¡± he said, ¡°Deal.¡± He held out his hand and Kid begrudgingly passed him a golden coin.


    The baker hesitated as he held the gold coin, as if considering keeping it and kicking Kid to the curb. Kid really had no recourse if he chose to do so. He forced a smile to his lips.


    The baker mumbled to himself, pocketing the coin and counting out nine silver ones. He placed them on the counter as if not wanting to touch Kid¡¯s hand again. Kid hardly blamed him, scooping up the coins as the baker gathered the food. As the man passed it to him, the baker spoke once more. ¡°Careful out there, boy.¡±


    Kid pulled the food to his chest, nodded and turned to leave the shop. As he opened the door, he heard the scrape of the stool the Son had been sitting on.


    Kid took off at a sprint out the door, feet crunching through the snow. He was nearly a block away before looking over his shoulder. The Son was leaning out the Bakery door, watching him as if trying to decide whether it was worth his time to chase Kid down through the cold and snow. The Son flashed him a gap-toothed grin before disappearing into the store once more.


    Kid slowed his mad dash to a walk, breath coming in foggy gasps. Passersby hardly gave him a second look. Seeing an urchin running through the streets with food clutched to his chest wasn¡¯t an uncommon sight in the Outwalls, and if it wasn¡¯t your food then it wasn¡¯t worth bothering about. Kid edged as far to the sides of the roads as the snow drifts would allow, doing his best to remain beneath notice as he made his way toward Melna¡¯s house.


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    He looked up at the cloudless sky, filled with rays of frozen sunlight. The Son had said to be there in the morning, and he quickened his pace, not wanting to be late for whenever they decided to show. The idea of becoming one of them was tantalizing. Every urchin¡¯s dream. It meant a life of violence, but what was that compared to one of deprivation?


    Kid¡¯s eyes danced between the alleys of the Outwalls as he trudged his way through town, careful to keep an eye out for anyone looking to relive folks of the burden of their purses. Gangs rarely hung around outside this time of year, but it never hurt to be too careful.


    As he drew closer to the old woman¡¯s home, he caught sight of one of the city wells. Somebody was actually using it which was an unusual sight in the midst of winter. In fact folks rarely used them even in the driest parts of summer for fear of rot from corpses that may or may not actually be stuck in the shafts. Certainly, nobody ever went down to check.


    As he drew closer to the small figure turning the crank, he realized he knew her- Lissa. A smile came to his lips unbidden. He¡¯d known her as far back as he could remember, having grown up just down the street from her parent¡¯s tavern. They¡¯d played a lot when they were younger but had slowly grown apart as they got older- the tavern taking more of a toll on her time as Kid¡¯s mother began to get- worse.


    As she caught sight of him, he waved with his free hand. He could see his smile reflected on her face as in reunions of old friends. He also didn¡¯t fail to notice the half dozen armed men loitering around the well¡¯s square. They certainly didn¡¯t fail to notice him.


    As Kid approached, he glanced toward the empty bucket by the well. ¡°I thought you were training to become some kind of witch, not a porter,¡± he said.


    Lissa paused in her turning of the well winch, panting. ¡°Melna told me it builds character, but I think she just wanted me out of the house while she checked up your friend.¡±


    ¡°He doing okay?¡± he asked.


    She nodded, turning the wench once more. ¡°Far better than most men with a gut wound.¡±


    ¡°Are you doing okay? I didn¡¯t get a chance to ask you what happened.¡±


    She paused. ¡°I miss being home, but I¡¯m honestly excited. I feel like I have a chance to be somebody more important than a serving girl.¡±


    Kid nodded, having an inkling of that feeling with his prospects of working for the Sons.


    Lissa took a deep breath as she turned the crank a final time, levering out a bucket of water from the depths of the well. Kid set his food down on the rim of the well and reached over the edge, untying the sloshing bucket from the rope, and grunting as he lowered it to the ground.


    Lissa passed him the second bucket and as he tied it to the rope, she spoke, ¡°Really, I should be asking you if you¡¯re okay. You almost died.¡±


    ¡°Almost,¡± Kid answered with more bravado than he felt. His false smile died under her scrutiny. ¡°Truthfully, I¡¯m a bit shaken. Can hardly believe I managed not to piss myself yesterday.¡±


    Lissa snorted as she released the wheel lock, letting the bucket fall into the depths of the well where underground currents passed beneath the city. Kid knew little of them, but he knew they ran fast enough and deep enough that the water didn¡¯t freeze even in the depths of winter.


    ¡°I also wanted to say sorry.¡±


    She cocked her head as the bucked splashed far below. ¡°Sorry?¡±


    He nodded, averting his eyes. ¡°I haven¡¯t been a great friend lately. Haven¡¯t been around.¡±


    She looked at him askance, then to his surprise she tackled him in a hug. All his personal worries flew away as he hugged her back.


    Lissa was taller than him by a large margin. And he was uncomfortably aware of his face pressing into her chest. The feeling was pleasant, but he could already feel its ramifications beginning to stir. It was a little early in the day to humiliate himself and he broke the embrace, looking up into her eyes.


    ¡°Think nothing of it,¡± she said with a small smile.


    Kid returned her smile in kind. ¡°I got you something,¡± he said, plucking the sweet roll from the edge of the well and fell into a low bow as he held it out to her.


    Her smile widened as she plucked it from his hands with a small curtsy. ¡°Such a gentleman,¡± she said, raising the roll to her mouth. Lissa hesitated, giving him a guilty look. ¡°We¡¯ll split it,¡± she said, tearing the soft, sweet bread apart.


    Kid¡¯s mouth began salivating at her offer. He had already started regretting his show of gallantry. He thanked her as he took his half from her hands and bit into it, savoring the sweetness.


    As he swallowed the last bite, his sadness was palpable, and he fought the urge to stare longingly as Lissa finished her half. Instead, he decided to make himself useful and set himself to turning the well crank.


    As Lissa swallowed her last bite, she let out a slight chuckle as she observed his efforts. ¡°Breakfast and a show. Such a gentleman.¡±


    Kid felt his cheeks redden as she laughed at his expense. He struggled to find a clever response, but his brain had simply stopped working as it tended to around girls. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye as she raised herself to sit on the edge of the well. She really was pretty. The sun brought out the blonde in her hair, and the morning rays seemed to wreathe her in gold.


    He quickly turned his gaze back to the winch as her head began to turn his way. Kid swallowed, hoping she hadn¡¯t caught him staring. Long moments passed in comfortable silence as Kid heaved at the winch, slowly bringing the bucket to the surface.


    ¡°Are you going to work for Marc?¡± she asked.


    Kid blinked, feeling like an idiot for not putting the pieces together sooner. ¡°That was your uncle Marc? As in the leader of the Sons?¡±


    Kid tried to keep his jaw from hitting the ground. Lissa had spoken of the man in the past, but Kid had never met him ¡°I- I suppose I am.¡±


    She nodded slowly as if to herself. ¡°Just be careful,¡± she whispered.


    ¡°When have you ever known me not to be careful?¡± he asked between breaths, giving her his best sly smile.


    Lissa rolled her eyes as the winch clanked to a halt, locking into place. Kid took a few deep breaths to help steady his breathing as Lissa pulled the freshly filled bucket from its perch and settled it on the ground with a grunt.


    She took a deep breath before meeting Kid¡¯s eyes. ¡°I just hope you know what you¡¯re signing up for.¡±


    A slight frown creased his lips. He knew. He knew all too well. He could still remember the feel of Billy¡¯s blood on his hands and the gut-wrenching sensation of seeing men die. He could only imagine what it¡¯d feel like to hold the blade himself. ¡°Come on, let¡¯s not keep Melna waiting,¡± he said, hefting one of the buckets.

 Ch 15: Awakening

    Rays of the setting sun settled over the city of Varna like a warm blanket. Around him, he could hear the bustle of the townsfolk as the day¡¯s labor ended and they made their way home. Billy leaned against the railing of his home¡¯s balcony, watching his son play with the other children in the streets below. They clashed with sticks, each proclaiming themselves the greatest warrior as they stumbled around on unsteady feet. Just as he had done all those years ago.


    He felt the arms of his wife curl about him as she laid her head against his shoulder. He leaned into her, putting an arm around her waist. He turned and kissed the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her. It brought a tear to his eye, but he couldn¡¯t remember why.


    They stood together a long moment as the sun slowly crept beneath the horizon and darkness fell across the city. She broke the silence between them. ¡°It¡¯s getting dark. We should grab the children and keep them safe.¡±


    Her voice was like music to his hears, like hearing an old friend thought long gone. His grip tightened on the balcony railing though he didn¡¯t know why. ¡°Aye. Best we save those runts before our boy gives them a thrashing.¡±


    His wife snorted, looking up at him for the first time. She was smiling and the crinkle of her eyes was like a drink of water to a man lost in the desert.


    But- it was wrong. Golden, yellow eyes stared up at him. Eyes that were decidedly not his wife¡¯s.


    Memory came rushing back to him, of the war and what followed. The sounds of the city disappeared, replaced by the roar of flame as fire raced across the nearby homes, their residents screaming as they were burned alive. He leaned over the railing, eyes searching for his son, but the streets were empty.


    The knuckles of his hands had gone white against the railing, and he was torn between screaming and falling to his knees. Then a hand touched his face.


    The fires dimmed and faded away and he felt his pounding heart begin to slow. Billy shuddered as he turned to face the thing wearing his wife¡¯s face.


    She smiled sadly at him, an apology in her eyes as a white light engulfed them.


    ***


    Billy gasped for breath, his eyes snapping open. His hands instinctively reached to where the Venaran soldier had cut him, but there was no wound, only split mail and the ripped fabric of his jacket, crusty with dried blood. He glanced around, taking in the familiar surroundings. He¡¯d been here many times in a long distant past.


    ¡°Melna?¡± he asked before he caught sight of her sitting by the lit hearth, a small book in her hands. She froze as if struck, and after a moment slowly turned her head to regard him.


    ¡°Billy,¡± she answered.


    Billy sat up from the table he¡¯d found himself laying across, dangling his feet over the edge. ¡°Ye look good,¡± he lied. It¡¯d been a few years since he¡¯d seen her last, but her eyes were more sunken and skin more worn as if she¡¯d aged a decade.


    ¡°You always were a sweet liar,¡± she said, grimacing as she pushed herself to her feet and walked toward him.


    Seeing her like this just added to the sting that his dream had left behind. ¡°You should have let the Reaper take me. I¡¯d made my peace.¡±


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    She stopped before him, looking up at him with clouded blue eyes. ¡°I haven¡¯t made mine.¡±


    She reached out, taking hold of one of his hands. Billy took in the stark contrast between them. He knew her to be a few years his junior, but she looked nearly twenty years older. Magic and time had taken their toll. Billy took a deep breath ¡°I should¡¯ve come to see you, but-¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± she answered, shrugging his words off.


    Divines, he was a shit. Left her alone with her memories because he couldn¡¯t bear his own. ¡°Still. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°I see you, Billy.¡± She graced him with a soft smile.


    He ran a hand over where his wound had been, still not entirely believing it was gone. ¡°Suppose I should also thank you,¡± he whispered.


    The door behind him creaked open and he released Melna¡¯s hand as he instinctively reached for his missing axe. A young girl walked through the door, struggling with a bucket of water as she staggered inside, sloshing droplets of water across the floor. Kid soon appeared behind her with a bucket of his own as he stubled through the door. On seeing him, Billy released an edge from his many bladed tensions.


    Billy leapt to his feet and relieved the girl of her bucket. She rewarded him with a grateful smile as he placed it in the corner of the home where Melna kept Kryll¡¯s water. Kid grumbled as he placed the second bucket in the corner with a small thud and rested his hands on his knees, panting.


    Billy glanced over his shoulder to Melna. ¡°Yer making poor little children fetch yer water now? Them buckets probably weigh as much as the boy does.¡±


    ¡°The poor lass is my apprentice, and fetching water builds character.¡±


    Billy grinned. ¡°I recall spending many a day fetching you water. Didn¡¯t seem to do much for my character.¡±


    Melna rolled her eyes as she leaned against the table. ¡°Oh, you have plenty of character, Billy,¡± she said, shaking her head. ¡°Maybe too much at times,¡± she added.


    Billy¡¯s grin faded away as he ran a hand through his thinning grey hair. He looked around the room. ¡°I remember this place being a bit more crowded?¡±


    ¡°They got a good look at your ugly mug and ran for the hills,¡± Melna answered with a wave as if it were of no consequence.


    ¡°Ha. Ha,¡± Billy answered.


    Melna smiled softly. ¡°The Sons will be back for you and the boy. I expect they¡¯d benefit from a man of your talents,¡± Melna answered.


    Billy turned from her and walked to the window, peering out into the streets.


    ¡°You thinking of running?¡± she asked.


    He barked a laugh. ¡°Not sure where I¡¯d go,¡± he answered, thinking of the blood-filled eyes of the girl he¡¯d hung. Already couldn¡¯t even remember her name. He sucked through the gap in one of his teeth and released a deep breath.


    ¡°Suppose I could use somebody standing between me and the hangman.¡± He shook his head. ¡°Still feels wrong. Been a Thorne man all my life.¡±


    ¡°And how¡¯s that gone?¡± Melna asked.


    He could feel her eyes burrowing into his back and he fought the urge to spit. ¡°Been better,¡± he answered, eyes flicking toward Kid and the girl.


    The pair seemed to know each other well. The boy had that doe-eyed look that boys got when they thought everything a girl did was magic. He smiled to himself. The girl seemed oblivious to it as they settled in by the hearth, giggling amongst themselves.


    ¡°How¡¯s my son?¡± she asked.


    Billy blinked, surprised by the change in subject. ¡°I- I¡¯m not sure. We got caught up in a bad bit of business.¡±


    The room was quiet for a long moment as Billy gazed at Melna. She didn¡¯t say anything. ¡°I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll be fine. Earl wouldn¡¯t let anything happen to him.¡±


    ¡°Like he didn¡¯t let anything happen to you?¡± she asked, voice tinged with spite.


    Billy swallowed. He didn¡¯t have an answer to that. He was saved from answering by the boy as the lad shuffled toward them, a loaf of bread under one arm. He held it out to Melna, looking abashed. ¡°I wanted to pay you back something for last night.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, child,¡± Melna said, accepting the offering with grace.


    The boy¡¯s eyes turned to Billy, and he faltered, seeming unsure what to say.


    Billy let the awkwardness go on a moment longer, feeling a small smile touch his lips. ¡°Good to see ye on yer feet, lad.¡±


    ¡°Likewise,¡± Kid answered, ¡°and thank you- for everything.¡±


    Billy waved off his thanks. ¡°You¡¯d do the same for me.¡± Kid returned a doubtful look and Billy grinned. ¡°What brings you back to these parts?¡±


    ¡°The Sons.¡±


    Billy nodded slowly, not liking that answer. ¡°Any chance I can convince you to turn around?¡± Billy asked.


    Kid cocked his head. ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to join them?¡±


    Billy crossed his arms. ¡°Aye, but when you¡¯re my age you get to be a hypocrite and call it wisdom,¡± he said.


    Kid averted his eyes to the floorboards and Billy could see the gears turning in his mind as he gathered a response. ¡°If I¡¯m going to hang, I¡¯d rather earn it,¡± Kid said, meeting Billy¡¯s gaze.


    Billy glanced out the window, seeing Marc approaching with his cadre of Sons. ¡°Aye. Can¡¯t argue with that.¡±

 Ch 16: Bumbling Barons

    The light of candles flickered over the parchment of the books lining the table. The walls of the room were lined in yet more books, standing near two stories tall with a rotating ladder embedded in the wall to allow visitors to reach the highest of shelves. The Marshal¡¯s library was an undeniably impressive collection of Venaran Literature.


    Grim¡¯s head throbbed as he read line after line, recounting the deeds of kings long since passed. Brian had directed him on the pivotal points of Venaran History, but it was still up to him to study and memorize it in preparation for the first trial. An insurmountable task that he''d spent the last three weeks grinding against to the tune of many sleepless nights.


    With a sigh, he rubbed at his eyes, willing them to refocus. The first trial would be tomorrow. The library had long since cleared out of the other Venaran hopefuls, and Grim wondered if he should just do the same. There just wasn¡¯t enough time to learn everything. He tugged at the collar of his shirt, loosening it another button with a sigh.


    He hated wearing finery, but to wear anything less than his best would be considered an insult to the Marshal. His father had sent the best of his wardrobe to the estate on his request. Grim had feared they¡¯d stop feeding him otherwise.


    He was shaken from his thoughts by the sound of footsteps behind him. He glanced over his shoulder with bleary eyes to see the Marshal¡¯s daughter, Carys approaching. Grim rose to his feet, nearly tripping over his own chair in his haste.


    The girl took a step back as if afraid of his intentions. Grim internally winced before falling into a bow. ¡°My lady,¡± he greeted.


    Carys didn¡¯t respond but seemed to marginally relax. She edged around him, walking to the far corner of the room. Grim returned his attention to his studies, taking a seat and pointedly not looking towards her, not wanting to be accused of staring at the Marshal¡¯s daughter.


    He was having trouble following the text on the unification of the Venaran Heartlands after the fall of the Empire. He would read but nothing would stick, and he found himself reading the same passages two or three times.


    Grim grit he teeth in frustration. Divines. How was he going to do this? This was supposed to be the easiest of the challenges. He closed the book in disgust, leaning back in the wooden chair.


    ¡°You¡¯re wasting your time,¡± a voice called out from across the room.


    Grim glanced over to see Carys walking in his direction, a book cradled in one arm. ¡°Of course, I am. I won¡¯t need to know any of this after tomorrow,¡± he grumbled.


    ¡°Do you really know why you¡¯re here or are you that slow on the uptake?¡± she asked.


    Grim narrowed his eyes at her as she neared. The clink of armor from beyond the doorway explained her newfound boldness. ¡°I¡¯m here to be educated as a fine Venaran Nobleman.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯d have more luck teaching a dog to sing,¡± she answered, ¡°You¡¯re here to be broken. Father won¡¯t do that with a history that means nothing to you.¡±


    Grim grimaced, a sinking feeling in his gut. ¡°The war?¡± he asked.


    She shrugged. ¡°Most likely in my estimation,¡± she said, ¡°Careful with your words.¡±


    ¡°Why are you helping me?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Why do you sound so surprised?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Is it not like helping a dog learn to dance?¡± He grumbled.


    She grinned, holding up her hand and wiggling her fingers as if controlling a marionette. ¡°Dance, puppy. Dance.¡± Without another word she turned from him and strode into the hall. The guard Grim heard earlier peeked around the doorway, locking eyes with Grim a moment before following in Carys¡¯ wake.


    Grim flipped the book closed in disgust and leaned back in his chair. Divines. It was so bloody obvious. This was just going to be used as another way to punish him. That was the whole purpose of this ¨C To humble, break, or kill him.


    Grim leaned back in the chair, temples throbbing as he fought to contain the anger threatening to spill out. He released a deep breath and felt his fists unclench. After a long moment, he rose to his feet, straightening his jacket as he did. He turned his back on the library and left to find his rooms.


    It was late and the halls were lit by bronze chandeliers hanging from the ceilings at perfectly spaced intervals. They cast a dim light that flickered on the golden gilt of the decorations and furniture lining the halls. At this hour, servants scuttled across the halls, working to clean the common areas in the narrow slivers of time where they would neither be seen or heard. Most were Rillish and some even seemed to recognize him, giving him odd looks as they passed. Grim couldn¡¯t find it in him to even pretend to smile.


    After a half-dozen twists and turns, he found himself outside the rooms he and Brian shared. He opened the door and was surprised to find company in the foyer. Rafe and Brian occupied the two sitting chairs by the hearth, and they turned to regard him as he entered.


    Rafe spoke, ¡°About time you decided to show. Was starting to wonder if you¡¯d slipped away with a serving girl for the evening.¡±


    ¡°Some of us actually have work to occupy ourselves with,¡± Grim muttered, walking to where they sat by the fire.


    ¡°Touche,¡± Rafe said, raising his ever-present glass of wine and taking a drink.


    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± Grim asked


    Brian sighed. ¡°Rafe here took it upon himself to wake me up in the dead of night and informed me that we need to strategize for tomorrow.¡±


    Rafe giggled. ¡°Boy nearly pissed himself, Thorne.¡±


    Brian scowled at him.


    Grim ignored the comment. ¡°Did you have a grand, master plan you wanted to share with us?¡±


    Rafe set his glass down on the end table and waved them all closer. Brian leaned toward him and Grim begrudgingly stepped closer and leaned in.


    Rafe looked between them with an intense gaze. ¡°No,¡± he whispered, bursting out into laughter.


    Brian groaned while Grim stared daggers at Rafe.


    Rafe managed to control his drunken laughter after a moment. ¡°But,¡± he said, ¡°I do know some things that you two will find helpful.¡±


    Rafe ran a hand over his face, changing his expression from one of good humor to deathly serious as he did. ¡°As I¡¯m sure you¡¯re both aware, this isn¡¯t really a test of knowledge but a test of cleverness.¡±


    Brian and Grim stared blankly at him and Rafe looked between them. ¡°Oh, bother. Did I not mention that everyone cheats? How do you think I placed second in my year?¡± He grinned. ¡°It¡¯s of little consequence. Our little Brian here all but lives in books, and I don¡¯t think you can afford to play the game the way it¡¯s meant to be played, eh Rilly boy?¡±


    Brian sighed as if bothered but not entirely surprised. ¡°Let me guess, you know how the others will be cheating?¡±


    Rafe grinned. ¡°Not all will, of course. There will be some fair contest to be had.¡± He rolled his eyes as if the idea were ridiculous. ¡°But, I do indeed know how a fair few of our competitors will be fed their answers.¡±


    He lifted the wine glass and took another sip. ¡°My wretched little cousin hired the same man to stand in the crowd and mouth answers that I had used. I already took the liberty of greasing his palms a little more to stay quiet. One down.¡± He grinned, showing off red stained teeth.


    Grim followed Rafe¡¯s example, grabbing the opened bottle of wine and taking a seat against the edge of the hearth, drinking it straight as the fire warmed his side. ¡°And the others?¡± he asked.


    Rafe¡¯s grin grew wider. He raised a finger. ¡°And this is where I get to show off my brilliance.¡± He leaned in once more as if sharing a great secret. ¡°I¡¯ve bedded Priscilla, a lovely young maiden of middling standing.¡±


    Grim stared blankly at him. ¡°So?¡±


    Rafe held a hand over his heart as if wounded. ¡°So? All you have to say is, So?¡±


    Grim rolled his eyes and drank.


    Rafe raised his voice in false indignation. ¡°I pluck the finest flower of this year¡¯s inductees, right beneath the nose of her father might I add, and you don¡¯t see the value there, Thorne?¡±


    Grim waved his hand in mock apology. ¡°Please, do enlighten us, your lordship.¡±


    Rafe paused as if considering. ¡°I am a merciful lord, so I shall let this slight slide,¡± he said, slurring every word. He raised his finger once more. ¡°But, do be sure to show the proper enthusiasm next time.¡±


    Brian began to slow clap.


    Rafe stood and bowed to them as if receiving thunderous applause then fell back into his chair with a satisfied sigh. ¡°What was I saying?¡±


    ¡°You plucked a flower,¡± Grim said, dryly.


    ¡°Ah, yes,¡± Rafe said, regaining his train of thought as he took another drink of the wine. ¡°That dear, dear, sweet, girl is very popular for her- ahem. Prospects. Many of the lads have been trying to impress her with their cleverness. She was very open with me.¡± He winked.


    Grim thought he might barf. Instead, he took another drink.


    Brian rubbed at tired eyes. ¡°And what did she tell you?¡±


    ¡°The lovely lady informed me that Reginald Tarvain somehow managed to acquire the list of questions the Marshal will be asking each contestant. He¡¯s been selling off the answers to other contestants, just enough for a good show so that he can hold the lime-light.¡±


    Brian frowned. ¡°Any reason we can¡¯t just tell the Marshal?¡±


    ¡°And what will you tell him, Bri Bri? That daddy Rafe porked a noble girl and she spilled the beans?¡± He snorted. ¡°Come now. We, or rather one of you, need to acquire the list as proof.¡±


    ¡°The Marshal changes the questions, and our competition is cut down at the knees?¡± Brian ventured.


    Rafe snapped his fingers. ¡°Precisely.¡±


    Grim nodded slowly. ¡°Any suggestions on how we would go about acquiring such a list?¡±


    Rafe shrugged. ¡°That¡¯s between you two. I¡¯ve more than carried my weight here. But, I¡¯d suggest not making a move until very close to the competition to prevent anyone from making alternative arrangements.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure this was all very difficult for you,¡± Grim muttered.


    ¡°You have your talents, Thorne, and I have mine.¡± He raised his glass in a toast. ¡°To making a mockery of all these games stand for,¡±


    Grim raised the bottle. ¡°Here. Here.¡±


    Brian sighed and rose to his feet. ¡°Good night gents. This sounds like a tomorrow problem.¡± Without another word, he strode from the foyer to his bedchamber and shut the door behind him.


    Grim rose to his feet and fell into Brian¡¯s vacated chair with a sigh. ¡°Thanks. I think.¡±


    Rafe chuckled. ¡°Think nothing of it until I ask for a favor of my own.¡± Rafe set his glass down, voice taking on a more serious tone. ¡°Between you and me, I¡¯d advise you to proceed with caution. Many of my pricklier peers are taking offense at even having to share a place in the competition with you.¡± His voice fell to a whisper. ¡°It¡¯s not unheard of for contestants to disappear. Sons- you see. Very dastardly folk. Attacks can happen anywhere you know.¡±


    Grim felt a chill run down his spine. ¡°Noted.¡±


    Rafe nodded in return, rising to his feet. He held out a hand to Grim. Grim reached out to shake it and, to his surprise, Rafe clasped his arm in the Rillish fashion, winked and left the room without a word.


    Grim was left alone with his thoughts. He drank.


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    ***


    Grim picked through the Afternoon¡¯s selection of quiches, finding the ones that held bits of bacon and relocating them to his stomach. About him, the hall was buzzing with animated conversation. The thaw was in full swing outside, allowing one to venture outside with little more than a dinner jacket. Even more importantly, the competition would begin tonight, and gossip was abound. Everyone kept their customary distance from Grim, which he was growing accustomed to and was even beginning to enjoy. More quiches for him.


    It also helped that his arrival was old news. He¡¯d transitioned from a morbid curiosity to a sad fact of existence. Less of a murder happening across the street, and more of itch you couldn¡¯t quite scratch. It¡¯d be improper to really dig into him around such esteemed company.


    Brian sidled up beside him. ¡°We¡¯ve got a couple hours until the main event. Are you ready?¡±


    Grim sighed, setting down his plate. ¡°It¡¯s a huge risk for me in my position. Are you sure you can¡¯t just try to buy the list off him and turn it in?¡±


    ¡°And if he says no?¡± Brian asked. ¡°He¡¯ll be on to us, and we may never find it.¡±


    Grim gazed around the room, taking in the wide array of guests dressed in green finery. Entertainers cartwheeled, juggled, and played music to the exclaim of noble children, while the adults danced or huddled in groups. Grim hated these parties. Always felt like he stuck out like a sore thumb in this company, which he most certainly did.


    His thoughts drifted to Edgar. He¡¯d be putting the man¡¯s life on the line by doing this, but he knew that whatever the Marshal had planned for him, it was likely designed to make him fail. His best hope was to undermine the competition. It was not about doing well; it was about doing better than your peers. At the same time, getting caught breaking into a noble¡¯s chambers would doubtless see punishment exacted.


    Grim gritted his teeth, then froze as he caught sight of his father and sister walking through the door. He cursed under his breath as they caught sight of him. The timing was less than ideal.


    At Grim¡¯s curse, Brian followed his gaze. ¡°Who are they?¡± he asked.


    ¡°My family,¡± Grim muttered, hands itching for a glass of wine that unfortunately wasn¡¯t present.


    Recognition blossomed in Brian¡¯s eyes as the pair drew nearer. The Earl wore crisp and simple black attire. The single concession to luxury was the golden signet ring he wore on his right hand. Ilyena hung on their father¡¯s arm, wearing an extravagant gown in the Venaran style and colors of green and gold. Emeralds hung from her neck on matching golden chains. She looked every inch the ideal of Venaran nobility, and the eyes of many a young man followed her across the hall.


    His father stopped a few paces away and inclined his head in a stiff greeting. ¡°Grim.¡±


    Grim fought his annoyance. That would be all the old man had to say after weeks apart. Grim matched the stiff greeting. ¡°Father.¡±


    Ilyena was a bit more graceful. ¡°I¡¯m delightful to see you in one piece, Grim.¡±


    ¡°Delightful to be in one piece,¡± he muttered.


    Her gaze drifted to Brian who still stood at Grim¡¯s side. ¡°And who is the handsome gentleman accompanying you? I don¡¯t believe we¡¯ve had the pleasure of acquaintance.¡±


    Grim nodded to Brian. ¡°Brian of house Barrington.¡±


    Ilyena held out her hand. ¡°Ilyena of house Thorne.¡±


    Brian just stared at her as if starstruck. Grim kicked him in the shin and that seemed to jumpstart his brain. Brian affected a cough, as if that were what delayed him, then grasped her hand and kissed a golden ring inlaid with a ruby.


    As he straightened, he seemed to find his tongue as well. ¡°An honor. I must apologize for staring. I consistently find myself in awe during my stay here and the majesty of our Rillish hosts is no exception.¡±


    Ilyena smiled, ¡°You¡¯re too kind.¡±


    The Earl cleared his throat. ¡°Ilyena, why don¡¯t you take Brian and bring us some refreshments.¡±


    Ilyena dropped into a small curtsy, grabbed Brian by the arm and pulled him away. The boy looked between Grim and the Earl, a slight look of bewilderment on his face.


    ¡°They have servants for that, you know,¡± Grim said.


    The Earl ignored the comment. ¡°Have you learned anything in your stay here?¡±


    Grim snorted. ¡°I¡¯ve learned to stay alive.¡±


    ¡°See that you don¡¯t forget it. Some humility could do you good.¡± The Earl looked about the room, taking in the guests. ¡°Do you think you have any chance of winning?¡±


    Grim blinked. ¡°You want me to- win?¡±


    The Earl spoke in a low voice. ¡°A Rillman defeating Venar would be a good look with our people and with the nobility.¡±


    ¡°I doubt it would win me any friends here,¡± Grim said.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want friends here,¡± the Earl said, ¡°I want legitimacy. I want to make sure the Marshal has no excuse to strip us of our titles.¡±


    ¡°And how does Ilyena marrying his son help to accomplish that?¡± Grim asked, raising an eyebrow.


    His father¡¯s cold, grey eyes met his own. ¡°By keeping your head attached to your shoulders,¡± he said, ¡°Ilyena will do her duty to rectify your mistakes, and we have until my death to resolve the consequences.¡±


    Grim knew the consequences were dire. Ilyena was heir to Bleakridge by Venaran law. Longreen would have total control over the Rills upon the Earl¡¯s death. Many would benefit if that were to happen sooner rather than later.


    The Earl spoke in a low voice. ¡°Winning gives you the opportunity to ask for a boon. Should you win, you¡¯ll ask him for Carys¡¯ hand in marriage.¡±


    Grim choked on his own spit. ¡°What?¡±


    The Earl stared levelly at him. ¡°He¡¯ll refuse of course, which will give me a pretext to stall Ilyena¡¯s proceedings.¡±


    ¡°And my head?¡± Grim asked.


    ¡°Will receive a laurel crown, as the Marshal¡¯s champion this year,¡± he answered. ¡°Hard to justify beheading you then.¡±


    Grim was quiet a moment. ¡°I need to go make final arrangements for this challenge then,¡± he said.


    The Earl simply nodded, watching Grim as he set off in pursuit of Brian. He found the young man by the drink table, chatting amicably with Ilyena.


    ¡°-are some scholars in Venar who think the cataclysm was planned as a last resort to end the dominion of the Empire, and caution the growth of Venar to similar ends,¡± Brian said, buzzing with excitement.


    Ilyena actually seemed interested in what he was saying, which surprised Grim. As she was about to speak, he stepped between them. ¡°Brian. It¡¯s time.¡±


    ¡°Time for what?¡± Ilyena asked.


    Grim ignored her, looking to Brian. The boy nodded. ¡°His chambers are our best bet.¡±


    ¡°Lead the way,¡± Grim said.


    Brian led him through the crowded hall past stumbling ladies, drunken lords, and the menagerie of their hangers on crowded around the edges of the hall, awaiting their names to be called by their masters. Grim glanced over his shoulder to see that his sister was right behind them. ¡°Stay here,¡± he muttered.


    She ignored him just as he had ignored her. He supposed that was fair. ¡°Please?¡± he added.


    ¡°No.¡±


    Grim ran his hand through his hair, knowing they both were aware there wasn¡¯t much he could do about that. He sighed and hurried after Brian as they ascended the stairs. Brian couldn¡¯t have looked more suspicious if he tried, shooting furtive glances at the festivities and hunching his shoulders as if trying to appear small. Grim hoped everyone else was too caught up in the moment to notice or care.


    Brian led them through the halls and stopped at a corner, peeking around its edge. ¡°Well,¡± he said, ¡°There¡¯s a guard at his door, but I suppose we tried,¡± he said, beginning to walk back to the party.


    Grim held out a hand to stop him. ¡°You¡¯re joking, right?¡±


    Brian bit his lip and looked over his shoulder. ¡°What do you want us to do? Fight him?¡±


    ¡°One of us could distract him,¡± Grim said, ¡°no need to jump straight to the headman¡¯s block.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do it,¡± Ilyena said.


    Grim turned his gaze on her. ¡°What¡¯s the catch?¡±


    ¡°You let me in on whatever it is you¡¯re up to.¡± She answered, crossing her arms.


    Brian looked to Grim and shrugged.


    Grim quietly filled her in and as he did, her expression brightened. ¡°Oh, I cannot wait to see that,¡± she said taking off one of her heeled shoes and breaking off the heel.


    Grim winced as she broke a shoe that probably cost as much as his entire outfit. He cocked his head at her as she put the broken shoe on and began blinking rapidly. A moment later, tears began to well in her eyes and she started limping around the corner, sniffling as she went.


    Grim leaned against the wall and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Similar acts had gotten him in trouble more times than he could count as kids. His sister was a monster.


    ¡°Wow,¡± Brian whispered, watching as she disappeared from sight.


    ¡°Be careful. She¡¯ll play you like a fiddle,¡± Grim said.


    ¡°One can hope,¡± Brian answered.


    Grim stared levelly at him and the boy blushed, seeming to have just remembered he was talking to her brother.


    They could just barely make out Ilyena begging the man to help her to her room in the opposite wing. There was a long pause before the guard agreed and a moment later the padding of footsteps down the hall, slowly growing more distant.


    Grim peeked around the corner, relived to see an empty hall. He turned the corner, walking with purpose. He could hear Brian¡¯s boots lightly clicking against the floorboards behind him. As Grim reached the door, he slowly turned the handle to find it was locked. He cursed, weighing the merits of kicking the door down.


    ¡°Wait,¡± Brian whispered, as Grim rammed his shoulder into the door.


    The wood splintered around the lock with what Grim hoped was a very quiet snap, and the door swung inward to reveal a second household guard stumbling to his feet in the foyer, hands reaching for his weapon.


    Grim rushed inside, grabbing the man¡¯s sword arm, forcing the half-drawn blade back into its sheath. He kneed the off-balance man in the stomach, keeling him over then grabbed him by the back of his head and slammed it into the end table. The guard¡¯s head bounced off it with a dull thud and he lay motionless on the ground.


    Grim knelt and confirmed he was still breathing before looking back to Brian who stared at him slack-jawed and wide eyed. The boy seemed to come-to a moment later and furtively glanced down the hall. He looked back to Grim and shook his head. ¡°Then start looking,¡± Grim hissed, pushing his way into one of the bedchambers.


    The furniture was similar to what was in his own room, and he set himself to emptying drawers on the ground and kicking around their contents, looking for any scraps of parchment. Nothing. He flipped the mattress off the bed, looking between the support boards then scoured every surface. There were a half-dozen examples of bad poetry and a few letters from his home estate but nothing like what Rafe had described. Grim hesitated to spend another moment searching. The guard Ilyena distracted could return at any moment.


    Grim strode from the room, to see Brian digging through the contents of the liquor cabinet. ¡°Anything?¡± he asked.


    Brian shook his head, eyes flicking to the door.


    Grim nodded. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    His relief was palpable when he emerged into an empty hallway. Grim had to fight the urge to take off at a run down the corridor and forced himself to walk at a steady pace around the three corners to their personal rooms. Grim fell into one of the sitting chairs, heart pounding as the adrenaline coursed through his veins.


    Brian shut the door behind him and whirled on Grim. ¡°Are you mad?¡±


    Grim presented a thin smile. ¡°Maybe. Seemed like the thing to do at the time. Think he got a good look at us?¡±


    Brian fell into the sitting chair next to Grim and hunched over, holding his head in his hands. ¡°I think he¡¯ll be lucky if he gets up again.¡±


    Grim shrugged. Not feeling particularly bad about it. ¡°If the list isn¡¯t in his rooms-¡±


    ¡°He probably has it on him,¡± Brian finished.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Grim said.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Brian agreed.


    ¡°Don¡¯t suppose you want me to slam his head into a table?¡± Grim asked with a grin.


    Brian stared daggers at him.


    Grim shrugged. ¡°Nothing left to do but play fair and hope for the best I suppose.¡±


    The door to their room creaked open and Grim nearly released a manly squeak. His eyes snapped to the door as Ilyena slipped inside, her affected limp gone. ¡°Well?¡± she asked.


    ¡°How did you know where our room is?¡± Grim asked.


    Ilyena narrowed her eyes. ¡°That¡¯s not an answer to my question.¡±


    Grim shook his head. ¡°No.¡±


    "Must be on his person,¡± Brian muttered.


    ¡°You two are useless,¡± Ilyena said. ¡°I¡¯ll get it.¡±


    Grim and Brian exchanged looks as she strode from the room. Grim shrugged and rose to his feet, following in Ilyena¡¯s wake as she led them to the stairs. They passed by the corridor where their attempted burglary had occurred. A small group of guards stood by the broken door discussing amongst themselves. It didn¡¯t seem as if this warranted derailing the Marshal¡¯s party.


    A moment later they were back in the main hall, weaving through the celebrations as Ilyena cast her gaze about the crowd. She soon spotted Reginald, a young man near Brian¡¯s age with jet black hair, a heavy brow, and angular face that could almost be called handsome. Grim knew little of him save that House Tarvain was relatively high in the social pecking order of the Venaran houses.


    As Ilyena approached the young man, Grim led Brian to a nearby drink table, just within earshot. Grim lifted a goblet of wine and took a long draw, watching Ilyena out the corner of his eye.


    ¡°Lord Tarvain, is it not?¡± Ilyena asked the man, interrupting whatever conversation Reginald was having with his companions.


    A peeved look crossed Reginald¡¯s face until he turned to take in Ilyena. His reaction was similar to Brian¡¯s, but with a swifter recovery. He bowed deeply. ¡°I fear you have me at a disadvantage, my lady.¡±


    ¡°Ilyena Thorne,¡± she offered, holding out her hand and allowing him to kiss her ring.


    As Reginald rose from his bow, he tapped himself on the head as if remembering something. ¡°But of course. All the court has been telling me the lady of Bleakridge is a sight to behold and, my lady, your beauty does not disappoint.¡±


    Grim snorted into his wine.


    Ilyena took the compliment in stride, taking a step closer to him, close enough to touch. ¡°I heard an interesting rumor form Kaitlyn Palmar.¡±


    Reginald gave Ilyena a sly grin. ¡°Did you now?¡±


    Ilyena took a step closer, close enough for her breath to tickle his cheek. ¡°Is it true?¡±


    A stupid grin was spreading across Reginald¡¯s face. ¡°I understood you were spoken for,¡± he said, evading the question.


    ¡°Spoken, but not yet taken,¡± she said with a wink.


    His stupid grin widened. Ilyena, ran a hand along his chest and over the flat of his stomach, eyes drifting lower. ¡°Kaitlyn was very complimentary.¡±


    She stepped closer, putting her lips to his ear as she embraced him with her arms, running them under his opened jacket. Grim couldn¡¯t hear what she was saying, but the look on Reginald¡¯s face spoke volumes.


    At last, Ilyena released him. ¡°I look forward to seeing your performance tonight, sir.¡±


    She turned from him and walked to the drink table where Grim and Brian waited. Reginald stared after her in mesmerized bewilderment, his gaze lower than was strictly proper. Grim shook his head.


    Ilyena plucked one of the glasses from the table and raised it into the light, swirling the liquid as she inspected it.


    Grim spoke, ¡°That was-¡±


    ¡°Impressive,¡± Brian finished.


    Ilyena smiled. ¡°At least somebody appreciated my talents,¡± she said, pausing to take a drink from the glass. ¡°That¡¯s how the game is played here, dear brother.¡±


    She placed the glass back down on the table and met his gaze. ¡°You say what you have to,¡± she said, pulling a piece of parchment from the sleeve of her dress, ¡°To get what you need.¡± She held it out to him.


    Grim grasped it to take it from her but she held tight. ¡°You owe me,¡± she whispered.


    He nodded his head in acknowledgement and she released the papers. Grim checked to make sure Reginald wasn¡¯t looking before unfolding them. Just as Rafe had said, it was a list of names followed by questions in a small, tight script. Grim flipped through the pages, looking for his name, but he wasn¡¯t listed.


    He frowned, folding the papers.


    ¡°Grim,¡± Brian said with a note of alarm.


    Grim followed his gaze to the high-table. The Marshal had risen to his feet with an empty glass in hand, beckoning for a serving girl to fill it.


    Brian looked to Grim. ¡°He¡¯s going to toast the start of-¡±


    Grim didn¡¯t hear the rest because he was already in motion, papers in hand. Nobles stumbled out of his way, shooting him dirty looks as he crossed the floor without heed for anyone else. He circled around the table at a brisk walk, knowing that if he set off at a jog a guard would be pinning him to the ground before he knew it.


    He was a dozen paces from the Marshal when the man¡¯s glass was filled. As Longreen took a breath to speak to the assembly, Grim called out ¡°Your Grace!¡±


    Longreen hesitated, eyes turning to Grim and looking at him as one would a turd atop a a birthday cake. ¡°What-¡±


    Grim stumbled into a hasty and ill-planned bow before the man, holding out the parchment. ¡°I think this will be of interest to you.¡±


    He could feel the Marshal¡¯s eyes boring into him. Grim hoped he wouldn¡¯t just set the guards on him. The paper was plucked from his fingers. Grim held the bow, not daring to rise until instructed to do so.


    A moment later the command came. ¡°Up.¡±


    Grim rose to see the Marshal flipping through the parchment, brow furrowed in evident anger. ¡°Where did you get this?¡±


    ¡°I- uh- I found it in the hallway,¡± Grim said, cringing at his own answer.


    The Marshal looked up from the paper and met his gaze. ¡°You found a copy of the questions I keep locked in the desk of my private study- In the hallway?¡±


    Grim wanted to die. ¡°Yes,¡± he affirmed, doubling down.


    The Marshal stared at him. ¡°Clearly you¡¯re too stupid to be behind this. I now have some business to attend to, but I assure you, we will speak more on this later.¡±


    Longreen strode away from Grim, crumpling the parchment in his fist.

 Ch 17: An Ignoble History

    ¡°In the Hallway?¡± Brian asked, poorly holding in his laughter.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Grim muttered.


    ¡°In the Hallway?¡± he asked again.


    Grim sighed. ¡°I panicked.¡±


    Brian held his head in his hands. ¡°We¡¯re dead.¡±


    ¡°If it comes to it, I¡¯ll say I forced you to help. It was kinda fun though, wasn¡¯t it?¡± he asked.


    Brian stared at him. ¡°You¡¯ve gone mad. It¡¯s the only explanation.¡±


    Grim grinned, looking back to where servants were setting the stage for the contest and arranging seating in the hall. An hour late on account of his intervention, but better late than never. A small wooden stage was being quickly assembled and covered by a lavish green rug while the tables were arranged in a semi-circular pattern around the stage, to let the nobles lounge as they heckled the contestants. Most of the guests had cleared out to side chambers to continue the festivities in the interim, but the contestants seemed to be drawn to the stage like moths to a flame.


    Grim understood their trepidation. Even if you had all the answers, it was still quite a thing to stand before the scrutiny of a crowd. Grim¡¯s own unease was building in the pit of his stomach, and he didn¡¯t even care to be liked by these people.


    The servants soon finished their preparations, turning the hall into a fanciful auditorium with practiced ease. The nobility soon began to trickle back into the hall, finding seats at the two dozen tables. Grim caught Ilyena¡¯s gaze as she found her seat next to a group of young noblewomen. She winked in return and Grim felt a small smile cross his lips.


    His father found a seat with Ilyena in the front and center that seemed to have been reserved for them. The Earl¡¯s face was impassive as he took a drink from his wine glass but, having known him all his life, Grim could sense his tension, as if he were anticipating something nasty. The thought made the hairs on the back of Grim¡¯s neck rise.


    His eyes drifted to Reginald. Nervousness bled from the young man, his eyes flitting about the room. He¡¯d doubtless been given word of the break-in and found that the list was missing from his person. Too late to do anything about it now. Grim did his best to keep the satisfied smirk from his lips at the thought.


    The Marshal crossed the hall to climb the stairs of the stage. As he took the floor, all chatter in the hall died down to a low murmur then fell to silence as he raised a hand.


    ¡°Ladies and Gentlemen, let me welcome you all, formally, to the beginning of this year¡¯s competition, where the finer points of Venaran nobility are put on display by the nobles of tomorrow,¡± Longreen said.


    At his words, the hall broke out into polite applause.


    Longreen held up his hand once more for quiet and the sound died down. ¡°As you are all aware, our first challenge of the night centers around the contestants¡¯ knowledge of Venarn history and our divine right to hold dominion over all lands.¡±


    An approving ¡°Whoop!¡± came from the rear of the crowd and scattered chuckles sounded across the room.


    The Marshal smiled down at them, looking every inch the approving fatherly figure. ¡°The rules are simple,¡± he said. ¡°The contestants will join me on the stage one at a time and will be provided a series of questions. They will answer and be ranked according to my satisfaction with their answers.¡±


    Longreen let his gaze drift across the contestants, seeming to enjoy watching them squirm. His eyes settled on Reginald and Grim suspected that was not by chance. ¡°Reginald, why don¡¯t you join me as the first of the night and we¡¯ll set this off to a strong start.¡±


    Reginald affected a brave smile as he rose from his seat and strode onto the stage. His prize had gone missing, and the trial had been delayed. He¡¯d likely put two and two together by now. The young noble took his place by the Marshall, gazing down at the assembly of his peers. Grim didn¡¯t envy him, but knew he¡¯d soon suffer a similar fate.


    The Marshal patted Reginald on the shoulder hard enough to make the boy wince. Reginald¡¯s spine went stiff as the Marshal dug his fingers into his shoulder, the smile never leaving the older man¡¯s face. ¡°Welcome Reginald. I trust you¡¯ve spent your time here studiously preparing for this.¡±


    Reginald swallowed and nodded. ¡°Of course, your Grace.¡±


    The Marshal¡¯s smile fell away, and he stared into Reginald¡¯s eyes. The extended silence grew uncomfortable. Grim began to wonder if the Marshal would throttle the boy. It seemed somebody else had put together the pieces as well.


    The Marshal¡¯s grip loosened. ¡°I will give you this one chance to return to your seat and spare yourself from dishonor.¡±


    Reginald looked to be sick, torn between fury and fear. He stiffly bowed his head. ¡°Your Grace,¡± he acknowledged, taking his leave of the stage to the stares of the nobility. Hushed conversations had already broken out across the room and gazes followed the young man as he retreated from the hall entirely.


    The Marshal looked back to where the other contestants stood and as he spoke, the room fell into silence once more. ¡°I extend this offer to any who would take it.¡±


    Nearly half the young men sitting around Grim rose to their feet and slunk from the hall, seeing the writing on the wall. Grim expected Reginald would be getting more than a few choice words in the coming days.


    The next few hours were an exercise in patience and anxious waiting as Grim watched the remaining six young men called to the stage one by one. The first was thoroughly humiliated by Longreen, clearly having been one of the ones in Reginald¡¯s scheme and hoping to skate by unnoticed. He was nearly in tears by the end.


    Brian was next and did infuriatingly well, having a prompt, though not always perfect, answer to every question on topics ranging from the founding of Venar to its current legislation. He seemed to know at least a little bit about everything and was forthright about his limitations. By the end, the Marshal was smiling, and he left the stage to relieved applause. The thick tension in the air began to fade as the other nobles took their turns. None did so well as Brian, but all put on a good show.


    Grim found himself sitting alone, pulse growing faster as the Marshal turned his gaze onto him. ¡°Grim Thorne,¡± he called.


    Grim rose to his feet, legs feeling weak as he ascended the stage, feeling dozens of eyes crawling across him, weighing him. The tension in the room came back in a rush at his appearance. The Marshal locked gazes with him, face stone cold.


    Grim forced a smile to his lips and bowed. ¡°Your Grace.¡±


    The Marshal seemed to have no desire to waste pleasantries on him, waving him up and turning to face the crowd. He addressed them. ¡°I¡¯m sure we are all very aware of the limitations of Grim¡¯s upbringing. In the interest making this a fair competition, I¡¯ll be testing Grim¡¯s knowledge not on this history of Venar, but on his Family¡¯s history.¡±


    Grim¡¯s jaw tightened as the Marshal turned back to face him. ¡°Tell me now,¡± he said, ¡°How did the Rillish Subjugation begin?¡±


    Grim took a deep breath. ¡°Troops under my grandfather¡¯s command captured the Venaran Prince and his wife in route to a diplomatic treaty in Varna and killed them.¡±


    The Marshal¡¯s face was iron. ¡°Do not spin me half- answers. Spare no details.¡±


    Grim hesitated only a moment. ¡°Prince Valen was given his wings. His wife was raped to death.¡±


    ¡°How did the war end, Grim?¡±


    Grim took a deep breath, looking across the room to where his father sat beside Ilyena. The girl was stiff as a board, hands clenched in one another. The Earl revealed no expression and nodded to Grim.


    Grim looked back to the Marshal. ¡°Our old king was captured in Varna at the end. My family was leading a relief force to the city from Bleakridge. As our army neared, my grandfather fell ill and died, leaving my father in command.¡±


    Grim clenched and unclenched his fingers, wishing he could grasp the familiar weight of his axe to calm his nerves. ¡°Earl Rodger Thorne allowed the city to be surrounded and watched it burn. The next day, a treaty was signed.¡±


    A small grin spread across the Marshal¡¯s lips, as if he were remembering it fondly. ¡°Do you believe your grandfather died of natural causes?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Grim answered, unwilling to say more than that.


    Longreen seemed to accept that, moving to his next question. ¡°Who was your mother?¡±


    Grim felt his anger rising. ¡°Her name was Ilyena Thorne.¡±


    ¡°What did your father do to her?¡± Longreen asked.


    Grim grit his teeth, realizing this wasn¡¯t just about shaming him. He glanced to his sister. Her face was tense, and a Thorne guardsman stood near her, whispering into her ear. Grim swallowed and answered the question. ¡°He set her aside for a Southern Bride, my sister¡¯s mother.¡±


    The Marshal nodded solemnly and looked to where Rodger Thorne sat, face unreadable. ¡°A wise decision.¡± Longreen turned to face Grim. ¡°What happened to your step-mother?¡± he asked.


    ¡°She died a few days after childbirth,¡± Grim said.


    The Marshal snorted. Some might say she mysteriously died after childbirth.¡± He shrugged as if it were of no consequence and moved to his next question. ¡°If you were not born a bastard, then why are you one now?¡±


    Grim¡¯s brow furrowed, and he could feel everyone¡¯s eyes drifting to the brand along his neck. ¡°Soon after my mother was set aside, my father branded me with the mark of the bastard to disinherit me, saying I was unworthy.¡±


    The Marshal nodded in understating, as if hearing this for the first time. ¡°What then happened to your mother?¡±


    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    Grim had to repress the urge to punch the man. Fury was rising in him, for the Marshal, for his father, for the life ripped from his hands, and for the ambition of petty men that led to cruelty. ¡°Stripped of land, wealth, and title, she became a whore.¡±


    ¡°Quite a popular one too,¡± the Marshal remarked, with a smile.


    Grim¡¯s hands began to shake.


    ¡°What ever did happen to her, Grim?¡± Longreen asked.


    ¡°She died,¡± Grim answered, voice close to breaking.


    Longreen raised his voice, ¡°How?¡±


    Grim looked across the assembly staring up at him in rapt silence. ¡°I never saw her after the war. I heard she fell sick and passed some years ago.¡±


    Longreen took a step closer to Grim. ¡°She was quite the stain on your family¡¯s honor. Do you believe she died of natural causes? Some thought her death a mercy.¡±


    Grim¡¯s pulse raced. It was a thought he¡¯d tried to repress for a long time. But it never truly went away, lurking like bitter poison in the back of his mind. He couldn¡¯t remember her face. He¡¯d never see her again. If she had been killed, the most likely person to do so was his own father. Who else would care?


    Grim didn¡¯t answer.


    The Marshal waited for a long moment before addressing him. ¡°Should you not answer, you will be forfeiting.¡±


    Grim¡¯s jaw tightened, and his gaze drifted to his family. Ilyena had left the room. His father seemed unfazed, his right hand twisting his golden ring around the ring finger on his left. He met Grim¡¯s eyes and nodded.


    Grim choked out the words in a whisper. ¡°No, I don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Louder,¡± the Marshal called.


    Grim wondered if he could kill him before somebody could stop him. He fought to get his voice under control. ¡°No, I don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Grim. I think that will do for today. I¡¯m sure the court found the recounting of your family history very enlightening.¡± Longreen patted him on the shoulder and Grim fought the urge to scowl.


    As Grim woodenly turned to leave the stage, Longreen addressed the crowd. ¡°I¡¯d also like to publicly thank Grim for bringing to my attention that this leg of the coemption had been compromised.¡±


    Grim froze in his tracks, looking back to the Marshal. Longreen met his gaze. ¡°He¡¯s done me a great service.¡±


    ***


    Grim stayed at the celebrations for another hour after the competition had completed out of obligation. He didn¡¯t want Cassandra Longreen to accuse him of being ungrateful for her husband¡¯s praise and generosity. Grim sat at one of the tables alone, nursing a glass of wine. His father had left the moment the competition was over, Brian was busy receiving congratulations and accolades for his excellent performance, and Rafe was busying himself trying and failing to charm a young noblewoman across the hall. The solitude suited Grim just fine. His mood was dark.


    Somebody sat beside Grim on the bench along his table. He sighed. It was as if the very thought of solitude drew people to him like a sirens call. He ran a hand through his hair and turned to see who it was. Carys sat there regarding him, head cocked.


    Grim cocked his head in turn, meeting her gaze.


    They sat there for a long moment, Grim trying to figure out what she wanted until at last she spoke, ¡°Rare that I have to start a conversation.¡±


    Grim raised an eyebrow and turned back to his drink. ¡°Apologies for not following the proper decorum,¡± he spat, wincing as the words left his mouth. He was a bit more drunk than he realized. He took another drink.


    She was quiet a moment. ¡°Is everything people say about you true?¡±


    Grim didn¡¯t want to talk, but knew she could compel him to if it struck her fancy. ¡°What do they say?¡± he asked.


    ¡°They say you¡¯re a drunken murderer who consorts with Sons, ¡± she said.


    Grim grinned from her bluntness. ¡°I didn¡¯t realize the court had such a high opinion of me.¡±


    She held up a hand. ¡°Oh, it doesn¡¯t end there. Lord Falumnd told me an hour ago that he heard from a reliable source that you were in fact here to assassinate my father, and that this was all a devious ploy.¡±


    Grim¡¯s eyebrows raised. ¡°Ah, yes. All the best assassins come to their mark in chains. Provides a certain element of surprise.¡±


    Carys snorted then continued, ¡°Lady Proctor told me she had it on good authority that the Sons prepared a tunnel for your arrival here and that every night you sneak out through this secret tunnel to consort with whores in the Outwalls and perform demonic rituals.


    He grinned. ¡°Every night, eh? Lady Proctor is kind to think so highly of my stamina.¡±


    Carys grinned in turn and leaned closer to Grim. ¡°And Reginald just told me you broke into his room, assaulted his guard, and that your ¡®whore¡¯ of a sister stole his key to victory in this leg of the competition.¡±


    Grim¡¯s blood ran cold as he met her green eyes.


    ¡°His words, not mine,¡± she added.


    Grim was quiet a moment, considering the weight of the lie. ¡°Aye, that much is true.¡±


    Carys raised an eyebrow. ¡°I won¡¯t tell, but I assure you my father has already put together the pieces.¡±


    Grim sighed, the brief spirit of levity bleeding from him. He hadn¡¯t seen Longreen since the end of the competition and he suspected the man was preparing something nasty for him. ¡°Thanks, I suppose,¡± he muttered.


    ¡°Why so grim?¡± she asked.


    Grim narrowed his eyes at her. That joke had been haunting him his whole life.


    She seemed to enjoy his reaction and smiled. A moment later her smile disappeared. Grim followed her gaze to see Cassandra Longreen approaching. He braced himself as she came to a halt before them, looking down her nose at Grim.


    ¡°I think you have overstayed your welcome here, sir. The night is near its end,¡± she said.


    Grim glanced around the nearly filled hall, celebration still in full swing. He rose to his feet, straightening his jacked as he did so. ¡°Of course, my lady.¡± He bowed to her quickly, not giving her time to hold out her ring. ¡°I must thank you for organizing this wonderful evening. Truly, your hospitality is matched only by the quality of your character.¡±


    She narrowed her eyes at him. Grim smiled dumbly as if he were too stupid to have given her a backhanded compliment. It was what she expected, and he gave it to her, cherishing the petty rebellion.


    Cassandra waved at him dismissively. ¡°Off with you.¡±


    He bowed his head and stepped about her, making his way across the hall and up the stairs to the second floor. Truth be told, he was glad for the excuse to make his exit. Maybe he should try talking to Carys at every function. He grinned to himself as he walked down the halls.


    As he turned the corner to the hall where his room lay, he caught sight of a pair of guards waiting outside his room. Both were dressed in bronze plated vests and were well-built. Even if it weren¡¯t suicide, Grim wouldn¡¯t like his chances if it came to a fight. They lounged against the wall in the hall, watching his approach. He sighed as he came to a halt before them. ¡°Where are we off to?¡±


    Neither answered, just gesturing for him to follow.


    As they walked the halls, Grim was having trouble figuring out where they were taking him. They seemed to be avoiding the main hallways and an edge of discomfort was rising along Grim¡¯s spine. His hand grasped at where his axe should be at his hip, dearly missing the comforting weight.


    He peered at the faces of the guards, trying to place them. As they led him to a servant¡¯s stairwell, the thought occurred to him that he¡¯d never once seen one of the Marshal¡¯s household guards lean against a wall.


    He hesitated, slowing. The guard on the right glanced at him and something on Grim¡¯s face must have given away his realization. The man cursed, reaching for his blade.


    Grim shoved him with all his strength, sending the man stumbling backwards as his sword came free.


    The second man reacted a moment later, sword coming out of his scabbard in a swing as Grim dove backwards, scrambling across the wood flooring as the guard advanced on him.


    Grim staggered to his feet, hands grasping at one of the many paintings lining the hall. He ripped the priceless frame from the wall and flung it at his assailant.


    The frame snapped loudly as the guard batted it aside with his arm, staggering and cursing. The man Grim had shoved was finding his feet and moved to join his comrade.


    Grim could already hear shouts of alarm coming down the hall from the real guards. He flung open the closest door to him and leapt inside, pulling it shut behind him. A woman screamed from inside as he braced himself against the door frame. The door shook as the two men tried to rip it open and give chase.


    The door buckled and wood cracked as they began to pound on the wood from the other side. Grim winced as the wood by his face splintered. Muttered voices sounded, followed by the muffled sound of boots fleeing.


    Grim relaxed his grip on the door and turned his head to look in the room. An older Venaran woman stood in the foyer with her back to the wall, armed with a chair as she eyed him warily.


    ¡°Apologies,¡± Grim muttered to her. He turned his attention back to the door and creaked it open. Guards he recognized were running down the hall. They roared for him to stay where he was. Grim opened the door and held his hands out to show he had no weapons. A pair of men were on him a moment later, searching him for weapons.


    That they assumed he¡¯d done something wrong annoyed him, but he didn¡¯t want to alarm the panicked armed men. A moment later they seemed satisfied and Grim recounted the events to them. As he finished, the Marshal appeared at the end of the hall, looking more than a little annoyed.


    As he neared, his eyes took in the shattered frame and ripped canvas, moved to the splintered door and nervous woman inside, then landed on Grim. ¡°Every time I look away, some new mischief seems to happen tonight, and here I am finding you in the middle of it once more.¡±


    Longreen looked to the woman. ¡°Are you well, lady Olentia?¡±


    She nodded, seeming to need a moment to find her voice. ¡°Shaken, but fine. The brute barged into my room-¡±


    Longreen held up a hand, cutting her off. ¡°My men will take your story and report back to me, and I will see to it that a guard is posted outside your room for your security. For now, I have matters to discuss with Grim.¡±


    Olentia curtsied, bowing her head in deference.


    Grim chose then to speak up. ¡°The men who attacked me are going to escape.¡±


    Longreen waved a dismissive hand. ¡°Follow,¡± he ordered.


    Grim took the hint and shut his mouth, following in the Marshal¡¯s wake as he signaled for two of the soldiers present to follow. Grim trailed in his wake down the halls, flanked by the two soldiers. They crossed paths with a few nobles retreating from the night¡¯s festivities who all but dove out of the way from the Marshal¡¯s purposeful stride.


    Within moments they had arrived at the Marshal¡¯s study. Longreen gestured to the guards, and they fell into motion. One opened the door while the other took a position by the doorway, one hand on the hilt of his sword.


    The soldier opening the door marched inside. Grim followed the Marshal through the doorway as the soldier took up a position in the corner of the room, eyes following Grim.


    The Marshal took a seat on the far side of his desk and gestured for Grim to take a seat.


    ¡°Drinks,¡± Longreen ordered.


    The soldier walked to the liquor cabinet and began to fetch a pair of glasses. While they waited, the Marshal met Grim¡¯s gaze, eyes considering. The quiet stretched until the guard set the pair of glasses on the table. ¡°You may leave, Dymon.¡±


    The soldier hesitated, eyes flicking to Grim.


    The Marshal leveled his gaze on Dymon. ¡°Did I stutter?¡±


    Dymon saluted and made a swift exit, shutting the door behind him.


    Longreen picked up the glass of whiskey, swirling the brown liquid then took a drink. ¡°You vex me, Thorne.¡± He shook his head. ¡°You played in the spirit of the game, timing your move to your advantage,¡± he said, ¡°but at great inconvenience to me.¡±


    He set the glass atop the wood of the table. ¡°I¡¯m also reasonably sure you trespassed in a noble¡¯s quarters and assaulted one of their household guards.¡± His gaze bore into Grim. ¡°For that, I could exact punishment, per our agreement.¡±


    Grim¡¯s gut sank. He didn¡¯t dare speak, but he took a drink from his glass.


    Longreen continued, ¡°Instead, I showed mercy and merely made the court aware of who had pulled the rug from beneath their feet. The repercussions will be yours to deal with.¡± He leaned forward. ¡°Am I not fair?¡±


    Grim nodded. ¡°Yes,¡± he said, ¡°Your Grace.¡±


    The Marshal¡¯s voice gained a hint of strain as he continued, ¡°And yet, you needle my wife and disturb my daughter. I¡¯ve thrown men out of the court for less,¡± he said, ¡°Cassandra has had men killed for less.¡± He gave Grim a meaningful look.


    A shiver ran down Grim¡¯s spine.


    ¡°Fortunately for you, I still have use of you. Rather than end this as my wife would have me, I¡¯m giving you a chance to be of service,¡± he said.


    Longreen leaned back in his chair. ¡°The officers of the Sixth Legion are meeting now to discuss a matter of great importance to our operations in the city,¡± he said, ¡°I have had reason to suspect for some time now that there is corruption within the ranks of a particular Cohort. In two days¡¯ time, I will embed you with them with no forewarning and you will report back to me on anything you find during the days¡¯ events.¡±


    ¡°What should I be looking for?¡± Grim asked


    ¡°Anything that would displease me to know of,¡± he answered.


    That hardly narrowed the list, but Grim nodded his assent.


    Longreen crossed his hands atop the desk. ¡°Should you survive the ordeal, all will be forgiven,¡± he said, ¡°Your man will be released to you and will accompany you on this expedition. Armaments will be issued to you both on that date as you¡¯ll need them for the next trial of the competition in any case.¡± He took a deep breath. ¡°Am I not fair?¡±


    Grim nodded. ¡°Yes, your Grace.¡±


    Longreen said nothing for a long moment before opening the drawer of his desk and pulling out a rolled sheet of parchment. He passed it across the table to Grim. As Grim took hold of it, Longreen rose to his feet. ¡°I have more business to attend to tonight. See yourself out.¡±


    With that, the man strode from the room, soon replaced by one of the guards. Grim ignored the man, unrolling the length of parchment. It was the results of the day¡¯s competition. Grim¡¯s name was second on the list, directly below Brian¡¯s.

 Ch 18: Pension Plans

    The Officer¡¯s staff room was a bleak, stone chamber nestled in the corner of the first barracks where the prime cohort resided along with the Sixth Legion Commander, Peltar Rathstad who sat at the head of the long wooden table. Harren sat on the far side of the table from Peltar, the fifth cohort being in as low a standing as ever. The other nine prefectus¡¯ lined the table, having just assembled for an emergency staff meeting.


    He looked across the faces, seeing third sons and bastard offshoots of men he¡¯d once dined with. Men whose respect he¡¯d once held. Even they looked down on him now, his cohort being the lowest of the ten. A punishment duty.


    Peltar cleared his throat as if to get their attention, though nobody was talking. He was a balding man of middling height, black hair interspersed with grey over a long face. Peltar was a noble of low standing, hardly more than citizen if truth be told, but he had distinguished himself in the war and gained the Marshal¡¯s favor. Not enough to join the court. That¡¯d be improper. But, he held a position of significant authority in the Venaran army.


    Peltar straightened the parchment on the table before him which held the Legion¡¯s weekly assignment as directed by the Marshal and refined by Peltar.


    ¡°Men, the thaw is upon us, and I think you all know what that means,¡± Peltar said.


    The mood in the room immediately darkened, faces around the table turning grim. Harren looked around the table with a perplexed expression. Prefectus Glorian of the second Cohort spoke, ¡°Sir, I think our newest members of the staff could use some enlightening.¡±


    Glorian flashed Harren a genuine smile. Harren forced a weak one to his face in return. He hated having his shortcomings pointed out, even in a helpful manner.


    Peltar nodded. ¡°Operations beyond the wall cease during the frost season. Too easy for our men to get pinned down or ambushed in the warrens. At the thaw, the Marshal likes us to make a show of strength to make our presence known. Especially after recent events.¡± His eyes settled on Harren for a moment.


    Harren scowled, not daring to rise to the bait.


    ¡°Over winter, our questioners have been hard at work extracting operational information from any Sons we captured. This week, we¡¯ll be putting the intel to good use,¡± he paused, eyes settling on Harren once more. ¡°If you pull your boot from a rabid dog¡¯s throat, you¡¯re liable to get bloodied yourself. Today we increase the pressure.¡±


    The officers in the room pounded the table in approval, a thundering sound that echoed in the chamber. Harren gritted his teeth. No doubt the fifth would be the first into the fray.


    Peltar nodded his approval at the enthusiasm then returned his attention to the unrolled parchment. ¡°We have word on eight supply depots that will be split between the first four cohorts. Strike fast and seize the armaments and supplies therein. Sixth and seventh are receiving orders to enforce order on the streets and intercept any reinforcing parties.¡± Peltar took a deep breath. ¡°Eighth through tenth- you lucked out this year. You¡¯ll be picking up the slack in the inner city and covering duties where needed.¡±


    A whoop sounded from the three lucky officers, followed by good-natured grumblings from the others.


    Peltar¡¯s eyes settled on Harren. ¡°Fifth, you have tunnel duty.¡±


    The room got quiet. Harren nodded slowly, having expected the worst. The Sons frequently burrowed beneath the walls and through the catacombs beneath the city to avoid having to use the gates. The exact size of the network was unknown, but whenever an entrance was discovered, somebody had to push through and collapse it at the source. An honor, he¡¯d learned, that usually fell to the Fifth Cohort.


    Peltar¡¯s gaze swept across the room, and he began to hand out rolled scrolls across the table to each Prefectus. ¡°These contain the particulars of your individual orders and the location of the targets. I expect you to coordinate amongst yourselves to ensure these operations go smoothly and that you don¡¯t get in eachother¡¯s way.¡±


    His gaze swept across the assembled men once more. ¡°Any questions?¡±


    ¡°Prisoners?¡± One man asked.


    ¡°If possible,¡± Peltar answered. They¡¯re not the priority.


    ¡°Civilians?¡± Another asked.


    ¡°If they get in your way, put them down. I¡¯ll not risk our men on chance beyond the wall,¡± Peltar growled.


    Harren spoke up, ¡°Do we have any intelligence on the numbers we¡¯ll be facing?¡±


    ¡°Irrelevant,¡± Peltar said, ¡°Use overwhelming force and get the job done. We have superiority in the field if we strike hard and fast.¡±


    That answer made Harren uncomfortable but didn¡¯t seem to faze any of the other officers. After that the room was quiet as the general staff inspected their individual orders. Harren was passed his scroll and he unrolled the parchment, looking across a roughly drawn map of the city. The sigil of each cohort marked their targets. Harren¡¯s was the only one within the wall.


    The location was clear- a residential area in the market district. Looked like the Sons had purchased one of the homes under the guise of a Venaran merchant who hadn¡¯t been registered as paying tariffs through the city gates for some years. Poor bastard was likely feeding the crows in some ditch along the road, his identity being used to mask the rebel operations.


    Harren sighed. The orders were clear. They didn¡¯t know where the tunnel ended, so there was only one avenue of attack. Strike hard and hope they don¡¯t collapse the passage on your heads.


    ***


    Harren walked down the lanes between the Venaran Barracks. It was late in the evening and soldiers still milled about as the night shifts left the safety of the fort to relieve the day shifts. Slush squelched beneath his boots. He¡¯d seen many thaws this far north, but it still surprised how quickly the weather turned. The snowbanks had already faded and within a few weeks the remains would be but a frigid memory.


    Harren sighed, his breath barely fogging in the cool air. He¡¯d have to report back to his quartermaster, Gavin. In the past two weeks it had been made abundantly obvious that any authority he commanded over the men in the fifth was derived solely from Gavin¡¯s approval.


    He¡¯d thought the man to be exaggerating until he¡¯d tried to test the limits, assigning the quartermaster to latrine duty. The man had done so without complaint, but the next day when Peltar came to inspect the barracks, not a single man followed Harren¡¯s directions until asked a third time or reprimanded by Peltar himself. That night, he¡¯d found his pillow to be filled with muck from the latrines. He was still trying to get the smell out of his room.


    After that, he¡¯d fallen into line. It was just one more insult to add to the long list of grievances he was keeping, and a small one at that. Gavin was easy to work with so long as things were done his way.


    Harren reached Barracks #3 and pushed the door open. Off duty men sat in the common area, playing cards at the table. Most nodded, acknowledging his arrival. Some few saluted his approach which Harren returned as he strode to the rear hallway where he knew he¡¯d find Gavin working in his office. As he reached the door, he knocked.


    ¡°Come in,¡± a voice called.


    Harren pushed the latch and opened the door to reveal the spindly man hunched over his desk, quill paused mid-sentence as he gazed up at Harren from under his spectacles. ¡°Anything interesting from old man Peltar?¡±


    Harren nodded as he edged into the room, closing the door behind him and taking a seat on the edge of the cot in the small room. Gavin set the quill in an inkpot and turned the chair to regard Harren, crossing his legs as he did so. The man¡¯s eyebrow raised as if prompting an answer to his question.


    Harren said nothing, passing the rolled piece of parchment with their orders to Gavin. The quartermaster accepted it, unrolling it and straightening his spectacles as his eyes took in the details. A wide smile spread across his lips. ¡°By the Divines, sir. This is the best news I¡¯ve gotten all year.¡±


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    Harren snorted. ¡°Best news?¡±


    Gavin carefully rolled the piece of parchment up. ¡°Do you have any idea how much this information is worth? How long until the orders are executed?¡±


    Harren frowned. ¡°You¡¯re not thinking of telling the Sons? That¡¯d be treason.¡±


    Gavin chuckled. ¡°Sir, for the crimes of misappropriating his majesty¡¯s coin and supplies, you and I could already share a spotlight on the gallows.¡± He placed the parchment on the table. ¡°This is a rare opportunity for us to make a nice profit and save our own skins. Or did you want to die in a hole beneath the ground?¡±


    ¡°It could get other men killed,¡± Harren said.


    ¡°More¡¯s the pity,¡± Gavin answered, eyes flicking back to the scroll.


    Harren didn¡¯t disagree, but it felt wrong to just accept it. His consternation must have shown on his face as Gavin spoke up. ¡°Do you know what the difference between you and me is, Harren?¡±


    Harren looked up to meet the man¡¯s gaze as Gavin continued. ¡°You still think you can rise up, regain your honor.¡± Gavin spat the last word. ¡°Do you think our king gives a shit about what happens to us in this squalid little backwater? We exist within a patched framework of laws enforced by blood, far removed from the luxury of doing the right thing.¡±


    An anger seemed to be building in the usually calm man. ¡°Fuck Venar for sending us here, fuck the Marshal for using us like chaff, and fuck the other cohorts for not being in the fifth.¡± He leaned closer to Harren. ¡°Tell me, is it wrong, to do what is best for yourself and your men? We gave up our lives to be here, and what has Venar given us?¡± His voice lowered. ¡°What has the Marshal given you?¡±


    Harren felt an indignant anger boil to the surface at Gavin¡¯s words. He wasn¡¯t wrong. One mistake and he had been cast down. Expendable. Chaff. He took a deep breath. ¡°What did they do to you?¡± he asked.


    Gavin blinked as if surprised by the question. He was quiet a long moment, a hand absently reaching to the bronze locket around his neck. ¡°A lifetime ago, I was a legal clerk with a wife and child. Had my own practice managing contracts for the wealthy. Lived a few blocks from the Royal Palace in Venar. My country had been good to me,¡± he said, eyes clouded by memory.


    ¡°The prince died,¡± he continued, ¡°And I thought it my duty to join the war effort.¡± He sighed, shaking his head. ¡°I was a fool. Joined up and served, managing supply logistics. Never saw any real combat, thank the Divines.¡± He was quiet another moment, eyes glancing back to the scroll on the table.


    ¡°Long story short, I served for three years and returned home. When I got back, I found everything was gone. My practice was now a tailor shop, my home was owned by somebody else, and my family was nowhere to be found.¡± He shook his head. ¡°It was the counting houses who first told me I had been declared dead by the state. All my assets seized for the war effort.¡± A scowl crossed his lips but soon faded. ¡°Had no means to even find my family. What coin I had soon ran out.¡±


    ¡°And you joined the army?¡± Harren asked, cocking his head.


    Gavin spat. ¡°I was rounded up off the street and pressed into service like every other poor fool here. I gave three years and lost everything. Then they forced me right back here for the crime of having nothing.¡±


    Harren nodded slowly. He heard mistakes like this had been made, but he¡¯d also thought them appropriately rectified. ¡°Your tour must be over by now. They don¡¯t press people for more than five years unless they committed a crime.¡±


    Gavin grimaced. ¡°My tour is for life. Let¡¯s leave it at that, my lord,¡± he said, the bitterness in the last word making it sound more like an insult.


    A quiet fell over the room.


    Harren stared at the piece of parchment. It was a death sentence. ¡°What would we do then, sell it off and desert?¡±


    Gavin shook his head. ¡°You think too small. We¡¯re going to follow the orders to the letter like good little soldiers, but first we¡¯ll need to make contact with some less upstanding friends of mine.¡± He looked to Harren. ¡°How long till the orders are due to be carried out?¡±


    ¡°Business as usual tomorrow while the Cohorts coordinate logistics. The next day, we¡¯ll move before dawn,¡± Harren answered.


    Gavin leaned back in his chair, ¡°Then we¡¯d best get ready.¡±


    ***


    Harren walked alongside Gavin at the head of a column of ten men the quartermaster had hand-picked. His most trusted of the fifth. They¡¯d left the fort on the pretense of a patrol. The gate guards wouldn¡¯t know any better, and if anyone inquired tomorrow, Harren would say they¡¯d been scouting for the upcoming assault. That pretense limited their movement to the inner city, but Gavin claimed to have contacts within the wall.


    The soldiers seemed at ease, so Harren tried to be as well. His whole life he¡¯d been told stories of the Son¡¯s savagery. Hells, they¡¯d even featured as boogey men in many of his bedtime stories as a child. Their upcoming orders were giving him more trepidation than he cared to admit.


    Their boots squelched as they walked through the stagnant melt covering the cobblestone of the streets. Already, his feet were starting to get wet as they marched along the empty streets. Curfew had long since been in effect and the only people on the road were other Venaran patrols and the occasional contingent of the Earl¡¯s men. Harren still wondered to this day why the Marshal allowed them to take up arms outside his direct authority.


    Dim candlelight shined from many of the homes and the moon had waxed enough to give a fair amount of light. Reflected off the remaining snow, it was more than enough to see clearly. Harren¡¯s skin still prickled, nonetheless. Beyond the walls of the fort, he always felt exposed as if the Sons were watching and just waiting for the moment to strike. Patrols beyond the wall were absolute hell on his nerves. So far patrolling the King¡¯s Road had been uneventful, but he knew that could quickly change.


    ¡°Almost there,¡± Gavin muttered.


    Harren cocked his head as they neared a squat stone structure bearing the Thorne Banner. It was one of the many guardhouses they kept throughout the city. He said nothing as Gavin walked up to the pair of sentries keeping watch outside. Their eyes followed him from inside their iron helms and they tensed, straightening as they drew close enough to be dangerous.


    ¡°Evening, gents,¡± Gavin called out.


    Neither guard answered, hands drifting to the axes at their sides.


    Gavin ignored the gesture. ¡°I¡¯ve got business with your commander.¡±


    The man on the left spat. ¡°I wasn¡¯t told of no business.¡±


    Gavin smiled. ¡°And yet, here we are just swimming in the stuff.¡±


    The man on the right snorted. ¡°Piss off.¡±


    ¡°We have an opportunity he¡¯ll be very interested to hear about.¡± Gavin fished in his pocket and pulled out a pair of golden hearts. ¡°In fact, I think everyone here could profit from the exchange.¡±


    The guards looked from Gavin, to the coin in his hand, to each other. They both shrugged. The man on the left, muttered. ¡°Worth a hiding,¡± as he turned to unlock the door and disappeared inside.


    The second guard collected the coins from Gavin, his glare still full of distrust. A few moments later, his companion returned with a bleary-eyed soldier in tow, greying hair ruffled as if he had been woken from sleep. A scowl was written into his hard chiseled face, ringed by hints of stubble. He looked about to tear somebody a new asshole until his eyes landed on Gavin.


    All traces of anger fell away, and the man sighed. ¡°This better be important.¡±


    ¡°Good to see you too, Darren. I¡¯ve got the need to broker a deal,¡± Gavin answered.


    Darren stepped outside and looked to the two guardsmen. ¡°Consider yourselves relieved of duty for the next ten minutes.¡±


    The guards snapped into the Rillish salute, fists over hearts and heads bowed. Without a word, they turned and walked inside, closing the door behind them. Darren turned his attention back to Gavin then looked Harren up and down. ¡°Got a new boss, eh?¡±


    ¡°The last one was disagreeable,¡± Gavin answered.


    A couple of men behind Harren chuckled. Harren fought the urge to grimace, a chill running down his spine. ¡°Harren Barrington,¡± he said, introducing himself.


    Darren shrugged as if who he was were was of no consequence, then turned back to Gavin. ¡°Stakes?¡±


    Harren answered before Gavin could, ¡°We¡¯re raiding the Sons. The information is for when and where.¡±


    Darren turned back to him, eyes narrowed as if surprised he answered. ¡°So?¡±


    Gavin answered this time, ¡°So, we¡¯re looking to broker a deal to make sure it goes easy on our end and that this is nice and profitable for all parties involved.¡±


    ¡°Cut?¡± Darren asked.


    Gavin paused, making a show of considering. ¡°Thirty percent, with direct involvement.¡±


    The guard snorted. ¡°Direct involvement? She won¡¯t even bend over to pick up anything less than a dozen hearts. For that, an even split.¡±


    ¡°Done,¡± Gavin answered without hesitation.


    Darren grinned. ¡°That easy? You must be nervous.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be on tunnel duty within the week. We need this closed,¡± Gavin answered.


    Darren crossed his arms and let out a low whistle. ¡°You saying tonight?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m saying yesterday,¡± Gavin answered.


    Darren barked a laugh. ¡°You want me to walk my sorry ass into the Marshal¡¯s estate and pull her from a party?¡±


    ¡°I sure as hell can¡¯t do it,¡± Gavin answered.


    Darren shook his head. ¡°Sixty-forty, and ten is mine under the table.¡±


    Gavin scowled. ¡°That¡¯s ridiculous. You know what this is worth.¡±


    Darren nodded. ¡°Aye, I see a good opportunity when it comes by.¡± He shrugged. ¡°Otherwise, it can wait till tomorrow.¡±


    Gavin was quiet a long moment. ¡°Fine. As you say,¡± he said, ¡°but only if the deal is sealed tonight.¡±


    Darren hesitated a moment before holding out his arm. Gavin clasped his forearm in the Rillish fashion, and they shook on it. As they released one another, Darren grunted. ¡°I¡¯ll need the particulars.¡±


    Gavin looked to Harren and Harren pulled out the scroll with the orders, handing it to Darren. The Rillish soldier¡¯s eyebrows raised as he perused the script and map. ¡°Old Longreen is looking to stir the hornets¡¯ nest, eh?¡±


    Darren rolled the parchment and passed it back to Harren somewhat reluctantly, then let his eyes drift across their party. ¡°Bring me a copy of that tomorrow morning. I¡¯ll make sure the deal is in place for tonight, and we¡¯ll pass along the information. Where did you want the drop?¡±


    ¡°At the end of the tunnel. Spoils of war go to the Cohort that finds them after all. Saves me the trouble of creatively writing it into the books,¡± Gavin answered.


    Darren raised an eyebrow. ¡°On your heads be it.¡± Without another word, he turned and strode back into the guardhouse.


    Harren glanced to Gavin out of the corner of his eye. ¡°The Thornes work with the Sons?¡±


    Gavin shrugged. ¡°When the interests align. Darren¡¯s turned me down flat in the past. I try to avoid dealing with the Sons directly on information. Not much to stop them from grabbing me and putting me on a rack to get it the old-fashioned way.¡±


    Harren nodded in acknowledgement. ¡°What do you do with the gold?¡± he asked.


    ¡°It goes towards our pension plan,¡± Gavin answered.¡±


    Harren blinked. ¡°What?¡±


    Gavin chuckled. ¡°You¡¯ll see.¡±

 Ch 19: An Ill Favored Spy

    Kid walked the streets of the inner city, a torch held aloft in his hands. His heart raced at every step, still ill at ease with hiding in plain sight. He did his best to look the part of his cover as a Venaran Messenger boy. He kept telling himself he was allowed to be here. If a guard happened to search him, all they¡¯d find was official looking orders for various guard postings around the city. His real messages were all drilled into his skull until he could recite them forwards and backwards ten times.


    A Venaran patrol turned the corner in front of him ten paces away and he fought the urge to run, instead smiling and waving with his free hand. The guards glanced at him and dismissed him without a second glance as they tended to do, leaving Kid in their wake as they passed.


    Kid let out a breath he didn¡¯t realize he had been holding and continued his march down the streets. He¡¯d just finished his eighth official delivery, passing information and orders between the Son¡¯s outposts scattered across the city. There were dozens just like him, passing word across a seemingly endless network.


    He looked up at the sky, seeing the moon hanging high in the darkness. He¡¯d spent the better part of the day on his feet, and divines he was tired. After another few blocks of trudging through the slush from the melt, he was nearly in sight of the safehouse where he¡¯d been bunking the past week. Though, calling it a safe-house was hardly doing it justice. Safe-mansion might be more appropriate. He never thought he¡¯d be living inside the walls of the city. The thought brought a small grin to his lips.


    Kid paused as he turned the final corner, noticing four figures arrayed outside the safe-house. From their stature, he could tell they were soldiers which couldn¡¯t be a good sign.


    He dashed back around the corner, dousing his torch in the nearest snowdrift. He stilled, listening for approaching footsteps through the snow.


    Nothing.


    Taking care in his steps, Kid crept to the corner of the street and peeked around the building. On closer inspection, Kid could see that one of the figures was a good bit shorter than the rest, but it was difficult to pick out any details beneath their thick cloaks in the dark.


    The door to the safehouse was open and Kid could see James standing in the doorway, firelight glowing around him. The shorter figure pulled back her hood and Kid nearly choked on his own spit as he realized he recognized her. Ilyena Thorne had come to visit.


    James¡¯ eyebrows raised and his eyes drifted across her escort. Kid could feel the tension from where he stood. After a long moment, James beckoned them inside.


    As the figures entered the safehouse, Kid dashed forward, not wanting to miss whatever came next. As he approached the door, he could hear hushed voices. They cut out as he knocked once, twice, then once again.


    A moment later, James opened the door, seeing Kid and ushering him inside. ¡°Get in, boy,¡± he said, glancing down the streets a final time before shutting the door. The door opened up into a wide entry-hall ending in a long, oak staircase that curled up to the second-floor landing and the halls beyond.


    Ilyena and her guards stood in the hall, their hoods up once more and obscuring their identity. Kid decided it best to play dumb. ¡°Who are our guests?¡± he asked.


    James hesitated a moment. ¡°Some of Marc¡¯s contacts. They¡¯ll need to deal with him directly.¡±


    The sound of a blade being drawn distracted Kid. He swiveled to see a handful of Sons in a nearby room arming themselves. That was when he noticed the axe on James¡¯ hip and the glint of mail about his collar. The man¡¯s face was grim.


    ¡°Can you take them?¡± James asked. ¡°I¡¯m a bit tied up.¡±


    Kid glanced at the figures and back to James. ¡°They can see?¡±


    James nodded.


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll take care of it,¡± Kid said.


    James patted him on the shoulder. ¡°Good lad.¡± Without another word, James turned from him and joined his men in the room where they were preparing for something. Kid didn¡¯t inquire, as he was pretty certain he didn¡¯t¡¯ want to know. He looked to his new charges who watched him from beneath shadowed hoods.


    He shrugged. ¡°Follow me.¡±


    With that, he led them down the long central hallway. The house was well furnished in the front to give the appearance of usual habitation from the doorway and windows for any casual inspectors. As they reached the rear of the house, sitting rooms and dining halls gave way to rooms filled with scribes, and storerooms stacked high with crates, and bunks housing dozens of Sons.


    This was one of the major distribution centers for Spice within the inner city. The servants entrance led to a secluded alley far from prying eyes that was perfect for offloading cargo and coin. Many of the dealers got the drug from here, whether they were aware of it or not.


    Some scribes still worked even at this hour, keeping careful record of the expenses and profits from the Son¡¯s activities. Most were women. The Sons of the Reaper didn¡¯t attract the most peaceful members of society. The temperament of the men was generally better suited toward violence and clerical work fell to the women. Some few glanced up at him as he passed, but most ignored him, lost in their work.


    Theft, extortion and trade in the various drugs smuggled turned a tidy profit. That and some generous benefactors kept the organization afloat. Kid had seen firsthand that a good bit of that money found its way into the hands of the city¡¯s smiths. One thing the Sons never lacked for was a steady supply of weapons and hands willing to use them.


    As he reached the end of the hallway, he began to descend the staircase to the cellar below. The staircase spilled out into a large stone room filled with yet more crates, many of which were filled with weapons. Tomorrow they¡¯d be taken by porters to where they were most needed.


    At the far end of the chamber, a hole was bored into the earth. A Son stood guard beside it, resting against the far wall. His eyes followed Kid as the group approached. ¡°James said to take them downtown,¡± Kid said.


    The man said nothing. He just nodded; eyes wary as he walked to grab a torch from a nearby stack. Kid waited while he lit it with a flint and tinder then dropped it down the hole. Kid watched it fall until it hit the floor far below with a clack, perhaps fifty paces below the earth.


    Kid took a deep breath and looked back at his charges. ¡°We¡¯re going to go down and beneath the walls.¡±


    Ilyena spoke, ¡°We¡¯re familiar.¡±


    Kid nodded, bowing his head to her as he edged closer to the tunnel and grasping the supports of the ladder before carefully beginning to lower himself into the depths one rung at a time. Ilyena followed next, followed by her guards.


    Kid was very careful not to look up as they descended, fearful of the repercussions for doing so. The light from the cellar began to fade and disappeared to soon be replaced by the light of the torch below. Kid let go of the ladder to land on the ground and scooped the torch from the dirt. He turned and offered a hand to help Ilyena from the ladder. She paused a moment before accepting his aid, shadowed eyes seeming to size him up. He fought the urge to swallow, instead forcing what he hoped was an easy smile.


    ¡°You know who I am,¡± she said as she gained her footing on the floor of the tunnel.


    The fake smile fell from Kid¡¯s lips along with the lie he nearly spouted. ¡°How did you know?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re being far too respectful, and you didn¡¯t even try to look up my skirt,¡± She said, playfully injecting a hint of disappointment in the statement.


    Kid blushed. ¡°I- ahem. Maybe I was just being a gentleman.¡±


    She looked up at him, letting the torchlight illuminate her fine features. Her smile and grey eyes were radiant in the firelight. ¡°Come now. You¡¯re a Son and we both know those two things are mutually exclusive.¡±


    Looking into her eyes, Kid felt his ability to think clearly slipping away. He cleared his throat before falling into a ridiculous sweeping bow like he imagined nobles did at court. ¡°Kid, at your service m¡¯lady.¡±


    Her smile widened as the guards behind her snorted in amusement. ¡°Well then. Perhaps you¡¯re simply the exception that proves the rule.¡± She held out her hand to him.


    Kid stared at it in confusion for a moment before he reached out and shook it. He¡¯d seen Venarans do that before. As he let go, she stared at her hand in bewilderment before bursting out laughing, a singsong noise. Kid chuckled along with her more out of awkwardness than anything. Divines, she was captivating to look at.


    As she brought her laughter under control she spoke. ¡°I think you and I will get along just fine- Kid, was it?¡±


    Kid nodded and she said his name again slowly as if testing how it sounded on her lips. He looked down the dark tunnel, holding the torch aloft. ¡°We¡¯d best get moving,¡± he said, setting off. Kid led the way, his torch a beacon in the darkness, revealing the cavernous stone walls around them.


    ¡°You have an interesting name. Is there a reason, you¡¯re called that?¡± she asked.


    Kid swallowed. He hadn¡¯t had to have this conversation in a long while. The words seemed to stick in throat as he forced them out. He spoke into the darkness before them, glad he didn¡¯t have to meet her gaze. ¡°My mother never gave me a name, he said, ¡°So, people just called me Kid and it kinda stuck. I don¡¯t have a father, so I guess you could just call me Kid Noson.¡±


    Kid could feel her considering stare on his back. He was like dirt beneath the heel of her shoe, and he knew she must be thinking the same. The story usually elicited awkward condolences or even admonishment and he was just waiting for the shoe to drop on one or the other.


    After a moment, she responded. ¡°A fine name that you can make your own.¡±


    Kid took in a shuddering breath, unprepared for a kind response. ¡°Thank you,¡± he whispered.


    They walked in silence for a time down the long, twisting tunnel before Ilyena spoke once more. ¡°May I ask you some questions, Kid?¡±


    ¡°Do I have to answer?¡± he asked.


    ¡°A gentleman would,¡± she replied.


    Kid grinned and nodded his assent.


    ¡°What do you think of my family?¡± she asked.


    Kid hesitated a moment before answering. ¡°I don¡¯t think of your family. I¡¯m usually thinking of where my next meal will come from.¡± He shrugged. ¡°I suppose, I¡¯d rather be caught by your guard than the Greencloaks.¡±


    ¡°We do try, you know,¡± she said.


    Kid looked over his shoulder at her.


    ¡°To make things better,¡± she added.


    He didn¡¯t know how to answer that, let alone what she was looking for from him. ¡°I try too,¡± he said, ¡°to make things better.¡± Kid took a deep breath. ¡°I¡¯ve met cruel people and I¡¯ve met kind people,¡± he said, ¡°I¡¯d rather be the latter.¡±


    Ilyena sighed. ¡°Sometimes we lack that luxury.¡±


    ¡°Me too,¡± he said, ¡°Sometimes.¡±


    He could feel her smile. ¡°You seem clever for a boy from the Outwalls. How old are you? Ten?¡±


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    Kid winced. ¡°Thirteen,¡± he muttered. That stung.


    ¡°Oh,¡± she said.


    ¡°When you¡¯re my size, you end up clever or dead,¡± Kid said. ¡°Usually both,¡± he added.


    She chuckled as they turned left down a branching corridor. ¡°And what does this clever gentleman think of the Sons?¡±


    Kid bit his lip. ¡°I think it¡¯s the best the likes of me can hope for. These days I eat three times a day, have a roof over my head, and know my mother is cared for. That¡¯s more than a lot can say.¡± He paused. ¡°I¡¯m glad to be here.¡±


    ¡°Would you serve Venar for the same?¡±


    Kid shook his head. ¡°No. Of course not.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± she asked.


    Kid furrowed his brow. ¡°They caused the problems in the first place.¡±


    ¡°How?¡± she asked.


    Kid grasped for words for a moment, coming up empty. ¡°I¡¯ve never really thought about the how,¡± he admitted.


    ¡°Did you consider that the Outwalls might be a better place without the Sons?¡± she asked. ¡°Without them controlling the Outwalls, legitimate business might be able to properly invest in the area, bringing money, jobs, and more.¡±


    Kid¡¯s mind went down another path to his mother and her addiction. Was that something else that could be attributed to the Sons? Without them, would she have been okay? He shook his head. ¡°I hadn¡¯t,¡± he admitted.


    ¡°Question everything, Kid,¡± Ilyena said.


    ¡°Why are you asking me these questions?¡± he questioned, looking back at her.


    She smiled. ¡°In my position it¡¯s as if I¡¯m perched atop a great pillar. I can see endless possibilities in each direction. But, as grand as the view is, I can¡¯t see the cracks in the foundation beneath my very feet.¡± She shook her head. ¡°Your opinions matter, Kid. Because if you think something, somebody else likely thinks the same and where one voice may fall flat, a thousand in harmony can strike a terrible chord.¡±


    Kid wasn¡¯t sure what a chord was, but it sure sounded threatening. ¡°And here I was, thinking I was just pleasant company.¡±


    She chuckled. ¡°Perhaps that as well.¡±


    Kid tightened his grip on the torch as it¡¯s light illuminated the entrance to the catacombs. He¡¯d been through this way five or six times already, but they still made him uncomfortable. Kid approached the hole in the brick wall, carefully stepping over the remaining rubble into the narrow hallway. Boot prints lined the dust on the floor, betraying the heavy traffic through the underground passageways. The walls on either side were lined with human remains. The bones were black as though they had been dipped in tar and the skulls of the long dead stared at Kid from the walls as he led their party through the catacombs. The only sound beneath the earth was the padding of their footsteps along the stone floor.


    The air down here felt oppressive in a way none of the other tunnels seemed to be able to match. Side passages branched from the main hall, many of which had yet more tunnels carved by the Sons. Some were decoys while others led to outposts elsewhere in the city. Kid was warned from his first step in the tunnels to stick only to paths he knew. There were many traps for the unwary to fall afoul of. The thought of being injured down here and unable to escape sent a shiver of fear down his spine.


    Ilyena broke the uneasy quiet. ¡°Did they tell you who they belonged to?¡± she asked, eyes drifting across the bones.


    Kid had to force the words from his lips. ¡°I didn¡¯t ask.¡± Talking down here felt wrong.


    ¡°This is a holy place. Every body belongs to somebody sacrificed to the Reaper. The ritual causes the darkening of the bones,¡± she said. ¡°The Venaran¡¯s sealed the tunnels after the city was occupied. Part of the campaign to silence the old faith.¡±


    Kid looked over his shoulder to see Ilyena running her fingers along the faces of the skulls as they passed. She smiled at his discomfort, and for the first time, he found himself a little afraid of her. At least her guards seemed to share his unease. Kid tore his eyes from her and focused on the way forward.


    Kid could almost swear he could hear whispers, though he knew it was his mind playing tricks on him. It always did in the catacombs. Men who had walked it hundreds of times assured him that there was nothing down there save the dead and the occasional rat. The dead didn¡¯t speak, but they couldn¡¯t vouch for the rat.


    Kid sighed in relief as the curving passage revealed the warm glow of light in the distance, growing stronger as they neared. The catacombs fell away, the walls expanding into a small room. The far wall was a smooth stone wall set with a heavy oaken door that barred the way. Torches hung from sconces on the wall, revealing four Sons rolling dice at a small table.


    As they neared, he could hear them arguing about who had to ¡°Open the bloody gate.¡± One of the men flopped backwards off his stool as two of his comrades unceremoniously shoved him. To his credit, he turned his fall into a backward roll and rose to his feet.


    Kid heard him muttering as they neared, ¡°Pig suckling bastards.¡±


    The Son dusted his coat off as he turned to face them, a hand resting on the axe at his hip. ¡°Good evening gents,¡± he greeted. His gaze drifted to Ilyena who had her hood drawn tight ¡°And to you as well, Lass.¡±


    ¡°Evening,¡± Kid greeted, regretting having spoken as his voice squeaked.


    The man just grinned. ¡°One of you wouldn¡¯t happen to know if a bear shits in the woods, would you?¡±


    Kid responded, glad the squeak had faded. ¡°A bear shits where it pleases.¡±


    The guard nodded. ¡°Indeed, it does. Thanks for the pass code, comrade. I¡¯ll get the gate open in a jiffy.¡±


    He turned from them and walked to the heavy wooden door, drawing the axe at his hip. He struck the butt end of the axe against the wood three times, twice and then twice again. Kid could hear garbled muttering from the other side, followed by the scraping of wood and clanking of metal. A moment later, the door cracked open.


    The guard grabbed the iron ring on the front and hauled at it, the door slowly creaking open. As it opened, it soon became apparent that the wood was a fa?ade covering an Iron frame nearly as deep as Kid¡¯s hand was wide. Beyond the door, the tunnel expanded into a high-ceilinged room leading to a rectangular corridor of cut stone, brightly lit by torches hanging from the walls.


    There were more Sons on the other side and as Kid walked through the gate, he glanced at the pair of buildings carved into either side of the room. Dozens of heavily armed men milled about and through wide carved stone archways, he could spot rows of bunks and tables covered in cards.


    The men regarded them curiously as they entered, and a handful blocked their path to the tunnel beyond. Kid waited for whoever was in charge to make themselves known.


    A familiar voice soon called out. ¡°Hey boy! The fuck you think you¡¯re goin?¡±


    Kid grinned and turned to see Billy walking his way from the stone arch of one of the barracks. The man¡¯s eyes drifted across Kid¡¯s companions. ¡°Who are your-¡± Billy froze, voice trailing off as recognition blossomed in his eyes. His hand fell to his axe. The rest of the Sons bristled as Billy tensed.


    ¡°Here to see Marc,¡± Kid said, ¡°He in?¡±


    Billy nodded slowly. ¡°Aye. Believe so. Getting some shut eye in his quarters.¡±


    Kid nodded and began to set off down the hall before anybody started drawing iron.


    Billy called after him. ¡°Hold.¡± Kid stopped in his tracks as Sons barred the way. ¡°Those three stay,¡± the man added.


    The Thorne soldiers looked to Ilyena and she nodded, stepping from them closer to Kid. The men blocking the passage stepped aside, letting them pass. Kid walked down the hall with Ilyena in tow. Torches hung from sconces every twenty paces, illuminating the hall in a dim glow. Branching passages formed a lattice of halls set at right angles with dozens of doors lining the walls. Foot traffic was heavy in the main halls of the Son¡¯s headquarters. Even at this hour they crossed paths with a few dozen armed men patrolling the halls or attending to some such business. A few were even specked with blood. If Ilyena were bothered by the absence of her guards, she gave no indication.


    ¡°I¡¯d been wondering where he ended up,¡± she said.


    ¡°Billy?¡± Kid asked.


    Ilyena nodded. ¡°You two seemed familiar.¡±


    ¡°He saved my life,¡± Kid said.


    Ilyena slowed and Kid paused to regard her. She was arching an eyebrow at him. ¡°That was you?¡±


    Kid nodded, deathly serious, before continuing down the hall. Marc¡¯s room held no special adornment and had no sentry posted, though Kid was not so foolish as to believe the room was actually unguarded. He took a deep breath outside the door, mustering the courage to wake one of the most powerful men in the Rills.


    ¡°Do you want me to knock?¡± Ilyena asked.


    Kid narrowed his eyes and knocked, spite driving him more than any real sense of courage.


    She just smiled at him, something that he was beginning to find annoying. Kid turned his attention to the door as movement sounded from the other side. A moment later the clicking of locks sounded, followed by the groaning of hinges. The door opened to reveal Marc. The man was dressed in a simple tunic and had deep bags under his eyes, looking as if he hadn¡¯t slept in days.


    Kid had to fight the urge to squirm under his gaze. Marc had a very open door policy, but the authority of the man was still intimidating while under his scrutiny. Marc¡¯s eyes drifted from Kid to Ilyena, and his haggard face broke into a grin. ¡°You¡¯re just full of surprises, aren¡¯t you, boy?¡±


    Kid affected a weak smile.


    Marc stepped to the side. ¡°Come in.¡±


    Kid awkwardly shuffled into the room, unsure if the invitation was extended to him, but certain that he was blocking Ilyena¡¯s way. Marc didn¡¯t seem to object to his presence, closing the door behind her. The room inside was bare and unfurnished save for a table, cabinet, two wooden chairs, and the pile of silk sheets resting on the pallet tucked into the corner.


    Ilyena Thorne reached to her hood to pull it back, but Marc held up a hand, forestalling her. His eyes drifted to where Kid huddled against the wall, trying to look small. ¡°Kid, do you know who your charge is?¡±


    Kid nodded, feeling uneasy. ¡°Ilyena Thorne.¡±


    Marc lowered his hand and Ilyena removed the hood. He turned his gaze to her. ¡°Did you tell him?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°Sharper than the usual brute your men stick me with.¡±


    Marc nodded in approval toward Kid and a flush of pride ran through him. He blushed as Ilyena glanced his way, hating that he couldn¡¯t seem to control the way she affected him.


    ¡°It¡¯s been some time since you¡¯ve come to visit, my lady,¡± Marc said, falling into a proper bow. Kid took mental notes on how Marc did so. His own bow had been much less graceful.


    Ilyena held out her hand to him and he kissed her ring. Kid blushed at the sight. Divines, he shook her hand, didn¡¯t he? If he was sharper that the usual brute then, Marc must have had some real dunces on the payroll. Kid wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole as Ilyena glanced his way and winked.


    Marc rose from his bow and gestured to the table and chairs. He followed in Ilyena¡¯s wake and took a seat at the table. Ilyena stood beside the table as if waiting for something. Marc loudly cleared his throat, looking to Kid. ¡°Boy, help the lady with her chair.¡±


    Kid stumbled to the table and pulled the chair out for her. She took her seat without so much as a word of thanks.


    Marc spoke again, ¡°There¡¯s a bottle of wine beneath the bed and a pair of cups, pour us a drink.¡±


    Kid blinked as he realized why he was still here. He walked to the bed, fighting the urge to run as he fell to his knees and lifted the edge of the silk sheets. There was a wooden lattice beneath the bed, holding a few bottles of wine next to a large trunk that presumably held Marc¡¯s belongings. Kid pulled free a bottle and grabbed a pair of clay cups sitting on the edge of the wine rack.


    He returned to Marc and set it on the table. Marc drew his belt knife and held it out to Kid. Kid stared dumbly at the knife for a moment before realizing the bottle was sealed with wax. He accepted the knife, cut a ring around the wax, dug the knife into the edge and pulled the wax free. He was relieved as it came out cleanly.


    Kid poured them each a glass in turn, careful not to spill the vintage that he was certain was worth more than his life. As he set the bottle atop the table and backed away, the pair grabbed their glasses. Marc spoke first, ¡°It¡¯s been some time since you¡¯ve come to visit.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s been some time since I¡¯ve received news worth the visit,¡± she said, ¡°and the company lacks a certain- charm.¡±


    Marc grinned, ¡°A pleasure, as always. So, how is that lovely castle you live in, bought with the blood of our kin?¡±


    ¡°A bit drafty this time of year, but it keeps out the pests,¡± Ilyena answered with a meaningful look.


    ¡°For now,¡± Marc said, taking a drink from his glass, ¡°So, what is this news?¡±


    Ilyena glanced at Kid.


    ¡°I have reason to trust his loyalty,¡± Marc said.


    Ilyena shrugged as if it were of no consequence to her. ¡°Sources in the Venaran garrison have made me aware of when and where they intend to let the hammer fall during the thaw.¡±


    Marc waited for her to continue, but Ilyena took a sip from her cup and swirled her wine. He sighed. ¡°Let me guess, the rest has a price?¡±


    Ilyena nodded. ¡°Naturally.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s have it,¡± Marc said.


    ¡°My source appears to have the unenviable task of clearing one of your tunnels. The first condition is that you make sure their prong of the assault is a resounding success with minimal casualties.¡± She set her cup atop the table and leaned forward. ¡°And more importantly to me, the price is three thousand Hearts.¡±


    Kid¡¯s eyes widened. For that much coin, he could buy three palaces in the inner city and live out his days as wealthy man with coin to spare. Marc leaned back in his chair. ¡°How important are these sources to you?¡±


    She clicked her fingernails against the cup. ¡°They¡¯ve been profitable to us in the past but burning them would increase my share.¡± She shrugged.


    ¡°Do you trust them?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I trust their desire to save their own skin,¡± she answered.


    Marc crossed his legs, taking a sip from his wine. ¡°What do you have to gain from this?¡±


    ¡°Irrelevant,¡± Ilyena answered.


    ¡°Fair,¡± Marc conceded. The man looked into his glass of wine, seeming lost in thought. ¡°Were I to agree to this, how would we proceed?¡±


    ¡°The request was for payment to be left at their exit from the tunnel in question. Spoils of war, so to speak.¡± She paused. ¡°Should they not survive the event, I would expect us to come to an arrangement at a later date.¡±


    Marc nodded his assent.


    Ilyena continued, ¡°I won¡¯t be risking this trip twice, so I¡¯ll need to borrow one of your messenger boys to carry the information back once I have it in hand. I¡¯ll see they¡¯re well-housed for the evening.¡±


    Marc chuckled. ¡°Didn¡¯t trust me enough to bring it before we had a deal?¡±


    ¡°You once told me that your word is your bond. I¡¯d be a fool to blindly trust without it well secured,¡± she said, absently twisting a ring on her finger. ¡°And, if I¡¯m not mistaken, I haven¡¯t yet received it.¡±


    Marc was quiet a long moment. ¡°The lives of Rillmen rest on your word.¡±


    Ilyena met his gaze and said nothing.


    Marc took a long draw of the wine. ¡°So be it. I¡¯ll have the funds prepared.¡±


    ¡°And how will fare the health of our informants?¡± she asked.


    Marc leaned forward. ¡°As you say, my word is my bond,¡± he said, ¡°They¡¯ll be rewarded deservingly.¡±


    Ilyena shrugged. ¡°So be it.¡±


    Marc shook his head, setting his cup atop the table. ¡°I¡¯ll find one of my men to send back with you.¡±


    ¡°What about him?¡± Ilyena asked, waving in Kid¡¯s direction as is it were of no consequence.


    Kid¡¯s eyebrows raised.


    ¡°He¡¯s just a boy and he¡¯s barely been here two weeks,¡± Marc answered.


    ¡°You said you had reason to trust him, did you not?¡± she asked, with a smile. ¡°Besides, the boy has two hands and can walk. He¡¯s more than capable of delivering a letter and, more importantly, he¡¯s already here.¡±


    The hairs on the back of Kid¡¯s neck rose. Something felt off, and he could tell Marc sensed it too. The man met Ilyena¡¯s gaze then turned to Kid. ¡°You think you can stomach her company, boy?¡±


    Kid considered saying no, but he really didn¡¯t want to back down in front of Marc. ¡°A stiff drink would help,¡± he said.


    Marc barked a laugh and held his wine out to Kid. ¡°All yours.¡±


    Kid regretted his quip, knowing he now had no choice but to down the bitter liquid. He forced a weak smile that brought a knowing grin to Marc¡¯s face. Kid took the glass, raised it in a toast and drank deeply until the wine was gone, fighting the urge to spit it out.


    He caught Ilyena¡¯s gaze as he set the glass on the table, and she rolled her eyes. It was oddly satisfying. ¡°I¡¯m at your service,¡± he said, more bravely than he felt.

 Ch 20: A Lamb to the Slaughter

    Kid led Ilyena and her escort back through the tunnels and emerged into the inner city. James still seemed to be out on whatever mission it was he¡¯d undertaken. Kid asked one of the hideout guards to inform the man that he would be occupied with an assignment from Marc for the next day. The man didn¡¯t seem to believe him, but agreed to relay the message, nonetheless.


    With his ducks in a row, Kid emerged from the manse onto the streets of the inner city, eyes turned toward the stars overhead. It was a cloudless night. Cold and pristine. The day¡¯s melt was coalescing into ice and hardened snow that cracked and crunched loudly as his boots crushed through it. He looked to Ilyena for where to go.


    Her hood was up, and she walked with sure strides as if the curfew and patrolling Greencloaks were of no consequence to her. Kid followed in her wake as she walked down the streets. After about a block, she turned into a shadowed alley. At the far end, Kid spotted a carriage sequestered in the back along with an additional guard and a cold looking carriage driver wearing a tabard with the Thorne Heraldry of a red briar on a black field.


    The horses snorted at their approach and the carriage driver leapt onto the bench above them. The guard opened the door of the carriage for Ilyena as she neared, but she paused, turning to Kid. ¡°Should anybody ask, you¡¯re a Venaran messenger boy who will be awaiting a written response from my father on the taxes due on the winter portage. If anybody asks for further information, you don¡¯t know anything about the subject because of course you wouldn¡¯t,¡± she said, ¡°My driver took pity on you and is giving you a lift to the castle.¡± She gestured to the bench above the cart.


    The driver took the hint and scooted over to make room. Kid followed suit, grasping at the small ladder set into the cart and climbing up the steps. The driver held out a hand to Kid and Kid accepted the aid, letting himself be hauled up. He settled in beside the driver, a lean faced man with thinning hair. The man grunted in acknowledgement of Kid¡¯s existence and spat over the other edge of the carriage. When the door of the carriage shut below them, he set the cart into motion with a crack of the reins.


    The night was quiet and neither Kid nor the driver seemed interested in breaking the silence. Kid had never sat on a carriage before. The height gave him a new view of the city, cast in the moonlight. The area inside the walls was really quite breathtaking to behold. Wide avenues of cobbled stone were flanked by an array of large wooden homes carved in neat rows and interspersed with large manses of worked stone where the wealthiest of the mercantile class resided.


    Some homes had runes carved into the walls, intertwining braids that formed into dazzling murals. Kid knew they were something important to his heritage, but nobody had ever told him what they were. Just another relic of a bygone era.


    The streets opened up as they reached the main market square. A patrol of Greencloaks walked among the abandoned stalls but they quickly lost interest in the carriage upon recognizing the sigil on the driver¡¯s surcoat.


    Kid hardly noticed the exchange, his eyes fixed on the half dozen men hanging from nearby stakes shaped like a cross. In the center of the square. Their elbows were nailed to the cross¡¯s wings, forcing their shoulders into an unnatural position as their weight dragged them down. He could almost feel his bones grinding just looking at them. Around each of their necks hung a sign with ¡®traitor¡¯ painted in white. On the ground below their feet rested masks shaped into the faces of various animals. Blood from the men dripped onto the masks below, giving them a grisly appearance. Worst of all, two had been captured alive. Their tortured expressions gave voice to their agony. They¡¯d likely already screamed themselves mute. He knew they wouldn¡¯t bleed out. They never did. Either the cold or thirst would take them. Kid hoped their friends would take the risk to kill them in the night.


    ¡°Poor bastards,¡± the driver said. Kid nodded his agreement.


    The carriage trundled onward, following the roads deeper into town, toward the Castle rising high above the surrounding buildings, standing a silent vigil over the town. The smell of salt in the air told Kid they were getting closer to the ports. The sound of crashing waves in the distance grew louder as they neared the towering cliff face the castle straddled. Torches glimmered from the ramparts, light glinting off the iron arms of the men patrolling the walls high above.


    A moment later, the carriage was trundling up the switchbacks leading to the castle gate high above the city. Kid could see the bay laid out before him. Fishing boats and large merchant vessels lay docked in the maze of piers. In the distance, he could pick out the white sails of ships nearing over the horizon. The horses panted from their exertion, and they soon surpassed the height of all but the tallest buildings. Kid could see the wooden roofs stretch for miles in every direction. The Southern churches alone stood above the rest, their stone and marble spires piercing the sky.


    As they neared the gates, the driver waved a one fingered salute at the guards on duty. They returned the gesture from atop the walls and a moment later the iron portcullis rose. Kid eyed the wrought iron spikes above his head with mild trepidation as the carriage rolled into the wide courtyard. The ground was paved with cobblestones and directly ahead were the large double doors leading into the keep proper. To his right and left, smaller structures abutted the walls from which servants and soldiers came to and from even at this hour.


    The carriage pulled to a halt abreast the Keep doors. The driver, leapt from the bench in a smooth motion that belied a lifetime of practice as Kid clambered down the steps to the ground. The guards stepped from the carriage, followed by Ilyena. Kid waited awkwardly as she dismissed the guards, thanking them for their service with a Golden Hart each. As the guards took their leave and the carriage trundled off, she turned to him, meeting his gaze before looking up at the towering edifice of stone that was the keep.


    ¡°What do you think?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Big,¡± Kid said.


    She snorted. ¡°How astute.¡±


    Kid wasn¡¯t sure what that meant but wasn¡¯t about to admit it. ¡°Some might even call it large,¡± he said, doubling down.


    She gave him a level look. ¡°I may find insolence amusing on occasion, but you¡¯d best tone it down when you speak to my father.¡±


    Kid¡¯s breath caught; any trace of wit blown from his senses. ¡°What?¡±


    She ignored the question, walking toward the doors flanked by a pair of Thorne guardsmen. ¡°Come,¡± she beckoned.


    Kid had little choice but to follow. What was he going to do? Scale the wall? Dive from the cliffs? Both had their merits but fell short of viable. She had to be joking, right?


    The guards opened the doors at Ilyena¡¯s approach, releasing a rush of warm air that flowed over Kid. ¡°Evening, gents,¡± Ilyena said as she brushed past them.


    ¡°Welcome home, my lady,¡± one of them greeted.


    Ilyena wiggled the fingers of on hand over her shoulder in farewell as she walked away without looking back. She led Kid down the hall past a menagerie of people. There were dozens of girls near his age carrying baskets full of laundry, cleaning utensils, and a thousand other mundane items. They wore black dresses as if in mourning. The way they scurried about combined with their black attire reminded him of ants and he couldn¡¯t help but stare. He didn¡¯t think he¡¯d ever seen so many attractive girls in any one place outside of a brothel. Older women in similar uniforms bearing the Thorne family crest shepherded the girls and gave orders.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    Several large porters carried heavy bags of flour past him, a dusting of the white powder marring the blackness of their garb. Aside from their tidy uniforms, they looked similar to the men Kid saw by the docks.


    His attention was diverted by a beautiful tapestry hanging along the wall. It depicted Bleakridge castle standing high above the city. Its high walls seemed to touch the overlarge moon hanging in the sky. Kid reached out to stroke it as they passed. His fingers glided over the fabric. It felt like the pocket of a nobleman- pure silk. If he could somehow sneak it out of here, he would never have to work again.


    He tore his eyes from the tapestry as llyena led him deeper into the castle. Kid lost track of how many turns they made and was soon very lost. Who in their right mind intentionally made a floorplan this confusing?


    The rich decorations continued to draw his eyes. Paintings worth a small fortune hung at every corner. He now refrained from touching them after a passing guardsman smacked his hand. Kid held the hand to his chest with a grimace while Ilyena wore an infuriating smirk on her face.


    Having grown somewhat accustomed to the rich decorations, Kid found he was having a new problem now that Ilyena was leading him rather than the other way around- his eyes kept betraying him and drifting downward to where her dress curved around her hips. The last thing he needed was for her to catch him staring.


    After a half dozen more turns, they reached a stairwell. Kid followed Ilyena up the stairs. The steps curved in a tight spiral and ascended in a never-ending circle. Ilyena climbed them with a practiced ease, but Kid kept stumbling over the awkward angle of the steps. Who the hell made stairs like this? Kid¡¯s thoughts drifted back to the steep switchbacks, and he wondered if nobles had some kind of fetish for climbing things. It felt like they¡¯d spent the better part of an hour ascending toward the sky.


    ¡°Watch your step,¡± Ilyena said after Kid tripped and fell against the wall.


    Kid mumbled obscenities under his breath. Very under his breath.


    They emerged into a long hallway, on what Kid believed was the fifth floor. The hall was absent of any decoration and had no branching paths. He followed her down the austere hall, adorned only with flickering torches that provided the sole source of light. It felt as if he had gone far beneath the earth, but he knew the opposite to be true. The feeling was disorienting. Kid nervously tugged at his collar as Ilyena stopped before a large oaken door set into the wall. She paused as a guardsman passed by. The man eyed Kid. But, seeing he was with Ilyena, the man let him go without incident.


    She looked to Kid. ¡°Speak if spoken to.¡±


    Kid nodded, heart pounding. That was not advice that needed voicing.


    Ilyena knocked at the door.


    ¡°Come,¡± a voice beckoned from inside.


    Kid wondered whether rich people actually slept.


    Ilyena opened the door and strode inside. Kid followed in her wake, eyes wide as he took in the green banners lining the walls. They bore sigils he was unfamiliar with, some flecked with what could only be old blood. Trophies?


    A pair of sitting chairs occupied the open space by the lit hearth. Flames danced in the stone pit and an old man, with hair more grey than black stared into the fire. As Ilyena¡¯s shoes clicked against the stone floor, he turned to look at her and his eyes drifted to Kid.


    Kid nearly missed a step as he caught the man¡¯s gaze. His eyes were a mirror of Ilyena¡¯s in color- a cloudy grey- but where hers were full of life, the Earl¡¯s gaze was that of a dead man. It reminded Kid of the men he¡¯d met at his execution. The eyes were set into an equally hard face, atop deep bags that belied a lack of sleep. He was dressed in all black save for a golden ring on his right hand.


    Kid took a deep breath and fell into a courtly bow as he had seen Marc give to Ilyena.


    ¡°There¡¯s no need for that here,¡± the Earl said. His voice was deep and powerful.


    Kid awkwardly rose from his bow as Ilyena walked to her father and stood beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder as he straightened in his chair.


    It was then that Kid realized how large the man was. Even sitting, he nearly came up to Ilyena¡¯s shoulder. The Earl looked up at her. ¡°Business took you away?¡± he asked, glancing at Kid askance.


    ¡°It was time-sensitive, but I think I made a good show of being offended at the recounting of our family history, no?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Almost had me convinced until I found you weren¡¯t here,¡± he said, ¡°You stole my carriage.¡±


    Ilyena had the grace to look abashed.


    ¡°Talk,¡± the Earl commanded.


    Kid stood awkwardly while Ilyena took a seat in the only other chair and recounted the night¡¯s events. It was as if they had forgotten he was there. His panic slowly turned into boredom until he heard his name and the panic returned ten-fold. But, it was just Ilyena introducing him to the story with a gesture.


    After some time, she finished recounting the information. The Earl¡¯s face was impassive, and he was quiet a long moment. ¡°It was the fifth cohort who provided you this information?¡±


    Ilyena nodded.


    ¡°Your brother is being attached to that cohort for an operation to happen in the next week,¡± he said.


    Ilyena was quiet, taking in the implication.


    Kid swallowed, wishing he was anywhere else.


    Ilyena bit her lip. ¡°We could refuse to provide the information to keep the point of attack unknown.¡±


    The Earl shook his head. ¡°If we don¡¯t, they¡¯ll still be on alert.¡± He looked into the fire a moment before continuing. ¡°And what do corrupt men tend to do to those sent to watch them?¡±


    Kid knew the answer but didn¡¯t dare voice it. The question hung in the air.


    ¡°What can we do?¡± she asked.


    The Earl¡¯s gaze turned to Kid. Kid immediately averted his eyes, unable to meet the man¡¯s gaze for more than a moment. ¡°What does he fear?¡±


    Ilyena didn¡¯t hesitate. ¡°He fears for the wellbeing of his mother.¡±


    For some reason, the betrayal stung Kid.


    The Earl looked at his hands a moment before speaking. ¡°Boy, do you know what I would do to protect my kin?¡±


    Kid clenched his hands to keep them from shaking. He nodded.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you do,¡± the Earl said, rising to his feet.


    Kid took an involuntary step back as the man approached, looking wide-eyed up him as he came to a stop a few paces away.


    ¡°You know Bill Billson?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Billy?¡± Kid asked, voice a whisper.


    The man knelt before him, bringing his gaze to Kid¡¯s eyelevel. Kid could hardly breathe. ¡°After you deliver the information to Marc, find Bill, tell him of this, and remind him that he owes his miserable life to Grim.¡±


    Kid nodded, fighting the urge to take another step back.


    ¡°And under no circumstances, will you tell Marc of my son¡¯s presence,¡± he said.


    ¡°Why not?¡± Ilyena asked, ¡°Surely if we explained-¡±


    The Earl cut her off. ¡°In his place I would capture Grim and bring him into the Sons, for what other choice would Grim have?¡± The Earl shook his head. ¡°That doesn¡¯t fit with our plans.¡±


    Kid¡¯s ears perked.


    ¡°It might be better than his current situation, as the Marshal¡¯s prisoner.¡± Ilyena muttered.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t just about him,¡± the Earl said.


    Ilyena seemed to want to say more but held her tongue, looking to Kid. Kid forced a weak smile that faded as the Earl met his gaze. ¡°Do you understand your charge?¡±


    ¡°Yes- Lord,¡± he said, forcing the words out.


    The Earl nodded to him as if he expected nothing less, then rose to his feet. ¡°Ilyena, take him to a room and see to it that he is fed if need be.¡±


    Ilyena rose from her chair and dipped into a curtsy to her father. She brushed past Kid as she walked to the door. ¡°Come,¡± she beckoned.


    Kid turned to follow her, his hackles rising as he felt the Earl¡¯s gaze on his back. His unease didn¡¯t begin to fade until the door to the chambers closed behind him. Kid released a breath he didn¡¯t realized he¡¯d been holding.


    ¡°Intense, isn¡¯t he?¡± Ilyena asked as she led the way down the hall.


    Kid didn¡¯t answer, no longer in a talking mood.


    She looked over her shoulder at him. ¡°Quiet now, are we?¡±


    ¡°Threatening to find and kill somebody¡¯s mother tends to somber the mood,¡± Kid muttered.


    Ilyena was quiet a long moment, her face contemplative as she looked away from him. She didn¡¯t speak until they reached the stairwell. She paused in the corridor leading down and turned to face him.


    Kid met her grey eyes as she hesitated, opening her mouth to speak. ¡°He wouldn¡¯t hurt her. Not really. My father is not a cruel man. He threatens out of fear not malice.¡±


    Kid furrowed his brow. ¡°Why would you tell me that?¡±


    She bit her lip. ¡°Because I think he made a mistake,¡± she said, ¡°Because I think you care more about what is right than what is convenient, and I don¡¯t think you¡¯re the type to be coved by threats.¡± She smiled weakly. ¡°My father isn¡¯t perfect, but he¡¯s doing his best. Ask anyone who¡¯s served him, and they¡¯ll tell you the same.¡±


    She was right. Kid was already thinking of how to best beg Marc to hide his mother after he told him everything. ¡°I¡¯ll ask,¡± he said. It was all he was willing to promise.


    She gave him a slight nod before continuing on their way down to the third floor where she passed him off to an older woman dressed in Thorne livery. The woman showed him to a small room on the seaward side of the castle. It had a small bed, washbasin, table, and chair. The stone walls were bare save for a small inlet cut into the wall through which a stream of moonlight shined, carrying the distant sounds of crashing waves. It was the nicest room he¡¯d ever had.

 Ch 21: The Reapers Due

    The boy¡¯s groans echoed throughout Melna¡¯s home. Kryll curled up in the corner of the room trying to keep out of the way as Lissa and her mentor scrambled about, gathering healer¡¯s tools. The boy¡¯s father carried him to the table in the center of the room, gently laying him across the wooden surface. As the man took his arms away, his eyes locked onto the warm blood staining his arms.


    His ability to speak coherently seemed on par with the boy¡¯s. It was no matter, they knew what he was here for. Lissa dropped their bag of medical tools on the wooden table with a loud thunk. She dug inside and grabbed a pair of iron scissors. She carefully took them to the boy¡¯s sleeve and began to cut the wet fabric away. He began to shake on the table as she adjusted his arm.


    She looked to his father. ¡°Hold him down.¡±


    The man hesitated, before following her instruction, holding the boy at the shoulders. Lissa cut the sleeve from his arm and what greeted her made her eyes go wide. The boy¡¯s arm was shredded. Shattered bones stuck out at odd angles, piercing the skin and ripped muscle. A groan from the boy snapped her back to her senses, and she grabbed the tourniquet from the bag. She had to stop the bleeding.


    As she looped the leather strap around the boy¡¯s upper arm, the man released him and vomited across the floor. The boy began to shake again, making it impossible to cinch the straps. She bodily leaned on his shoulder to keep him in place as he strained against the leather. She hooked it into place.


    Melna appeared a moment later, a rag in her hand. She placed it over the boy¡¯s face. His movements slowed, and his head lolled to the side. When he was still, Lissa noticed the saw in Melna¡¯s hand. She looked from the boy¡¯s arm to the old woman. Melna shook her head, answering Lissa¡¯s unanswered question.


    Lissa backed away from the table as Melna held the iron bone saw up and touched the serrated edge with a finger, It cut immediately, a droplet of blood running down her finger.


    The man seemed to find his ability to speak in that moment. ¡°You¡¯re taking his arm?¡± His mouth worked a moment. ¡°There has to be another way.¡±


    Lissa looked at the shredded mess of flesh and bone. ¡°There¡¯s no saving that, I¡¯m sorry. We might be able to save his life though.¡±


    Melna looked guilty and Lissa could tell she was itching to use her healing to mend the boy, but refrained from spending her life to do so. Lissa knew it nagged at the old woman¡¯s conscience to do so.


    The man swallowed and backed away, looking as if he might be sick again. ¡°Gods,¡± he whispered, leaning against the far wall and slowly falling to the ground. He curled his knees to his chest and lay his head against them. Lissa could hardly blame him. This wasn¡¯t easy to watch.


    Melna placed her free hand on the boy¡¯s broken arm and set the saw in place, as close to the tourniquet as she dared. The woman took a deep breath and began to saw. The teeth sank through easily at first, but then found bone and her progress ground to a halt.


    Melna heaved all her strength into the motion, making slow progress. Blood welled up from the cut, but after the past few weeks, the sight of blood ceased to affect Lissa. She turned from the sight and set herself to preparing a cauter for the wound.


    As the iron warmed, she lost count of the minutes that passed before the bone came loose with a snap. Slicing through the remaining flesh, Melna pulled the limb away and let it drop to the floor. Lissa winced at the wet sound it made as she returned from the stove, glowing iron in hand and passed it to Melna.


    ¡°Clean the wound,¡± Melna ordered. Lissa nodded, walking to a cupboard along the wall and grabbing the small pitcher of wine from within. She returned to the boy and poured some of the red liquid over the wound.


    Melna nodded at her in appreciation as she leaned forward and applied the cauter to the bloody stump. The smell of burnt flesh immediately filled the room. It once made her gag, but like so many other things, she¡¯d grown accustomed to it.


    A moment later it was over. Melna pulled the cauter away, and let it fall into one of Kryll¡¯s buckets of water. It hissed and the water steamed as it hit the surface. Lissa set to work, cleaning the blood from around the burned flesh and wrapping the wound in clean linen.


    While she worked, Melna patted her on the shoulder. ¡°You did well, girl.¡±


    A weak smile appeared on Lissa¡¯s lips. She couldn¡¯t help thinking how much harder the boy¡¯s life had just gotten. It wasn¡¯t even assured that he¡¯d live. They just had to hope for the best. The man staggered to his feet at the far end of the room and stumbled toward the table where the boy lay.


    His voice was choked as he asked, ¡°Will he be okay?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s in the hands of our lady,¡± Melna answered, glancing toward the tapestry of the Reaper on the wall. ¡°But, you can improve his chances by keeping a close eye on the wound. Change his bandages every day if you can. If it starts bleeding heavily again, bring him back here immediately.¡±


    The man nodded in understanding, placing a hand on his boy¡¯s chest as it rose and fell. ¡°Thank you,¡± he whispered.


    Lissa smiled and put her hand over his. ¡°He¡¯ll get through it.¡±


    Melna dug around through the cupboard and returned with a small pouch. She handed it to the man. ¡°For the pain,¡± she explained, ¡°No more than a pinch a day. Otherwise, you risk him getting too attached to the stuff.¡±


    The man opened the pouch. His eyes widened a fraction. ¡°Spice?¡±


    Lissa¡¯s smile disappeared. It was never a good sign when they recognized it on sight. Melna leaned in closer to the man. ¡°For the boy,¡± she affirmed.


    The man nodded, his hands shaking slightly as he pocketed the pouch. ¡°Thank you for everything. I¡¯ll take him home and we¡¯ll get out of your hair.¡±


    Melna nodded. ¡°Before you go, might you have a donation for our lady?¡± Melna asked, glancing toward the altar.


    The man frowned. ¡°I don¡¯t have any coin.¡±


    Lissa didn¡¯t doubt it. She grabbed a bowl from the cupboard and put on her widest grin. ¡°That¡¯s fine!¡± She skipped toward the man, holding the bowl out to him. She loved the look men got on their faces when she did that. It was somewhere between horror and grim amusement, as if they couldn¡¯t decide.


    He swallowed and took the bowl from her hand. ¡°Fine, fine. Got a knife?¡±


    Melna pulled one from their bag of equipment and passed it to him. He took a deep breath and cut one of the smaller veins in his wrist. Lissa could tell he¡¯d done this a few times by his choice. The vein bled, but not excessively and was easy to mend. He grimaced as blood filled the bowl.


    When it was about half-full, Melna waved her hand. ¡°That¡¯s enough. You still have to carry the boy home. The man nodded, holding out his arm as Lissa applied pressure to the small wound, to stop the bleeding and quickly bandaged it.


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    ¡°Good as new,¡± she said.


    The man smiled at her and shook his head. ¡°Thank ye little lady.¡± He took a deep breath before pushing his arms under his son, hefting the boy in the air and walking toward the door. Lissa rushed to open it for him. As he passed through the threshold into the daylight outside, he gave them both a solemn nod.


    Lissa waved after him as he walked down the street. ¡°Goodbye,¡± She called out, as she shut the door behind them.


    She whirled around on Melna. ¡°Can we? Please?¡± She asked.


    Melna shook her head. ¡°Clean up first. You know the rules.¡±


    Lissa groaned as she grabbed one of Kryll¡¯s pails of water and hauled it by the table. She glanced to where the boy¡¯s arm had been a moment ago. It seemed to have vanished. Her eyes drifted to Kryll. He must have snatched it when she wasn¡¯t looking. She¡¯d seen him clean up the limbs half a dozen times now, but it still made her a little uneasy. Melna didn¡¯t seem to care so she let it go and set to mopping up the blood.


    Anticipation buzzed in her as she cleaned the table and surrounding area, shooting furtive looks toward the altar. The Reaper¡¯s shadowed face stared down at her, a slight smile alighting the god¡¯s lips. As Lissa cleared the last of the blood away, she regarded the mottled, red stains covering the table¡¯s surface. She took a deep breath and pulled the tablecloth over it, hiding the horror.


    Her eyes drifted to Melna, who walked toward the altar, the bowl of blood in hand. Lissa rushed over to her and took the bowl. She gently rested it atop the altar¡¯s surface, among the small bones of animals and next to the golden Briar. Nervous excitement welled up in her. She¡¯d practiced using her own blood, but Melna wouldn¡¯t let her do so more than twice a week due to the obvious limitations.


    Older men and woman stopped by to leave small offerings and bleed themselves upon the altar, but those were private prayers to which she and Melna would not intrude. It was strange to think this warm home in the Outwalls was the closest thing to a temple for the Reaper in all Bleakridge.


    Lissa glanced to Melna out of the corner of her eye. The older woman nodded, and Lissa dipped a finger into the bowl of blood. She held her hand over the altar, watching as the blood pooled at the tip of her finger. As a crimson droplet fell, she focused her intent, willing the altar to filter the power from the blood. The droplet disappeared into the altar and where it landed, a puff of black smoke drifted forth, diffusing into the air.


    Melna smiled at her. ¡°You¡¯re getting better at that. Got it on your first try.¡±


    Lissa didn¡¯t answer. Her eyes were fixed on the black vapor dissipating into the air. She¡¯d seen the effects of imbuing the smoke. The blackened eyes, and lack of inhibition. She¡¯d never partook herself and the curiosity burned in her.


    ¡°When will I be able to try it?¡± she asked.


    Melna¡¯s smile disappeared. ¡°When it¡¯s absolutely necessary. And only then. It¡¯s easy to grow dependent on the Reaper¡¯s blessing. Better to not acquire a taste for death, especially at your age.¡±


    Lissa raised an eyebrow. ¡°An odd thing to say, considering we worship her.¡±


    ¡°Things we revere should not be made commonplace. We tread a fine line in the last war. You¡¯re too young to remember the bloodshook men and women. Venarans put them down like animals. One of the few kindnesses they visited upon us.¡± Melna said.


    Lissa cocked her head. ¡°Bloodshook?¡±


    Mela hesitated, her eyes growing distant. ¡°When one grows dependent on our Lady¡¯s blessings, they can¡¯t let it go. You and I, we¡¯d just bleed ourselves at this altar until we passed. But, for those who lack the talent-¡± She hesitated, shaking her head. ¡°They try to find it in other ways.¡±


    Lissa wanted to ask more, but the look on Melna¡¯s face dissuaded her. They sat in silence a long moment until Melna spoke again, ¡°I think you¡¯re ready to learn something new.¡±


    Lissa¡¯s eyes widened in excitement, but Melna looked anything but excited. She grabbed the skeleton of a small rodent from the altar, using her good hand to pluck three of its legs free. Lissa cocked her head. ¡°What are you doing?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Making sure it can¡¯t run away,¡± Melna answered.


    That made Lissa¡¯s eyes go wide. As she watched Melna grab the bowl. She hovered the clay container over the rodent¡¯s corpse, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes. She poured the blood liberally over the bones, making sure to completely coat them. As she exhaled, the light in the room visibly dimmed a moment.


    Then, the blood covering the skeleton began to turn black, the area between its bones filing in with darkness. Its head began to twitch, and its tail made shaky motions. Lissa shot Melna an excited glance, but her mentor looked more worried than anything.


    She turned her attention back to the rodent. The claws of its one remaining leg flexed. ¡°Is it alive?¡± Lissa asked.


    ¡°Gods no,¡± Melna answered. ¡°That is not life. It¡¯s a shade, the remnants of what was once a life. When you and I die, we¡¯ll live on in the Reaper¡¯s care. Animals aren¡¯t so lucky. They don¡¯t have whatever it is that allows us to continue to the next life. What¡¯s left of them rots along with their corpse.¡±


    Lissa frowned. ¡°That¡¯s awfully depressing,¡± she said as the rodent began to gaze about the room. ¡°Seems like it¡¯d be very useful to bring draft horses and such back to life like this.¡±


    Melna shook her head and rather than answer, picked up the bowl of blood and let some drip on the surface of the altar. She didn¡¯t allow it to sink in, and the red liquid pooled on the surface. The rodent¡¯s black eyes locked on the blood, and it let out an ear-splitting screech as it clawed its way toward the blood. As its claws dipped into the liquid, the blood began to turn black and the smell of rot permeated the air.


    The pool of blood shrank as the creature touched it. It flowed along its skeletal limb and fed the darkness pooling in its ribcage. She felt its eye sockets turn to her and she sensed a hunger within them. As the creature clawed toward them, Melna grabbed one of the larger bones from the altar and smacked it further away from them. The creature screeched in defiance as it single-mindedly clawed its way back to them.


    Lissa¡¯s excitement had quickly turned to horror. ¡°Why are you showing me this?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Because,¡± Melna said, ¡°It¡¯s very important that when somebody inevitably asks you to bring a loved one back to life, you don¡¯t.¡±


    Lissa swallowed. ¡°There¡¯s no way to control it?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Reavers could control animals to an extent as long as they had a steady supply of blood, but they¡¯re all long dead¡± She glanced to Lissa. ¡°You and I? No.¡±


    ¡°What happens if you raise a person?¡± Lissa asked.


    ¡°You die,¡± Melna answered, looking hard into her eyes.


    Lissa glanced at the skeletal rodent as Melna swatted it away again. ¡°How do you kill it?¡± She paused. ¡°Again, I mean.¡±


    A grim smile crossed Melna¡¯s face. She nodded toward one of the lit candles on the altar. ¡°Be a dear and bring that closer,¡± She said as she dipped her fingers into what was left of the bowl of blood.


    Lissa grabbed the waxy candle and held it out to Melna. The old woman raised her hand above the candle. Lissa watched as a drop of blood hit the flame. The fire immediately turned green, and the area around it, grew cold.


    ¡°Shade flame,¡± Melna stated, as if that explained everything.


    Lissa glanced to the old woman, a question in her eyes.


    ¡°Touch it to the shade,¡± Melna said, looking to the rodent.


    Lissa took a deep breath and moved the candle toward the rodent. Its eyes locked on the flame, and it screeched, struggling to claw itself away from the green fire. Lissa hesitated. It didn¡¯t want to die. Melna firmly grabbed her hand holding the candle and made her touch the flame to the creature.


    The darkness between its bones was immediately engulfed in green flame as if she had ignited a pool of oil. Its screeches filled the room as it thrashed. Then, as suddenly as it began, it was over, and all that was left of the thing were blackened bones lying across the altar.


    Lissa took a deep breath. Melna put a hand on her shoulder. ¡°I admire your compassion, but that creature deserved none of it.¡±


    ¡°Then why did we bring it to life?¡± Lissa asked.


    Melna turned to her, her dark eyes boring into her. ¡°Because you need to know how to kill one should the need ever arise.¡±


    That sent a shiver down Lissa¡¯s spine as she watched the blackened bones uneasily, as if they might come back to life at any moment. She tore her eyes from the twice dead rat, gaze drifting across the offerings of bones and settling on the golden brooch Melna always kept atop the altar. The old woman rose each morning and polished it to a shine before reverently placing it back atop the altar.


    Lissa asked the question she¡¯d been wondering from the day she¡¯d set eyes on it. ¡°Is that a Briar Guard¡¯s brooch?¡± she asked.


    Melna was quiet a moment before answering. ¡°That was my husband¡¯s Briar. From before the war. Served the Earl nigh on ten years. Never got his body back. Just the Briar.¡±


    Lissa frowned. ¡°Sorry,¡± she said.


    Melna sighed and raised her hand, revealing a gold band around her ring finger. ¡°Now all I have left are his two promises.¡± She looked to the brooch on the altar. ¡°For some men, duty is the most important thing in the world. He gave his life to prove it.¡±


    Melna shook her head. ¡°Foolish bastard,¡± she said, pausing, ¡°Then again, I married him knowing that, so which one of us is the fool?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing foolish about love,¡± Lissa said.


    Melna smiled. ¡°No, there isn¡¯t. But it makes us do foolish things.¡± Her eyes drifted back to the golden briar. ¡°The Earl brought it to me himself, nigh on eighteen years ago. Put it right into the hand of my son. The fool has been trying to follow in his father¡¯s footsteps ever since.¡±


    Lissa saw a tear appear in the corner of the old woman¡¯s eyes. ¡°That¡¯s the power of love. It transcends death and molds boys into men, while a lack of it turns them into monsters.¡±


    Melna gently caressed the sharp brooch. ¡°Care for those you hold dear, girl. As the years stretch long behind you and few remain, one thing you will never regret is having told somebody you love them.¡±


    ¡°What about Billy? You two seemed- close,¡± Lissa said, watching the woman¡¯s face for any hint of an expression.


    Melna frowned. ¡°He was my husband¡¯s best friend, and I loved his wife like a sister. It¡¯s hard to see him. It mixes all the good with the bad,¡± she said, ¡°But yes, even Billy.¡±

 Ch 22: The Times

    Billy¡¯s mind spun as he sat in the Son¡¯s war room. A large map of Bleakridge was laid out on the table, and on the far wall was a map of the Rills, marked with the locations of the dozens of townships that dotted the vast countryside. Red circles adorned the northern half of the land, marking suspected locations of forced labor camps in the north. Getting intelligence in those areas was difficult as the garrisons took to killing first and asking questions later as there was little reason to be that far north unless you had business with a camp. The map ended far to the north as the rolling hills faded into the great northern forest. He¡¯d only ever seen the vast woods from a distance on patrols long ago, but the haunting sight still gave him chills.


    Billy shook his head, taking a deep breath as he looked around the men sitting with him at the circular table. Marc stood, leaning over a sheaf of parchments that Billy assumed held the orders Kid had mentioned. James had just arrived after a long trip through the tunnels. A freshly bandaged wound lay bloody along his left arm. If the wound bothered him, he gave no indication. Billy supposed if anyone were accustomed to pain, it would be the Gatekeeper.


    He owed the man a drink that was long overdue, for trying in Varna while he had only watched. He¡¯d have to see to it before their time came to a close.


    The rest of Marc¡¯s gang leaders were trickling in. Most were near his own age, Veterans of the last war who never put their swords down. He knew some of them from a lifetime ago, most of them hard bastards. The extremities of the Sons may be little better than rabble, but Billy had to admit Marc presented a strong center.


    His mind drifted back to Grim once more and he sighed. That boy could never seem to keep his nose out of trouble. He could still remember handing the boy his first axe and shield. Bastard was big even then. Billy ran a hand through his thinning hair. He¡¯d trained hundreds of boys into killers and outlived more than he cared to think about.


    Marc rapped his knuckles on the table and Billy realized that the seats around the table had been occupied by the twenty-some-odd men who led the various cells around the city. Each knew little more about the organization at large beyond what was needed to keep their slice of the pie intact and operational. That was by design, so that if any one of them or their men were captured, the Venarans wouldn¡¯t know all the ways into the Son¡¯s sanctum or the extent of their operations within the walls.


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    Marc looked across the assembled leaders as the room fell silent. ¡°Tomorrow there will be blood,¡± he said breaking the quiet and securing the attention of every man in the room. Sources within the Venaran army leaked information to us of a raid to come tomorrow.¡±


    Marc tossed a rolled piece of parchment onto the table. ¡°Somehow information on our supply depots was leaked,¡± he said, ¡°And I¡¯d recommend you all had best look to your men for leaks, before I start looking.¡±


    Marc let the silence linger, meeting the gaze of every man at the table, as the gang leaders passed the plans around the table.


    ¡°They¡¯ve pushed too hard this year, and have taken too much. We will not quietly step out of their path. We know where they will be and when they will be there. We will meet them, and we will be ready.¡±


    That statement was met with a roar of approval from most of the men in the room as they beat their hands on the table. Billy was passed the parchment and he took in the markings on the map. It was just as Kid had said.


    Billy spoke up, ¡°Who¡¯s the source for this information?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Unimportant,¡± Marc answered.


    Billy narrowed his eyes. ¡°It¡¯s important to our men who¡¯ll be betting their lives on it.¡±


    Marc was quiet a moment as murmurs of agreement sounded around the room. ¡°Leadership of the Fifth Cohort. Seems they didn¡¯t appreciate their underground assignment,¡± he said, conceding the point.


    That brought a handful of chuckles from around the room. Billy nodded in thanks, passing the parchment to his right. ¡°Is the deal that we don¡¯t bring the cave down on their heads?¡±


    Marc glared at Billy, seeming to not appreciate this line of questioning. ¡°It was asked but will not be honored.¡±


    Billy spat on the floor. ¡°And you¡¯d piss on your word so easily?¡±


    Marc leaned forward on the table, eyes boring into Billy. ¡°They¡¯re southerners and not deserving of mercy.¡±


    Part of Billy wanted to tell Marc Grim was there and too important to throw away, but he saw no way to bring that up without sacrificing Kid. He steeled himself.


    Billy leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. ¡°Killing men who would work with us is shortsighted.¡±


    ¡°The times call for hard measures,¡± Marc answered.


    ¡°Men who blame their actions on the times are cowards,¡± Billy spat.


    The room went dead silent, every man carefully inspecting the grain of wood on the table as Marc and Billy glared at one another. The ominous quiet was broken by James, ¡°Marc, he¡¯s right on one point. If we break the trust of men who collaborate with us, we¡¯ll find ourselves short on allies before long.¡±


    Billy held Marc¡¯s gaze, seeing something ugly beyond those dark eyes as the man¡¯s face broke out into a grin. ¡°Maybe my anger got the best of me. I find it hard to forgive those who killed my kin,¡± he said, ¡°And since honor is so important to you, Billy- I¡¯ll give you the honor of leading our vanguard tomorrow.¡±


    That might very well be a death sentence. Billy met Marc¡¯s grin with one of his own. ¡°I¡¯ll fuck the whoresons good.¡±

 Ch 23: A New Home

    Hilda breathed in the air of the Outwalls, the growing heat of the sun giving fresh life to all the muck and shit across the city. The snow had completely disappeared from the roofs, the wood of the homes having gone dry as the bones in the city¡¯s catacombs. All that remained was a thin coating of slush lining the streets, squelching with her every step.


    She¡¯d closed the tavern early, hoping to see Lissa before the day¡¯s end. It¡¯d been some time since she¡¯d had a chance to see her with James as occupied as he was with his duties. It left little time for her to escape the daily grind of tavern life. She was looking to hire help, but that was proving difficult in the Outwalls. There was a reason business here kept to the family.


    She shook her head, pulling her jacket tighter about herself as a cold gust of wind washed over her. She soon reached the King¡¯s Road and crossed its breadth to the eastern side of the Outwalls where Melna lived.


    Around her, weary eyed men and women trudged through the streets, coming off early morning shifts in the foundries, smithing iron and smelting bronze. None who lived beyond the walls were true smiths, but many hands were needed to transport the vast quantities of raw materials, stoke the forges, clean the waste, and manage the inventory. Thankless jobs, but one of the few legal ways to better one¡¯s position in life should one of the smiths take a liking to you and offer an apprenticeship.


    She made her way down the winding streets until she came in sight of Melna¡¯s home. The handful of Sons loitering around the area watched her with lazy unconcerned eyes as they basked in the sunlight, its thin warmth taking the edge off the worst of the cold. Hilda walked up the short stoop to the door of the house. Inside, she could hear the muttering of voices. She knocked very lightly. The muttering continued, but the floorboards creaked as somebody crossed the threshold.


    A moment later the door opened to reveal Lissa. Her daughter¡¯s face lit up upon seeing her, and Lissa tackled her in a hug, nearly sending her stumbling off the stoop. Hilda smiled as he returned the hug, looking over Lissa¡¯s head to where a dozen hooded figures congregated before the altar, muttering prayers. Melna stood by the altar, blade in hand and accepting their offerings of blood into the altar.


    Lissa released her. ¡°People have been in and out all day,¡± she whispered.


    That piqued Hilda¡¯s interest. Her gaze drifted across the figures by the altar. When she looked for it, she could spot the outline of weapons beneath their cloaks. They were likely Marc¡¯s men if they¡¯d been allowed to carry weapons in here. If his soldiers had been in and out all day, that meant something big was coming.


    Hilda followed Lissa to the dining table where she pulled out a chair for Hilda. ¡°Take a seat. We¡¯ll only be a moment longer.¡±


    Hilda sat in the proffered chair, watching as Lissa bounded back toward Melna. Lissa had always been confident for a girl her age but seeing her now- it was as if she had blossomed in her short time with Melna. She stood beside the priestess, taking the blade from her hand.


    Melna had gestured for one of the men to step forward. ¡°I see you Talbrek,¡± she said, voice firm with the authority one would expect of the Reaper¡¯s representative.


    The man shuffled forward, head bowed and fell to his knees before Melna. He pulled back his hood, revealing a hard face lined with pocked scars. His eyes were those of a killer, dulled as if by having seen too much they¡¯d lost their light.


    ¡°Do you freely give of yourself, to our lady?¡± The priestess asked.


    Talbrek looked up meeting Melna¡¯s gaze with one full of fervor. ¡°My life to her and the Rills,¡± he said.


    Hilda fought the urge to roll her eyes. Men could be so dramatic sometimes.


    Lissa held out her hand and Talbrek placed his into her palm. The girl took the knife and raised it into the air. She took a deep breath, looking a little nervous. As she spoke, her voice was even. ¡°Our lady is inevitable, watching our every step. Make her proud, Talbrek.¡±


    ¡°By my blood,¡± he answered.


    Lissa nodded firmly, a slight smile spreading across her lips as her eyes drifted up to the tapestry of the Reaper on the wall. ¡°To you, our lady, we give this sacrifice. May you delay your coming.¡±


    Talbrek grimaced as the blade bit into his flesh of his hand, drawing a thin red line. Lissa led him to the altar and pressed his hand to the red hued stone. A red light pulsed across the altar at his touch and the man tensed, jaw clenching as his blood was pulled into the darkening stone.


    As Lissa pulled Talbrek¡¯s hand from the altar, he fell back, gasping. One of his comrades caught him and steadied him on his feet. Lissa looked up to the tapestry. Today the Reaper held her pale palms outstretched, a thin smile along her shadowed lips. A fire burned in the distance behind her while the Keeper bristled at her side, seeming ill at ease. The sight sent a chill down Hilda¡¯s spine.


    Lissa spoke, ¡°Fear not the dark for our Lady will light your way.¡±


    For some reason her words put Hilda at ease. Perhaps it was the truth in them. Death was only the beginning.


    Talbrek was looking up at her daughter with the same reverence men showed to Melna. For a brief moment his eyes shined, and he closed them, bowing his head and muttering a silent prayer under his breath. Hilda had never been more proud.


    Melna put a hand on Lissa¡¯s shoulder. ¡°As I showed you,¡± she whispered.


    Lissa nodded and turned to the altar, her eyes settling on the undulating darkness billowing across the stone. She closed her eyes, holding her hands out as the Reaper did in the tapestry.


    The darkeness of the altar stilled as if grasped and held in place. All prayers had stopped as every eye drifted to Lissa. The silence was deafening. Hilda felt her heart quicken as she realized her daughter was performing a true ritual.


    Lissa exhaled slowly and as she did, the darkness seeped from the altar into the air. The entire house dimmed, light seeming to be sucked from the air itself. The billowing cloud of inky blackness washed over Lissa as it spread toward the kneeling men behind her. The cloud engulfed them.


    The sight arose a craving in Hilda that pierced to her very soul, but she refrained from joining them. She had no need of the ritual, and such things could drive a person mad if indulged in. She keenly remembered the bloodshook men and women after the war, reduced to little more than animals as they struggled to sate their dependance.


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    Grins spread across the men¡¯s lips as they removed their hoods and breathed in deeply of the darkness. It seemed to seep into their flesh, and the cloud quickly dissipated. She watched their eyes as irises and veins went black, making their eyes appear like shattered porcelain. She recalled the thrill of the power running through you, banishing fear, doubt, and pain.


    Lissa let her hands fall to her side and as she did, light seemed to return to the room. The girl turned back to face the men. ¡°Go with our Lady¡¯s blessing and know she watches with interest.¡±


    The men rose to their feet and left the building without a word, as if compelled. And they may very well have been. Lissa had just performed very powerful magic. Compulsion was the least of what she could have done to them.


    Lissa sagged as the last man left, closing the door behind him. ¡°Good?¡± she asked, a bright smile spreading across her lips.


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t have done it better myself,¡± Melna said.


    ¡°That was amazing,¡± Hilda agreed.


    Melna¡¯s gaze drifted to Hilda for the first time. ¡°Lissa, dear. Would you put a kettle on and make us some tea?¡±


    Lissa nodded and bounded toward the kitchen on the far side of the house. ¡°Be right back,¡± she called over her shoulder.


    Melna watched her go, shaking her head as she walked to the table beside Hilda and took a seat. ¡°Your daughter is remarkable,¡± she said, settling into her chair with a sigh.


    Hilda smiled. ¡°She always had been.¡±


    Melna met her gaze. ¡°It took me a year of study to invoke the Reaper¡¯s blessing when there was an entire clergy to learn from. Your daughter mastered it in a week.¡±


    Hilda¡¯s brow rose in surprise. ¡°How is that possible?¡±


    Melna crossed her hands atop the table, a contemplative look on her face. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Perhaps as fewer people are touched by our Lady, those that she chooses become more powerful,¡± Melna said.


    Hilda was quiet, watching as the old woman looked to the kitchen. There was worry in her eyes. ¡°Should I be concerned?¡± she whispered.


    Melna didn¡¯t answer for a long moment. ¡°Men will seek to use her as they¡¯ve sought to use me,¡± she said, ¡°As her mother, you need to make sure she understands the power is a gift to her. Your daughter is a good girl with the potential to be a great woman.¡±


    Hilda nodded in understanding. ¡°Between us, I think she¡¯ll be in good hands.¡±


    Melna hesitated before nodding, seeming uncertain. ¡°I¡¯ve few years left before I¡¯ll meet the Reaper in person,¡± she said, ¡°The Goddess¡¯s blessing has not been kind to my body.¡±


    Hilda frowned, knowing the truth of it. The wrinkled, silver haired woman was only a few years older than herself, her flesh aged by the giving of life to save others both in the war and after. ¡°I¡¯ve heard it said that those touched by the Reaper are too stubborn to die.¡±


    Melna barked a laugh. ¡°There may be some truth to that,¡± she said, ¡°But I also heard it said that those touched by the Goddess are too dense to stay alive. Where does that leave me?¡±


    ¡°Stubbornly giving your life to others and still refusing to die,¡± Hilda suggested, ¡°Or perhaps just too dense to take our lady¡¯s proffered hand.¡±


    Melna grinned. ¡°My tutor always told me our lady works in mysterious ways. Mayhaps she¡¯s letting me hang on long enough to see your daughter become what she needs to be.¡±


    Hilda looked to the kitchen where the kettle screeched as it begun to boil atop the stove. The screeching died as Lissa poured the tea. ¡°I know it¡¯s rude to ask, but may I have a moment alone with my daughter?¡±


    Melna gasped in mock offence. ¡°You¡¯d throw an old woman out of her own house?¡±


    ¡°With a smile on my face,¡± Hilda said, grinning.


    Melna snorted. ¡°Fine. Fine. A mother¡¯s prerogative, I suppose. Could use a breath of fresh air myself in any case.¡± The old woman rose to her feet, snapping her fingers at Kryll.


    Hilda haddn¡¯t even noticed the Keeper was there, huddled into a ball of scales in a dark corner of the room. At Melna¡¯s gesture, he uncurled himself and thumped after her, claws digging small furrows into the wooden floor.


    Melna opened the door, closing her eyes and breathing in the air as the sunlight and cool wind washed over her. She stepped forward, disappearing from sight, Kryll following in her wake.


    As Lissa brewed the tea, Hilda leaned back in her chair, pride still warming her heart. But, despite Melna leaving, she still felt as if she were being watched. Her eyes drifted toward the tapestry of the Reaper once more. It felt as if she were looking right at her, the fire behind her growing closer and fiercer. The sight raised the hairs on the back of Hilda¡¯s neck.


    She was distracted as Lissa approached, holding a tray with three clay cups and a matching teapot. ¡°Where¡¯s Melna?¡± she asked.


    Hilda smiled warmly. ¡°She just wanted to get some fresh air with Kryll.¡±


    Lissa nodded absently as she poured tea into the cups and passed one to Hilda. Hilda thanked her and wrapped her hands around the clay, relishing the warmth of the cup on her chilled hands.


    ¡°How do you like it here?¡± she asked.


    Lissa brightened at the question as she took a seat at the table. ¡°It¡¯s-¡± her mouth worked as if trying to find the right word. She laughed. ¡°I can¡¯t even describe how amazing it is. I¡¯ve learned so much.¡±


    Hilda smiled, eyes a little blurred with tears. ¡°Tell me everything,¡± she said.


    Lissa was happy to oblige, and words fell from her lips like a waterfall about all the things she¡¯d done, the people they¡¯d healed, funny noises Kryll made when sleeping, the chores she did, Marc¡¯s periodic visits, and a million other things.


    Hilda was happy but it all made her heart ache just a little bit to know her little girl was growing up. It was only a few weeks ago that they were sewing dolls together from old scraps of cloth, laughing about how James had tripped and poured a mug of ale all over himself. She had a feeling there weren¡¯t many of those days left in their future.


    As Lissa went on about how Kryll ate, Hilda cut her off. ¡°I love you,¡± she said.


    Lissa paused and smiled. ¡°I love you too, mom.¡±


    Hilda smiled in return. ¡°Sorry. I just had to-¡±


    She was cut off herself as the door of the house opened. She tuned to see James striding through the door. Her smile widened. ¡°James?¡± she asked.


    His face was grim, and her smile faded. ¡°Is everything okay?¡±


    ¡°Good. You¡¯re already here.¡± James looked over his shoulder as Melna followed him through the door. ¡°The Venarans are coming tomorrow,¡± he said, ¡°Marc has it on good authority that they¡¯ll be targeting the western Outwalls. But, it¡¯s best that we get you all below ground.


    ¡°Phaw,¡± Melna said as she pushed past him and settled into a seat at the table. ¡°The west is the opposite side of town, and if you think I¡¯m leaving my house then you¡¯ve lost your marbles.¡±


    ¡°Suit yourself,¡± he said, ¡°Lissa, you¡¯ll need to pack a bag.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she said.


    James blinked in surprise, clearly taken aback. ¡°No?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I won¡¯t leave Melna alone.,¡± she said, voice firm.


    Melna shook her head. ¡°Kryll will be with me as he¡¯s been the last two decades of this life. I¡¯ll be fine dear.¡±


    Lissa¡¯s face was stern. ¡°If you¡¯ll be fine, then I will too.¡±


    ¡°This isn¡¯t a negotiation,¡± James said, voice raising.


    The news was worrying, but James was overreacting as he did every year. The Venarans would come out, break some things, burn down a few places owned by the Sons, and go home as they did every year. Hilda reached out and put a hand on James¡¯ arm. ¡°I¡¯ll stay with her James.¡±


    James was quiet a moment, eyes drifting between the two of them as he realized he didn''t have any support in the matter. A long moment passed before he sighed. ¡°Okay. Just be careful tomorrow and stay off the streets.¡±


    He ran a scarred hand through his hair and his gaze drifted to Kryll who was stretching lazily across the floor. He sighed. ¡°I suppose I¡¯ll be leaving you in good claws.¡±


    ¡°What will you be doing tomorrow?¡± Hilda asked.


    James bit his lip before answering, ¡°Marc wants us to bloody them this year. I¡¯ll be setting up ambushes on the west side of town.¡±


    As she was about to respond, he interjected, ¡°One of the safer duties, I assure you.¡± He smiled, wrinkling the scars across his face. ¡°Besides, the running joke among my men is that I¡¯m just too pretty to die.¡±


    ¡°And don¡¯t you forget it,¡± Hilda said, smiling as James laughed at his own dumb joke.


    She rose to her feet, walked up to him, and kissed him fiercely on the lips. His arms wrapped around her hips, and he lifted her from the ground, swinging her in a circle. As their lips parted, she whispered into his ear. ¡°You had better come home.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll always come home to you,¡± he answered.

 Ch 24: The Finger

    The bronze blade gleamed in the sunlight, a fine blade polished to a glorious shine. Grim scowled at it. Sure- he¡¯d used a sword before, but he was twice the hand with an axe. Swords required a certain measure of finesse which he distinctly lacked, preferring to crush through his problems with brute strength.


    The armor he¡¯d been given was equally disappointing. Bronze plates riveted into a leather coat, presenting gleaming bronze scales. It was clearly made with a somewhat smaller man in mind. He had the straps tied as loosely as was practical, and still the edges dug into his skin just enough to be uncomfortable. The armor in general was heavy and lacked the mobility that mail provided, but he supposed he¡¯d be happy for it if an axe took him in the gut. He shrugged his shoulders, feeling the scales on his shoulders flex and grate against one another.


    Grim sighed, sheathing the sword. He¡¯d asked for an axe, but it seemed the Venarans didn¡¯t keep anything of the quality for war. Besides, he¡¯d need the sword for the blade challenge a few days later. Assuming he lived that long.


    Edgar grunted in tacit agreement as he inspected his own weaponry. In the distance, soldiers milled about the barracks, preparing for the day¡¯s events. Grim and Edgar stood near the training rings where the nobility was hard at work sparring in preparation for the coming event.


    The Marshal had granted Grim permission the leave the premises of the manse after the first trial, but he was still confined to the fort itself. He longed to get the hell out of here. He glanced to Edgar. It¡¯d been quite some time since he¡¯d seen the man. His left eye was swollen shut and much of his skin was covered in mottled bruises. It seemed his accommodations in the Venaran barracks were far less kind than Grim¡¯s in the manse. A pang of guilt ran through him as his gaze drifted to the man¡¯ severed fingers. What right did he have to complain?


    ¡°You ready for today?¡± he asked.


    Edgar snorted. ¡°I¡¯d rather shit blood than fight for these fuckers.¡±


    Grim nodded sagely. ¡°I¡¯d rather drink piss than fight for these fuckers.¡±


    Edgar grinned. ¡°I¡¯d rather suck Longreen¡¯s cock than fight by his men.¡±


    Grim raised an eyebrow. ¡°I can try to arrange that.¡±


    Edgar raised an eyebrow back at him. ¡°I dare you.¡±


    Grim laughed, shaking his head. ¡°How fucked you think we are?¡±


    ¡°Fucking fucked, in my estimation,¡± Edgar answered.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Grim said.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Edgar agreed.¡±


    That was all there was to say on the matter. Grim glanced in the direction where Brian and Rafe stood muttering to each other, wondering what they were arguing about now. Edgar followed his gaze. ¡°You trust them?¡±


    ¡°More than anyone else here,¡± Grim answered. ¡°They have their own ambitions.¡± He paused. ¡°Well, Brian does at any rate.¡±


    ¡°Could try and run today,¡± Edgar commented.


    Grim bit his lip. The thought had occurred to him. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t blame you, but the family needs me to stay.¡±


    Edgar sighed. ¡°Thought that might be the case.¡±


    Grim nodded to where Brian and Rafe stood. ¡°I ought to check on them before they start henpecking each other.¡±


    Edgar shrugged and followed Grim as he walked across the yard, past the dozen or so nobles training with their retainers. Most were decent hands with a blade. Others- decidedly less so. As Rafe caught sight of Grim, the man¡¯s face brightened. ¡°Ah, Grim!¡± he exclaimed, glancing at Brian askance. ¡°I was just trying to convey to young Barrington here a fool proof way of ensuring he has a good showing in the next challenge.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not doing that,¡± Brian muttered.


    ¡°Doing what?¡± Grim asked, coming to a stop beside them.


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    Brian glared at Rafe. Rafe smiled in return. ¡°I was explaining to young Brian here the merits of making myself his second and feigning an injury for the competition.¡±


    Grim raised an eyebrow. ¡°What good would that do him?¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re injured, your second fights in your stead,¡± Brian explained.


    Rafe put a hand on Brian¡¯s shoulder. ¡°And therefore, it is common practice for our less- martially inclined peers to take a knee for this leg of the competition and let their retainers fight in their place.¡±


    Brian scowled. ¡°It¡¯s dishonorable.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Venarn,¡± Rafe countered, waggling his finger in the air as if chiding a child. He turned to Grim. ¡°Harren once described his brother¡¯s swordplay to me as akin to watching a child discovering his willie for the first time.¡±


    Brian¡¯s scowl deepened, but he didn¡¯t argue the point.


    Girm snorted. ¡°He might have a point, Brian. But, I¡¯m questioning his choice in your second.¡±


    Rafe held a hand over his heart, eyes wide as if wounded. ¡°Grim, you do me a great disservice. When sober, I¡¯m a fine hand with a blade. In my year, I placed second- behind only Brian¡¯s most honorable brother.¡±


    Grim raised an eyebrow. ¡°You? Sober?¡±


    Rafe nodded, deathly serious. ¡°A sacrifice, I¡¯m willing to make to ensure our friend¡¯s triumph.¡±


    Grim looked to Brian. ¡°I kind of want to see this.¡±


    Brian rolled his eyes. ¡°No.¡±


    Rafe sighed, shoulders sagging in an exaggerated fashion as he conceded defeat. ¡°Fine. I concede. At least let me give you a few pointers your brother gave me in my time.¡± He gestured to the sword at Brian¡¯s hip a moment. ¡°Draw your blade.¡±


    Brian did so, a question in his eyes.


    Rafe nodded his approval. ¡°Hold it out in a defensive stance, I want to see your form.¡±


    Brian did so, holding the blade in both hands before him in a middle guard.


    Rafe walked in a circle around Brian.


    ¡°What are you looking for?¡± Grim asked.


    Rafe ignored the question. ¡°Hmmm. His grip is a little off.¡± He reached out to Brian¡¯s hands and pulled the fingers of his sword arm off the blade. A snap sounded as Rafe wrenched the boy¡¯s index finger in a circular motion.


    Brian cried out, dropping the blade in the grass. He backed away from Rafe, cradling the wounded hand to his chest. ¡°What the hell?¡± he screamed.


    Rafe shrugged as if it were of no consequence. He held up his hands in a calming gesture. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t fake an injury. What was I supposed to do, stand by and watch you get trounced?¡± he asked.


    Grim could only stare, barely believing his own eyes and ears. Brian¡¯s eyes seemed to be about to burst from his head. ¡°You weren¡¯t supposed to break my finger, you ass.¡± Brian glared at Rafe before turning to stalk away toward the manse, cradling his injured hand.


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome!¡± Rafe called after him.


    Grim watched Brian go for a moment before turning to Edgar. ¡°You want any swordplay tips from his lordship?¡±


    Edgar snorted. ¡°I¡¯m good.¡±


    Rafe regarded the man. ¡°Your loss. I¡¯m sure I could teach you a thing or two.¡± He winked.


    Edgar didn¡¯t bother responding. Rafe lost interest a moment later, his eyes drifting toward the Barracks where most of the sixth legion was held. ¡°What in the blazes do you think they¡¯re up to? Is our good host running another one of his raids during the thaw?¡±


    The cat would be out of the bag in less than half an hour. Grim saw no need to hide it any longer. It was obvious to anyone with eyes. ¡°Aye. And we have the distinction of joining them an extra dose of cannon fodder.¡±


    Seeing Rafe genuinely surprised was satisfying. The man looked to Grim with wide eyes. ¡°You¡¯re what?¡±


    Grim grinned ¡°No need to look so worried.¡±


    Rafe shook his head. ¡°My good man- if you and Harren fall in battle, I¡¯ll find myself so awfully bored,¡± he said, ¡°Can you imagine a worse fate?¡±


    Grim nodded along. ¡°My heart bleeds for you.¡±


    Rafe met Grim¡¯s eyes with a serious look, reaching out and grasping his hand. ¡°And mine beats for you.¡±


    Grim stared at him, watching as the corners of Rafe¡¯s lips twitched until he couldn¡¯t handle it anymore and burst out laughing. He patted Grim on the shoulder. ¡°Well, I supposed I had best be off to see Harren and wish him luck. The Fifth never march without their glorious leader.¡±


    Grim blinked. ¡°The Fifth, as in Fifth Cohort?¡± He had a sinking feeling.


    ¡°Best soldiers under the golden sun,¡± Rafe said with a snicker. His eyes widened and a fresh grin broke across his face. ¡°Goddess kiss my hairy ass. You¡¯re assigned under him, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    Grim scowled. ¡°The Marshal wanted to spring that on the fifth¡¯s Prefectus as a nice surprise,¡± he said, ¡°If you see him, keep that close to your chest or Longreen will make us both regret it.¡±


    Rafe waved at him dismissively. ¡°Well, if you¡¯re just going to take all the fun out of it, then I¡¯ll simply return to the manse and drink to your victory. Starting tomorrow, I¡¯ll have to put the bottle away and shake out my cobwebs, lest I give Brian a poor showing.¡±


    A scream sounded from across the yard. Grim¡¯s eyes snapped to where he saw one of his fellow competitors nursing a limp wrist, his sword lost to the dirt. To Grim¡¯s eyes, it was at worst a sprain, but for all the yelling the boy was doing, you¡¯d think he¡¯d have cut the damn thing off.


    ¡°Another terrible injury, I¡¯m sure,¡± Rafe said, with a chuckle.


    Grim sighed. He hated these people. ¡°Why does the Marshal let them do this?


    ¡°The sooner you realize this is all just for the old fart¡¯s amusement, the sooner it will all make sense,¡± Rafe said before turning back to the manse. ¡°Good Luck, Thorne,¡± he called over his shoulder.


    ¡°Are all of them like that?¡± Edgar asked.


    Grim shook his head. ¡°He¡¯s a special breed. Better in some ways, worse in others.¡±


    Edgar was quiet a moment. ¡°You think we¡¯ll ever make it out of here?¡±


    Grim shrugged. ¡°On our feet or in a casket.¡±

 Ch 25: Personally Responsible

    Soldiers buzzed about him in the barracks. They were caught in the throes of their preparation, readying arms and armor as they prepared for the coming fight. The orders had been given and Harren had readied himself in anticipation near an hour ago. There was little to do but wait until the men were readied. They¡¯d then proceed to assemble in the courtyard at the appointed hour.


    Gavin stood near him in a similar state, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. ¡°You look nervous,¡± the man remarked.


    Harren¡¯s face soured. ¡°I¡¯m not nervous, just impatient. I want to get on with it.¡±


    Gavin shrugged. ¡°Most of war is waiting for something interesting to happen. You¡¯d best get used to it.¡± He shook his head. ¡°Besides, there¡¯s little enough to worry about today.¡±


    Harren grunted in acknowledgement but was less than sure, himself. His eyes were drawn to the door of the barracks as a soldier unfamiliar to him strode through the door. He wore the regalia of one of the Marshal¡¯s personal guard. He came to a halt before Harren and saluted. Harren returned the salute and gestured for him to speak.


    ¡°Marshal is collecting the Prefectus¡¯ for a final word prior to the assault. First Barracks,¡± he said, voice clipped and precise.


    Harren cocked his head. ¡°Seems an odd time to convene.¡±


    The soldier shrugged. ¡°Not my place to question, or yours Prefectus.¡±


    Harren glared at the man as he turned on his heel and strode from the Barracks. Gavin snorted. ¡°Don¡¯t take it personally. All his lapdogs are asses. Think they¡¯re better than those of us on the ground.¡± Gavin met his gaze. ¡°Marshal probably just wants to pump up his ego with a speech before the battle. Play along and all will be well.¡±


    Harren sighed before taking his leave, striding from the building onto the dirt roads between the barracks. They were packed with soldiers. All told, the Sixth Legion was bringing less than a sixth of its fighting strength to bear, near three thousand men. Harren only planned to bring around a hundred into the tunnels. Ostensibly because there was no need to risk more men to a collapse, but in reality, it was because those hundred men were the core of Gavin¡¯s support base in the fifth. Those most loyal and least likely to talk.


    Harren shuffled through the crowd, being jostled about as shoulders from passing men caught him. Whether or not it was intentional was hard to tell. In either case, the disrespect still nagged at his trampled pride. He hated this life. He was born to rule, not to be held to the whims of an upstart peasant reaching beyond his station.


    He felt his hand tighten around the hilt of his sword as he reached the First Barracks, striding through the door and making his way to the Staff Room. The Marshal was already there, standing at the head of the table with Peltar sitting to his right, an angry look on his face. The Prefectus¡¯ were assembling in the room, Harren being the third to arrive. He took a seat at the table, waiting for the room to fill.


    As the final man strode in and took his place at the table, the Marshal let his eyes drift over the assembled officers. The silence lingered a moment, growing uncomfortable, before Longreen spoke. ¡°Too many of our brothers have fallen to the blades of murderers and cowards who hide in the shadows. Today is a day we get to strike back and pay back the blood spilt in kind,¡± he said, ¡°Tell your men that for every ear they bring me, I¡¯ll pay in silver for their trouble. There will be no mercy, and no quarter.¡±


    Harren could have sworn the Marshal¡¯s eyes settled on him for the last part of that statement. The hairs on the back of his neck rose.


    Longreen raised a hand and snapped his fingers. A series of scribes filed into the room, holding scrolls and passing them among the Prefectus. As Harren was handed one with his name written across the length. He unrolled it, eyes skimming across the parchment. It was a redrafting of the battle plans. New targets in new locations, save for the Fifth¡¯s. Their target was unchanged. Everything about that gave Harren a bad feeling, but he tried not to let his unease show.


    Murmers of disgruntlement sounded from around the room as the officers saw their carefully laid plans evaporate. Peltar spoke up, ¡°Your Grace, it¡¯s really too late to be changing targets. It¡¯ll be chaos without time to plan the logistics.¡±


    Longreen glared at the man. ¡°Did I ask for your opinion, General?¡±


    Peltar quieted, a sour look on his face.


    Glorian, Prefectus of the Second Cohort, spoke up next, voice nervous. ¡°Your Grace, may I-¡±


    Longreen raised his hand. ¡°There will be no questioning of these orders and you will see them done on schedule. Assemble your men and plot a path. Carve through anyone in your way if need be.¡± Longreen¡¯s eyes found Harren. ¡°Prefectus Barrington, I¡¯ve assigned you an attach¨¦ for this assignment. It¡¯s a punishment for him, not for you, but I will hold you personally responsible for his well-being.¡±


    Harren was about to voice a question, before remembering the Marshal¡¯s words of a few seconds ago. He bowed his head, ¡°Of course, your grace.¡±


    Longreen nodded. ¡°Dismissed. See to your men, coordinate your approach, and bury them.¡±


    The final words sent chills down Harren¡¯s spine. He feared he would be the one buried today. The officers stood as one at the dismissal, saluting the Marshal and filing out of the room. Harren¡¯s thoughts were swimming. If the Sons didn¡¯t kill him today, they surely would at his next patrol outing. There was no way they would see this as anything but a betrayal. Harren cursed Gavin beneath his breath.


    The Marshal must have known there was something wrong with the Fifth. Why else would this mysterious attach¨¦ appear in the final hour? Harren shook his head. There was nothing to be done now but to follow the orders and hope for the best.


    He soon found himself returned to the Third Barracks. Harren stopped in his tracks just inside the doorway, his momentum arrested by the sight of Grim Thorne. The man looked ridiculous, wearing a Venaran coat of plates that was clearly intended for a smaller man. He held a rectangular shield with the golden sun painted across its face and an officer¡¯s sword at his hip, slightly longer than the standard issue. Everything about the situation made Harren scowl.


    Grim returned an equally pleased expression on sighting Harren. As Harren approached, Grim begrudgingly nodded to him. ¡°Harren,¡± he greeted.


    ¡°That¡¯s Prefectus Barrington to you,¡± Harren answered, looking up at the too large man.


    Grim looked as if he were considering punching Harren. Harren hoped he did. It¡¯d give him an excuse to leave him behind. Harren met Grim¡¯s gaze until another Rillman stepped between them. He had a face that looked like somebody had used it for boxing practice.


    The Rillman met Harren¡¯s gaze for a moment before bowing. ¡°Lord Barrington. Forgive my friend. His mother was a very clumsy woman.¡±


    Harren cracked a smirk. ¡°You let your own men talk to you like that, Thorne?¡±


    Grim snorted and thumped a meaty fist on his man¡¯s shoulder. ¡°If they don¡¯t say it to your face, they¡¯ll say it to your back.¡±


    Harren conceded the point with a shrug. ¡°I take it you two are the wards Longreen is putting in my care?¡±


    Grim nodded like a sullen bear. His companion had slightly more grace. ¡°Edgar, at your service, lord.¡±


    Harren took a deep breath. Gavin was going to want to kill them. It wasn¡¯t that he objected to that eventuality, but that the Marshal had made him personally liable for their well-being. Hells, maybe Longreen was trying to bury the both of them. Two birds one stone, and a dusty grave.


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    As if the mere thought of the man summoned him, Gavin appeared from his rooms in the rear of the barracks. ¡°Ah, Harren. I see you¡¯ve come across our most unexpected guests,¡± Gavin said, all smiles.


    Harren nodded as the man approached, coming to a halt before them. ¡°The Marshal has made me personally responsible for their well-being.¡±


    Gavin was quiet a moment. ¡°Would Longreen take note of their absence if we were to keep the gentlemen safe at the Barracks?¡±


    Grim scowled, crossing his arms. ¡°Undoubtedly.¡±


    Gavin looked to Harren. ¡°Then we must take care of them.¡±


    There was a slight edge to the man¡¯s voice. Harren could tell Grim had taken note, his eyes shifting between them with a hint of unease. Harren changed the subject, ¡°Are the men prepared? We need to begin assembling in the field.¡± He looked around the barracks at the fully armed men, already knowing the answer.


    ¡°Yes, on your command,¡± Gavin answered.


    Harren took a deep breath. He wondered if he was supposed to give some kind of speech at a time like this. All the heroes in the stories did with grand uplifting orations about glory and the sirens song of victory.


    But- he was no hero, and there was certainly no glory to be had from this farce. He had done what he needed to do to survive, and it nagged at him with a feeling of wrongness. Nobles were supposed to be better than this, above the foibles of lesser men. Yet he seemed mired in them. What did that make him?


    His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword at his side, deciding to say only what was required. ¡°Marshal said he¡¯d pay in silver for any ears we bring back, so bring a knife,¡± he said, looking across the room at the dozens of armed men. They knew nothing of the deal he and Gavin made and thought they were marching to their graves. Many looked like frightened rabbits, waiting for any excuse to bolt. But, was he any different?


    ¡°Cohort, on me,¡± he said, turning from his men and striding through the door of the barracks into the sunlight beyond. Several thousand soldiers were assembling before the main gate, the synchronous pounding of boots and clanking of armor announcing their intentions from a mile away.


    He led his men into the stream of soldiers and pulled the fresh orders from his pocket a final time. His orders were unchanged, but the targets of the other cohorts were concentrated in a specific portion of the Outwalls. He wondered what their orders said. Whatever it was, the Marshal had something very specific in mind.


    The individual cohorts coalesced into neat lines behind their respective Prefectus. The hour of their departure was nearly upon them. There was much Harren wanted to tell Gavin, but no opportunity or time to do so. The number of ways this could go wrong or end in his death spun through his mind.


    He looked to the gate and watched as the huge wooden doors began to creak open, revealing the city beyond. It all suddenly felt very real, as if the time before that moment were a dream. His pulse quickened and he clenched and unclenched the fists at his side. Tingles of fear and nervousness ran down his spine. He¡¯d killed in duels before, but he¡¯d never been in real combat.


    General Peltar appeared from the right side of the field atop a radiant white horse, dressed in full battle regalia. He wouldn¡¯t be joining them of course, but Harren supposed the general ought to look the part while he saw them off.


    Peltar¡¯s horse pawed at the dirt road beneath its hooves as he drew it to a halt. The beast whinnied as he pulled the reins, turning to face the assembled men. Peltar raised his voice to an impressive volume as he addressed the assembly, ¡°Every man here has lost a brother to the Sons, whether from an arrow in the dark or a knife in the back,¡± he said, ¡°This is our reckoning. The Sixth does not forget nor does it forgive.¡±


    He drew his sword. ¡°Strike hard, look to your brothers in arms and we will see a golden day.¡±


    Peltar¡¯s gaze drifted across the assembled men. ¡°I¡¯ll not waste more of your time with words.¡± He raised the blade. ¡°To the Red dawn,¡± he roared.


    The assembled troops roared their approval, banging fists on shields and plated bronze. Harren looked to the golden sun painted across his own shield. Red dawn, eh? He looked back to Peltar as the cheers died down.


    The General sheathed his sword. ¡°First four Cohorts on me. Sixth and seventh will follow to secure our rear around the operational area.¡± His eyes settled on Harren. ¡°Fifth will leave last as your target location is closest.¡±


    Peltar raised his hand in a signal. From somewhere behind the lines, a deep bellowing horn sounded. In the same moment, the First Cohort fell into motion, their boots marching to a quick cadence. So much for any perceived element of surprise, but Harren supposed there was no point in attempting stealth at this point. The Sons probably had runners sent off the moment the gate cracked open.


    He watched the procession of thousands of men as they flowed through the gate in a tide of bronze. It was a sight to behold. Peltar followed close behind them, surrounded by a mounted bodyguard to rival the Marshal¡¯s own household guard.


    Harren never much paid attention to military matters in the past, thinking them beneath him but there was something to the unity in purpose that stirred something in him other than raw fear. He compartmentalized it and decided he¡¯d worry about that later as the last line of the Seventh Cohort flowed through the gate.


    Part of him wondered how much trouble he¡¯d get in if he ordered the gate closed and dismissed his men. He¡¯d probably hang before the day was out. Harren sighed and raised an arm to signal the men standing behind him. ¡°Forward!¡± he roared, in what he hoped was a commanding voice. He made his way to the gate, soldiers marching in step behind him. Gavin was close on his heels while Grim and the other Rillman awkwardly walked to his right, having no proper place in the Cohort.


    Harren continued to ponder the definition of personally responsible as he led the Fifth through the gate and down the main boulevard into town. He knew the way to his target by heart, having spent many an hour staring at the small mark on the map that may soon be his grave.


    He shook his head, pushing the thought down as he led the procession through the streets, soon breaking away from the main force as they traveled toward the southern gate. Passersby scrambled out of their way. Most watched him with wide, fearful eyes while others stared hatefully. The division was stark and the eyes upon him made his skin crawl. He felt his hand tighten around the straps of his shield.


    Their destination soon came into sight. It was a middling sized manse built in between sections of row houses. A wrought iron fence separated the grounds from the adjacent buildings. Inside the fence was a neatly tailored evergreen garden leading to a large two-story building with a sharply steepled roof designed to let snowmelt runoff. The curtains in all the windows were drawn.


    Harren looked to Gavin. ¡°Take first company around the back to make sure there¡¯s no surprises waiting for us there. I¡¯ll take the front in twenty counts.¡±


    Gavin nodded and saluted, an eye on Grim as he gathered the men and followed Harren¡¯s order.


    Harren fought the urge to fidget as he muttered the count to himself under his breath. The soldiers remaining with him seemed equally nervous, checking the straps of their armor and loosening blades in their scabbards. To Harren¡¯s chagrin, only Grim and his companion seemed remotely at ease. The Rillmen were even muttering under their breath to one another and chuckling. Harren tore his eyes from them and looked back to the manse. These people were mad.


    He hit his twenty count and raised his arm to signal his men. ¡°On me,¡± he called, advancing to the iron gate. The sloshing sound of boots marching through slush sounded behind him as he laid his hand on the gate and pushed. It was unlocked and creaked open with a groan.


    Harren forced himself to take deep breaths as he walked through the garden, half expecting a shower of arrows to come raining from the building at any moment. His heart was pounding as he reached the wooden door, and he clutched his shield close to his chest. He looked over his shoulder to his men. They looked up at him with terrified eyes. Heroes in stories always knew what to say in the final hour to bring courage to their soldiers. Nothing came to Harren. All he could give them was a solid nod that he hoped looked assured.


    He turned his attention back to the door and took a deep breath, readying himself. Any moment now.


    ¡°Need me to do the honors?¡± Grim asked.


    Harren scowled, not even looking at the man. The sudden anger fueled his courage and he shoved the door open, hoping for the best but fearing the worst.


    An empty hall greeted him, surrounded by empty rooms. At the far end of the hall, a lone Rillman sat at the feet of the stairwell on the far side of the building, a bottle of whiskey clutched in one hand. The man took a dep swig from the bottle as Harren made his way down the hall with his men in tow.


    He glanced into the adjoining rooms as he passed them. The house had clearly been furnished recently. Discoloration on the walls showed where paintings had hung and scuff marks on the wood floor betrayed the furniture that had once been there. His soldiers searched the rooms behind him as he advanced toward the lone Son.


    Gavin soon appeared with his men in tow on the far side of the hall by the Son. The quartermaster shrugged to Harren. Nothing.


    As Harren neared the stairwell, the Son rose on unsteady feet, flinging his arms into the air and some of the contents of his bottle. ¡°My esteemed lords,¡± he slurred, ¡°Welcome to my humble abode!¡± He spun in a circle, arms outstretched.


    Harren scrunched his nose in distaste. ¡°Search the entire house,¡± he ordered. Soldiers streamed past him, making their way up and down the stairwell. All eyed the drunken rebel with curiosity.


    The man smiled at Harren, many teeth missing from his mouth. ¡°I assure you a search would be in vain. All that¡¯s left is little old me.¡± With each word he seemed to deflate, and his hand shook as he raised the bottle to his lips and took another drink. ¡°Apologies. Need to calm my nerves.¡± He sighed. ¡°I¡¯m to be your guide this evening.¡±


    ¡°Guide?¡± Grim asked.


    Harren scowled. He¡¯d gotten so caught up in the moment he¡¯d almost forgotten the big ox was on his heels. The Son looked past Harren, squinting his eyes at Grim as if trying to place him. ¡°Didn¡¯t tell your men that you¡¯re a big fat old traitor then, eh?¡±


    Harren lifted his sword and placed the tip under the old man¡¯s throat. ¡°If you¡¯re the guide, then guide. Don¡¯t speak.¡±


    After a moment of quiet, he pulled the blade away. The Son scowled at him with malice in his eyes then nodded in the direction of the stairs downward.


    The thumping of boots from the second level announced the return of the men sent to search there. ¡°Clear,¡± the leading soldier stated.


    Harren held out his hand to the stairwell down. ¡°After you.¡±

 Ch 26: The Flood

    Grim¡¯s unease grew with every step. He never expected to find such a blatantly obvious display of treachery. It was obvious some kind of deal had been made and in his infinite wisdom, he¡¯d chosen to announce his awareness of that fact. He¡¯d slap himself if he weren¡¯t wearing a helmet.


    The quartermaster, Gavin, eyed Grim uneasily and he stared back at the man. Calling the situation tense was an understatement, but there was little else to do besides follow along and see what happened. What was he going to do? Hack his way through the hundred men behind him and make a run for the exit?


    The stairs to the cellar creaked with every step, leading to a chorus of creaking as dozens of boots tread its surface at once. A dozen Venaran soldiers awaited them in the cellar and reported it empty to Harren. The nobleman nodded and the soldiers fell into line behind Harren and the old Rill man.


    Their guide led them to a deep hole carved into the floor of the cellar. A single torch was lit and held in a sconce by the pit. The Son called out behind him. ¡°You boys best start holding hands. I¡¯ve only got one light.¡±


    That comment led to more than a little grumbling. Grim glanced to Edgar and they shared a worried look. At least he wasn¡¯t alone in this.


    The old man plucked the torch from its sconce and let it drop into the pit, then groaned as he lowered himself onto the ladder leading into the depths far below. A moment later a clacking sounded as the torch hit solid stone beneath the earth.


    Harren descended after the man, and Grim followed in his wake as a stream of soldiers lowered themselves into the tunnel. It took quite some time for the entire company to file their way down the single ladder and it quickly grew crowded in the tight quarters. If the Sons chose to strike, they¡¯d be sitting ducks in the relative darkness.


    Grim was glad he¡¯d chosen to go down after Harren. It afforded him a position relatively close to the single light in the pitch darkness. The guide and Harren exchanged a few mumbled words and as a unit, they set off down the tunnel. A man behind Grim placed a hand on his shoulder. Grim didn¡¯t begrudge it, knowing most of those behind him likely couldn¡¯t see much, if anything.


    He¡¯d heard of these tunnels beneath the city but had never seen one up close. Rillmen were expert miners and iron mongers even before the war. The Sons had clearly made good use of the displaced talent. The tunnels were far larger than he imagined. A small army could march through here with relative ease if afforded proper lighting.


    As it was, there was much cursing from the rear ranks and the clattering sound of armor hitting stone as men tripped and fell then scrambled to catch up lest they be left in the dark. Fortunately, their guide didn¡¯t seem in much of a hurry, setting the steady pace of a tottering old man. After an interminable amount of walking, the tunnel began to curve. A light in the distance was revealed. Sighs of relief sounded around Grim as men assumed that must be the exit.


    Moments later they neared the source of the light. A single torch burned in a sconce set into the wall. Below it, an iron crowbar leaned against the wall.


    The old man came to a stop by it, took a swig from his bottle then tossed it to the ground. The bottle shattered in a spray of glass. Grim could feel dozens of men flinch from behind him, fearing the worst.


    The old man held out his torch to Harren and Harren took it. ¡°They were kind enough to mark the traps for me. My eyes ain¡¯t what they used to be,¡± he said with a sigh. The Son rolled his shoulders and folded back the sleeves of his shirt before lifting the crowbar with something approaching reverence.


    It was then that Grim noticed the carefully chiseled lines in the rock wall by the torch. Their guide took a deep breath as he placed the crowbar into one of the fissures. ¡°A lot of things ain¡¯t what they used to be,¡± the old man said, grunting as he heaved his weight into the rock.


    Stone crumbled as he worked his way along the fissure.


    ¡°My daughter sure isn¡¯t. Name was Ana. Lass was my life.¡± He grunted and a chip of stone fell away. ¡°I lost her, and the days don¡¯t seem near so bright as they used to.¡± He shook his head, working the crowbar into the next fissure.


    ¡°Ana Carlsdottir,¡± he whispered as if lost in thought.


    Grim saw recognition flash in Harren¡¯s eyes at the name.


    The man looked back to Harren as he rammed the crowbar into the final ridge. ¡°Boss said to see you safely through the tunnel.¡± The old man met Harren¡¯s eyes ¡°But, I¡¯m glad it¡¯s you.¡±


    Grim¡¯s eyes widened as water seeped through the wall, the stone around it crumbling. Harren stepped forward, blade drawn. Grim reached out and pulled him back by the straps of his armor, knowing it was too late. The Son heaved against the bar a final time and the trickle of water exploded into a pressurized stream that collapsed the wall and sent rocks flying outwards.


    Grim raised his shield and staggered as debris and freezing water crashed against him. The torches were snuffed out in the torrent and Grim was knocked from his feet, flying backwards into a tangle of limbs and screams.


    The initial force of the flood subsided and Grim staggered to his knees, coughing as he spit out water that had been forced down his throat. The water was already up to his elbows and flowed quickly down the tunnel. Behind him was the sheer pandemonium of over a hundred frightened, blind men in too close quarters.


    They must have flooded the tunnel using the underground river beneath the city. Grim staggered forward on his knees through the rushing tide. There were at least two ways out, and there was no way he¡¯d get anywhere clawing his way through the massed humanity behind him.


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    Pushing through the rush of water was difficult but grew easier as the tunnel filled more evenly. He soon reached the rocky debris from the collapsed wall and crawled over it with an effort. Spray from the hole tickled his cheeks as he crawled past it, staying as far from the opening as possible.


    His hands scraped against something metal between the rocks, and he pulled it free. He soon realized it was the crowbar. It didn¡¯t take a genius to figure that might come in handy when caught in a trap. He gasped as the rising water lapped at his chin, forcing him to stagger to his feet. The rushing tide had subsided as the water level equalized.


    Grim waded forward, knee deep in water. Screams of pain and cries of despair followed him down the tunnel. He could hear other people sloshing through the water behind him as he felt his way along the wall. He fought to control his rising panic as the water rose along his thigh. Just keep going forward. The tunnel has to go somewhere.


    A hand groped along Grim¡¯s back in the dark and pulled on him as whoever it was tried to shove past him. Grim cracked them across the arm with the crowbar lest they trip and drag him down with them. A scream sounded and the hand disappeared followed by a splash. Grim kept moving down the tunnel at a steady pace, keenly aware of the water rising along his thighs. Soon he¡¯d have to swim.


    He tucked the crowbar in his belt, drew his sword and began hacking at the straps of his armor, peeling off the heavy bronze. He cast aside the coat of plates and threw the sword with them. He¡¯d be missing them if he made it to the Outwalls, but at least he¡¯d be alive to miss them.


    His legs were starting to go numb as the water rose to his hips and he was starting to shake. He was having trouble wading through the water. Grim gritted his teeth before diving into cold darkness, doing his best to swim. He¡¯d never properly learned. There¡¯d never been much occasion to do so in the frigid hills of the Rills. He kicked with his legs and pawed at the walls, doing anything he could to push himself forward.


    He lost track of how long passed, feeling his extremities grow colder by the moment. He could hear men panting and splashing behind him, but far fewer than before. Most of the company must have tried to return the way they came. Grim rose for air, finding he could barely touch the floor of the tunnel on his toes. He reached overhead, finding the stone of the tunnel¡¯s roof close overhead.


    He cursed, taking a breath and diving forward once more, grateful the walls were rough cut with enough purchase to pull his way along. He could barely fit his head above the water at his next breath. His last breath had his lips nearly kissing the ceiling.


    He dove forward once more, and his face erupted in pain as he hit a wall. He stupidly opened his eyes to see what he ran into, before remembering there was no light.


    Actually- there was light below him. He could see the thin outline of what appeared to be a door frame. He swam down to where the handle would be and pulled against it.


    Locked.


    Lungs burning, he pulled the crowbar from his belt with deadened hands. Grim jammed one end of the bar where he thought the latch would be. He braced his legs against the tunnel wall and pulled with all his strength, desperately hoping his weakened arms wouldn¡¯t fail him.


    The wood groaned as the dim light revealed wisps of red running from his hands. Something cracked. Grim wasn¡¯t sure if it came from the doors or his arms until a blinding stream of light shined in his eyes and he went sprawling down the tunnel, crowbar flung from his hands.


    He collided hard into something, pushing a precious gasp of air from his lungs. It arrested his momentum and he reached out to find a body floating in the water. He forced his eyes open against the light.


    A half-dozen men were fighting their way through the door he breached. Rays of light shined past them, illuminating part of the tunnel behind him. Bodies lined the floor of the corridor, held down by their armor. Dying men kicked weakly, scraping their fingers against the stone of the ceiling, searching for air and kicking toward the light, their efforts fading with each passing second.


    A hand passed weakly along Grim¡¯s shoulder. It was the hand of the man he¡¯d run into. Grim met Gavin¡¯s gaze. The man¡¯s eyes were unfocused, bubbles of air slipping from his mouth. He was slowly drifting back down the tunnel and seemed to have no energy to continue.


    Grim hesitated only a moment before reaching out and grasping Gavin by the collar of his shirt. The light was close, shining through the door. His lungs burned and he could hardly feel anything else. Grim kicked and thrashed toward the door, pulling himself and Gavin through the doorway. A small room lay beyond with a ladder set into the wall. Of the men he¡¯d seen enter earlier, there was no sign. As he reached the ladder, the edges of his sight began to grow blurry.


    Precious air flowed upward along his cheeks as he growled, pulling them up the bars of the ladder with one arm. The water ran high in the shaft. If it was much further, he wouldn¡¯t make it.


    He couldn¡¯t take it anymore. The breath escaped his lungs, coming out in a rush as he breathed in water. Grim spasmed as he hacked and coughed in the water, his body struggling to breathe as water filled his lungs.


    Gavin¡¯s body floated upwards adjacent to him. A splash sounded above and Gavin rushed upwards, disappearing from Grim¡¯s sight. Grim weakly reached out with an arm. The tension of the water disappeared as his hand broke the surface, but he was spent. Darkness was overtaking him.


    The water rushed about him and his surroundings changed, though he couldn¡¯t register them. He tried to breathe but found himself unable. Something was hitting him. A moment later he coughed, a spurt of water escaping his lips.


    Something deep inside him roiled and bile spewed from his lips. He was unceremoniously flopped onto his side and liquid spewed from his lips. As he choked and gasped, air came into his lungs, burning and sweet as fire. He racked in deep gasping breaths as the world came into focus.


    Edgar was knelt over him and was smacking him across the face. There were maybe ten other men in the room, all in various states of distress as they shivered, huddling into balls atop the dirt floor of what must have been some shack in the Outwalls.


    He caught sight of Harren. He was one of the few men standing. A moment later he dove into the shaft, disappearing with a splash. Grim stared at the hole in the ground a moment before looking back to Edgar.


    The man had a worried expression on his face, beard dripping water. ¡°Divines, I thought we¡¯d lost you.¡±


    Grim tried to speak, but found he wasn¡¯t up to the task. He just focused on breathing, hoping Sons wouldn¡¯t descend on them. He pushed himself against the closest wall and curled into a ball like the others, shivering.


    Harren emerged from the tunnel a moment later, gasping for air. Edgar staggered over to the mouth of the tunnel and helped him pull out another soldier. Edgar laid the lifeless man down and began pressing against his chest as Harren crawled from the hole, gasping.


    Grim watched Edgar tend to the man for near two minutes before he ceased with a shake of his head. ¡°No use,¡± he muttered, ¡°It¡¯s over.¡±


    Harren seemed to deflate at those words. His hands shook as he staggered to the closest wall, taking a seat near Grim. Grim couldn¡¯t be certain, as sopping wet as they were, but he thought the man might be crying.


    Grim reached out a hand and put it on Harren¡¯s shoulder.


    Harren flinched then relaxed, his chest rising and falling in shaky gasps. Grim looked across the room at the survivors. fourteen men out of a hundred. Haunted eyes seemed to stare at nothing and, when they met his gaze, their looks seemed to drift through him. The quiet of mourning washed over them.

 Ch 27: First Blood

    The air was cool but tinged with the promise of spring that always came in the throes of the thaw. The sun shined brightly overhead, giving light to the slush and muck of the Outwall streets. In the distance, a very familiar horn sounded a deep bellowing note. The sound sent him deep into the past- to memories of blood, sacrifice, and the death of good men. Billy often wondered why he had managed to survive when so many others never came home.  He sighed. Perhaps his survival was just a cruel joke of the gods. There was no home for him to return to.


    He looked up at the sun as the horn sounded a fresh note, even closer now. Yes- today would be as good a day as any to die. His eyes drifted across the trash strewn cobblestone and decrepit shacks lining the wide road, their timbers showing signs of decay and rot. It felt a reflection of his soul. As good a place as any to die.


    The deep note sounded again, louder and crisper. The Venarans were nearing the city gates. They¡¯d be on his position in moments. His hand tightened around the spear he held while he checked the axe at his side with his shield arm. Behind him stood near two hundred Sons armed in thick layers of chain, faces hidden behind iron faceplates. All the boys he¡¯d been training along with the strongest men from other gangs.


    Their business was to be as bloody as it was vital. They were to hold the King¡¯s Road for as long as possible, forcing the Venarans to navigate the warren of Outwall streets to reach their targets. It was a death sentence if Marc couldn¡¯t break the Venarans before their line broke.


    Truth be told- there was nowhere he¡¯d rather be.


    In the distance, Billy could now see the front line of the Venaran ranks through the city gate, the banner of the golden sun held aloft. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as the horn bellowed once more. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he was where he belonged. As if the long years of uneasy peace had been the mistake.


    He turned to face his assembled men. They lined the road, forming a solid wall between the buildings on either end. Wide eyes stared at him through slits in their visors. Most of them were too young to have any memory of war. Behind him, the horn blared a deep note. Billy ignored it, his gaze drifting across the eyes of his country-men, some of them no more than a few years into their manhood. They clutched their spears like drowning men clinging to driftwood. Their fear and anticipation were pervasive.


    Billy called out to them, ¡°Ay! Shit for brains,¡± he yelled, eyes drifting across the men. They murmured as they tried to figure out who he was addressing. ¡°You know who I¡¯m talking to,¡± Billy called as if the target of his ire were obvious.


    ¡°Last night after I plowed your mother¡¯s barren fields, she asked me why Venar won the last war.¡± He rolled his eyes. ¡°I told her it was the same reason she had you- A fuckin mistake.¡±


    A few of the men seemed to be catching on that he was putting on a show. Billy shook his head as if he were being forced to bear the heights of idiocy. ¡°Last night, your mother asked me if you boys were ready for this fight,¡± Billy yelled. ¡°You know what I told her?¡±


    Billy waited until someone from the ranks called out, ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I told her that the lot of you were ugly stinking wretches who had trouble telling their dick from their sword- or in other words damn fine soldiers,¡± Billy said, ¡°Then I asked her to shine my sword.¡± That elicited few scattered hoots and cheers.


    ¡°You know how I know we¡¯re gonna beat those Greencloaks bloody?¡± Billy called.


    A dozen men shouted ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°Balls. That¡¯s how,¡± Billy yelled, ¡°This morning one of you dumb shits walked up to me, sword in hand, asking why you couldn¡¯t get it out of the sheath. And I swear- that boy had a pair of fucking melons swinging between his legs, and I have it on good authority that that¡¯s the smallest pair we¡¯ve got between us.¡±


    Billy paced the lines, spear resting over his shoulder. ¡°I won¡¯t lie to you boys. We¡¯re between a rock and a hard place now. See to your squishy bits, play with your weaponry a bit and let¡¯s fuck these bastards harder than the man to your left fucks your wife.¡± Billy raised his spear into the air. ¡°The Rills!¡± he roared


    Two-hundred voices echoed him, roaring defiance. The fear still simmered but was tempered by resolve. He turned to face the advancing Venarans. They seemed endless, still formed into a tight column, shields held at the ready to ward off any unexpected barrages. They hadn¡¯t deviated from the Kings Road yet but would need to in order to get past his shield wall- that or wait for a long and bloody fight to end- which would give Marc plenty of time to harass the extended column and draw them out.


    The front of the Venaran lines was maybe forty paces distant, close enough that he could make out the features of the nearest men. Most certainly close enough that any sane man would get his exposed ass out of the line of fire before somebody started throwing sharp objects at it.


    Billy stuck his spear into a gap between two cobblestones and left it standing there, as he hiked up his mail skirt and expertly unlaced his trousers. He firmly grasped what he hoped was a sufficiently girthy display of Rillish manhood and took a piss. As his patriotic yellow stream hit the stones, the men behind him went wild with cheers.


    One of the Greencloaks in the front rank stepped from the line and chucked a spear at him. Billy watched with interest as the spear fell a few paces short and skidded across the cobblestones to his right. Billy hastily shook the last few drops loose and laced his trousers. While the spear did miss, it was still a little close for comfort


    He grabbed his spear and backed up to his line. The men shuffled to accept him, and he became one with their ranks. ¡°Shields!¡± he roared.


    As one, the Rillmen raised their shields and leveled their spears between the gaps. Billy held his blade with a steady bead on the Venaran across from him- a man dressed in a plated bronze vest and quilted cloth. The Venarans were largely equipped with their bladed swords and oval shields painted with the golden sun. A muffled command was shouted from within their ranks, and the column fell to a halt.


    Billy grinned. ¡°Advance!¡± he cried.


    His men were taken aback as that was definitely not part of the plan and likely seemed madness. Billy stepped forward from the lines without them as if he could care less whether they followed. A moment later, the line lurched into motion and reformed around him in a steady advance towards the Venaran line.


    In the distance, he could see the enemy begin to send detachments of soldiers down the side streets as their commanders coordinated their advance through the Outwalls, likely not having expected a blockade of the main thoroughfare. He squinted. Their movements seemed off to him. He recalled most of the targets being on the western side of town, but the Venaran formation was largely breaking off to the east.


    Billy shook his head. That was a problem for Marc to worry about. His only job was to hold this road to the last man. He could see the whites of his enemy¡¯s eyes as they flickered across his men with uncertainty. It must have seemed madness to them as well and they searched for a trap that wasn¡¯t there, steady in their indecision.


    ¡°Spears!¡± Billy called, hefting his spear over his shoulder along with all the men in the front line. A moment later they launched a volley of iron into the Venarans who quickly formed a shield wall of their own.


    The spears did little damage, but that wasn¡¯t the point. ¡°Charge,¡± Billy roared, doubling his pace and closing the final paces just as Venaran¡¯s were peeking over their shields. The lines clashed in a cacophony of blood and screams. Billy grinned as he wrenched his axe from a man¡¯s skull.


    ***


    Kid stood a few paces behind Marc as the man stared out over the city. He¡¯d taken up a position on the roof of one of the taller buildings lining the King¡¯s Road, maybe a hundred paces beyond their vanguard. Screams had begun echoing in the distance moments before, and Kid could clearly see their line clashing with the Venaran front line as men screamed and died. Beyond that, scattered fighting had broken out throughout the city as ambushes were spung.


    He knew the Venaran forces were huge but the stream of soldiers from the gate seemed endless. He glanced down the line of messengers standing abreast him, a dozen boys of similar age- all looking equally nervous and uncomfortable, balancing on the angled roof.


    He turned his gaze back to Marc. The man looked angrier than Kid could ever remember seeing him, though Kid had no clue as to why. Marc muttered, ¡°Why?¡± over and over beneath his breath as he watched the movements of the Venaran troops.


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    Kid knew most of their own forces were lying in wait on the western side of the King¡¯s Road, but the Vernaran¡¯s seemed to be moving east en masse. Kid supposed that was the source of Marc¡¯s frustration. The man¡¯s brow furrowed, and his eyes suddenly widened as if he had come to some realization. ¡°Jeffram, ready the men.¡±


    Marc¡¯s second saluted before running to the edge of the roof and clambering down the ladder that had been raised there. Marc turned to the assembled messengers ¡°Rathe, Chalder, Layman, report to your gang leaders and tell them to bring their men around the vanguard to strike at the Eastern flank.


    The two boys ran off at a sprint, following Jeffram down the ladder. ¡°Daylen and Varith, orders are to bring your men through the Rockstone tunnel. Kill whatever you find on the other side.


    The boys saluted, fist over heart and scurried off.


    Marc¡¯s eyes drifted across the rest of them. ¡°All of you send word to press hard and strike along the King¡¯s Road if you must. We need to press hard.¡±


    Kid saluted with the others and moved to leave the rood but froze as Marc called out to him. ¡°Kid.¡±


    Kid turned to face him, a question in his eyes.


    ¡°You know where Melna is?¡±


    An icy lance of fear ran through him as he realized what Marc suspected. His eyes widened. Lissa.


    ¡°Go,¡± Marc barked, ¡°Move them, hide them- whatever you can do.¡±


    ¡°Me?¡± Kid asked, sputtering. ¡°Why-¡±


    Marc cut him off. ¡°My men need to join the vanguard. They¡¯ll have to hold far longer than I¡¯d thought,¡± he said, voice hurried as he donned his iron helm, ¡°Go. Now. Don¡¯t let me down.


    Kid didn¡¯t hesitate a moment longer, scampering across the roof to the wooden ladder. The line of messengers had nearly cleared the ladder. Kid raced down the rungs, more falling than climbing and hit the ground hard, taking off at a dead sprint down the streets. He wanted to avoid the fighting where possible, but the fastest route would take him perilously close to skirting the edge of the Venaran lines. He really had no choice; they already had a solid lead on him. His only advantage was that he knew the city like the back of his hand.


    He rushed through narrow alleys that would be impassable for a larger man and dove through holes under fences dug by feral dogs long ago, his clothes now dripping with muck and slush, bringing a chill to his bones that soon faded as the exertion warmed him.


    Countless nervous eyes stared out at him from cracks in the shutters of the wooden homes, all filled with fear. Part of Kid wished he was with them, huddled inside with the illusion of safety. If the Greencloaks wanted in, the flimsy doors and makeshift shutters wouldn¡¯t keep them out for long.


    Many times, he caught sight of Venaran advance parties scouting the streets. Some were having fun with the locals, banging on doors, cracking windows, and laughing all the while. More than once, he saw them kicking down doors to the sound of screams. Whether under their orders or of their own volition, Kid didn¡¯t know. He supposed it didn¡¯t matter.


    Kid dove around the final street corner, panting heavily as he came in sight of Melna¡¯s home. There were bodies strewn on the street outside, both Venaran and Rillish- the men Marc had set to guarding the home. Kid¡¯s heart leapt into his throat. He was too late.


    He hesitated, slowing. He could run and never look back; try and carve a new life out somewhere else. Marc would never forgive him, and equally importantly- he¡¯d never forgive himself. Kid steeled his nerves and advanced, rushing down the street and praying no more Greencloaks appeared. He heard crashing and screams come from inside the home.


    He knelt next to one of the bodies and pulled free a bronze dagger from one of the corpses. Warm blood dripped from the blade as it gleamed in the sunlight. Kid shuddered as he looked to the door. It¡¯d been kicked in and hung awkwardly on one hinge. He crept forward as more screaming and crashing came from the home, followed by an inhuman screech. Kid crept through the doorway, eyes widening as he took in the scene.


    The room was drenched in blood and scattered with mangled corpses. Lissa and Melna were huddled together on the far side of the room, looks of horror written across their faces. Kryll screeched a piercing wail, his thick claws rending the flesh of a corpse as he bucked against a pair of soldiers pinning him to the ground with a pair of spears wedged between his plated scales. A final soldier faced off against Hilda who stood between him and Melna, frying pot in hand.


    The Venaran seemed loathe to turn his back on Kryll to deal with Hilda, leaving the room locked in a stalemate as Kid crept inside. Kryll bucked and wailed, nearly making the men holding him down lose their footing. For all his efforts, he just made the spears dig deeper into his flesh. Rivulets of dark blood cascaded to the floor as his movements weakened, claws digging deep furrows into the wooden floor.


    Kid could hardly breathe as he crept behind one of the men, hand shaking. The Venarans wore thick cloth and plated vests. Kid didn¡¯t know if he even had the strength to get the knife through the fabric. That left him with one option. As he was almost upon the man, Kid charged forward with a mad scream. He caught onto the man¡¯s shoulder with one arm and with the other, pushed the dagger into the meat of his neck.


    Blood came out in a rush over his hands. The man let out a scream that finished as a gurgle as he fell to his knees. Kid withdrew the dagger and rammed it in again.


    The soldier lost his grip on the spear as his hands leap to his throat, pawing at the dagger grinding against his bones. Kid pressed harder against the blade as the soldier¡¯s hands weakened and soon fell away.


    The other Greencloak was now quickly losing control of Kryll as the beast thrashed with renewed energy. With a snap the man¡¯s spear split in two, sending a shower of splinters across the room. The man hardly had time to raise his arms before Kryll was upon him, claws rending through armor and bone with ease.


    Kid stared wide eyed at the scene as his mark slumped to the ground, dead at his feet. The remaining Greencloak whirled on Kryll, sword at the ready, only to crumple to the floor as Hilda¡¯s pan crashed into his temple. The woman screamed as she followed him to the ground, bashing his skull with the pan again and again.


    Kid¡¯s hands were shaking, and the knife fell from his grasp. A moment later, he¡¯d fallen to his knees, vomiting bile across the bloody floor. He gasped and staggered to his feet, fingers scrabbling for his fallen blade. There was time for that later. More enemies could arrive at any moment.


    ¡°We need to go,¡± he shouted, rushing back to the door and glancing outside. More troops were approaching in the distance, this time in force.


    He staggered back inside. Kryll mewled softly on the floor, the strength seeming to have faded from his limbs. It was only then that Kid realized how mangled he was. It looked like somebody had taken a hammer and chisel to his plated scales. Some were simply missing, revealing tender, bloody flesh beneath. Lissa had already crawled to him and was stroking his back with blood-soaked hands, tears streaming from her face.


    Hilda limped on unsteady feet toward her daughter, and that was when Kid noticed the deep, bloody gash running the length of her left leg. On the far side of the room, Melna was staggering to her feet. Kid ran to her, offering his arm to support her.


    She took it with a weak, grateful smile. ¡°We have to go,¡± he said, voice cracking.


    Melna coughed, placing a hand over her mouth as she did so. ¡°Child, do I look like I¡¯m capable of running anywhere?¡±


    Kid opened his mouth to respond but found words had failed him. It wasn¡¯t as if he could carry her.


    ¡°Are they coming?¡± she asked.


    ¡°More of them are almost here,¡± Kid whispered.


    ¡°Take me to him,¡± she said, eyes on Kryll.


    Kid held her arm as he led her to the fallen beast. He helped lower her to the ground by his side. Kryll¡¯s eyes flickered to them, but he seemed to lack the strength to lift his head. A pained mewl escaped his snout.


    Melna laid her hands atop him, stroking the bloodied scales. ¡°My dear friend. I fear this is where I leave you. It has been an honor.¡± Her eyes drifted to Lissa. ¡°Remember what I taught you and know that there is still so much more to learn.¡±


    Lissa cocked her head in worry and confusion. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    Melna ignored her and Kid was surprised when Melna looked to him. ¡°On the altar is a Golden Briar. Bring it to Billy. He¡¯ll know what needs to be done with it.¡±


    Her hand reached out and found his shoulder, pulling him closer. ¡°Tell Marc-¡± Her voice cracked. ¡°Tell Marc the girl is everything I¡¯d hoped.¡±


    As she released him, Kid nodded. ¡°I will.¡± As he strode toward the altar, a brilliant pink light shined from Melna¡¯s hands. He squinted his eyes as he looked over his shoulder to her. Kryll¡¯s wounds were knitting themselves together before his eyes, broken scales mending and regrowing over his soft flesh. Melna¡¯s blue eyes shined radiantly with power, glowing almost as brightly as her hands as tendrils of pink light searched out Kryll¡¯s wounds. Her wrinkles deepened and flesh sagged along her face and her arms before it began to grow taut around her bones as if her very blood and flesh were being sucked away. The brilliant light dimmed as her eyes drooped.


    Lissa was screaming while Hilda and Kid looked on with wide eyes. The light faded, Melna¡¯s hands trembled, and her emaciated corpse fell to the ground, flesh wrapped tight around her bones.


    Lissa fell over her, shaking her body and screaming her name over and over. Kryll¡¯s eyes blinked as if waking from a dream. He rose to his feet, turning to see Melna. A keening sound fell from him as he knelt next to Melna, pressing his snout into her.


    Kid finished his journey to the altar, seeing the thorny, golden brooch resting atop its surface. He scooped it up, wincing as the thorns pricked his fingers, and deposited it in one of his pockets. He turned, walking back to Lissa. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her firmly away from Melna. She struggled in his grasp. ¡°We have to leave. Now,¡± he reiterated.


    ¡°I- She-¡± Lissa seemed incapable of words. She slumped in his grasp before rising to her feet of her own accord, eyes still trained on Melna.


    Kid pulled her to the rear of the house where Hilda leaned against the wall by the rear exit. Lissa¡¯s eyes widened as she saw the wound along her mother¡¯s leg. ¡°Mom, are you okay?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Hilda said, reaching out and stroking Lissa¡¯s cheek. ¡°Go. I¡¯ll be right behind you.¡±


    Kid saw the lie through the pain in Hilda¡¯s eyes. His eyes drifted to the wound. He doubted she could walk more than a few paces at a time before collapsing. He said nothing, pushing the door open and looking outside. The way was clear for now. Kryll¡¯s keening continued from behind them until Lissa called his name.


    Kid looked over his shoulder to see Kryll nudge Melna a final time to no avail before lumbering toward Lissa. Kid grabbed her and pulled her through the door, running into the streets. He heard Kryll¡¯s booming footfalls behind them followed by the door clicking shut.


    Lissa looked over her shoulder, a look of sheer terror crossing her face. ¡°No,¡± she whispered.


    Kid grabbed her as she tried to run back, hauling her away from the house. It took every ounce of his strength to keep her from escaping as she clawed at him, screaming murder and tearing at his arms. As a crash and the sounds of fighting erupted from within the building, she collapsed in his grasp, seeming to have broken.


    Kid pulled her along down the street, looking back a final time as they turned a corner. Smoke rose from the home and flames flickered in the windows. Nobody would be following them the way they came. Kid tore his eyes from the sight and focused on leading them to some semblance of safety.

 Ch 28: Through Fire

    The room had grown blessedly warm from the fourteen men crowded into its tight confines. They all stared at the corpse of the last man Harren had pulled from the tunnel, his skin a ghastly pallor, blue veins rising against the skin. A few more moments in the tunnel and every man here would have shared the same fate. Harren clenched his eyes shut. He should have stopped that damn Rillman. He suspected something was wrong but didn¡¯t act until it was too late. Everyone floating adrift in that tunnel was dead for his failing.


    His fists tightened over his knees as an impotent rage wracked him. The sounds of battle could be heard in the distance through the walls of the shack and he could only assume the Sons had engaged the Venarans in force. They were trapped in the midst of a warzone without a weapon or scrap of armor between them. Goddess save them.


    The worst part was that he knew it was his responsibility to get them out of here. He didn¡¯t know why there weren¡¯t Sons waiting for them. Maybe they thought the trap impossible to escape. It would have been if not for the freakishly large bear-man that had been thrust upon him.


    His eyes drifted toward Grim. He¡¯d spent most of his life looking down on the man. And why? Because his father lost a war? Because he had a brand across his neck? It all seemed so petty and pointless when looking at the corpse by their feet.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Harren whispered. He expected the words to hurt, but they felt a release.


    Grim¡¯s head turned, and he glanced to Harren out of the corner of his eyes. ¡°You did what you could,¡± he said.


    Harren inhaled and released a shaky breath before steeling himself and rising to his feet. His limbs still felt slow from the cold, but he could move. At his motion the remaining men looked to him. ¡°Is there any man here who can¡¯t walk?¡±


    Gavin spoke, ¡°You want to go outside? Are you mad?¡±


    Harren met his gaze. ¡°Then what would you propose we do?¡±


    Gavin¡¯s mouth worked a moment, and it was damn satisfying to see the fucker at a loss for words for once.


    Harren addressed the room. ¡°Our people are out there now. We either try to find them or wait here and hope the Sons don¡¯t check up on their own hideout until we feel ready.¡±


    Around him the men staggered to their feet, looking beyond weary but able to move. For that, he thanked the Divines. He didn¡¯t want to leave anyone else behind, even a commoner.


    Gavin staggered over to him. ¡°They left the promised coin,¡± he muttered, nodding toward an open room. A half-dozen small chests were neatly stacked in an adjoining room.


    Harren frowned at the chests. Was their plan really ruined just because that old man recognized him? ¡°Trying to bring it with us would be suicide,¡± he whispered back looking at the bedraggled survivors. Few of them even still had their weapons.


    Gavin sighed in acquiescence.


    Harren¡¯s hand drifted unconsciously for his sword and found nothing. He scowled. ¡°On me, then,¡± he called to the men walking to the main door of the shack. It was locked from the inside. Harren undid the latch and took a deep breath, bracing himself before pushing the door open.


    He walked into hell.


    Corpses of Rillmen and Venaran Soldiers lined the street, arrows sticking from the bodies like pincushions. On the not-so-distant horizon, a thick wall of smoke was rising over the Outwalls. He was surprised to see normal civilians racing down the streets. It seemed the threat of fire was enough to overcome the fear of battle. Perhaps they were running to staunch the flames?


    Harren staggered to the fallen soldiers, scooping up the sword and shield of a Venaran footman as his men joined in looting the corpses. Screams came from all directions, but the clash of battle sounded clear as a siren¡¯s call over panicked screams of massed humanity.


    Harren staggered forward, fingers tight around the bronze blade. The others followed in his wake. Men and women rushed past them, whether running from the fighting or toward the fire, it was hard to tell. Harren cared little. All that mattered was getting to the gate of the inner city. He looked over his shoulder to the billowing cloud of smoke. His eyes widened. It had nearly doubled in size since he¡¯d last looked and had grown far closer. He realized now why people were running. They weren¡¯t fighting the fire; they were trying to escape before it was too late.


    His companions were coming to similar conclusions, their eyes widening. ¡°Run,¡± Harren cried.


    He should have saved his breath. Half of them were already in motion, sprinting down the dirt road toward the sounds of fighting in the distance. The only way out for them was through. They pushed their way through a growing crowd of refugees, carrying what paltry possessions they had. Another day, the civilians would have fled into the city, but that was no longer an option.


    Harren¡¯s legs burned as they raced down the streets. He¡¯d felt as if he¡¯d spent the entire day sparring without pause. He didn¡¯t think he¡¯d ever been as tired as he was right now. Part of him just wanted to give up and lie down, but seeing Grim and Edgar trudging on kept him in motion. He wouldn¡¯t let his last act be being outdone by a Rillman.


    They turned a corner to behold a sea of carnage. The small road was filled with corpses. It looked as though a particularly nasty ambush had been sprung here. Horses and men alike writhed in pain amongst the dead, their screams mixing into a sound straight from hell. In the distance men still fought, any cohesion of formations having long since fallen to pieces.


    Harren didn¡¯t stop, leveling his shield and charging forward. His exhaustion must have been fading into madness. He¡¯d spent the entire day afraid, and the feeling had simply slipped into numbness. As he drew closer, he saw a dozen or more Sons facing down five Venaran Soldier backed up against the wall of a building. It was all the men could do to fend off the blows raining down upon them.


    As Harren drew near, he raised his sword. ¡°The Red Sun,¡± he roared with the last of his breath.


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    A Rillman turned to face him as Harren brought his blade down across the man¡¯s throat, splitting the meat of his neck, blade grinding against bone. Harren ripped the blade free, bringing the point across the man¡¯s throat. Blood flew in an arc, spraying across his countrymen as he fell to the ground.


    Harren¡¯s companions set upon them, blades flashing in the firelight.


    Firelight?


    Harren peeked behind him to see a blazing inferno spreading across the buildings behind him, no more than a hundred paces distant.


    The Sons still standing must¡¯ve have taken in the sight as well as they dropped their arms and fled. Harren let them go, having no desire to tempt death yet again today. He turned to face the guardsmen they¡¯d saved. Most were wounded, their hands clutching injuries that seeped crimson blood.


    It was then that he noticed the quality of their armor. His eyes snapped to the dying horses. ¡°Where¡¯s the General?¡± he asked.


    One of the men raised a shaky hand, pointing toward the encroaching fire. ¡°He fell that way,¡± the man said before turning and running toward the gate. Harren could see the King¡¯s Road. The fire wouldn¡¯t be able to spread across such a wide boulevard and he¡¯d be safe there. Hundreds of his countrymen evidently had come to the same conclusion as their forces seemed to be massing along the road.


    Harren¡¯s companions joined the fleeing guardsmen like sensible individuals. A horn bellowed in the distance in a cadence signaling a retreat.


    Harren hesitated, looking back to the fire and the dying men lying in the alley, screaming as they watched an unfathomably painful death approach. The decision was already made. This was his chance. Harren ran toward the blaze, discarding his sword and shield. He scanned the corpses and injured men, ignoring their pleas. A moment later, less than twenty paces from the fire, he found what he was looking for. The white horse was dead, a spear having been rammed through its throat, severing the spine beyond.


    Harren stepped atop the corpse, looking for its rider. He didn¡¯t have to look long. Peltar was right beneath him, leaning against the far side of the horse¡¯s body, watching the approaching inferno with the eyes of a man not happy with, but resigned to his fate.


    Harren fell to the man¡¯s side and drew his belt knife. Peltar¡¯s eyes widened as he saw him. ¡°Harren?¡± he gasped, mouth rimmed with blood.


    Harren ignored the question, cutting the straps of Peltar¡¯s armor and grunting as he flung the heavy armament to the side. He couldn¡¯t believe he¡¯d just run right past the man moments before. The horn bellowed again in the distance, as if screaming at him to hurry.


    He pushed down his regret, grabbing the man and grunting as he hauled him atop his shoulders. Peltar cried out in pain and Harren felt a warm liquid seeping into his already wet clothing. Harren cried out himself as he set off at a shambling jog. The fire was hot on his heels, consuming the buildings to either side of the road and boiling away what was left of the snowmelt.


    His back was warming, and at first the feeling was pleasant as it began to dry his sopping wet clothes. As he staggered across the corpse strewn field, the pleasant warmth turned into a stinging pain. Peltar¡¯s fists bunched into the cloth of his shirt as the pain made the man shake. The fire had overtaken them now, burning a line to either side of them. Smoke billowed into the street, making Harren¡¯s eyes burn. Tears came unbidden as he marched onward. The heat was unbearable. He could feel the exposed skin along his hands starting to blister. His lungs burned worse than they had after the tunnel and his vision blurred as the air hazed with heat.


    His jog has slowed to a shuddering walk, his body reaching its limits. He muttered a prayer under his breath as he took a final step, feeling his legs collapse. He fell out of the smoke into blessedly fresh air, Peltar falling unceremoniously from his shoulders. Hands reached under his arms, dragging him over the cobblestones and away from the heat of the blaze.


    As the air cooled, pain made itself known all across his face and hands. Tears continued to leak from his eyes, stinging his cheeks. Grim stood over him, a grim expression on his face. Harren coughed a bitter chuckle at the thought as the man scooped him up in his arms like a child. The world rocked and spun, turning from visions of fire to the sight of hundreds of Venaran soldiers retreating through the city gates. With every rocking motion his vision narrowed until all was black.


    ***


    Billy gasped for breath, sucking air through his iron visor. The pounding of blades reverberated against his shield, locked as it was against the Venaran opposite him. The press of bodies and stink of blood was overpowering, and he¡¯d lost track of how long they¡¯d fought and how many men had fallen before him. Bruises lined his arms and flanks where swords or spears managed to find an opening in their shield wall. He didn¡¯t think his chain had been pierced and the pain had yet to fully register, but he knew it would make itself known the moment the fighting ended.


    Billy growled as he heaved his shield forward, creating a small space between himself and his enemy. He lowered his shield, striking out with his axe and catching the rim of his opponent¡¯s shield.


    Billy ducked as a blade came for his skull, catching the sword along the rim of his shield. He pulled hard with his axe, lowering his opponent¡¯s guard. A moment later, a spear thrust forward over Billy¡¯s shoulder taking the Venaran in the throat.


    As he fell to the ground coughing blood, another man simply stepped over his twitching body, the press forcing the man to lock his shield to Billy¡¯s as they struggled to overcome the other¡¯s guard.


    Billy had lost track of how many he¡¯d felled. They seemed endless, and the faces of the men on his flanks had changed several times. He didn¡¯t know how much longer they could hold.


    He heaved his shield forward, but his opponent was ready, trading the blow with one of equal force that knocked Billy off balance. The man behind him put a steadying hand on his shoulder, but the damage was done. The Venaran took advantage of the opening and thrust his sword into the ribcage of the man to Billy¡¯s left, tearing it out in a spray of blood.


    Billy rushed forward to fill the gap, but was too late. The boy to his left spat blood and was soon cut down by the man in front of him, weakened by the wound.


    Billy desperately covered the gap in the line until the next man could come forward, but he was bone-weary and slow. Far too slow. The Venaran before him rammed him with his shield as their line bulged forward into the gap.


    The ground rushed up to meet Billy and it was only after his face skidded across the cobblestones that he noticed the helmet had been knocked from his head. His cheek was raw and bloody, and he found himself staring into the dead eyes of the man he¡¯d let down. A boy barely a year or two into manhood.


    Billy clenched his eyes shut against the pain and rolled to his back, shield raised. He caught the thrust of a sword and knocked it aside as he crawled backwards, hands finding purchase amongst the dead.


    It was then that he saw their line was shattered. There was nobody left to fill the gaps. A twisted feeling of pride and loss filled his heart at seeing his men had fought to the last. The Venaran line was steadily advancing, methodically cutting down those still fighting. Behind them was- smoke?


    ¡°Retreat,¡± a voice roared over the din of battle- Marc¡¯s voice.


    Billy struggled to his feet, finding himself in agreement with Marc¡¯s assessment. A spear came flying toward him and Billy caught it on his shield, doing his best not to trip over the corpses as he staggered away from the enemy. His job here was done.


    As he fled, a horn bellowed from the city gates in a cadence he remembered well. He slowed his flight, looking back to the enemy. They¡¯d halted their advance and were retreating in an orderly fashion.


    Billy¡¯s mouth widened as he saw the cause of the retreat. Father down the road, a blazing inferno raged across the Outwalls. It¡¯d happened before and was always an unmitigated disaster. The fire wouldn¡¯t cross the breadth of the King¡¯s Road, but it would consume everything in the south-east quadrant beyond the wall. Tens of thousands of people would be left without shelter. It was no longer winter, but the cold at night could still kill.


    ¡°Reaper¡¯s saggy tits,¡± he whispered, watching the fire draw closer as the Venaran ranks shied from the heat, marching toward the safety of the inner city beyond the wall. As he watched the fire destroy the livelihoods of tens of thousands he knew, that while the battle was over, the fight for survival had just begun.

 Ch 29: Good Man

    Wracking sobs tore from her lungs as she huddled in the den of the Dancing Bear, where she had lived, worked, and slept most of her life. She sat against the wall of the common room, tightly holding one of her mother¡¯s shifts in her hands. Her fists trembled with pain, sorrow, and rage. She wanted to scream, but the only person to hear it was Kid, and he hadn¡¯t done anything wrong. He did exactly what he should have. Her eyes clenched and Kryll nuzzled into her cheek with the fleshy part of his snout.


    A sob escaped her lips, and Kryll keened in a mirror of her pain. The beast settled by her side, curling into a ball and peeking out between its plates with beady eyes. She hadn¡¯t known Melna long, but it was obvious to anyone she was a good woman- brave, kind, and as wise a person as she¡¯d ever met. She¡¯d given the last of her life to Kryll, and he was likely the only reason they¡¯d been able to make it here. It felt like the city was collapsing around them. A quarter of the Outwalls was just- gone. All to save her. She felt wretched. People were going to die. People had died.


    At the sound of footsteps, she opened her eyes, vison blurred with tears. Kid was walking toward her with a steaming bowl of¡­ something. He knelt before her, offering her the bowl. The thought of eating turned her stomach, but she knew he was trying to be nice. She forced a weak smile to her lips and accepted the bowl.


    He smiled weakly in return. ¡°I¡¯m not much of a cook,¡± he paused, ¡°well, actually this may be the first thing I have cooked. But I hope it¡¯s okay.¡±


    She grasped the spoon and raised a bite of the- stew? She blew on it to cool it off then took a bite. By her estimation it was half-cooked oats mixed with flour and no salt to speak of. She forced herself to swallow.


    ¡°It¡¯s good,¡± she said.


    Kid grinned. ¡°Good to see you¡¯re feeling well enough to lie. I did taste it.¡±


    She snorted against her will, the pain momentarily fleeing only to rush back in all at once. She put the spoon back into the slop and absently stirred the mixture. ¡°What are we going to do?¡± she whispered.


    ¡°When this all dies down, we need to find Marc,¡± Kid said, taking a seat by her against the wooden wall. ¡°He¡¯ll know what to do.¡±


    ¡°I want my dad,¡± she whispered.


    ¡°He¡¯ll be where Marc is,¡± Kid said.


    Her eyes drifted back to the shift in her lap. The thin dress was a tarnished white, stained by a decade of work in the tavern. She¡¯d pulled it from her mother¡¯s rooms when they arrived. It smelled like her. ¡°Why do they do this to us?¡± she whispered, more to herself than to Kid.


    She was a little surprised when he answered. ¡°Because we let them,¡± he whispered as he pulled the knife from his belt, eyes drifting across the blood-stained edge.


    Lissa wasn¡¯t sure she liked the look in his eyes. She reached out and grasped his free hand in hers. ¡°Are you okay?¡± she asked, struggling to keep her voice even.


    Kid was quiet a moment, his grip tightening around her hand. The knife fell from his fingers to the floor, his hand shaking. He turned to face her, tears in his eyes. She reached over and wrapped him in a tight hug as the tears took her once more. He cried with her, holding her tight. The world could be cruel and hard but there was still good. She needed to tell herself that.


    Kid was good.


    She didn¡¯t know how long they held each other, before Kid released her, wiping at his eyes with a blood crusted sleeve. He laughed with a tinge of mania, perhaps embarrassed to have cried in front of her. He still held her hand and it was comforting, steady and strong. She could see the gears turning in his head already as he considered their next move.


    ¡°What keeps you going, Kid?¡± she asked.


    His mouth worked for a moment, seeming to struggle with the words. ¡°Your dad-¡±


    ¡°My dad keeps you going?¡± she interrupted.


    His annoyed expression mingled a small measure of mirth into her sorrow, lessening the pain just a bit.


    Kid smiled ruefully. ¡°He told me to look to what I love and protect that. That¡¯s what keeps me going,¡± he said. His hand tightened just a little around hers and fresh tears brimmed at the corners of her eyes.


    Lissa laid her head on his chest, closing her eyes as she listened to the beating of his heart. At her side Kryll shifted closer to her, releasing a gentle trilling sound. The beast was curled into a ball, peering at her between his bristling chitinous plates. The first hint of a smile she¡¯d felt since they¡¯d left Melna¡¯s crossed her lips.


    She lost track of the passing time, afraid that moving or speaking would break the spell of comfort that had fallen over them, each lost in their own thoughts. Melna was gone, but she had to believe her mother was alive. The alternative was unconscionable.


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    The door to the tavern creaked, and her eyes shot open to see armed men wearing the masks of Sons walk through the door. Kid leapt to his feet, interposing himself between her and them. She rose to her feet as Kryll uncurled, claws digging into the dirt floor. The pair of men held their hands up as if in an attempt to indicate they meant no harm.


    ¡°By all the hells, girl,¡± one of them said, eyes wide and clearly recognizing her, ¡°Marc is tearing the city apart looking for you.¡±


    ¡°Is it over?¡± she asked.


    The man nodded. ¡°The Southerners pulled back when the fires grew hot.¡± He shook his head and sighed. ¡°Will you come with me? He¡¯ll raise hell until he sees you safe with his own eyes.¡±


    Lissa hesitated a moment before nodding her agreement. She doubted they meant her harm, but if they did- she had no doubt that Kryll would make short work of them. She grabbed Kid by the hand once more and led him forward to the Sons as the men held the door open for her. Together, they walked into the afternoon light.


    ***


    Kid watched awkwardly as Marc wrapped Lissa into a suffocating hug, lifting her from her feet and swinging her around. They¡¯d been taken into the undercity and into Marc¡¯s war room. A long table lined with chairs dominated the rectangular room, and it had been filled near to bursting with men seeking orders and requisitioning supplies for the refugees. On seeing Lissa, Marc had thrown everyone out, saying the city could wait.


    Kid wasn¡¯t so sure about that from the smoke he¡¯d seen earlier, but he was hardly going to be the one to raise that opinion.


    ¡°By the bloody Reaper am I glad to see you,¡± he said into her hair as he stopped spinning her and lowered her to the ground. He took her face in both his hands. ¡°You¡¯re not hurt, are you?¡±


    She shook her head, and Marc breathed a sigh of relief and looked to where Kid stood. ¡°Where are the others?¡± he asked.


    A deep frown creased Kid¡¯s lips. ¡°Melna didn¡¯t make it,¡± he said, ¡°Hilda was wounded and started the fire to cover our escape.¡±


    Marc¡¯s mouth hung open a moment before he took a deep breath. ¡°And should you be asked who started the blaze?¡±


    Kid hesitated as Marc¡¯s eyes hardened almost imperceptibly. ¡°Actually, I believe the Venarans started the fire trying to smoke us out of house.¡±


    Marc nodded in approval and looked to Lissa. ¡°Keep that information close to your chest. Best not let the hungry, angry masses know your mother did that.¡±


    Lissa nodded, eyes wide and afraid. ¡°Do you think she¡¯s alive?¡±


    Kid winced at the question. Marc was quiet a moment, and Kid could tell he was weighing the advantage of his answer. ¡°No,¡± Marc said, ¡°I don¡¯t. I¡¯m sorry Lissa. I haven¡¯t heard any word of her.¡±


    Kid¡¯s heart ached to see her fall to pieces again, the hope fading from her eyes. Kryll uncurled himself and waddled closer to her, his long tongue licking at her hand. ¡°Where¡¯s my dad?¡± she whispered.


    ¡°He was in the thick of the fighting today. His company hasn¡¯t reported in as of yet, but I¡¯m sure he¡¯s fine,¡± Marc said.


    She rushed into Marc¡¯s arms, and he held his niece close, gently stroking her hair as his eyes took in Kid¡¯s measure. Kid fought the urge to squirm beneath his scrutiny, wondering whether he had succeeded or failed in Marc¡¯s estimation. The thought hadn¡¯t occurred to him until now but, of the three people he¡¯d been charged to rescue, two had died. Kid averted his eyes, unable to hold Marc¡¯s gaze any longer.


    The man pushed his niece away, looking down into her eyes. ¡°I¡¯m sorry Lissa, but I need to speak with Kid, and If I keep everyone at bay for too long, they¡¯ll tear down the door.¡±


    She nodded, tears still falling down her face. ¡°I understand,¡± she managed.


    Marc called a guard into the room, asking the man to escort Lissa to a room and keep her under guard. The guard pulled the cloak from his shoulders and wrapped it around Lissa as they walked from the room. Kryll trotted after her, leaving him alone in the room with Marc as the heavy wooden door closed.


    Marc¡¯s eyes settled on Kid and Kid swallowed. The man looked like hell, face and clothes spattered with blood and ash. A dark look fell over him the moment Lissa left the room. ¡°Sit with me,¡± Marc commanded as he pulled a chair from the table and fell into it.


    Kid walked toward Marc, his nervousness increasing with every step. As Kid pulled the chair from the table, Marc leaned forward, holding his head in his hands. ¡°Thank you for saving her,¡± he said, ¡°But we all needed Melna more than anything.¡±


    Kid was quiet as Marc lifted his head, running a hand through his hair. ¡°You¡¯re young, born after the occupation started, so I don¡¯t expect you to understand what she meant to the Outwalls. The last Priestess of the Reaper- gone.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Kid whispered.


    Marc shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m not mad, boy. It¡¯s a damned miracle you got Lissa out.¡± He sighed. ¡°Did Melna say anything to you before she passed?¡±


    ¡°She said that Lissa was everything she¡¯d hoped,¡± Kid said.


    Marc¡¯s eyes flashed and he met Kid¡¯s gaze. ¡°Exactly those words?¡±


    Kid nodded, and a weary grin spread across Marc¡¯s lips. ¡°By the Reaper¡¯s blade,¡± he said, shaking his head. ¡°Do you know what that means Kid?¡±


    Kid shook his head.


    ¡°It means that Lissa is the greatest weapon in all the Rills, and she¡¯s safe in my hands,¡± he said, gaze growing distant. ¡°A lot of good men died today.¡±


    Marc¡¯s words filled Kid with unease, but he was relieved the man¡¯s ire wasn¡¯t focused on him.


    ¡°Can I trust you, Kid?¡± Marc asked.


    Kid nodded.


    ¡°Lissa is in an emotional state right now, and it¡¯s obvious to anyone with eyes that she cares for you. I¡¯d appreciate it if between your other duties, you could visit her and ensure she is well,¡± he said.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Kid said. He¡¯d have done that anyways.


    Marc¡¯s gaze hardened. ¡°And, should she tell you anything that you think I should know, you will of course tell me immediately,¡± Marc said.


    The uneasy feeling Kid felt earlier returned. ¡°Of course, sir.¡±


    Marc looked down at Kid¡¯s filthy, stained clothing. ¡°Were you blooded today?¡±


    Kid frowned, a sick feeling rising in his gut along with conflicting feelings. ¡°Yes,¡± he whispered.


    Marc reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. ¡°That makes you a man, and don¡¯t you forget it.¡±


    Kid¡¯s hand drifted to the bronze dagger he¡¯d killed the Venaran with, and Marc¡¯s eyes followed the motion. ¡°Keep that close, boy. We¡¯ll need every blade we can get in the coming days.¡±


    Kid bit his lip. ¡°What happens next?¡±


    ¡°An ending and a beginning,¡± Marc answered, ¡°But first will come your formal initiation ritual. You¡¯ve more than earned the honor.¡± Marc smiled at him.


    Kid¡¯s spirits lifted at that. It meant he¡¯d get his mask. ¡°I won¡¯t let you down.¡±


    Marc patted his shoulder. ¡°Good man.¡±

 Ch 30: The Price of Loyalty

    The busy sounds of a kitchen in motion hummed around Grim as he sat at one of the few tables set up along the perimeter. No noble would be seen dead consorting with the kitchen staff, and the household guard generally preferred to have their meals delivered. It was one of the perks of the job after all.


    It was one of his favorite places in the manse for those very reasons. Not a single Venaran in sight. The kitchen staff were entirely composed of Rillish women, from the lowliest serving girl to the head cook herself. It was the closest thing there was to being at home.


    The staff usually ignored him after realizing he wasn¡¯t looking for a meal, but today they shot him furtive looks. Grim supposed that probably had something to do with the bloodstains along his still damp clothing. He really should¡¯ve gone to change, but simply couldn¡¯t find the energy. He helped haul Harren all the way to the fort where surgeons and healers saw to the wounded. The fortress was in an uproar as news of the pitched battle spread and Grim went largely unnoticed as he made his way back to the manse. It wasn¡¯t till he entered the premises that the guards even thought to confiscate the axe he¡¯d acquired in the Outwalls.


    He sighed, remembering walking through the doors, and seeing the stairs he¡¯d need to climb to reach his room. The summit had seemed insurmountable and instead he turned off to the Kitchen. And here he sat, wishing only for the day to end.


    He blinked as a serving girl with auburn hair and a slim, shapeless figure walked up to him. Her brown eyes had a question in them. ¡°My lord, are you okay?¡±


    At the question, he could only think of the feel of the water rushing down his throat as he fought for air. ¡°Wine. Now.¡± He grunted.


    She curtsied and turned from him, a nervous look on her face. A moment later an earthenware pitcher of wine and matching cup sat before him. He poured a glass and downed it in a single gulp before pouring a second.


    His eyes drifted to the organized chaos of the kitchen. The head cook, Mara, was a plump middle-aged woman with the bearing of a field commander. She marched around the kitchen, waving her ladle like a sword and yelling at her serving girls to hurry the blazes up. At her command, bowls were filled, pots were simmered, and produce was chopped. It was mesmerizing in a way. Work never stopped here. Between feeding staff, catering for the court, and delivering very particular meals to the visiting nobility, the kitchen never slept.


    Grim blinked as Mara turned and her eyes found him. Her eyes narrowed and she marched toward him, taking a seat on the bench opposite him. She plucked the wine cup form his hands and downed the bitter liquid before smacking the empty container on the table.


    Grim raised an eyebrow at her. She met his eyes with a glare. ¡°Now where do you get off coming into my kitchen, frightening my girls, and ogling their behinds?¡±


    Grim¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°I- I didn¡¯t mean-¡±


    She cut him off with a dismissive waive. ¡°Save the sweet lies for the lasses, boy. And save them for when they¡¯re off duty. I¡¯ll not have you distracting my girls or laying a hand on them they didn¡¯t ask for.¡±


    Grim was mortified as he realized what this must look like. Rich nobleman regularly hanging around the serving quarters and watching the kitchen staff. The all-female kitchen staff. And today he came in fresh from battle, and the first thing he asked for was a flagon of wine. His cheeks burned and he fought the urge to bury his head in his hands as he realized why the entire kitchen was periodically glancing at him askance. They were terrified.


    Mara must have seen something of his horror in his expression as her visage softened. ¡°Or mayhaps your just a big, dumb oaf.¡±


    ¡°More like the biggest, dumbest oaf,¡± Grim muttered.


    Mara narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing him. ¡°Jeanne,¡± she called.


    A moment later the girl who¡¯d brought him the wine appeared. ¡°Mistress?¡± she asked.


    Mara kept her eyes on Grim as she spoke. ¡°Master Thorne has something he wishes to say to you.¡±


    Grim cleared his throat before meeting Jeanne¡¯s wide eyes. ¡±I¡¯m sorry I spoke harshly,¡± he paused, ¡°Today¡¯s been hard.¡±


    She nodded in what seemed an uneasy understanding. ¡°Thank you, lord.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t lord him,¡± Mara said, ¡°He was sprouted from a Rill woman¡¯s thighs like all the rest of us. For all the Marshal cares, you can piss in his porridge.¡±


    Grim sighed. ¡°Girm is fine,¡± he agreed, ¡°Though I¡¯d prefer piss-free porridge if possible.¡± He chuckled. ¡°If not, I¡¯ll make do.¡±


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    A weak smile creased Jeanne¡¯s lips. Mara raised her ladle at Jeanne. ¡°Back to work with you.¡± As Jeanne scurried away, Mara looked back to Grim. ¡°You eaten today? You look shite.¡±


    Grim shook his head. The thought of food turned his stomach. ¡°Feel like it too,¡± he muttered.


    ¡°Well, that won¡¯t do. Many of these lasses are looking forward to hearing about you walloping some of those Venaran younglings tomorrow,¡± she said.


    Grim sighed. Divines. Was the competition tomorrow?


    Mara rose to her feet as Grim raised a hand to stop her, but it was too late. She was in motion, walking and talking as she moved around the kitchen, gathering a variety of food onto a plate. ¡°Well let¡¯s see here. They say some steak is good for a man¡¯s demeanor- Oh and some salted ham, they say it¡¯s good for the soul. Ah yes there¡¯s some Caldean sausage. Supposed to make a man more virile or at least that¡¯s what the pig farmer tells me,¡± she said with a wink at Grim. He flushed with embarrassment. Without pause, she continued her collection of food, always commenting on what they say about it.


    Grim watched her circle the length of the kitchen, girls scurrying out of her way as she went. She finally ended her chatter with ¡°And a lovely little peach. They say those make a man more handsome but if you ever seen a peach farmer you know that ain¡¯t true.¡±


    A moment later she was before him and, with a flourish, she laid the feast before Grim. As he looked down at it and took in the tantalizing smells, his stomach rumbled. The sight of food before him seemed to awaken his appetite, and he found himself ravenously hungry. He dug into the food with gusto, washing bites down with sips of wine. Suddenly the steak was gone and Grim had a moment of panic before he realized the sausages were even more delicious.


    Mara quietly watched him from across the table and Grim met her gaze, loudly swallowing his last bite of sausage. ¡°Will you marry me?¡± he asked.


    She narrowed her eyes at him, belying the smirk across her lips. ¡°I thought I told you no sweet lies?¡±


    Grim took another bite and talked through it. ¡°Heard you loud and clear.¡±


    Mara looked over her shoulder. ¡°Jeanne,¡± she called, ¡°Take master Thorne¡¯s wine away. He¡¯s clearly had more than enough.¡±


    Grim grinned at her with red-stained teeth. ¡°Thank you for the hospitality mistress.¡±


    Mara hmphed at him. ¡°Next time you come to my kitchen, you¡¯ll do so not reeking of sweat and blood.¡±


    Grim nodded in acquiescence as he shoveled baked potatoes into his mouth.


    Mara looked about to say something more, but her eyes drifted over Grim¡¯s shoulder. The clink of metal betrayed the approaching soldier a moment later. Grim sighed and laid down his fork, turning to regard the man. He was one of the household guards Grim recognized. Grim let go of his dinner knife.


    The man came to a halt before Grim and looked about the room as if confused as to why Grim would be here. ¡°Marshal requested your presence for a debrief. Been looking for you for nearly half an hour. Best hurry.¡±


    Grim grumbled as he rose to his feet, damp clothes clinging to his flesh. He flashed Mara a final smile before following the soldier down the hall back to the grand entrance and up the stairs. He soon found himself deposited outside the Marshall¡¯s study. Upon Grim¡¯s approach, the guard posted outside opened the door. Muffled voices were speaking inside.


    Grim entered the doorway to see the Marshal behind his desk, a glass of whiskey close at hand. A man near his age with a sharp face and thin, grey stubble sat across from him, likely a high ranking officer if Grim were to guess. Ash and blood covered the man¡¯s face, but he appeared completely unharmed.


    Their conversation ceased as Grim entered the room. The Marshal narrowed his eyes at him. ¡°I called for you some time ago.¡±


    Grim bowed half-heartedly, coming to a stop in the middle of the room. ¡°Was grabbing a bite in the kitchens. Been a long day,¡± Grim said.


    The Marshal nodded in acknowledgement, seeming to begrudge that point. ¡°General Peltar was briefing me on the outcome, though any fool with eyes can see we burned half the damn city down.¡±


    The other old man- Peltar sighed, leaning back in his chair. ¡°We lost near a thousand men today.¡±


    ¡°A loss we can afford, and they can¡¯t,¡± Longreen answered. His attention drifted back to Grim. ¡°Your report on the fifth cohort?¡± he prompted.


    Grim took a deep breath. It was clear that some deal had been struck with the Sons in the tunnel, or had at least been attempted. But Harren had saved his life. He wouldn¡¯t have made it out of there without the man.


    Grim met the Marshal¡¯s gaze. ¡°In my time with the Fifth, I saw nothing amiss. Their Prefecuts even saved my life at one point. He accounted himself as nobly as one could expect of a Venaran officer.¡±


    The Marshal was quiet a moment. ¡°That¡¯s not what your man said.¡±


    Grim¡¯s breath caught. They¡¯d questioned Edgar as well. Of course, they did. Divines, he was a fool.


    The Marshall was quiet, and his silence hung heavy in the air. Grim had to fight the urge to swallow. At last, Longreen spoke, ¡°I¡¯ve been lenient enough with you, Thorne. I¡¯ll be taking one of you man¡¯s hands this evening. His choice.¡±


    Grim¡¯s hands shook. He wanted to scream and yell or throttle the man where he sat. Instead, he took a calming breath. ¡°Please forgive me, your grace. I spoke from loyalty.¡±


    ¡°But not loyalty to me,¡± Longreen said.


    Grim grit his teeth.


    Longreen leaned back in his chair and took a slow drink form his glass. He released a sigh. ¡°My decision stands.¡±


    Grim gritted his teeth, feeling his outrage slowly giving way to guilt. ¡°What will happen to Harren?¡± he asked.


    Longreen rolled his eyes. ¡°I was planning to give the traitor his wings, but for Peltar¡¯s objections,¡± he said with a wave toward the general. ¡°He seems to believe young Barrington can be brought to the light.¡±


    Longreen snorted, shifting his gaze to Peltar. ¡°You always had a soft heart.¡±


    Peltar shrugged. ¡°I admire courage in an officer. You can¡¯t train that,¡± he said, taking a drink from his glass.


    ¡°And I value loyalty, Peltar, which is why I¡¯m giving him a final chance at your request. Once he wakes, test his resolve. Should he pass, he¡¯s your responsibility,¡± Longreen answered.


    Grim looked between the two men as Peltar nodded in acquiescence. Longreen¡¯s attention drifted back to Grim. ¡°You may go. Ready yourself for tomorrow¡¯s exhibition.¡±


    Grim nodded stiffly before turning and walking from the room, hand questing for the axe missing from his hip.

 Ch 31: Turning a New Leaf

    The first thing he was aware of was a burning sensation along his hands as he moved his arms. His eyes clenched, sending tendrils of pain along the left side of his face. His entire body was sore as if he¡¯d run the length of the city ten times. Gritting his teeth, Harren opened his eyes. Gilded furniture and fine artwork greeted him. He could only be in the Marshal¡¯s manse.


    He grunted, pulling himself upright with his elbows to lean against the headboard of his bed for a better look. ¡°Easy,¡± a voice called out to him.


    Harren startled as a hand touched his shoulder and his head whipped around to see Brian looking down at him from a chair by the bed. Harren grinned, the left side of his face aching as he did so. ¡°I suppose I¡¯m not dead then?¡± he asked, looking to his hands, wrapped thick with bandages. He could feel similar padding adhered along one of his cheeks, stretching across his temple. He still wore his clothes from the battle, singed black in places with flecks of blood scattered across the fabric. Everything ached.


    Brian shook his head with a smile. ¡°And thank the Goddess for that. I¡¯ve heard rumors of what happened out there.¡±


    Brian¡¯s words sent Harren¡¯s mind reeling back to the tunnel. ¡°How many of my men made it out it?¡±


    Brian bit his lip. ¡°There were the ones who brought you back. Beyond that, I don¡¯t know.¡±


    Harren deflated, fearing the worst. He¡¯d failed them again. He¡¯d spent his whole life thinking he was born to lead, but every opportunity seemed to end in disaster. Something burned in the corners of his eyes, and he blinked it away.


    ¡°I feel like I haven¡¯t seen you in ages. Never even got a chance to congratulate you on the first competition,¡± he said, forcing a smile to his lips, wanting to focus on the good.


    Brian beamed at that, leaning back in his chair. ¡°Goddess forgive me, but the look on Reginald¡¯s face was the sweetest sight I¡¯ve ever seen.¡±


    A genuine chuckle escaped Harren. ¡°News even reached the barracks on that one. Soldiers love hearing about nobles getting taken down a peg or two.¡±


    ¡°They must love you then,¡± Brian said with a wink.


    Harren laughed. Yesterday he might have cuffed Brian over the head for his disrespect, but that all seemed so small and petty in the face of the fact that he was alive and seeing his brother again. Besides- It¡¯d probably hurt him more than Brian. ¡°Tell me everything that¡¯s happened,¡± he said.


    Brian did, regaling him with his exploits with Grim and the assistance Rafe had provided them. His eyes sparkled as he talked about a young noblewoman he¡¯d met and was sharing poetry with. He wouldn¡¯t tell Harren who she was which made Harren suspect she was from a lower-class family of which their father wouldn¡¯t approve, but Harren could give a shit less right now. The old man could kick rocks. He was alive.


    Brian finished his tale by sheepishly raising his right hand into Harren¡¯s view, revealing a splinted finger. ¡°Rafe did this to me,¡± he muttered.


    Harren laughed. ¡°Good. If he didn¡¯t, I would have,¡± he said, ¡°Have you seen yourself hold a sword?¡±


    Brian narrowed his eyes, lowering the hand. ¡°I have, but not for very long on account of you knocking it from my grasp.¡±


    Harren shook his head. ¡°Who¡¯s your second?¡±


    Brian sighed. ¡°Rafe is insisting it be him.¡±


    ¡°Is he sober?¡± Harren asked.


    Brian nodded.


    ¡°Then you are in surprisingly capable hands. I¡¯d back you myself, but-¡± He raised his bandaged hands.


    ¡°Rafe? A good hand with a sword?¡± Brian asked, skepticism dripping from his words.


    Harren nodded in understanding. ¡°If he wasn¡¯t, some poor girl¡¯s brother would have run him through in a duel by now.¡±


    Brian cocked his head, considering that information. ¡°Suppose I hadn¡¯t thought of it that way.¡±


    Harren experimentally flexed his fingers, finding he could clench them into a fist, though it hurt like all hell. ¡°He¡¯s an ass, but a useful one and loyal,¡± he said with a sigh, remembering their last parting. Even after that, the man was helping Brian- doubtless spouting some malarky about doing it for the fun of it. Rafe never worked for fun.


    A moment of quiet passed between them. ¡°General Peltar asked to see you once you were moving and feeling up to it,¡± Brian said, breaking the quiet.


    ¡°He pulled through?¡± Harren asked, meeting Brian¡¯s gaze.


    Brian nodded, reaching behind his head to scratch his neck. ¡°Had to see a God touched healer. He was in rough shape. Good as new now,¡± he said, ¡°Want me to tell him you¡¯re awake?¡±


    Harren took a deep breath. Supposed he¡¯d have to eventually. He nodded and Brian rose to his feet. The boy looked over his shoulder. ¡°Cheer up. You¡¯re a hero,¡± he said with a smile.


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    Harren watched him disappear through the doorway. A hero? He certainly didn¡¯t feel like one. Memories of grasping hands in the cold darkness of the tunnel returned unbidden and he shivered. The newfound solitude felt oppressive. He didn¡¯t want to be left alone with his thoughts.


    As the quiet stretched, Harren flexed his aching limbs to relieve some of the soreness. A moment later, the door clicked and creaked as it opened. Peltar strode into the room. He wore a fresh shirt unsullied by the gaping wound across his gut, but the ash and blood of the day still caked his face, and his hair was singed where flames had licked him earlier. That he was whole was a miracle. The effectiveness of god-touched healing always amazed him. It was shame those touched by the goddess died so young.


    Peltar eased himself into the seat Brian had vacated, eyes on Haren. ¡°I¡¯d never have expected you to be the one coming to my rescue,¡± he said, eyes hard. ¡°In fact, when Longreen assigned you a command, I was furious. Do you know why?¡±


    Harren was quiet. He didn¡¯t know what he was expecting, but it wasn¡¯t this. He shook his head.


    ¡°Because first sons always think they know best and think only of themselves,¡± Peltar explained. ¡°A fact you proved early on, at great cost to the men under your command.¡±


    Harren swallowed, not daring to speak.


    ¡°Longreen didn¡¯t assign you to the tunnel,¡± he said, ¡°I did.¡± Peltar leaned forward. ¡°He approved it, but I demanded it.¡±


    Harren found his nerve. ¡°What are you hoping to gain by telling me this?¡±


    Peltar met Harren¡¯s gaze. ¡°I¡¯m telling you because honor demands it,¡± he said, ¡°and because a good leader considers the fact that they may have been wrong.¡±


    An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Harren didn¡¯t know what to say.


    Peltar ran a hand along the fresh, gray stubble lining his jaw. ¡°I took accounts from your men,¡± he said.


    Peltar raised a finger. ¡°Four of them said they owed you their lives and wouldn¡¯t have made it out of the tunnel without you.¡± He raised a second finger. ¡°You endangered yourself to save several of my personal guard.¡± He raised a third finger. ¡°Grim Thorne was asked to observe your operation and reported to the Marshal that both you and the fifth performed admirably and corroborated the reports of your men.¡±


    Relief rushed through Harren at the knowledge Grim hadn¡¯t hung him out to dry.


    Peltar raised a fourth finger. ¡°Lastly, you came back for me, treading the thin line between bravery and madness.¡±


    Peltar lowered his hand and leaned back in the chair. ¡°Truth be told, I didn¡¯t think you capable of caring for anyone but yourself, but it seems even I can be surprised from time to time.¡±


    Harren was quiet a moment, digesting the backhanded compliment. ¡°Did anyone else make it out of the tunnel?¡± he asked.


    Peltar took a deep breath and released it slowly. He leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. ¡°I¡¯m afraid not. Somebody sealed the entry point soon after you¡¯d entered. Anyone who didn¡¯t make it out with you is lost.¡±


    He expected it, but it still stung. Harren nodded in understanding then winced as he unconsciously tried to clench his fists.


    Peltar¡¯s eyes drifted to Harren¡¯s hands. ¡°For saving my life, I¡¯d let you ask a boon of me. I¡¯ve already given a favorable assessment to the Marshal to which he responded with approval.¡±


    Harren¡¯s breath caught. That was an invitation back to court and his old life- currying favor, politicking, socializing with the most powerful people in the north, and having a seat at the table, himself. He could ask to be relieved of duty and he truly believed Peltar would honor it and see it done.


    He hesitated, looking to his bandaged hands. It all seemed so hollow now after seeing the faces of men who died to preserve it. Men with families and lives of their own that were dashed away as Gavin¡¯s had been. For that matter- would Gavin even allow Harren to return to his own life, or would he find himself gutted in an alleyway to preserve the quartermaster¡¯s secrets?


    Harren turned to meet Peltar¡¯s gaze. ¡°I¡¯d ask two things,¡± he said.


    Peltar raised an eyebrow but did not immediately object.


    ¡°For the men of the Fifth who died, I¡¯d like a sum of gold to be sent to their families should they have them. Enough to tide them a few years,¡± he said.


    ¡°Done,¡± Peltar answered.


    Harren took a deep breath. ¡°Second, my quartermaster, Gavin Acron, is a veteran of the previous war. He claimed to me that he was wrongfully declared dead and had his assets seized for the war effort. He lacked any recourse found himself conscripted once more. Is there any way his case could be appealed?¡±


    Peltar frowned at that request and sighed. ¡°A far more frequent occurrence than the crown would care to admit. As the king raised taxes, many nobles called in non-existent debts and seized assets they had no rights to from men who weren¡¯t there to defend themselves.¡± He shook his head. ¡°I spent more time than I care to admit making cases for men who served the Sixth.¡±


    ¡°Is there anything to be done?¡± Harren asked.


    ¡°He have family?¡± Peltar asked.


    Harren nodded. ¡°Lost.¡±


    ¡°Shackled with debt into indentured servitude,¡± Peltar answered. ¡°After so long, there¡¯s no recourse for the property, but both the King and the Marshal take these cases very seriously. The family may yet be found and cleared of whatever claims were made.¡±


    Peltar ran a hand through his greying hair. ¡°I¡¯ll coordinate the payment with your quartermaster and verify the details of his story.¡± he said.


    Peltar met Harren¡¯s gaze. ¡°You seem to be trying to win over your men.¡± he noted.


    ¡°Difficult in my position,¡± Harren said.


    ¡°Difficult in any position,¡± Peltar remarked. He was quiet a moment. ¡°The Marshal said you are welcome to attend court and you may do so as your duties permit.¡±


    Harren nodded in understanding.


    ¡°You can rest here until you¡¯re feeling fit to move about. Your hands and face were singed pretty badly, but the healer believed you¡¯ll mend fine given time and don¡¯t need the services of a god touched healer,¡± Peltar said.


    Harren grunted as he turned his battered body, shifting himself to rise from the bed. He planted his feet and groaned as he stood to his full height. ¡°If it¡¯s all the same, I¡¯d like to recover at the barracks.¡±


    Peltar chuckled. ¡°Want your men to see you like this, eh?¡±


    Harren grinned, ignoring the pain as he did so. ¡°Am I that transparent?¡±


    Peltar rose to his feet beside Harren. ¡°Subtlety isn¡¯t for soldiers.¡± He held out a hand to Harren. ¡°Welcome back to Sixth Legion, Prefecuts.¡±


    Harren reached out and shook Peltar¡¯s hand.


    As Harren pulled his hand back, Peltar¡¯s grip tightened. The General met his eyes. ¡°Make no mistake, Barrington- dark days are ahead of us. There will be reprisals for what we did today, and I¡¯ve never seen the Sons muster such a force before.¡±


    ¡°The red sun rises,¡± Harren answered.

 Ch 32: A Brothers Love

    James rushed down the hall of the underground complex. Exhaustion warred against the dreadful fear in his heart. He¡¯d watched the all-consuming fire spread against the western Outwalls as he was trapped, fighting against the Venarans in the east. Images of his wife and daughter caught in the fire circled in his mind as he followed one of Marc¡¯s personal guards. His brother urgently called for him, and James knew in his gut that it was about his family.


    He took deep breaths, trying to calm his breathing as he restrained himself from running down the hall. Blood and soot stained every inch of him, gore sticking in the links of his chain. War had been just the hell he remembered it to be, but he would wade through that crucible a thousand times more to know his family was safe.


    They soon neared the door set into the stone wall that led to Marc¡¯s room. James ignored the guard at the door and shoved past the man leading him, bursting into the room, heart pounding. Marc sat in one of his wooden chairs, grimacing as a healer stitched a cut in his shoulder. A second shallow cut along his chest had already been sutured closed. Marc met James eyes and there was no relief to be had in that look.


    ¡°Where¡¯s my daughter?¡± James demanded.


    Marc raised his free hand. ¡°James-¡±


    James marched up to Marc and the healer flinched as he approached. ¡°Where,¡± he demanded.


    ¡°Lissa is fine, James.¡±


    A rush of relief rushed over him at that news, one of the blades of fear propped against his heart falling away. ¡°Where is she?¡± he asked.


    Marc took a deep breath. ¡°Before you see her, we need to talk.¡±


    That sent a cold rush of fear down his spine. ¡°What happened?¡±


    Marc grunted as the healer tied the suture closed. ¡°Valdrik, you may go,¡± Marc said.


    The healer nodded and gathered his supplies before leaving the room. James waited, the edge of his impatience tempting him to grab the man and bodily launch him through the door. A moment later, Valdrik took his leave.


    Marc took a deep breath before speaking. ¡°Melna is dead, and it seems Hilda started the fire to cover Lissa¡¯s escape.¡±


    James¡¯ heart leapt into his throat. ¡°Started the fire?¡± he asked, voice breaking.


    Marc¡¯s eyes conveyed a deep sadness to match his own. She saved your girl but if she made it out, she would have turned up by now. My men are still scouring the city just in case.¡±


    James¡¯ voice caught, and he couldn¡¯t seem to manage the words. Divines, he should have fought harder with them and dragged them both to where it was safe. Why did he give in? ¡°Hilda,¡± he whispered.


    James staggered to the chair opposite Marc¡¯s and slumped into it. What the hell was he going to say to his daughter?


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry James,¡± Marc said.


    James barely heard him. He was thinking back to yesterday when he¡¯d last held her in his arms. If that was to be their last parting, he¡¯d wanted it to a good memory. That¡¯s why he¡¯d let them stay. He just never imagined he¡¯d be the one left behind.


    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Marc spoke, ¡°Melna¡¯s last words were to say how remarkable Lissa was.¡±


    James leaned forward, holding his head in his hands. What did he care what Melna said?


    ¡°She said that Lissa was everything she¡¯d hoped. Which means she¡¯s everything I¡¯d ever hoped for,¡± he whispered.


    James had to force the words out between shuddering breaths. ¡°I need to see her, Marc.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t let you do that,¡± Marc said.


    James¡¯s brow furrowed and he looked up at Marc. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    Marc¡¯s expression was dark, and he was quiet a moment as he seemed to try to find the words. ¡°You did a remarkable job in raising her. Lissa is kind and compassionate despite living in the Outwalls. But kindness and compassion are not what our people need right now.¡±


    James leaned away from Marc. ¡°What are you trying to say?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m saying you can¡¯t see her,¡± he said.


    James blinked. He couldn¡¯t have possibly heard that right.


    ¡°She¡¯s my daughter,¡± he said.


    ¡°But she¡¯s also so much more that,¡± Marc said.


    James rose to his feet, voice raising. ¡°And who the hell are you to tell me whether I can see her? What fucking right do you have?¡±


    At his words the pair of guards entered the room, closing the door behind them. Their hands were on the axes at their sides. James froze, looking between them and Marc. ¡°What have you done?¡±


    Marc rose to his feet, hands raised in a reconciliatory motion. ¡°James, I¡¯m offering you the opportunity to be the greatest hero the Rills has ever seen.¡±


    James¡¯ heart was threatening to burst from his chest. There was no way he could burst through the guards and escape, and there was no way he could fight all three of them. His eyes cast around for an escape but there was only one door.


    Marc kept speaking. ¡°We lost hundreds today. Far more than I¡¯d expected. We were betrayed, but this can still be turned to our advantage. The world will know that they were the ones who started the fire that left our countrymen homeless in the cold. They were the ones who burned our homes, killed our kin, and slew the last priestess,¡± he said, ¡°People will flock to our cause in droves. For every man we lost today, we¡¯ll gain twenty more. And we¡¯ll need them.¡±


    ¡°What does this have to do with Lissa?¡± James demanded, fist clenching around the axe at his side.


    Marc ignored his question. ¡°Every Rillish man and woman knows the story of the gatekeeper and who you are to me. A war as long as this one needs martyrs, James.¡±


    James¡¯ blood ran cold.


    Marc lowered his hands. ¡°I need you to feed information to the Venarans when the time is right.¡±


    James felt his limbs stiffen and the hundreds of scars across his body burned, making their presence known. His voice quavered. ¡°And how would you intend I do that?¡±


    ¡°As their prisoner,¡± Marc whispered.


    James backed away from him, pressing his back against the wall a primal fear rushed through him. ¡°Lissa needs a father,¡± he said.


    ¡°She has me. You have my word that I¡¯ll take care of her,¡± he said.


    James¡¯ anger broke through his terror. He spat at Marc¡¯s feet and drew his axe.


    Marc seemed unconcerned, though the two guards behind him drew their weapons. ¡°The thing that makes you great James, is the very thing that makes you weak. You¡¯re a good man through the very fiber of your being.¡± He shook his head. ¡°When the Venarans have you, you will do as I ask because you know it will keep Lissa safe.¡±


    Marc¡¯s voice quavered. ¡°And when she hears what they did to you, she will do whatever I ask to bring Venar to its knees.¡± He met James¡¯ eyes. ¡°I will mourn you, James.¡±


    James¡¯ breath came in shuddering gasps. Marc always treaded the line of morality, but he¡¯d never in all his life expected this. ¡°You¡¯re no kin of mine,¡± James whispered, fingers tightening around his axe.


    James rushed forward with a roar, axe swinging for Marc¡¯s neck.


    Marc ducked the blow and rushed under James¡¯ arms. They both tumbled to the ground in a heap of thrashing limbs. James lost his grip on his axe and pummeled at Marc¡¯s face with his mailed fists until the guards arrived and pinned his arms to the ground. He thrashed in their grasp as Marc staggered to his feet.


    James spat curses at the guards as they held him down. Marc wiped blood from his face then walked to where James¡¯s axe had fallen. James screamed for help, but no rescue came bursting through the door. Marc had this all planned out. James surrendered, falling limp in the guards¡¯ embrace as Marc stood over him, axe in hand.


    ¡°I¡¯ll miss you, James,¡± he said as he raised the butt of the axe and crashed it into James¡¯ skull.

 Ch 33: An Officer in Truth

    Harren staggered forward, forcing one tired, aching leg before the other. The fort was still abuzz with word of the battle beyond the wall as soldiers buzzed among the barracks like flies, discovering who had lived and who had died. Some mourned, a bottle of something hard in their hands, eyes staring off into space. Others stumbled around as if dazed, blood and soot splashed across the bronze plates of their armor.


    He took a deep breath as he neared the barracks. He had no idea what reception awaited him. The door to the Third Barracks hung open and, beyond the door, he could see men gathered in the central hall, their voices sounding over the din of activity outside.


    As he crossed the stone threshold, he saw that most of the Fifth had been assembled. Likely every man who wasn¡¯t on active duty. The few survivors of the days¡¯ events sat together at one of the card tables, the rest of the men giving them a respectful distance. They all looked like hell, probably much like he did. Harren waited in the doorway as Gavin spoke to the assembly.


    The man¡¯s hands shook as if overwhelmed with emotion, his eyes casting about the room. ¡°-and the tunnel was flooded. There was no avoiding it. We lost a lot of good men today.¡±


    Harren¡¯s brow furrowed, and he could see similar expressions on the faces of the wet, bloody men by the table.


    Gavin continued, ¡°But we persevered, and under my leadership we made it home.¡±


    Eyes from the Fifth started surreptitiously drifting toward Harren as he leaned against the doorway, his expression beginning to darken.


    Gavin didn¡¯t seem to notice. He ran a hand across his face as if in the throes of mourning. ¡°Let us give a moment of silence for our brothers of the Fifth who didn¡¯t make it home.¡±


    The room obediently quieted. Harran closed the door behind him, the hinges groaning loudly in the silence. It shut with a click. As he strode toward Gavin, the man took notice of him, eyes wide. ¡°Harren? I heard you¡¯d be recuperating in the pal-¡±


    He trailed off as he met Harren¡¯s gaze, seeming to see something in his eyes that gave the quartermaster pause. Harren could have heard a pin drop in the barracks, the only sound the scuff of his boots against the wooden floor as he limped to stand beside Gavin. The quartermaster flinched as Harren put a singed, red hand on his shoulder.


    He let the silence linger a moment before looking toward the table where the other survivors sat. He knew the names of few of the men under his command, but he remembered the name of one of the men at that table, a short, stout brute of a man, seeming almost as broad as he was tall. Jareth.


    ¡°Jareth,¡± Harren called, ¡°Who pulled you from the tunnel and led you safely from the flames?¡±


    The man blinked, seeming dumbfounded at being singled out. All eyes turned to him, and Jareth paled, his eyes drifting across Harren¡¯s wounds and settling on his face before answering, ¡°You did.¡± He hesitated. ¡°Lord.¡± Jareth bowed his head slightly.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Gavin hissed at him, a warning in his tone.


    Harren Ignored him, his eyes crinkling in pain as he spoke. ¡°For my actions today Peltar granted me a boon. I asked that the families of the men who fell today be given enough coin to see them through the hard times ahead.¡±


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    A murmur of approval sounded from the gathered men. Harren tightened his grip on Gavin¡¯s shoulder as he continued, ¡°This Cohort needs a change, to value the lives of its men over the promise of coin. What happened today should never have happened, and as your commander that is my fault.¡±


    His expression darkened as he spoke. ¡°Mourn the dead but pity those who held the blade. I promise you blood for the friends lost today, and I promise that I will see you through your tour here or fill the grave beside you.¡±


    Gavin shrugged off his hand, leaning close to him and speaking in a low voice. ¡°Barrington, what the fuck do you think you¡¯re doing?¡±


    ¡°What I should have done the day I got here.¡± Harren answered.


    As Gavin opened his mouth to answer, Harren grabbed him by the throat and threw him against the far wall. His every motion sent waves of agony through his body.


    Through gritted teeth he spoke, ¡°There will no longer be compromises with the enemy. From this moment on we stand only with Venar, not for loyalty or love of country, but because the alternative has proven to be death,¡± Harren said.


    Gavin had been too stunned to fight back and he sputtered as Harren released him.


    In all honesty, Harren should have asked Peltar to crucify the man. But, by that logic, Harren belonged on a cross right beside him. He took a deep breath. ¡°Peltar will be looking for you before the day¡¯s end.¡±


    A look of intense fear spread across Gavin¡¯s face and the room stared at him as if he were already hung. Harren felt no need to put the man¡¯s mind at ease. Everything hurt, and his legs were beginning to shake as if losing the ability to hold him upright. Gavin could stew with uncertainty a few hours.


    Harren gritted his teeth and looked across the assembled men, taking in the wide range of expressions from anger to awe. Probably the same awe one had when amazed by the stupidity of their fellow man. ¡°Should any man challenge my right to the Fifth, come forward now and make yourself known.¡±


    Divines did he hope nobody stepped forward. A particularly stiff breeze could probably knock him over as it was. He tried not to show his relief when all in the room were still, but he knew someone would likely come for him later in the dark. ¡°The Sons would see us dead, and I will not let them have you,¡± he said.


    ¡°Dismissed!¡± he roared.


    For a moment nobody moved, but then Jareth rose from the card table. ¡°You heard the Prefectus. Dismissed!¡± he yelled.


    At that, the men started dispersing. Some grumbled while others were carefully quiet. Harren absently wondered if he¡¯d signed his own death warrant. He sighed, meeting Gavin¡¯s eyes.


    A red mark was forming around the quartermaster¡¯s neck. He stared hatred at Harren.


    ¡°I hope you find peace, Gavin,¡± Harren said.


    Gavin turned from him without a word, stalking towards his quarters on the far side of the Barracks. Harren let out a pained breath, fighting the urge to sag as his anger faded and the strength fled his battered body. He needed to lay down.


    As he gathered his strength, Jareth stepped before him. He was near Harren¡¯s own age, though perhaps twice as wide, and it was clear from looking at him that it wasn¡¯t all fat.


    The soldier saluted him, and Harren returned the gesture. ¡°Sir, I spoke with the fellows from today. We thought you might want a guard outside your rooms and wanted to volunteer.¡±


    Harren looked past him to the nine other men at the table. They all were looking toward him in anticipation. He met the large man¡¯s gaze. ¡°What¡¯s your rank, soldier?¡±


    ¡°Just a legionnaire,¡± he said.


    Harren held out his hand to Jareth, ¡°I¡¯d be honored Sargent,¡±


    Jareth cocked his head a moment before the meaning of Harren¡¯s words sunk in. He smiled as he shook Harren¡¯s hand.


    ¡°See to it that your new squad knows they¡¯ve been reassigned under your command,¡± he said as he released Jareth¡¯s hand. ¡°I¡¯ll see to the paperwork eventually, but for now I need to get to my cot before I collapse and embarrass myself.¡±


    Jareth chuckled. ¡°Been a hell of a day,¡± he agreed, ¡°I¡¯ll see to it.¡±


    ¡°Good Man,¡± Harren said, giving Jareth a final nod and hoping he couldn¡¯t see the tears brimming in his eyes.


    That might have the first positive interaction he¡¯d had with any of his men. He made his way down the halls to his room and, as he shut the door behind him, his abused legs gave out and he crumpled to the floor, groaning as he curled into a ball.


    Goddess save his sorry ass.

 Ch 34: Quartermasters Grace & Bastards Bite

    Grim stood on the field in the fresh dawn¡¯s light. Scaffolding had been built in the night to hold gallows and a single Rillman hung from the rope. His flesh was pale, and he swung slowly in the gentle breeze. Looking at him, Grim felt dead inside. He¡¯d seen so much death recently it all just left him feeling numb.


    To his left, banquet tables had been set up along the training fields where the trial of arms would be held, and guests were already arriving on the scene as food was being delivered from the manse¡¯s kitchens via carriage. The feasting would go on into the day as contestants or their champions dueled under the eyes of their peers.


    Grim tore his eyes from the dead man, hands drifting to the sword at his side. The Marshal had provided him a fresh set of equipment for the day. He wished he¡¯d had more time to practice with the damned thing. He¡¯d used a sword before, but he was far from a skilled hand with one. Finesse was not his strong suit, and he hoped could somewhat rely on brute force to carry him through the day.


    He sighed at the thought, eyes drifting to the contestants. They were all already in attendance, likely fueled by the same nerves that had him already up and moving despite his aches from yesterday. A surprising number of them nursed minor injuries as if they had been in the thick of the fighting yesterday, their chosen seconds hovering nearby. Those men, Grim found far more interesting. There were no limits he was aware of on who could serve as a second. There were at least a half-dozen household retainers standing at the ready, hands resting on their armaments with a comfort that belied their experience. Many returned his gaze, sizing him up just as he did them. Grim grinned at them.


    ¡°Must you flirt so brazenly, Thorne?¡± A voice asked.


    Grim glanced to his right to see Rafe approaching. He was armored with only a padded gambeson and a pair of leather gloves. His hand rested atop the hilt of a fine sword and brow was furrowed as if he had a monster of a headache.


    Grim raised an eyebrow at Rafe¡¯s armament. ¡°Don¡¯t you think you¡¯re a little lacking in armor?¡±


    Rafe waved a hand dismissively. ¡°I¡¯m a swordsman, Thorne. Not a brute designed to intimidate peasants. Quick hands and faster feet carry the day in such a competition.¡±


    Grim shrugged. ¡°You seem testy today.¡±


    ¡°Oh. I¡¯m so sorry, your bastardship. By the Goddess¡¯ bloody fucking tits, forgive my impudence. I wouldn¡¯t want to appear-¡± he gasped, ¡°Testy.¡±


    Grim just stared at him.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t had a drink in two days,¡± Rafe continued, ¡°All I want to do is kill something, drink something, and then fuck something. Probably in that order.¡±


    ¡°Charming,¡± Grim commented.


    ¡°Ladies love a good tongue, Thorne.¡±


    Grim nodded. ¡°Doubtless.¡±


    Rafe narrowed his eyes. ¡°Are you mocking me?¡±


    Grim raised his eyebrows. ¡°Never.¡±


    ¡°Ass,¡± Rafe said as he stomped off toward the tables where food was being served.


    ¡°Is that where the tongue goes?¡± Grim called after him.


    Rafe shot Grim a rude gesture over his shoulder. Grim grinned after him.


    ¡°I see you¡¯ve had the misfortune of meeting my champion,¡± A voice said.


    Grim turned to see Brian approaching him with a plate filled with quiches. The boy held it out to him. ¡°Thought you might want some.¡±


    Grim smiled, eyes widening in anticipation. ¡°You thought right,¡± he said, hands reaching for the plate.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t honestly think he¡¯d manage,¡± Grim said through a mouthful of quiche, nodding in Rafe¡¯s direction.


    Brian followed Grim¡¯s gaze with a contemplative look. ¡°You know, I¡¯m starting to suspect he might have some twisted sense of honor about him.¡±


    Grim snorted as he palmed a second quiche. ¡°Twisted? Yes,¡± he said, ¡°Honor? No.¡±


    ¡°And what has he done to deserve your ire?¡± Brian asked.


    Grim opened his mouth to answer and found he had none. ¡°Huh,¡± he muttered, mulling it over. ¡°He¡¯s still an ass.¡±


    ¡°Ah yes,¡± Brian said, ¡°You would be an authority on the subject.¡±


    Grim narrowed his eyes at Brian. The boy was growing bolder. It suited.


    Grim took another bite of quiche and watched as the nobility arrived in a steady stream, parading across the field in elaborate gowns, jackets, and parasols. It all seemed very- odd when contrasted against the barracks filled with Venaran soldiers but a few dozen paces distant. A cordon of Longreen¡¯s household guards patrolled the edges of the gathering, making sure the rank and file didn¡¯t get any grandiose ideas. Seemed a good way to fill a man with to resentment if you asked Grim, but they weren¡¯t his men, and this wasn¡¯t his fort.


    So- he ate quiche, trying to keep the corpse swinging in the background from his mind.


    ***


    Harren sighed as he leaned over his washbasin, looking into the water. The reflection was blurry, but he could see and feel the raised blisters along the left side of his face. It looked ghastly, but the lion¡¯s share of the pain had subsided into a consistent ache that was exacerbated whenever he moved his face. He frowned with a wince as he considered the scar it may leave, eyes drifting to his blistered hands. The irony of it all was that the tunnel flooding may have actually saved his life, limiting the burns to his most exposed flesh.


    He¡¯d cleaned himself as best he could, but knew he still looked like hell with singed hair and bubbling skin. A month ago, he might have cared, but today all he wanted was to do was see his brother and drink. A part of him almost felt guilty for not attending the day¡¯s patrols as he usually did, but he was in no condition to be holding a blade or marching around the city.


    His entire body ached with soreness, but it was a vast improvement over the overwhelming exhaustion in his limbs from yesterday. His body was less than agreeable with him being up and about, but at least he was no longer concerned he¡¯d topple to the floor on a moment¡¯s notice.


    He splashed a final handful of water in his face, hoping he¡¯d removed the worst of the soot. He patted his jacket pocket to ensure he grabbed the orders he¡¯d written and sealed


    before turning and opening the door to the hall beyond. As the door opened, it revealed Jareth sitting in the hall beyond.


    The man¡¯s sword was drawn, and he absently spun the tip against the stone floor, clearly bored out of his mind. At Harren¡¯s approach his eyes snapped up. ¡°Morning, sir,¡± he said with an inclined head.


    Harren nodded in return. ¡°You didn¡¯t stay there all night, did you?¡±


    Jareth shook his head. ¡°Nah. I switched off with the rest of the boys in the night, but thought I ought to be here to brief you when you rose as you put me in charge and whatnot.¡±


    It hadn¡¯t even crossed Harren¡¯s mind, but he was glad to see it crossed Jareth¡¯s. ¡°Anything to report?¡±


    ¡°Peltar came and spoke with Gavin in his room.¡± He shrugged. ¡°General left an hour or so later. Haven¡¯t seen Gavin since. Aside from that, the night was quiet.¡±


    Harren¡¯s gaze drifted down the hall to the quartermaster¡¯s closed door. It was short sighted of him to let the quartermaster stew like that. It could have easily ended bloody before Peltar spoke with the man. Hells, the man might still be looking for his blood and divines knew the Sons would be looking for vengeance for the bad information given to them. They¡¯d really made a mess of things. He sighed.


    ¡°What made you want to follow me?¡± he asked.


    Jareth rose to his feet, sheathing his sword. ¡°That¡¯s easy. Fuckers killed a lot of my friends yesterday. You promised blood. I¡¯m all in.¡±


    ¡°That easy?¡± Harren asked.


    ¡°That easy,¡± Jareth confirmed.


    ¡°Well then. Who else can I threaten to kill to get the rest of the Fifth on my side?¡± he asked.


    Jareth grinned. ¡°Could add the rest of the cohorts to the list.¡±


    Harren chuckled. ¡°Fuck it. Let¡¯s take over the fort.¡±


    Jareth laughed. ¡°Not gonna lie, sir. I thought you had quite the stick up your ass when you first took over here.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s standard issue for nobility,¡± Harren quipped, ¡°The world contrived to rip mine out and beat me with it.¡± He shook his head. ¡°The past month has been- humbling.¡± His eyes drifted to Gavin¡¯s door once more. ¡°I¡¯ll need to speak with him alone.¡±


    Jareth frowned at that, hesitating a moment before answering, ¡°As you wish.¡±


    The big man followed Harren down the hall and leaned against one of the walls as Harren tried the handle, found it unlocked and entered the small room.


    Gavin sat on the edge of his bed, eyes fixed on his small bronze locket. He didn¡¯t even look at Harren as he shut the door behind him and slumped into the chair by Gavin¡¯s desk. A quiet hung between them until Gavin closed the locket with a click, wrapping his fist around the casing.


    He looked up and met Harren¡¯s gaze. The man¡¯s eyes were red and there were lines beneath his eyes as if he¡¯d found little sleep that night. His mouth quavered as he opened it to speak and paused. Gavin shook his head and forced the words out. ¡°Thank you,¡± he said, ¡°My lord.¡±


    In those four words, Harren knew Gavin to be his man. ¡°It¡¯s Harren,¡± he said, ¡°Unless I¡¯m trying to impress someone.¡±


    A small smile broke across Gavin¡¯s lips and his eyes drifted back to his hand clasped around the locket. ¡°I never thought there¡¯d ever be a chance I could see them again.¡± He shook his head. ¡°Why did you do this? You could have asked for anything.¡±


    Harren pondered that himself for a moment. It was a lot of reasons. He pitied the man. It was the right thing to do. It would put the quartermaster in his corner. His old life felt an empty comfort in comparison. But most of all, he wanted the respect of the men beneath him. Not just lip service. He was beginning to feel a responsibility for them regardless of their feelings for him.


    ¡°Because it¡¯s what your officer should have done the moment he heard your story all those years ago,¡± Harren said, ¡°and what I should have done the moment you told me.¡±


    Gavin¡¯s lips made a thin line, and he unclenched his fist from around the locket. He held it out to show Harren and unclasped the lid. Inside was a small, faded portrait of a smiling girl in a fine dress with long, black hair.


    ¡°My wife,¡± Gavin said, ¡°Our parents arranged the marriage when we were young.¡± He shook his head. ¡°I was an utter ass to her in the early years, and Goddess forgive me for that. But, as time went by and the stupidity of youth faded, I found in her the most patient and loving companion a man could ask for.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s beautiful,¡± Harren said, though in truth he found her rather homely.


    Gavin smiled. ¡°I can barely remember the faces of the beautiful women I paid for the privilege of bedding in my youth, but I remember her face the day I left her like it was yesterday.¡± He chuckled to himself, shaking his head. ¡°I barely remember any of the moments from my youth that had my blood pumping, but I remember the quiet moments- When I held my first child. The nights spent reading together by the fire.¡± He sighed. ¡°The morning I woke up hungover in an unfamiliar bed and realized what a fool I was and how much time I¡¯d squandered.¡±


    Gavin closed the locket and placed the chain about his neck, tucking the casing into his shirt. ¡°If you ever meet a woman who makes you feel like you¡¯re home whenever you¡¯re with her, never let her go.¡±


    Harren nodded in understanding, and they lapsed into a silence. Gavin ran a hand across his face and broke the quiet a moment later, ¡°If they find them, I¡¯ll have to go to them. I can¡¯t bring them here.¡±


    Harren reached into his jacket and pulled the rolled piece of parchment he¡¯d prepared that morning. He handed it to Gavin. The quartermaster cocked his head in a question before taking the papers in hand. He broke the seal and unrolled the scroll, eyes flickering across the script and widening as he read.


    ¡°I wrote your release orders this morning,¡± Harren said, flexing his aching hand. ¡°The minute you get word, I¡¯ll expect you to be on the next supply train out of here.¡±


    Gavin¡¯s hands shook as he held the paper, and he looked as if he might burst into tears. His mouth worked but no words came out.


    Harren rose to his feet. ¡°Until then, please see to the men as per usual. They could use direction at a time like this.¡±


    Gavin nodded, eyes still on the parchment.


    ¡°Take care, Gavin,¡± Harren said as he turned and put a hand on the door.


    ¡°Wait,¡± Gavin said.


    Harren paused in the doorway, looking over his shoulder as Gavin rose to his feet, the scroll clutched tightly in one fist. ¡°Thank you,¡± he said, bowing deeply to Harren.


    Harren inclined his head in return and turned away from Gavin, striding into the hall.


    ***


    It was nearly noon by the time he made it to the practice yard where the festivities were underway. He eyed the high sun with a measure of distrust, finding it hard to believe he¡¯d been out for almost twelve hours. A cordon of the Marshal¡¯s elite patrolled the enclosure, keeping out the rabble of the sixth legion. As Harren approached the yard, a stern-faced man moved to block his path.


    He eyed Harren dubiously. Doubtless he looked much like he¡¯d been beaten with sticks and left too long atop an oven. He came to a halt before the soldier as the man held a hand up, signaling him to halt.


    Harren was a bit peeved that the man didn¡¯t recognize him, but he supposed he¡¯d hardly looked to be the same man he did on the day of his arrival in Bleakridge. The Soldier eyed his dress uniform, taking in his crisp green jacket, matching breeches, and standard issue boots. The shining insignia of his rank was sewn in thread of silver atop the image of a golden sun above his right breast.


    ¡°Sorry Sir, no soldiers allowed on the field today. Marshal¡¯s orders,¡± the guard said as if Harren were an imbecile.


    ¡°I¡¯m Harren Barrington, heir to Caldwyn and prefectus of the Fifth Cohort. The Marshal¡¯s invitation to court has been extended to me,¡± Harren answered.


    The man¡¯s brow furrowed as he scrutinized Harren¡¯s face. His eyebrows rose a moment later as he seemed to recognize some feature of Harren¡¯s. ¡°Apologies, lord. I didn¡¯t immediately recognize you,¡± he said, falling into an appropriate bow.


    Harren frowned. Hells- was it that bad? He nodded to the man in return as the soldier stepped aside. Harren wondered if he should just turn back before he shook his head and continued onward. Brian would want him there. The festivities were in full swing, and the sounds of combat could be heard in the distance as swords clashed.


    Harren¡¯s eyes were drawn to the sounds of combat, and between the gaps in the observing crowd, he could see Grim in the designated circle. He really had grown to be a monstrous brute of a man. It made Harren doubly regret the misspent years of his youth, needling him over his bastardry. Why did he even care about that as a boy? Likely just another way to confirm his superiority over his fellow man. His face twisted in pain as a frown crossed his lips. He hardly felt superior any longer.


    Eyes turned to him and lingered as he crossed the threshold of the gathering, passing by the outermost guests as he neared the ring, following the sounds of scuffing dirt and ringing metal. He ignored the looks, finding a gap in the crowd and leaning against the small wooden fence separating the onlookers from the contestants.


    Grim¡¯s opponent appeared to be some household guard of one of the competitors. The man handled a blade well but was dwarfed in size by the Rillman who¡¯s onslaught came with a ferocious strength and speed. Grim hacked with the blade like it was an axe. There was no finesse to it, only a brutal efficiency that kept his opponent on his heels, desperately parrying.


    A few shouts of alarm sounded as the Retainer¡¯s back collided with the fence on the far side of the ring. Noblemen and ladies scattered away as Grim¡¯s blade hacked downwards at the man, beating him down with nowhere to flee. The sword came flying free from the man¡¯s hands followed by hasty cries of ¡°Yield! I Yield!¡±


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    For a moment, Harren though Grim might run the soldier through. The big man¡¯s breath came in ragged gasps, hot fury in his eyes. An interminable second passed on the edge of violence before Grim lowered the blade to the sound of polite clapping.


    A herald climbed into the ring, announcing to the crowd. ¡°Grim Thorne victor of the second bout. Next to the ring is Kline Xalder and Rafe Talstad.¡±


    Harren watched Grim as he stalked from the ring, the battered retainer following in his wake. A figure leaned onto the fence next to Harren. Harren glanced to his right to see Rafe¡¯s shit-eating grin.


    ¡°By the Goddess¡¯ hairy cunny, you look like somebody tried to serve you up medium-rare,¡± Rafe said in greeting.


    ¡°Evidently the Sons thought my face could use some more color,¡± Harren said.


    Rafe scrutinized Harren¡¯s face. ¡°Not sure I¡¯d have picked, red, mottled yellow, and black, but Rillmen were never known for their taste.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you have a fight to go to?¡± Harren asked, glancing to where Rafe¡¯s opponent waited in the middle of the circle.


    Rafe chuckled. ¡°What are they going to do? Start without me?¡±


    Harren grinned with a wince. ¡°Thanks for standing in for him.¡±


    Rafe patted Harren on the shoulder far harder than necessary, sending stinging tendrils of pain through him. ¡°What are friends for, my dear chap?¡±


    Harren shook his head. ¡°Last time I asked you that question, you told me a source of coin for wine, women, and whiskey,¡± Harren said.


    ¡°And you¡¯ve been most generous over the years. About time I paid you back, eh?¡± Rafe said, a grin spreading across his lips. ¡°You may be a cock swindling, self-important ass, but you¡¯re my cock swindling, self-important ass. And that ought to count for something.¡±


    As Harren opened his mouth to respond, Rafe leapt over the wooden fence, drawing his blade in an exaggerated flourish.


    He raised his hands high above his heads, turning to face across the crowd. ¡°Most esteemed Ladies and Gentlemen,¡± he called out. ¡°I should like to dedicate this fight to our man of the hour- our most dashing and brave hero-¡± Rafe held out a hand toward Harren ¡°Harren Barrington.¡±


    Harren sighed, fighting the urge to walk back to the barracks as every face in the assembly paused to look at him.


    To Harren¡¯s chagrin, Rafe had more to say. ¡°In the battle of the blaze one day prior, he and his men slew countless scores of the savage insurgents, who would seek to defile the honor of our fair ladies.¡±


    Rafe shook his sword as if the mere thought set his blood to boil. ¡°By his blade did the tide of battle turn, breaking the Rillish lines, cutting down their leaders, and raising the golden sun to heights of glory not seen since the last war!¡±


    Harren was surprised to see cheers and applause follow Rafe¡¯s announcement. Were they all actually so disconnected from what had actually transpired that they believed Rafe¡¯s rubbish?


    Now that he thought about it, he couldn¡¯t recall what had happened in any of the raids over the past decade. Why would they know?


    As the applause died down, Rafe addressed the crowd once more. ¡°And we are blessed on this occasion for the Hero of the Flame, Harren Barrington, told me he would like to share a few words with us.¡±


    Harren¡¯s mouth dropped open as he registered Rafe¡¯s words, the shitiest shit eating grin spread wide across the man¡¯s lips. Fucking Asshole.


    Every single eye had turned toward him. His mind spun into overdrive, searching for a word- any word. ¡°Uh-¡± he said.


    Was that the best he could come up with? Maybe he could throw an ¡®um¡¯ and an ¡®er¡¯ in there for good measure. All he could think of was the bodies of men floating in the tunnel, rays of light illuminating their sightless eyes, their faces a mixture of horror and peace.


    There was really only one thing to say, the thing that had been on his mind every moment of the day since. He addressed the peerage, ¡°Whatever my deeds, they could not have been done without the thousands of Venaran soldiers who fought and died. Without those men none of it would be possible. Don¡¯t look to me for a hero. Look to the men who chose to follow me.¡±


    A somewhat uncomfortable silence followed that proclamation. He didn¡¯t expect them to like it. He wouldn¡¯t have appreciated it even a week ago, but it was true. After yesterday, he felt it in his bones. A truth beyond words.


    Rafe shot Harren a bland look before raising his blade into the air once more. ¡°Hear! Hear! For the glory of Venar!¡±


    That elicited a round of applause as Rafe turned to face his opponent, Kline- a young nobleman of solid build. His family oversaw the operation of several of the labor camps in the frigid north. There was precious little to occupy oneself with up there other than work, swordplay, and hunting. It showed in the young man¡¯s physique.


    A lack of patience also showed in the expression on the boy¡¯s face as he glared at Rafe. Rafe met the glare with a good-humored grin and saluted Kline with a flourish of the sword. The boy didn¡¯t return it, simply readying himself in a middle guard.


    ¡°Begin!¡± the Herald called.


    Kline rushed forward at Rafe, driving with the point of his sword.


    Rafe moved with shocking speed, sidestepping the thrust and batting it off course with his own blade. Kline grunted as an elbow found his jaw and sent him stumbling.


    Rafe was hot on his heels, thrusting with his blade.


    Kline narrowly managed to deflect the blow, feet skidding through the dirt as he centered himself on Rafe, far more wary than he¡¯d been a moment ago.


    Rafe took the offensive this time, feinting an overhead swing and bringing it around the flank.


    Kline caught the blow, bronze blades grating together as Rafe pushed into the strike. Kline heaved into the blade and Rafe spun away, releasing the pressure and sending Kline stumbling once more.


    The hilt of Rafe¡¯s sword found Kline¡¯s face and his nose exploded in a shower of blood. To his credit Kline kept his feet, a hand clutching his broken nose, blood flowing freely between the fingers. As he noticed Rafe¡¯s blade below his throat, he dropped his own sword without objection.


    A polite round of applause sounded from the observing nobility. Harren nearly joined in before thinking better of it, glancing at blistered hands. As the herald entered the ring to announce the outcome and next fight, Rafe leapt from the ring next to Harren. He grabbed Harren by the arm and led him away.


    ¡°Divines man. I line you up to tout your virtues and get every lady here looking your way, and you decide to spout off about the plight of the common man?¡± Rafe asked.


    Harren stopped in his tracks. ¡°You didn¡¯t see them, Rafe.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I saw the whole of the court looking at you like you sprouted horns,¡± Rafe said.


    Harren shook his head. ¡°Not them. The Sons. The Outwalls. Thousands of people died yesterday. All that stands between us and our heads on pikes is the men of the Sixth.¡±


    Rafe gave him an annoyed expression and put a hand on each of Harren¡¯s shoulders. ¡°Yes, and the legion is still there- right where we left them.¡± He sighed. ¡°Now, when I try to paint you a hero and improve your standing at court, please at least try to play along. I¡¯d prefer it if our esteemed host found you rather difficult to dispose of, the fool that I am.¡±


    Harren smirked. ¡°You¡¯re not going soft on me, are you?¡±


    Rafe shoved him by the shoulders. ¡°Perish the thought. I¡¯m just trying to keep you alive long enough so you can pay off your quickly growing debt to me, Hero of the Flame.¡±


    ¡°If that catches on, I might just stab you,¡± Harren said.


    Rafe grinned widely before turning from him and continuing through the crowd. Having nothing better to do, Harren shrugged and followed him. His reception was different than it had been at his last visit to court. People didn¡¯t avoid his gaze or shy from him as if he were contagious, but they still shot him furtive glances and whispered beneath their breath as he passed like he was some strange, foreign curiosity.


    He supposed it was an improvement, but it was still damnibly irritating. He told himself he didn¡¯t care, but that was far from the truth. He fought the urge to shrink beneath their gazes, the burns along his face itching.


    Rafe¡¯s destination soon became apparent as Brian came into sight. Of all the unlikely people the boy could be talking to, he seemed to be engaged in conversation with Ilyena Thorne. The girl had blossomed in the two years he¡¯d been absent from court, her face having grown more angular and the curves of her body evolving in all the right ways. Behind her, Grim sulked like a bear with a pinecone up his ass at the edge of the conversation, his eyes constantly drifting toward the fighting ring.


    He¡¯d been aware Brian had been aligning himself with the Thornes, but the notion still made Harren distinctly uncomfortable. By all rights and laws, they were Venaran nobility but at the same time they were distinctly outsiders. By even associating with them it alienated their positions with the rest of the families. Harren sighed. He supposed he¡¯d actually been the one to put the nail in that coffin.


    He forced an uncomfortable and somewhat painful smile to his lips as he neared. Ilyena caught his eye and flashed one in return that looked almost predatory. Brian caught his gaze with a look that was almost relieved.


    ¡°If it isn¡¯t the Hero of the Flame in the flesh,¡± Ilyena called out as he approached. She curtsied. ¡°I¡¯m honored to be in your presence, sir.¡±


    Harren couldn¡¯t tell whether she was joking and expected that was intended. Grim snorted and rolled his eyes, leaving no doubt to what he thought of Rafe¡¯s proclamation. It seemed they were of similar minds on the matter.


    He decided to take the jibe in stride and feign ignorance. He bowed to Ilyena, taking her hand as she held it out and kissed the ruby ring atop her index finger. ¡°The honor is all mine.¡±


    She had the grace not to flinch at the touch of his blistered hand nor to let her eyes linger on the burns along his face. ¡°I was just asking your brother about your deeds yesterday. By all accounts you fought through a dozen Sons to save the general of the Sixth Legion, braving the fires with every step.¡±


    Harren ran a hand through his hair, eyes drifting to Grim who stared at him blandly. Harren smiled. ¡°Tales have a way of growing larger with every telling,¡± he said, shooting a glare at Rafe. ¡°And truth be told, it was only eleven Sons, and I didn¡¯t so much brave the fire as run from it screaming.¡± He gestured to Grim. ¡°And If that ox you call a brother didn¡¯t carry me back to the keep, I might still be taking a nap in the Outwall gutters.¡±


    Grim shrugged. ¡°When you lock shields with a man, you don¡¯t leave him behind,¡± he said, ¡°or betray his secrets.¡±


    A chill ran down Harren¡¯s spine at that. ¡°A sentiment I share,¡± he said.


    Grim returned his comment with intense eye contact and a solemn nod. Rillmen were strange creatures. Harren did his best to approximate the gesture in return, the motion seeming to amuse Grim though the man said nothing more.


    Rafe put a hand on Harren¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Ah. It warms my heart to see you two making googly eyes at one another. It¡¯s like watching young Brian trying not to ogle your sister, Thorne.¡±


    Brian looked like he wanted to melt into the floor. Harren grinned while both Thornes starred daggers at Rafe.


    Ilyena arched an eyebrow. ¡°A gentleman may ogle if the attention is welcome. A concept I¡¯m sure you¡¯re unfamiliar with, my lord.¡±


    The girl turned to Brian, dress swirling about her feet. ¡°Brian, would you escort me somewhere with more palatable company?¡±


    Without waiting for his response, she slid her arm through his. Brian blushed a beet red, seeming unable to meet the gaze of any of the men present. He cleared his throat. ¡°Of course. I¡¯d be honored.¡±


    Harren raised an eyebrow at his brother as he watched them go. He suspected he now knew who Brian had been exchanging poetry with. How he had managed to impress Ilyena Thorne though was beyond him. Rafe¡¯s mouth hung open as he stared after Brian. He slowly turned to Harren and mouthed ¡®What the fuck?¡¯


    Harren just shrugged. Rafe furrowed his brow then shook his head. ¡°I need a drink,¡± he muttered, marching off into the crowd.


    Harren pursed his lips, realizing he¡¯d been left alone with Grim. The other man seemed equally pleased at the prospect. ¡°What deal did you make?¡± he asked.


    Harren nearly choked on his own spit, mouth working to find words. ¡°I- uh.¡± He glanced about at the far too many nobles about them and took a deep breath. ¡°Our lives and coin for information,¡± he said.


    ¡°Shameful,¡± Grim commented.


    Harren felt ill. ¡°Yes,¡± he whispered.


    ¡°Longreen knows,¡± Grim said, ¡°Peltar bargained for your life.¡±


    Harren¡¯s heart seized in a cold fear. ¡°You just said-¡±


    ¡°Beyond my control,¡± Grim interjected.


    ¡°Shit,¡± Harren whispered, wondering what would have happened if he¡¯d asked to leave Peltar¡¯s service.


    In the distance, Harren heard the yell of the herald over the din of the crowd announcing the victors of the latest fight. A moment later, he called Grim¡¯s name. The big man scowled, hand drifting to the sword at his hip.


    ¡°Good luck,¡± Harren whispered.


    Grim just grunted in acknowledgement before marching toward the ring. Harren watched him go for a moment before finding himself alone in the crowd. Nobody approached him as they would have a month prior, seeking his favor or courtship. His gaze drifted across the scattered groups of nobles surrounding the ring, drinking, eating and spelunking each other¡¯s assholes. Was this what a thousand men died to preserve? How many more would have died had Longreen not expected Harren¡¯s treachery?


    He felt his fists ball at his sides and his breath came in a shuddering gasp.


    ***


    Grim panted, sitting in a stool placed along the edge of the fighting ring. A line of red blood dripped along the edge of his sword¡¯s blade. His last opponent had been slow to surrender and Grim dug his blade into the flesh of the man¡¯s arm until he yielded. He wiped the edge with a dinner napkin a servant had provided him, the blood seeping into the white fabric.


    The wounded retainer was being led away from the gathering by a healer, hands clutched to his torn bicep. Grim sighed and threw the bloody rag to the ground, inspecting the edge of his sword. The blade was notched and battered; not meant for the blunt use he was putting it through. Each fight was growing more difficult as the more skilled opponents rose to prominence. There were only a handful of bouts left. By Grim¡¯s count, he had only one more match before the final fight.


    He tore his eyes from the battered bronze at the sound of approaching footsteps. He raised his gaze to see his father approaching. The man bore his standard crisp, black attire and the golden signet ring on his left hand. Grim¡¯s brow furrowed as the man came to a halt before him.


    Grim rose to his feet with a tired grunt and sheathed his sword. ¡°Enjoying the spectacle?¡± Grim asked.


    Rodger Thorne seemed to ignore the question. ¡°How did the fire in the Outwalls begin yesterday? The Marshal has been less than forthcoming on that point.¡±


    Grim pursed his lips. ¡°Good to see you too, father,¡± he said.


    The Earl¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change, and he waited for Grim to address his question. Grim shook his head. ¡°It was well underway by the time I made it out of the tunnels.¡±


    The Earl¡¯s gaze drifted toward the south. ¡°Thirty thousand souls were displaced. We¡¯ve provided shelter to many of the women and children in the castle, but there¡¯s only so much room. Bread carts are being organized to help feed those in need, but it¡¯s impossible to tell those looking for a free meal from those truly in need.¡± He shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s going to get bad in a hurry when hunger sets in, and yet Longreen refuses to provide aid, claiming he isn¡¯t responsible for the actions of the Sons.¡±


    ¡°Let me guess, the Sons are claiming the Venaran¡¯s started the fire on purpose?¡± Grim asked.


    The Earl nodded. ¡°To cover unspeakable crimes, or so the rumors say.¡± He was quiet a moment. ¡°Did you notice any prisoners taken?¡±


    Grim nodded. ¡°Lots. Some might even be guilty of something,¡± he said, eyes drifting to the corpse hanging from the gallows.


    A slight frown crossed the Earl¡¯s lips, which might have been the most expressive Grim had ever seen him. The Earl fidgeted with the ring on his finger as he took in the sight. ¡°No matter. I¡¯ll do what I can until it spirals out of my control.¡±


    Grim scowled. ¡°Is there anything actually in your control? Does it not get tiresome sitting in your castle and watching people die?¡±


    A flame of anger flared behind the Earl¡¯s cold, dead eyes but his expression didn¡¯t so much as twitch. ¡°Do your job, and I¡¯ll do mine,¡± he said.


    Grim rolled his sore shoulders, the bronze plates of his armor grating as he did. His father turned from him and stalked into the crowd. A moment later, the herald called out the latest victor, Rafe. The proclamation named Grim and Reginald¡¯s Second as the next combatants.


    Grim turned toward the ring and made his way to the entrance. Reginald¡¯s retainer was already in position- a big man, nearly as large as Grim was, himself. Grim smiled at the sight of the man¡¯s flattened nose. A parting gift from the last competition when they¡¯d broken into the nobleman¡¯s rooms.


    The man seemed less than pleased by the sight of Grim, a hard scowl lining his face. ¡°I¡¯m going to enjoy this,¡± he growled.


    Grim smiled at him, drawing his sword. ¡°Oh nose, whatever shall I do?¡±


    Flat-face¡¯s grip tightened on the sword and with a howl, he lunged forward at Grim, bronze blade flashing in the afternoon light.


    Grim sprung into a high-guard, batting away the heavy blow. The force of it staggered him a step backward. Around the ring, the crowd gasped at the breach of conduct.


    Grim gritted his teeth, finding his feet and pressing forward. He was shit with a sword, and he knew it. His only hope was to overwhelm his opponents through brute force and take skill out of the equation.


    It quickly became apparent that this tact wasn¡¯t going to work with flat-face as he shoved aside each of Grim¡¯s blows, enduring and returning the forceful strikes in equal measure. Worse- he actually knew his way around a blade.


    Grim leapt to the side, narrowly avoiding a feinted strike that would have hamstrung him. Grim panted as Flat-face backed off for a brief respite, having taken Grim¡¯s measure. The man¡¯s face twisted into an ugly grin, seeming to have found Grim wanting.


    Grim roared as he charged forward, sword arcing out. Flatface deflected the blow, rushing forward with his shoulder and crashing it into Grim¡¯s sternum.


    The wind rushed from Grim¡¯s lungs as he was flung from his feet and landed hard on his back. Instinct sent him into a roll and a moment later he heard a boot slam into the dirt behind him. He scrambled to his feet, blade thrashing wildly. Bronze clashed against bronze, doubtless saving him from serious injury.


    Grim skidded across the dirt as he regained his footing and stared down Flat-face. The man walked a slow circle around him, blade held at the ready. That had been a near thing. Grim knew he was hopelessly outclassed in this match. He could yield, but that would place him at third at best. His father didn¡¯t tell him to do his best. He told him to win. Grim gritted his teeth, knowing there was only one option.


    He tightened his knuckles around the hilt of his sword, raising it into an awkward guard. Grim lunged forward, leaving his left flank exposed.


    Quick as a viper, Flat-face thrust his blade forward into Grim¡¯s armored shoulder.


    Grim screamed in pain as the point caught between the bronze plates and a white-hot lance of pain seared through his shoulder.


    Flat-face¡¯s twisted grin faltered as Grim¡¯s sword-hand angled for his throat. He tried to pull his blade free but Grim held it fast in his shoulder, screaming as the metal grated against bone and drove deeper.


    Grim¡¯s sword slashed the man¡¯s throat in a spray of scarlet blood. Flat-face¡¯s hands fell away from Grim and he staggered backwards, falling to his knees as his hands clutched at his ruined throat.


    Grim staggered away from him, well aware that even a dying man could still be dangerous. Gasps and shouts were sounding from the assembled guests and the healers assembled for the event came rushing into the circle.


    The next few moments were a blur as Grim found himself lowered to the ground, the blade and armor pulled free from his shoulder, followed by a hasty stitching of the wound. They¡¯d only taken a quick look at Flat-face before leaving him to his fate, his last few breaths bubbling out through his torn throat.


    Around the ring, intense conversation buzzed. Grim wondered how frequently contestants actually killed one another in the ring. They used real blades, so surely it had to happen at least some of the time.


    His eyes found the Marshal sitting atop his chair on a raised platform overlooking the ring. Cold eyes appraised him as the healers wrapped his shoulder with bandages. As the healers finished their hasty work, Longreen gestured to- the Herald?


    The Herald looked nearly as nervous as Grim felt. As Grim staggered to his feet, he was announced the victor of the round. Grim made to leave the circle and find a stiff drink to dull his shoulder¡¯s searing pain. Then he heard his name called, followed by Rafe. He blinked. Was this the final round?


    The Herald soon answered that question, announcing it as such. Grim watched as the healers dragged Flat-face¡¯s corpse from the ring and Rafe appeared a moment later, a scowl written across his face. He came to a halt a few paces from Grim, waiting as the corpse was removed from the ring.


    Rafe looked back to Grim. ¡°Well, that was bloody stupid of you. How do you expect to put up even half a fight against me?¡± He frowned. ¡°I was actually kind of looking forward to walloping you, but now it¡¯d just be sad.¡±


    Grim attempted a grin, but it came out as a pained grimace. ¡°Sorry to disappoint,¡± he muttered.


    ¡°Begin!¡± the herald roared, but they both ignored him.


    Rafe shook his head, lowering his voice. ¡°Would you believe that the moment after you slashed that man¡¯s throat, Cassandra Longreen approached me, offering a quite tidy sum for your head?¡±


    ¡°An enticing offer?¡± Grim asked.


    ¡°Positively tantalizing. Could fuel a solid year of debauchery,¡± he said.


    ¡°Only a fool would pass that up,¡± Grim commented.


    Rafe grinned. ¡°I¡¯ve been accused of many things but rarely cleverness,¡± he said as he leveled his blade at Grim.


    Grim sighed, raising his own as Rafe backed a step away, flourishing his blade into a heroic pose straight out of a painting. ¡°Avast thee foul Rillman,¡± Rafe cried in a voice so shrill it made Grim wince.


    ¡°The light of Venar shall never fall while the sun still rises!¡± he screamed into the crowd with the tone of a child demanding sweets.


    Rafe turned to Grim and threw his sword at him with a decidedly womanly scream. Grim watched as the blade spun past him far to his right.


    Rafe shook his fist at Grim. ¡°Fie! Fie!¡±


    Grim stared at the man, hardly believing he was doing this.


    Rafe fell to his knees, cursing the heavens. ¡°Have at it, you dog! End this!¡± he yelled, ripping open his gambeson to reveal the exposed flesh of his chest beneath.


    Grim was tempted to let him keep going just to see what he¡¯d do next. Instead, he sighed, took a step forward, and lightly tapped Rafe on the head with his blade.


    Rafe cried out, slapping a hand to his head as if staunching a gaping wound. ¡°Goodbye cruel world,¡± he cried, letting himself fall to the dirt.


    The ring was dead silent. The Herald seemed almost too afraid to speak as he stepped forward and cleared his throat, shooting awkward glances to the Marshal. The little man took a deep breath before speaking, ¡°The winner of the competition is Grim Thorne!¡±


    No applause sounded. Not a single word came from any lips until Rafe leapt to his feet, grabbed Grim by his good arm, and raised it above their heads. ¡°Ladies and Gentlemen- our champion- the Lion of the Ring- Grim Thorne!¡±


    He cheered his own proclamation and awkward applause sounded a moment later. Grim would have shoved him away if his wounded arm hurt less. A moment later, Rafe let Grim¡¯s hand fall, and he nudged him. ¡°Not bad, eh?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re insane,¡± Grim muttered.


    ¡°A hazard of being sober too long,¡± Rafe said, ¡°Now if you don¡¯t mind, I¡¯m going to fuck off to the wine table.


    Grim stared after Rafe for a moment as he left the ring, a swagger in every step. His eyes drifted to meet the Marshal¡¯s gaze. The man was staring at him appraisingly. Beside him, his wife seemed on the edge of violence, her gaze lined with razors.


    Grim bowed, hiding his pained yet satisfied smirk.

 Ch 35: Confession

    The dusk¡¯s light shined on Grim as he stood before the Fort¡¯s gate with Edgar at his side. He had hardly believed his ears when the Marshal told him that he could leave the confines of the fortress so long as he returned to attend court in the morning. He¡¯d thought the man would be furious with the day¡¯s events, but he¡¯d seemed almost- pleased?


    Part of Grim wondered if he¡¯d find a knife in an alley wedged into his spine down the road. He shrugged. There was only one way to find out. Behind them, the festivities were still in full swing as the drinks began to pour faster with the setting sun. No doubt Rafe was having a grand old time, being the center of attention this afternoon as well as a deeply controversial subject of discussion.


    Grim shook his head, wincing as the motion elicited a lance of pain from his shoulder. The Marshal¡¯s healers had done some impressive work in impressive time but the hole in his shoulder still ached like a bitch in heat and no doubt would for weeks and weeks to come. He looked down at the sling holding his left arm across his chest and glanced to the bandaged stump where Edgar¡¯s left hand had been. He sighed.


    A tense silence hung in the air between them. It was the first time he¡¯d seen the man since they¡¯d been beyond the wall and the first time he¡¯d seen him since he¡¯d lost his hand for Grim¡¯s lie.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Grim whispered.


    Edgar grimaced, not acknowledging his woefully inadequate apology. ¡°I lost my hand to protect a man I wouldn¡¯t piss on if he were on fire. Don¡¯t you fucking apologize to me.¡±


    Grim frowned, swallowing and knowing there was nothing to say.


    Edgar spoke again, ¡°I have family I need to check on in the Outwalls.¡±


    Grim met his gaze. There was a question in there. ¡°And if we let you go, will you come back?¡±


    Edgar didn¡¯t answer.


    Grim sighed. He owed the man this and more. If he vanished in the night, Grim would bear the consequences. ¡°So be it,¡± he whispered.


    Edgar said nothing, his eyes drifting to the waning cloud of smoke still drifting over the horizon. The worst was over, but the ruins no doubt still smoldered. Edgar spoke in a low voice, ¡°I hate them, Grim. Even the ones even the ones helping you are careless children playing games while the city burns around them.¡±


    Grim didn¡¯t entirely agree, but he understood the man¡¯s sentiment. ¡°We¡¯ll be done with them soon enough. Only one challenge left to complete Longreen¡¯s trifecta.¡±


    It was one he was decidedly not looking forward to. A test of horsemanship and hunting prowess. The contestants were to ride to the town of Calumn on the edge of the Bleakwood and return with a bear pelt. Grim expected there to be a ready supply of the things for purchase in town around this time of year for anyone with enough coin. Coin he decidedly lacked at present. He wondered if the Marshal had a way of telling whether it¡¯d been freshly caught.


    Grim shook the thoughts from his mind as the sound of a carriage clattering over the cobblestone road drew his attention. It seemed his Father and Ilyena had finally arrived. The driver, Smithy, waved at Grim with a one-fingered salute. Grim returned the gesture with a grin. Seemed some things never changed.


    Smithy pulled the carriage alongside Grim and Edgar and drew it to a halt as the Venaran gate guards eyed them. Smithy tied off the reins and clambered from the driver¡¯s seat onto the cobblestone, approaching Grim with an outstretched arm. ¡°Good to see you, young master.¡±


    Grim reached out and clasped the man¡¯s arm, giving it a firm shake. ¡°You as well, Smithy.¡±


    Smithy released him with a smile and walked to the carriage door, opening it to reveal Ilyena and the Earl lounging inside. Smithy¡¯s eyes settled on Edgar. ¡°You¡¯re invited in as well, soldier.¡±


    Edgar waved the suggestion away. ¡°I¡¯m bound to see my family, but you have my word I¡¯ll return on the morrow.¡±


    A slight frown creased Smithy¡¯s lips, but at Grim¡¯s nod he shrugged and turned to the Venaran gate guard. ¡°Ay, Fuckers. Open the gate in the name of the Earl of Bleakridge. Marshal gave orders these two are allowed to leave the confines.¡±


    The guards glanced at one another.


    Smithy pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the carriage. ¡°Earl is in there. I can ask him to come out and tell you himself,¡± he said.


    The guards¡¯ hesitation faded, and they set to opening the huge, wooden gate. Grim patted Edgar on the shoulder. ¡°Good luck,¡± he said before walking to the carriage door and stepping inside, falling onto the bench beside Ilyena.


    Smithy closed the door behind him and climbed back into the driver¡¯s seat overhead.


    Ilyena was the first to speak. ¡°You¡¯re an idiot,¡± she said.


    ¡°People keep telling me that for some reason,¡± he commented.


    ¡°Is your man coming?¡± The Earl asked.


    Grim shook his head. ¡°Family to check on.¡±


    Rodger Thorne hesitated a moment before nodding in understanding and thumping his fist against the wooden ceiling. A moment later, the reins snapped, and the carriage lurched into motion. The Earl¡¯s eyes found Grim then drifted out the shuttered window. Grim followed his gaze as they crossed the threshold of the fort¡¯s gate.


    Soot-stained faces lined the road, hands outstretched toward the carriage. Pleading cries rose at the sight of the Thorne crest, calling for aid and begging the Earl to save them. Women held children outstretched above their heads as if hoping Smithy would pluck them from their grasp. Grim¡¯s mouth fell open as he looked across the pleading faces.


    His father watched them impassively. ¡°The castle is filled to capacity. I have a family of six presently housed in your room.¡±


    Grim could only stare for a long moment. ¡°Won¡¯t curfew be in effect soon?¡±


    ¡°Where would you have them go?¡± Ilyena asked.


    ¡°Surely we could set up camps beyond the walls,¡± Grim said.


    ¡°Filled beyond capacity,¡± The Earl answered, ¡°The Sons have also taken many able-bodied men and their families in. A mixed blessing.¡±


    Grim flinched as a man¡¯s fist banged against the shutter by his face. Smithy snapped the reins and their pace increased, the desperate faces passing in a blur as people scattered before the horses. The shouts and cries faded into the darkening streets behind them.


    Grim found his fists were clenched. ¡°I assume Longreen refused to take anybody in.¡±


    ¡°Why do you think I was there today when the city is in crisis?¡± The Earl answered.


    Grim sighed. He¡¯d thought his father had been there to see him, but he had to admit that Longreen¡¯s games paled into comparison to this. ¡°Why do we let them do this?¡± Grim asked.


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    The Earl lowered his gaze, looking to his golden ring as he twisted it on his finger. ¡°What would you have me do about it?¡± he asked, meeting Grim¡¯s gaze, ¡°Drown the Rills in blood once more to ensure the shelter of a few thousand?¡±


    Grim scowled.


    The Earl¡¯s gaze hardened, grey eyes boring into Grim. ¡°Tell me Grim- where do you think the bread, you eat comes from? The wheat to make the beer you¡¯re so fond of? The grapes for wine? The grains for porridge?¡±


    Grim blinked in surprise. That wasn¡¯t a line of questioning he was expecting. He shrugged.


    The Earl closed his eyes. ¡°You¡¯ve probably never seen a farm in your life have you, Grim?¡±


    Grim shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t see what this has to do with anything.¡±


    ¡°If you listened for a moment or paid attention to something other than what¡¯s right in front of you for more than a second then maybe you would.¡± He turned to Grim¡¯s sister. ¡°Ilyena?¡±


    Ilyena stiffened, clearly not wanting to be brought into this conversation. ¡°A hundred fifty tons of grain passes through the city gates each year. At least ninety percent of that is grown in the Venaran Heartlands,¡± she said.


    The Earl nodded his approval, turning his attention back to Grim. ¡°Do you know why we used to raid the southlands?¡±


    Grim shook his head.


    ¡°Because we were starving,¡± The Earl said, ¡°Our land is harsh. Desolate. Nothing grows here. Only so many people can live off the sea and from herding. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve heard how many men died in the war. But, when the rest came home, our population exploded and grain from the south came pouring in to support it.¡±


    The Earl ran a hand across the stubble lining his jaw. ¡°Do you know what would happen if that trade dried up?¡±


    Grim swallowed. ¡°Famine.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯d be an unmitigated disaster and make our losses in the war look like a petty border skirmish. There are hundreds of thousands of young men spread across the Rills. More than there ever has been. We could start the bloodiest war the world has ever seen, but we¡¯d all be dead by next winter.¡±


    Grim was quiet, letting that sink in. He¡¯d always thought his father to be afraid of another conflict and rightly so. He had no idea that they¡¯d also grown so dependent. ¡°So, this is our course? We align with the Marshal and thank him for the boot upon our throat?¡±


    ¡°Until such a time as I tell you otherwise,¡± His father answered.


    Grim met his gaze and saw a smoldering rage burning there, deep beyond the calm fa?ade. Hidden, just as Grim had been learning to hide his anger. He¡¯d always thought his father burned cold, but perhaps Grim misunderstood. ¡°And what would make you tell otherwise?¡± Grim asked, pressing the subject.


    His father was quiet a moment. ¡°Ilyena, take him to the Forgers Guild in the morning and show him. I¡¯ll make excuses to the Marshal for the delay.¡±


    Grim¡¯s eyes drifted to his sister¡¯s. It seemed she¡¯d been keeping far more secrets that he¡¯d assumed. He didn¡¯t push his luck, letting that line of conversation die there. ¡°Why did the Marshal release me?¡±


    ¡°I had no hand in that,¡± The Earl said, ¡°But, I suspect you pleased him.¡±


    Grim snorted. ¡°Pleased him? The man hates me.¡±


    The Earl shook his head. ¡°He doesn¡¯t hate you. He hates me. And, if he thinks he can use you, then you have value to him. Do you know why he holds these games the way he does?¡±


    Grim shrugged. ¡°Entertainment?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s to give him a measure of each young nobleman in the Rills. Should war break out in earnest, every man in court would be pressed into service as an officer. This is his way of filtering out the cowards and cheats from men he would trust in a battle. The spectacle of it all is just to mask the true purpose to the court,¡± Rodger Thorne said.


    Grim considered that. It made a twisted kind of sense. ¡°I lied to him about what happened yesterday. I figured that would make him hate me more than he already did.¡±


    ¡°You lied to defend the honor of a man who saved your life,¡± The Earl said, ¡°Whether the man deserved it is up for debate, but Longreen understands loyalty forged in battle.¡±


    Grim quieted as he mulled that over, releasing a slow breath. He looked through the shutters of the window. Daylight was quickly fading beyond the horizon and, high above the streets, he could see Bleakridge Castle towering over the city. Torches flickered along the walls, making it glow against the darkening sky. He couldn¡¯t wait to be home.


    His wish was soon granted as the carriage wound its path up the switchbacks of the castle and passed through the portcullis into the castle¡¯s courtyard. Grim felt relieved to be here. Part of him never thought he¡¯d see it again, forever trapped in the clutches of Longreen.


    The carriage came to a halt near the Keep and, a moment later, Smithy opened the carriage doors. Grim followed as the Earl and Ilyena exited the carriage. The sun had set, and foot traffic was light, the night shifts having already changed. He still caught sight of a few familiar faces amongst the guardsmen and servants. He couldn¡¯t help grinning like an idiot.


    The Earl turned to meet Grim¡¯s gaze. ¡°Ilyena, you may go.¡±


    The girl looked between them, a question in her eyes. She curtsied and disappeared between the Keep doors a moment later. His father held Grim¡¯s gaze a moment longer before saying, ¡°Come.¡±


    The man always had a way with words. Grim followed in his wake as the Earl entered the keep and led him down the twisting halls of the interior. Grim found himself drawing stares from the staff he passed, whether because of his presence or his injury, he wasn¡¯t sure.


    It soon became clear they were headed to the castle armory, and the heavy iron doors soon came into sight. A pair of guards flanked the door. One wore the golden brooch of a Briar Guard, the twisted gold vines pinning his crimson cloak over his shoulders. A tabard was draped over his mail, bearing the black Briar of House Thorne. Upon noticing their approach, the guards straightened and saluted the Earl, fists over hearts and heads bowed.


    ¡°At ease,¡± The Earl said, ¡°Open the door and take twenty.¡±


    The Briar Guard nodded and turned to the door, as he pulled a key ring from his belt. A moment later the locking mechanism clicked, and the guards heaved the heavy door open.


    The Earl nodded his thanks and strode into the torchlit room. Grim followed and the guards pulled the door closed behind him. As the door sealed, all sound from the outside disappeared.


    Grim looked around the room at the racks of weapons and crates filled with armor piled high in the huge warehouse. It was enough iron to field an entire army, most of it left over from the war. ¡°Why are we here?¡± Grim asked.


    The Earl walked to a crate and sighed as he took a seat, leaning forward and resting on his knees. ¡°We¡¯re here because it is safe from any prying ears,¡± he said.


    Grim followed his example, finding a nearby crate. He looked to the Earl expectantly.


    ¡°We need to talk,¡± his father said, trailing off as if searching for the next words. After a long moment, he sighed. He seemed to age before Grim¡¯s eyes, the lines around his father¡¯s eyes growing deeper in the dim torchlight.


    At last, he spoke, ¡°Your mother was the bravest woman I knew. When the terms for our surrender demanded that I set her aside and take a Venaran wife, she told me to do so.¡±


    Grim blinked, a look of disbelief settling across his face. ¡°Why the hell would she do that?¡± he demanded.


    The Earl pulled the signet ring from his left hand. ¡°Because it is what was best, not for us, but for the Rills.¡± His father whispered, shame evident in his voice. ¡°I was set to follow my father into a bloody battle at Varna that would have seen the end of the Rills in its entirety. I thought it my duty to meet our end, sword in hand. Your mother, Ilyena, convinced me otherwise.¡±


    The Earl¡¯s hand curled around the signet ring he held in his palm. ¡°And your grandfather-¡±


    ¡°You killed him,¡± Grim said.


    His father nodded. ¡°Yes. He knew surrender would see his life forfeit, and he would have brought us all down with him for a few more months of life.¡±


    The Earl¡¯s eyes drifted to the signet ring and Grim followed his gaze. ¡°Was that his?¡± he asked.


    His father shook his head. ¡°This was the ring I wore when I married your mother.¡±


    Grim¡¯s throat choked up. He couldn¡¯t remember a single day his father hadn¡¯t worn it.


    Rodger Thorne tightly closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. ¡°This is also the ring I wore the day she asked me to end her life.¡±


    Grim¡¯s blood ran cold at that admission. His mouth worked a moment before words found their way out. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°They made her into a toy. A novelty for noblemen and Venaran officers to abuse for coin. You know what she was forced to do, but you don¡¯t know what was done to her,¡± he whispered.


    Grim felt ill. ¡°And you did nothing to stop it?¡± The coldness in him was giving way to a burning anger.


    The Earl¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°Anything I did, only made it worse. Longreen enabled it to punish me. Any sign I cared only redoubled his efforts.¡±


    ¡°Bullshit,¡± Grim growled, rising to his feet. ¡°They wouldn¡¯t have come to blows over her life. You could have taken her any time you wanted.¡±


    The Earl tensed. ¡°She gave her life for the peace we brokered,¡± he said.


    Grim spat. ¡°Damn the peace. You gave up on her.¡±


    The Earl¡¯s calm fa?ade fell away in an instant, revealing the fury beneath as he leapt to his feet. ¡°She died for you!¡± he yelled. ¡°Do you think the thought of taking her and keeping her safe here didn¡¯t cross my mind? Do you think I didn¡¯t spend every night alone, itching to grab an axe and cut the head from whatever fucking southerner was abusing her?¡±


    He was gasping. ¡°She did it for you until she had nothing left,¡± he said, turning from Grim. ¡°She wasn¡¯t going to risk your life or position here for anything.¡±


    Grim¡¯s rising anger died, quenched by a rush of guilt, and he fell back into his seat atop the crate. ¡°I- I-¡± He tried to speak, but there were no words.


    His Father returned to his seat as well. He pulled the ring from his finger, clutching it tight in one palm. A long silence stretched between them as Rodger Thorne uncurled his fist and looked to the ring.


    ¡°She¡¯d have wanted you to have this someday,¡± he said, ¡°Now seems as good a time as any.¡± He held the ring out to Grim.


    Grim met his father¡¯s eyes, seeing the depths of sorrow held deep within. His hand shook as he reached out and closed the man¡¯s hand around the ring. ¡°It¡¯s yours,¡± he whispered.

 Ch 36: A Lost Son

    Billy stood amongst a few dozen Sons guarding a handful of supply carts. A vast line of refugees stretched off into the distance, waiting to receive a quarter loaf of bread from the cart and a handful of grain. They were positioned on the outskirts of the Outwalls by the burned husks of countless buildings. A thousand small fires dotted the rocky landscape beyond the city, partially illuminating the new shanty town of canvas that housed the thousands with nowhere else to go. Many would freeze in the coming days. Billy¡¯s breath was already frosting, and the sun had only just set moments before.


    Whatever sources of wood once lay near Bleakridge were long since exhausted. The closest forest he knew of was the Bleakwood standing about a mile downriver of the Bleakcreek. It painted a rather bleak picture as refugees dug through the charred wood and trash piles in the hopes of finding something to keep them warm.


    His work here was mostly over, having set up the lines and positioned the Sons assigned to him to keep an eye out for any Venrarn or Thorne Soldiers getting a little too curious.


    They hadn¡¯t seen any southerners as of yet, but the Thorne soldiers had built up a strong presence on the outskirts of town, distributing food and supplies much as the Sons were. They seemed to be making as much a conscious effort to avoid the Sons as the Sons were to avoid them. The arrangement suited Billy just fine. Enough Rillish blood had been shed today.


    Billy sighed, walking to one of the carts and leaning against it as he watched the faces of the crowd. Many had some form of burns about their person. Most looked as exhausted as they were afraid. All were covered in soot and looked to him and his men with hopeful, desperate eyes.


    Billy¡¯s eyes drifted to the ruins. Blackened timbers stood as shadows in the night, their outlines betrayed by smoldering embers. The desolation was almost beautiful in a twisted way- the stillness pristine.


    A dark figure interrupted the scene, scampering between the carcasses of fallen buildings. As the figure drew into the torchlight, Billy saw Kid nearing. Blood spattered his tunic and mixed with the ash spread across his face.


    ¡°You okay, boy?¡± Billy called.


    At the sound of his voice, Kid¡¯s eyes snapped onto him, and he scampered over. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± he said, ¡°Well- as fine as one can be right now.¡±


    Billy nodded in understanding. ¡°What brings you out here?¡±


    The boy held up a finger, signaling for Billy to wait a moment. He reached into a bulging pocket of his jacket and gingerly pulled out a shining gold brooch covered in sharp thorns. Billy recognized it immediately as the brooch worn by the Earl¡¯s elite soldiers, the Briar Guard.


    He reached out and grabbed Kid by the collar, pulling him out of sight of the crowd waiting in line. He didn¡¯t want anybody¡¯s eyes lingering on the gold and wondering how much food that could buy them inside the city walls. ¡°Where¡¯d you get that?¡± he hissed.


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    Kid¡¯s eyes were wide, and Billy realized he was still holding the boy by the shirt. He let the fabric fall from his hands. ¡°Sorry,¡± he muttered.


    Kid cleared his throat, seeming a little embarrassed that Billy had scared him. ¡°From Melna.¡±


    Billy¡¯s eyes drifted to the Briar. That was not something she¡¯d ever give up. It belonged to her late husband. Billy had brought it to the Earl himself, and the man hand delivered it to her along with the news a lifetime ago. He looked to the ruins, trying to pinpoint where in the carnage her home would be. ¡°She¡¯s-¡± he trailed off.


    ¡°Dead,¡± Kid whispered.


    An ache ran through Billy¡¯s heart. At the loss and for the time he¡¯d spent avoiding her. The sole remaining link to his past. The wife of his dead best friend. He¡¯d loved her in a way, though he had a piss poor way of showing it. He reached out and pulled the Briar from Kid¡¯s hand, sighing as he did.


    He started at the twisting, golden vines for a long moment, remembering cutting his finger as he pulled it from Alvin¡¯s corpse. Billy looked once more to the ruined houses and found himself walking forward toward the devastation. Kid and one of his men called out after him and he waved their questions away, ignoring them as he walked down the rubble strewn streets.


    Feet scampered after him and he looked to his left to see Kid walking beside him. ¡°You can go home, boy.¡±


    Kid ignored his comment, following at his side and as silent as the dead. He already knew where they were going. Far be it from Billy to tell him to return to his duty when he was abandoning his own post. In the Earl¡¯s army, it¡¯d likely see him lashed within an inch of his life the next day. In the Sons, he doubted anyone would care.


    The streets grew deathly silent as they drew further from the refugees. Singed bones could be seen among the rubble, grinning skulls watching them from sockets as black as the night. All that was left of those too foolish or too slow to run. The scene up close reminded him of when he¡¯d first walked the streets of Varna. The small bones of the children were what haunted him the most- his children.


    He felt a wetness at the corner of his eyes and brushed it away. He felt Kid¡¯s eyes on him, filled with the curiosity of youth. Billy could barely remember what that felt like, every secret he¡¯d uncovered about life darker than the last.


    Kid broke the silence, ¡°What was she to you?¡± he asked.


    Billy didn¡¯t even know how to begin to answer that question. He took a deep breath. ¡°Someone I¡¯ve failed too many times,¡± he said as they stepped over a blackened support beam. ¡°Sorrows of the past have a way of clinging to old friends, and it becomes easy to find reasons to drift apart.¡±


    Kid didn¡¯t say anything in response, and Billy could hardly blame him. He was too young to really understand, but he would someday. The ruins blurred into one another, and Billy retraced the streets by memory. He¡¯d been this way many times before.


    Soon they came in sight of where Melna¡¯s home had once been. Billy walked through where the door had once been, now just a blackened frame reaching to where walls once stood. There were corpses strewn along the floor. Far more than Billy expected. He looked to Kid.


    ¡°Greencloaks,¡± the boy said.


    Billy nodded, walking over the blackened remains and doing his best to ignore the stench of burnt flesh. It was obvious which corpse belonged to Melna. It was by far the smallest in the room, curled on the floor. Billy¡¯s hands shook as he drew closer.


    Kid walked past him, eyes scanning the scene and settling on the ash and debris covered altar. The stone itself seemed completely untouched by the flame. Billy let him wander off as he fell to his knees beside Melna. The fire had eaten away much of her flesh, leaving little more than blackened bone and charred meat


    He reached out a hand and caressed her face. Ash flaked away at his touch, drifting in the light breeze. ¡°I see you, Melna,¡± he whispered.


    The snap of wood to his left drew his attention and his hand fell to his axe. A dark figure was approaching from the shadowed ruins. As the man drew nearer, Billy recognized him- Edgar.

 Ch 37: Steel

    Grim groaned at the sound of boots padding past his face and his eyes flickered open, banishing pleasant dreams of dubiously proportioned women. The pleasant curves were replaced by row upon row of his father¡¯s soldiers packed like sardines in the tight confines of one of the castle barracks. With the overflow of refugees, the soldiers were confined to a quarter of their usual quarters. Grim had yet to hear a single complaint.


    Around him, men dressed in mail failed to sneak through the hundreds of men lining the floors between the bunks, doing their best not to step on anything too sensitive. The morning shift relieving the night shift. Grim grumbled under his breath, supposing that this was as good a time as any to rise. He cursed the fading of the pleasant dream and staggered his way to the door, having no belongings to collect.


    A fog had seemed to settle over the city today, obfuscating the heights of the castle far above. As he stepped into the courtyard, a horn blared from the seaward wall. Another joined it. Soon there was a chorus of horns echoing from the castle. A moment later, bells began to toll from the city below and for a moment, the perpetual din of the city fell silent. A heartbeat later, the sounds returned to normal. For most of them, it meant nothing.


    Grim took off at a jog to the seaward wall. He wasn¡¯t the only one. everyone in the courtyard was heading to the stone stairs leading up to the parapets. Behind him, men had decided this was worth rising for and poured from the barracks.


    Refugees from the Outwalls peeked nervously from the doors and windows of the Barracks, watching the frenzy of the soldiers in the courtyard. Grim gave them a friendly wave as he passed, hoping to set them at least somewhat at ease.


    He soon clambered up the steps of the seaward wall, and on reaching the top, Grim leaned out over the ramparts, peering into the fog. Dozens of men were joining him, gathering across the length of the wall.


    Then he saw them, closer than he ever had before. He could pick out the individual men on the red-hued longboats, their black sails billowing in the wind. Five of them circled a large merchant vessel like sharks. Poor souls. He watched the men on the deck get cut down by arrow fire from the circling ships. Those who didn¡¯t die from the volleys hunkered down, awaiting the inevitable.


    Grappling hooks flew from the circling ships, and as one they closed in for the kill. Grim glanced at the tower to his right. It should be ready about now-


    A crack sounded, followed by a whoosh. A flaming ball of pitch launched from its heights and sailed across the sky toward the ships. The guardsmen around him started making bets as everyone held their breath, watching its descent. Another ball of fire appeared from the tower far to his left.


    The first ball of pitch began its descent. It looked to be on target. Grim grinned, anticipating the ensuing explosion. People lined the docks far below, all watching and some cheering as the ball fell the final stretch. Grim held his breath and a hush fell across the wall.


    The ball of fire crashed into the water next to one of the longships, the ensuing wave nearly capsizing it. The Sorrowmen on board stumbled back to their feet and shot rude gestures at the castle as a collective groan sounded from the wall. Money exchanged hands and then all eyes were on the second ball of fire which had now begun its descent.


    The Sorrowmen were onboard the vessel now, hewing their way through the crew and carving a bloody swath to the cargo hold. A crack sounded, and the first tower launched another fireball.


    The second ball missed by a wide margin, falling into the bay in a puff of steam. The Sorrowmen were emerging from below decks, their bloody business concluded. As the ball disappeared, many pulled their breeches down and shook their asses at the castle. The guardsmen roared in indignation and yelled encouragement to those manning the catapults.


    The Sorrowmen leapt back to their ships, leaving the grappling hooks attached. They took up their oars and rowed with all their strength. The third ball of fire approached and Grim knew this would be the last. The ships would soon disappear into the fog now that they had their prize. The longships fanned out, pulling the ropes of their hooks tight. The merchant vessel picked up speed, beginning to soar over the waves.


    The last shot went high, but a cheer sounded as it glanced the sails of the merchant ship, lighting them aflame. The fireball itself disappeared into the sea, but the sails blossomed in flame. The fire traveled down the mast and engulfed the ship. The Sorrowmen let out curses loud enough to be heard from the shore as they cut their ropes. The merchant ship drifted loose, a burning pyre gliding across the waves. As they faded into the fog, the Sorrowmen shook their weapons at the castle.


    Grim grinned. They didn¡¯t get a longship, but damn was it satisfying to deny them their prize. He leaned against the wall, watching the longships disappear. As the attackers fled, dozens more ships emerged from the fog and made a beeline for the docks. They¡¯d doubtless heard the horns and sought to avoid a similar fate to the crew of the late merchant ship. Soon, even the flames of the burning ship disappeared as it drifted into the fog.


    Grim pulled himself from the wall with a grin, glad he¡¯d been here to see the show. It was rare that the northerners ventured this close to Bleakridge, and these incidents only happened a couple times a year. He joined the buzzing crowd of soldiers as they descended the steps back into the courtyard. Hundreds of people were up and about, investigating the outcome to settle bets and to ensure all was well.


    Grim snaked his way through the crowd. One of the advantages of being rather large was that people naturally sought to get out of your way. Some kind of primal instinct. He was surprised to realize he was a little excited to begin the day. He was being let in on whatever secret his father had been keeping and refused to speak of, though it grated a bit that his sister was apparently already well aware.


    As he returned to the courtyard, he was surprised to find Ilyena already awake and standing by the Keep doors, an ermine edged jacket hanging loosely around her shoulders over a black riding dress. Her eyes found Grim as he neared. ¡°They catch anything today?¡±


    Grim shook his head. ¡°The prize was burned, the men aboard dead.¡± He shrugged and she returned the gesture. ¡°Surprised you¡¯re up,¡± he said.


    ¡°We have business to attend to,¡± she said, stepping down to the courtyard. ¡°Besides, it¡¯s impossible to sleep through those damned horns in any case.¡±


    Grim conceded the point with a shrug, following her as she walked past him toward the stables.


    ¡°We¡¯re riding?¡± he asked.


    Ilyena nodded, maintaining course.


    The long wooden stable was split into two distinct sections to separate the goats from the horses. The smell of manure grew stronger as they drew closer and the stableboys soon came into sight, currently set to the task of mucking the stalls. Upon catching sight of Ilyena, they both straightened, setting their tools to the side.


    The older hand looked between Grim and Ilyena. ¡°It¡¯ll be Pearl and Rodger then, eh?¡±


    Ilyena smiled at the man. ¡°Yes. Thank you, Baldur.¡±


    The man smiled in return before turning and sending the younger stable hand off toward the goat pens on the far side as he walked into the stable. Grim and Ilyena waited as their respective mounts were saddled. ¡°Think we ought to bring a guard?¡± Grim asked.


    Ilyena shook her head. ¡°Safer that we don¡¯t.¡±


    Grim wasn¡¯t so sure about that, but he wasn¡¯t willing to play the coward and contest the point. A few moments later, the older groom appeared with a white mare in tow. The man handed Ilyena the reins then knelt beside the saddle, hands laid across his knee. Ilyena stepped onto his hand, and he helped lever her into the high saddle such that the flaps of her riding dress wouldn¡¯t cause a scandal.


    While Ilyena settled onto her mount, Grim looked to the goat pens to see the younger stable hand emerging with a massive Wargoat in tow. The thing was almost as tall as Grim and had to weigh near ten times as much. The curved horns atop its head were longer than his arm, and Grim had seen the damage they could do to a man when angered.


    Rodger seemed in fine spirits today, only trying to bite the stable hand a single time. As the boy passed Grim the reins, Rodger brayed and Grim yanked hard on the reins. The goat bristled but quieted. Grim skirted around him and climbed in the saddle, hoping Rodger wouldn¡¯t try to buck him today. That was how he¡¯d broken his first bone as a boy.


    The goat was blessedly compliant as Grim tested putting him into an amble and drew the reins to slow him. So far so good. With any luck, he wouldn¡¯t try taking a bite out of any passersby in the city.


    Ilyena watched Grim. He met her gaze with a nod, and she launched Pearl into a canter toward the city gate. Grim matched her pace, drawing alongside her as they drew closer to the open portcullis. A supply wagon was being pulled through by a pair of draft horses, filled to the brim with sacks of grain. Grim supposed there were more mouths to feed in the castle than usual.


    They crossed the threshold and descended the switchback to the city below. At the foot of the cliff, a barricade had been set up to prevent refugees from clogging the relatively narrow passage to the castle. At their approach, the guards shifted the barriers out of their way. The clearing beyond the barricade was clear. Grim assumed the Greencloaks had cleared out any stragglers after the curfew had begun. Where those people had ended up, Grim didn¡¯t want to think about.


    Not thinking about it proved fruitless as within a few blocks, bodies started to appear. Some had clearly been beaten and left behind to freeze in the cold. Others were simply too old or young to carry on. Thorne soldiers were already set to clearing out the bodies as pedestrians nervously skirted the scenes.


    Grim felt a tightness in his throat at the sight that he could see was shared by Ilyena. Their tension was mirrored by the city around them. Grim released a deep breath as she led them onward, snaking through the neat lanes of the Inner City. People along the streets glanced in their direction as they passed, but the gazes rarely lingered. Everyone had bigger concerns these days than wondering what the Earl¡¯s daughter and her bastard brother were up to.


    As Ilyena led the way, the ever-present ringing of the smithies grew louder. This section of the Inner City was a strange beast. The closer you drew to the forging guild and their foundries, the more the buildings began to resemble the Outwalls, More respectable folk tended to want to live far from the sounds of industry and heavy foot traffic of the foundry workers.


    There soon seemed to be a Venaran patrol on every street corner, eyeing the sweaty, soot-stained workers making their way to the foundries for their next shift. The houses on this side of town were still a fair cut above what one could find beyond the wall, but graffiti covered the wooden walls, some of it depicting important figures in the city in compromising poses. Grim was rarely featured, but Ilyena seemed to be a crowd favorite, often depicted on her knees in front of various Southerners. She pretended not to notice as they continued on their way, galloping down the boulevard.


    The Forgers Guild headquarters was more of a sprawling compound than a single building. A huge stone complex dominated the yard, surrounded by vast wooden canopies supported by thick stilts. Beyond the canopies and before Grim was a wrought iron gate leading into to the complex beyond. The unwalled area opened the yard for viewing through the iron fence. However, the other half of the complex was barred from public view, likely to avoid prying eyes.


    Hundreds of men worked outside, beneath the canopies, operating various pieces of forging equipment from anvils to iron blooms, to the newer blast furnaces. Thick stacks of smoke rose into the air, darkening the fog. The ringing of hammers was deafening this close to the compound. A handful of guards employed by the guild itself stood at the main gate, searching those leaving the premises to ensure no valuables were removed from the premises. Pure bronze could fetch a decent price at market if one were desperate enough to steal from their employer, and desperation abounded.


    As they drew near Ilyena yelled over the clanging of hammers, ¡°Ilyena Thorne, here to see Master Renfield.¡±


    One of the guards heeded her words, waving her forward as his companions managed the crowd.


    Ilyena used her steed to push through the entry line. Anyone who balked at that, practically ran out of the way when they saw Rodger following on Pearl¡¯s heels. As they emerged into the yard, the air grew a few degrees warmer, heated by the flames of the forges.


    The guard who waved to them approached Ilyena. ¡°Welcome, we got word that your ladyship would be arriving to have your brother fitted for some armor.¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    ¡°As you say,¡± Ilyena said


    The man gestured for them to follow him and set off down the cobblestone path with Ilyena and Grim in his wake.


    On either side of the path, sweaty, tired looking men performed a variety of tasks beneath their shelters. Grim watched as a man pulled a white-hot ladle from a crucible forge with iron tongs. He poured the molten liquid from the ladle into the top of a long rectangular mold. Next to him, another man ground an iron file against a rough looking bronze sword.


    Beyond that pair, a dozen more were hard at work drawing thin, heated strips of iron through draw plates and creating wire. A sweat-stained apprentice collected their work into a wheelbarrow and carted it inside the stone building. The guard followed the boy inside, holding the door open for Grim and Ilyena.


    Grim stepped inside and found that indoors was little different from the outside. The first floor seemed to consist solely of a single high-ceilinged room made entirely out of stone. Giant stone pillars supported the upper levels.


    Hundreds of men in the shabby clothes common to the Outwalls stood in lines alongside iron tables cutting wire, hammering it into rings and riveting it shut into sheets of mail. The sound was even worse within the confines of a building. Ilyena covered her ears with her hands while Grim grimaced at the sound. The guard they followed barely even seemed to notice. The man must have left his hearing by the wayside a long time ago.


    As they were led along the edges of the work area, Grim noticed a dramatic increase in the number of guards he saw. Few had bladed weapons like the one he followed but instead carried iron truncheons at their hips as they watched the ironmongers.


    Wide iron arches were set into the walls far to the right and left. Through them, Grim could see into the east and west wings of the manufactory. What he glimpsed intrigued him. Iron gears buried in the ground seemed to turn of their own accord. The cogs of the gears levered massive hammers into the air which slammed into the iron bars held beneath them with tremendous force, over and over.


    His gaping was soon cut short as the guard opened a door set into the wall leading to a stairwell. ¡°Second floor,¡± he said.


    Grim led his sister up the stairwell which was only slightly more comfortable than the tight spirals in Bleakridge castle. He stepped onto the second-floor landing and opened the door. The sounds from below and outside were dulled, but still made his ears ache. He emerged into a small stone room consisting solely of a reception desk. A pretty, bored looking girl stood behind it and perked up when Grim and Ilyena entered.


    ¡°Name?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Grim Thorne.¡±


    She smiled as if that were the best news she¡¯d heard all year, ¡°This way please.¡±


    Grim followed her through a door beside her desk.


    ¡°How on earth do you stand this racket every day?¡± Ilyena asked.


    The girl looked over her shoulder. ¡°When you don¡¯t live in a castle, it¡¯s amazing the things you can get used to.¡±


    Grim¡¯s eyebrows raised, and he grinned at the wide-eyed expression that elicited from his sister.


    The hall she led them down was also formed by unadorned stone, torches lighting the way every dozen or so paces. Many of the doors on either side were open and Grim could see dozens of scribes sifting through sheaves of parchment and making notes. Most of all, he noticed the small wax plugs in their ears. Grim grumbled under his breath. He wasn¡¯t about to bring that to the attention of his sister.


    The girl they followed stopped outside a large double door and knocked. A muffled ¡°Come in,¡± sounded from the other side. She pulled the door open and gestured for them to enter. The room beyond the door was made of the same utilitarian stone but was furnished with some of the most beautiful weaponry Grim had ever seen. Intricate designs ran along the blades of the swords. A series of axes resembled the moon in various stages of waxing. Spears with tips of gold were crossed under shields better painted than most portraits. A large bronze desk, etched to resemble wood, dominated the center of the room.


    The grandeur stood at odds with the man leaning back in his chair behind the desk, resting his feet on a chipped, rusty anvil. He wore an old linen shirt that was more grey than white and had been stitched back together several times. One sleeve was folded and pinned to the shoulder where his left arm was missing. The scuffs on the boots atop the anvil betrayed their age and heavy usage.


    His eyes flicked across the piece of parchment in his hand, not so much as looking up while they entered. Grim didn¡¯t mind. He was content to gawk at the ostentatious display of craftsmanship. After a moment, the man put the parchment on the desk and cleared his throat. ¡°Ah, welcome. Sorry to make you wait, I was almost done going over that damned expense report.¡± He rose to his feet and walked around the desk. Grim met him halfway and they clasped arms.


    ¡°Master Renfield at your service.¡±


    Grim nodded in recognition. He knew the name. Miles Renfield was the Guildmaster of the Forgers, and probably the richest man in the Rills.


    Renfield turned to Ilyena and fell into a deep bow. ¡°Lady Ilyena, a surprise and a pleasure.¡±


    Ilyena held out her hand and Renfield kissed her ring before rising. He turned his gaze back to Grim. ¡°I saw you looking around. See anything you like? Everything is for sale.¡±


    Grim let his eyes drift across the walls covered in weapons that more resembled art than the tools they were. ¡°It all seems very- impractical.¡±


    Renfield chuckled. ¡°Ah. You got me hopes up when I saw your eyes wandering. Some fops who get brought up here shell out good money for a pretty weapon.¡±


    Ilyena stepped forward. ¡°Speaking of fops, why in the Divines would you keep your office right above that racket? I can still feel my teeth shaking.¡±


    ¡°That god-awful racket you hear is the sound of money. I can¡¯t think of anything more soothing. Besides, after so many years at a forge, it¡¯s comforting to hear. I may not be a smith anymore because of me arm, but I¡¯ll be damned before I turn me back on the art. The same way a commander should be close to the battle, a guild master should be close to his work.¡±


    Grim shrugged. ¡°Whatever makes you happy.¡±


    Renfield looked to Ilyena. ¡°Are we to show him what we¡¯ve been cooking up?¡±


    Ilyena nodded.


    ¡°Well come on then,¡± Renfield said, walking past Grim to the door.


    Ilyena sighed, moving after Renfield. Grim followed in her wake as they returned the way they¡¯d come. As they passed the receptionist, she gave Grim an appreciative look up and down. He flushed as she winked at him and he focused his eyes ahead, wondering if there¡¯d be time for him to come back up after whatever tour Renfield had in mind. Probably not. He sighed as they descended the narrow stairwell once more.


    They walked past the door to the first floor, descending beneath the earth. The walls quickly shifted from quarried stone to rough-hewn rock resembling something you would find in a mine shaft. The stairwell dead-ended in a small room with a huge vault-like door. A small hammer hung from a nail on the wall next to the door.


    Renfield grabbed the hammer and smacked it on the door one, twice, three times, and then once more.


    A responding clang came from the other side.


    Renfield reached into his pocket, pulled out a key and stuck it in the door. As he twisted it, the lock opened with a clank. He waited a moment, making no move to open the door. A second clank sounded from the other side of the door. Then it began to open outwards. Grim stepped back as the heavy door swung wide.


    A burly man in a smith¡¯s apron grinned at them from the other side. ¡°Master,¡± he said with a nod.


    ¡°Good morning, Karl. Go ahead and keep the door open. This shouldn¡¯t take too long.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±


    Doors made of wrought iron bars lined either side of the corridor beyond the door. Each cell had an inscription next to them that was a permutation of ones and zeros. In the distance, Grim could hear running water and the sound of machinery.


    Grim glanced through the bars of the doors as they passed. One room appeared to simply be a forest of spears standing straight in their racks. The next was filled with dozens of crates leaving him wondering what was inside. Another room had rows and rows of axes lined up on wooden racks. The one after that, swords.


    ¡°What is all this?¡± Grim asked.


    ¡°Storage.¡±


    Grim fought the urge to smack the man with the haft of his axe. ¡°And why do you have an entire armory in storage?¡±


    ¡°Your father commissioned it years ago, but never came to pick it up.¡± Renfield shrugged. ¡°He pays the storage fee.¡±


    Grim frowned at the dozens of rooms. ¡°Why?¡±


    Renfield stayed silent a long moment. ¡°It¡¯s not my place to speculate. I¡¯m just an old smith.¡±


    Grim didn¡¯t bother to continue questioning him. The sound of running water grew louder. It sounded almost as if he were on the banks of a river. Then, the left side of the corridor fell away. Grim¡¯s eyes widened as he took in the cavern, the swift current of water running through it, and the twelve grand waterwheels spinning in a line. The thick planks of the wheels interlocked with the large iron gears he had glimpsed upstairs. They kept the gears turning at a steady pace and he could hear the giant hammers above clanging in time. Thick, stone pillars lined the underground river with the adjoining waterwheels riveted into the pillars, holding both them and the high ceiling aloft.


    Grim looked up at the high wheels. ¡°Wow.¡±


    Even Ilyena¡¯s eyes drifted across the scene in wonder, though she¡¯d likely seen it before. It was a marvel of engineering.


    As Grim stopped to gape, Renfield turned around. ¡°I¡¯d ask you not talk about this widely.¡± He turned to look at the apparatus. ¡°We call them trip hammers because the hammer up there keeps falling on its face over and over.¡±


    Grim grunted in appreciation, gaze drifting to the underground river. ¡°Where does the water come from?¡± he asked, looking to where it seemed to gurgle straight out of the stone wall.


    Ilyena answered, ¡°It branches off the Bleakcreek, tunnels into one of the hills, flows under the city, and empties beneath the castle. Most wells draw from it or a tributary.¡±


    Renfield chuckled. ¡°We were expanding our storage down here, and the miners damn near shat themselves when they found it.¡±


    Grim noticed a net peeking out of the water near the side of the cavern where the river emerged. A barrel bobbed up and down, snared by the net. ¡°What¡¯s that for?¡± Grim asked, nodding toward it.


    Renfield glanced where he was looking. ¡°Ah. Debris sometimes gets sucked in from upriver on the Bleakcreek. The net is just there to keep the wheels safe. They¡¯re a right bitch to fix.¡±


    Grim could only imagine. ¡°Is this what we¡¯re here to see?¡± he asked.


    Renfield waved his hand. ¡°Just the tip of the iceberg.¡±


    Renfield continued down the corridor. Branching halls began to appear, making Grim wonder how large this place was. It had to take up at least as much space as the complex above them. Renfield turned down one of the side passages and stopped at the third door. He pulled out the key he used to unlock the vault. Grim raised an eyebrow as he pulled the tip of the key and it clicked. Renfield then glanced at the inscription next to the door and began rotating the six teeth of the key. He looked from the key to the inscription, grunted in satisfaction, and unlocked the door.


    The gate swung open on greased hinges. Grim walked around the corner into the room It was far smaller than the rest. Only one object stood in the center, torchlight reflecting off the burnished metal. He stared at the suit of armor with the Briar etched into a solid plate of metal running across the chest. It somewhat resembled the design of the Venaran coat of plates, but instead of overlapping plates of metal, it consisted of large plates that would entirely cover a man¡¯s chest and the exterior of his arms and legs.


    ¡°What is this?¡± he asked.


    ¡°New armor,¡± Renfield said, ¡°Meant to go over chain and can stop an axe or sword dead in its tracks.


    Grim snorted. ¡°To do that, the damn thing would have to weigh as much as I do.¡±


    Renfield waggled his finger. ¡°If it were made of Iron, yes.¡±


    Grim looks at the armor again, realizing the hue was ¨C off. ¡°It¡¯s sure as shit not bronze, so what is it? Hardened tin?¡± he chuckled.


    Renfield¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°It¡¯s an alloy we¡¯ve taken to calling steel, boy.¡±


    Grim raised a skeptical eyebrow.


    Renfield put his one arm on his him. ¡°Well do you have the courage to test it out or are you going to keep spewing shit?¡±


    Grim bit his lip, approaching the suit of armor. The plates were thinner than the bronze plating on Venaran armor, and he¡¯d seen a well-placed blow shear through those.


    He looked to Ilyena, ¡°Help me with the straps.¡±


    Grim grunted as he loosed the sling, his injured shoulder burning with pain as he slowly lowered the arm to his side. Ilyena helped him encase his torso in the steel shell and sinch the straps tight about him, creating a solid metal carapace around him as if he were a beetle. He was surprised by how well it fit about him, as if it were designed for his dimensions.


    While Grim was getting suited, Renfield had fetched an axe from one of the other rooms. He held it out to Ilyena, ¡°Would you like the honors my lady?¡±


    Her eyes lit up and her hands reached for the axe.


    ¡°Wait a minute-¡±


    Grim was cut off as Ilyena grasped the axe with two hands and slammed it into the center of his chest.


    Grim winced, the force of the blow driving him back a step. His hands leapt to his chest, expecting to find a gaping wound. Instead, he found a light scratch along the metal. He gasped in relief. ¡°Divines, woman,¡¯ he said, looking down at the narrow line where the axe had struck.


    He looked to Renfield, ¡°Impressive, but it won¡¯t be women these need to fend off.¡±


    Renfield nodded his agreement, reaching for the axe with his good arm.


    ¡°Wait-¡±


    Grim was cut off once more as the axe crashed into his chest with twice the force. Unprepared, the blow sent him staggering to fall on his ass. The hand of his good arm shot to his gut where the blow had landed and found only a small dent in the metal.


    ¡°Holy shit,¡± Grim said, ¡°What is this made out of?¡±


    ¡°I told you,¡± Renfield said, ¡°Steel. Any details beyond that are a Forgers guild secret.¡±


    ¡°How much of this have you made?¡± Grim asked, staggering to his feet.


    ¡°About a tenth of the stored material is made from steel. We uncovered the secret about three years ago. Two years ago, we found it could be applied to make new styles of armor,¡± he said, eyes drifting to the breastplate Grim wore. ¡°Expensive as all hell, but the moment it¡¯s put to the field, it will revolutionize warfare.¡±


    Grim¡¯s hand unconsciously ran across the scratches in the metal. He had no doubt Renfield was right. The armor felt almost too comfortable around his shoulders, and it bothered him. ¡°Who was this made for?¡± he asked.


    Renfield met his gaze. ¡°It was the first set the Earl commissioned nigh on- two years ago?¡± He scratched his chin. ¡°Yeah, that sounds about right.¡± He shook his head. ¡°Said it was for his son.¡±


    Grim sighed softly, a lump growing in his throat. It seemed his father was full of surprises lately.


    ¡°May we have a minute, Master Renfield?¡± Ilyena asked.


    The old smith nodded. ¡°Aye. I¡¯ll be down the hall when you¡¯re ready to head out.¡± Renfield¡¯s eyes drifted to the armor. ¡°Earl said the armor is yours. He thought you may need it in the days to come. If anybody asks, it¡¯s just fancy iron.¡±


    With that, the smith turned from him and left Grim and Ilyena together in the room. She stepped forward and began undoing the straps of his armor. Grim eyed her. ¡°Did you know it¡¯d stand up to the axe?¡±


    She chuckled. ¡°Of course. Renfield put on several demonstrations for father. You should have seen the look on your face.¡±


    Grim narrowed his eyes then laughed. ¡°I think you enjoyed that a little too much.¡± He shook his head. ¡°So, what is all this for?¡± he asked, ¡°There¡¯s enough weapons stored here to arm most of the Rills.¡±


    She paused in undoing the straps. ¡°Preparations, should our situation become untenable.¡±


    ¡°Untenable?¡± Grim asked, eyebrow raised.


    She shrugged. ¡°He¡¯s also trying to set up trade with Tara across the Meridian Bay to reduce our reliance on Venaran food, but that is a long, slow, and expensive transition. Though, it has been made easier by the Marshal doing the same.¡±


    ¡°Why would Longreen want that?¡± Grim asked.


    ¡°The less reliant he is on the King and the Heartlands, the stronger his position. All of Longreen¡¯s power is derived from Venar itself. Not even his title is hereditary. It¡¯s part of why he¡¯s so keen to bind me to his house,¡± she said, nose shriveling in distaste.


    Grim ran a hand across his chin. ¡°At what point do things become untenable?¡±


    ¡°The moment our hand is forced or the potential for gain becomes worth the risk.¡± She shrugged. ¡°Time will tell,¡± she said, uncinching the final strap and pulling the armor from Grim.


    He watched as she set it to the floor by the armor rack, his eyes drifting over the scratches in the burnished steel. ¡°Untenable,¡± he muttered.

 Ch 38: The Sorrows

    Kid grumbled under his breath as the door to his barracks creaked open, waking him from a deep sleep. Similar disgruntled voices rose from the surrounding bunks as several pairs of boots strode into the room with purpose. Kid blinked bleary eyes, turning to see what the commotion was.


    Rough hands grabbed him, and he yelped in fright as they flipped him over on the bed, shoving a sackcloth bag over his head. Kid gasped, thrashing as several pairs of hands held him down and bound his hands. Something cold touched his throat and he froze.


    The room was silent save for the rasping of the rope being knotted around his wrists. That no shouts of alarm were being raised told him that he was being taken by other Sons. His mind raced, trying to figure out what he had done. Was this because he followed Billy last night? Did it have something to do with the man Billy had spoken to in Melna¡¯s home? Did Marc think he¡¯d betrayed them in some way?


    He yelped as he was roughly dragged to his feet and sent stumbling through the barracks. Hands like iron vises steadied him and forced him forward.


    ¡°Where are you taking me?¡± he asked, struggling to keep the panic from his voice. No reply came as they entered the hallway.


    There had to be a half dozen men marching around him. He could hear the clinking of the iron links of their armor and weapons as they pressed onward. He had to almost jog to keep up with their long strides. They winded down several halls and he could hear the curious whispers of passers-by fade as they marched at a break-neck speed.


    The air was growing mustier, and it told him they were nearing the catacombs. His suspicions were confirmed as they came to a halt, and he heard one of the reinforced doors being unbarred. It groaned on its hinges as it opened, and they were on the move once more.


    Kid had soon lost track of the turns they made in the warrens of the catacombs but, in the distance, he could hear men chanting rhythmically. They grew in intensity as he drew nearer and as he knew they couldn¡¯t be more than a few dozen paces away, they fell silent and the hands holding him fell away.


    Kid¡¯s heart pounded and he didn¡¯t dare move. He could sense the presence of dozens of men around him, hear them shifting. Someone in the room was crying, and Kid was reasonably sure that it wasn¡¯t him. Not yet at least.


    Bootsteps sounded, growing closer to him. Kid clenched his teeth in anticipation. The sack on his head shifted then disappeared, revealing a huge stone chamber filled with firelight. Dozens of Sons stood in a ring around him, faces hidden behind their ceremonial masks and all holding torches. On the far end of the circle was a southern boy, maybe a few years older than Kid. A flimsy beard grew on his face, damp with the tears that flowed from his eyes. His hands were bound and a pair of Sons held him to knees.


    Marc stood above Kid, tossing the sack to the side. His eyes drifted across the assembled Sons. He grinned wolfishly. ¡°Brothers, today is a glorious day because today we add another to our ranks. Kid of the Outwalls. He may look like a scrawny little shit, but believe me when I tell you he has more courage in him than most grown men I¡¯ve met.¡±


    Marc paused in his speech to place a hand on Kid¡¯s shoulder as he hesitantly rose to his feet. Kid met Marc¡¯s eyes. ¡°He surprised me, and I¡¯m not afraid to say I¡¯m proud of him.¡±


    Kid felt a stirring in his breast and looked away, unable to meet Marc¡¯s gaze a moment longer.


    Marc continued, unabated. ¡°One thing that every one of our brothers and sisters must come to understand is that we must pick up the sword if we are to have any hope of one day putting it down. The blood we spill today will nurture the pastures of our grandchildren and the sacrifices we make will ensure their freedom.¡±


    He turned to face Kid and addressed him directly for the first time. ¡°Kid, do you know the Seven Sorrows?¡±


    Kid hesitated then shook his head.


    Marc¡¯s voice rose as he addressed the crowd once more. ¡°What clearer sign of oppression than the fact that our children don¡¯t recall the birth of the Rills?¡±


    The Sons roared in outrage at Marc¡¯s words. After a moment, Marc raised his hands to calm them and turned to face Kid. A solemn silence fell over the room, broken only by the sniveling of the prisoner.


    ¡°There was once an Empire that stretched the length of our continent from Boreal in the west to Tara in the east. Millions lived under its rule, and they made Venar¡¯s rule seem a paradise in comparison.¡±


    ¡°The first sorrow they inflicted upon our people was the sorrow of feast. When winters grew harsh, they would cut our supply of grain. Brother ate brother and sister ate sister.¡±


    Marc grinned, his teeth shining like fangs in the firelight.


    ¡°The second sorrow was that of birth. For sport, they¡¯d toss newborns from cliffs just to hear them land. The third sorrow lay in the gallows for men who would speak truth.¡±


    As Marc spoke, the men around them began to hum rhythmically, the sound reverberating in the chamber.


    Marc¡¯s voice raised. ¡°The fourth sorrow was forged in the fires where our people were burned for magic they did not possess. The fifth¡¯s secrets are held by the sea where our people were drowned, stones tied to their legs.¡±


    The humming grew in intensity and Marc was now nearly yelling as he paced before Kid.


    ¡°The sixth was the sorrow of betrayal, where our own brothers turned their backs on us inflicting the sorrows on their kin.¡± Marc spat on the cave floor in disgust.


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    The humming was reaching a crescendo, the air seeming to reverberate around Kid. Then, as one, the men fell silent. The cavern descended into an unsettling quiet. Eyes bored into him, and Kid met Marc¡¯s gaze.


    ¡°And the last sorrow, Kid, was when our people¡¯s children were given their wings. From their pain, their blood, and our prayers- our lady Reaper was born into this world.¡±


    Marc nodded to somebody behind Kid. Rough hands grabbed him a moment later and he felt a knife sawing through the bindings around his hands. Kid rubbed at his wrists as his hands came free. The entire room seemed to be watching him in anticipation, though for what reason- he hadn¡¯t the foggiest idea.


    The Son who¡¯d freed him stepped to his right and held out a bronze dagger to him. The metal shined in the torchlight, the same blade he¡¯d used to kill his first man. He shuddered at the memory of metal grinding against bone. He met the Son¡¯s eyes, an unspoken question hanging between them. The man looked across the room and Kid followed his gaze to the southern boy kneeling at the far end of the chamber.


    Kid felt his fingers wrap around the hilt of the blade, a numb feeling suffusing his body. he looked at the armed men ringing him and suspected he had little choice but to do what was expected of him.


    Marc grinned and gestured to the southerner. ¡°Every man among us is bound by purpose in a brotherhood forged in blood. Show us you mean it, Kid. Carve your name into our people¡¯s history.¡±


    Kid looked from the dagger in his hand to the man before him. His heart began to beat faster. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.


    Marc stepped close to him and put a hand on his shoulder. ¡°Kid, blood is but water and men will drown. Prove to me that you are more than a child from the gutters. Prove to me that you have the strength to do what needs to be done. Prove to me that you are a man.¡±


    The men around Kid began to chant, yelling in time and rhythmically beating their weapons against their shields. Kid stood in the center of a maelstrom of sound, completely petrified. The chanting grew louder around him, and men cheered him on. He began to shake. The southerner moaned but the sound was lost in the clamor.


    Marc knelt next to him. ¡°Every southerner is a threat to the people we love. Would you let him hurt Lissa?¡±


    Tears filled Kid¡¯s eyes. ¡°No,¡± he whispered.


    ¡°Then show me.¡±


    Kid¡¯s grip tightened on the dagger as he thought of the crosses by the gate and Imagined Lissa¡¯s small arms unnaturally bent into a mockery of wings. Her lifeless eyes- Kid shrieked and rushed forward, closing the distance across the room. He plunged the dagger into the southerner¡¯s gut. The man shrieked in pain as blood welled from the wound and dripped from his mouth. Kid stared, mesmerized by the sight.


    ¡°Again.¡±


    Kid obeyed, finding the second time easier and the third easier still. Soon he lost track of how many times he plunged the blade into soft flesh. In the back of his mind, he was aware that he was now just stabbing a corpse, but the voices cheered him on, told him to keep going. He could barely see through the tears in his eyes and his voice was hoarse from shrieking. Blood coated his arms, and its warmth was splattered across his face. He stopped only when Marc caught his arm.


    Kid blinked away his tears as Marc held a mask in the shape of a wolf to him. Kid grasped the intricately carved wood and took it from Marc. It looked different than the other masks. The color was off. It lacked the reddish hue. Understanding filled him a moment later. Kid knew what he had to do. He knelt to the ground, placing his hand into the growing pool of blood and smeared it across his mask.


    Marc smiled down at him in approval as Kid set to the grisly work. Cheers sounded all around Kid as he finished. The Sons broke ranks and gathered around him, patting him on the back, clasping his arm like a man, congratulating on his kill. Through it all Kid didn¡¯t know whether to laugh or cry.


    ***


    Billy grunted with the effort of dragging the corpse through the catacombs beneath the city. A trail of blood leaked from where one of Marc¡¯s newest recruits had ripped the man¡¯s guts opened. They¡¯d taken a few hundred prisoners in the battle above ground and Marc was using many of them to blood some of his newer recruits. The offer had been extended to Billy, but he¡¯d declined saying he¡¯d had more than his fill of blood over the past day.


    His entire body still ached from the fighting, not recovering as quickly as it had in his youth. He paused in the cavernous depths, letting the shoulders of the corpse fall to the ground. His guide turned to face him, torchlight spilling over the dead man¡¯s face and fully illuminating the horror painted across it.


    ¡°What¡¯s the hold up?¡± his companion asked.


    ¡°My back, you prick,¡± Billy grumbled, wincing as his shoulders cracked when he rolled them.


    ¡°I¡¯ll carry him a while.¡±


    Billy shrugged, more than happy to take the offered torch and lead the way. Blackened skulls stared at him from the walls. He knew every one of the dead bastards was probably smiling as they looked upon the day¡¯s work. He¡¯d lost track of how many southern bodies they¡¯d dragged through the halls. In the distance he could hear the muffled screams of their destination.


    It¡¯d been a long time since he¡¯d carried out the sorrows.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± he muttered, leading the way.


    The younger man behind him grunted as he heaved the corpse onward. ¡°This fucker is heavy.¡±


    Billy snorted. ¡°Side-effect of being well-fed.¡±


    The Son spat his agreement on the stone floor and they set off down the tunnel. It wasn¡¯t much further and after a few turns in the winding corridor, they reached a breach in the catacombs that led to a freshly mined tunnel. As they moved through the breach, freshly mortared walls came into view to their left. To their right, a dozen prisoners were huddled against the far wall, arms bound and overseen by a half dozen Sons.


    Billy nodded to them, and they returned the half-hearted greeting, looking as if they were dreading the manual labor soon to come. Billy could hardly blame them as he glanced toward the bricks and mortar stored in the corner of the room. They¡¯d been through this song and dance nearly twenty times today.


    He sighed as he put the torch in a nearby sconce and hefted the legs of the corpse, helping his companion maneuver it into a small cubby built into the masonry. Just large enough for two men to squeeze into with a little breathing room. An iron hook stuck from the far wall


    A panicked scream sounded as the guards on the far side of the room grabbed one of the prisoners and hauled him toward the cubby. Billy sighed, already tired, as he turned to regard the southerner. A younghish man- maybe seen twenty-five or so summers. Probably a wife and kid somewhere back in his homeland.


    Not that any of that mattered.


    Billy barely registered his pleading as he was thrown on the ground before him. There was nothing the man could say that he hadn¡¯t heard before. The Sons held him down as he thrashed in his bindings. With all his strength, Billy stomped on the man¡¯s right shoulder. Bone snapped beneath his boot and the pleas faded into pained screaming.


    ¡°Haul him in,¡± Billy commanded.


    The Sons obeyed immediately, dragging the screaming man toward the cubby and shoving him in atop the corpse. They looped his bindings onto the iron hook, securing him in place. The Venaran struggled against his restraints. They weren¡¯t terribly well secured, but they would hold more than long enough for the mortar to settle on his tomb.


    As the first bricks were laid before him, the man¡¯s screaming faded into pained whimpering. He knew his fate was sealed. No doubt he could feel the vibrations behind him as his comrades pounded against the walls confining them. Billy met the man¡¯s gaze. The fear had turned into acceptance and that acceptance was falling to hate.


    Billy wondered how long it¡¯d be before he started eating the corpse of his cellmate- the sorrow of feast. He pulled the flask from the pocket of his jacket and took a long draw. The day¡¯s work was far from over.

 Ch 39: A Cozy Cell

    Kid awoke to the taste of stale vomit and a pounding headache. He groaned as he lifted himself from the soft linen of his bed. It felt as if somebody were using his head as a drum. Even the candlelight seemed too bright as he opened his blurred eyes. the scent of wine immediately set his stomach to roiling. He thought he was going to puke again but managed to hold it in. He coughed into the sleeve of the fresh shirt Marc gave him after the initiation.


    The initiation.


    His hands shook at the memory, and he clenched them into fists to steady them. He¡¯d thrown up shortly after killing the southerner. One of the sons had then handed him a jug of wine ¡®to celebrate¡¯. His memory quickly faded after accepting the drink. He was glad for the void. Maybe that was why so many men found solace in drink, but it seemed a temporary cure at best.


    Kid looked around him, realizing he wasn¡¯t even in his bunk. Divines knew where he¡¯d ended up, but at least nobody had cuffed him over the head for it. As he rose to his feet, the world spun but he managed to right it, taking a deep breath as he fought the urge to vomit.


    Kid stumbled his way between the beds, struggling not to bump into any of the men and women still sleeping. He unlatched the door of the room and slipped into the hall. He must have still been in the undercity as, there were no windows. The floor was cold stone like one would find in a castle and the wall and ceiling consisted of thick wooden boards. Every twenty paces a reinforced, wooden pillar dominated the center of the wide hall.


    Several Sons stumbled down the corridor, the smell of drink hanging heavy in the air about them. Some wore their masks, while others had them hanging at their belt. Kid unconsciously felt the mask on his hip. The blood was still sticky. A chill ran down his spine and for the second time today, he felt he might puke.


    With little to no sense of where he was, Kid turned right, down the hall. Branching corridors went off in all directions, giving it the feeling of a maze. The increasingly familiar twang of a longbow sounded down the corridor. The noise drew Kid¡¯s attention, and he followed the periodic thwacking to range.


    As he entered the room, he found Marc standing before the targets, slowly drawing a longbow, his arms straining with the effort. On noticing Kid, he loosened his draw, letting the bow creak back to it¡¯s natural form.


    ¡°You¡¯re up early. I¡¯d have thought the drink would keep you down till midafternoon.¡±


    Kid shrugged. ¡°How early is it?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Morning. But the sun hasn¡¯t risen yet. I¡¯m rarely able to sleep more than a few hours these days. Too many dreams.¡± Marc nocked another arrow and drew the string, grunting with the effort of it. He released it. Kid watched the arrow slam into the head of the dummy. Marc rested the stave on the ground and leaned against it. ¡°You¡¯ll understand soon enough.¡±


    Kid¡¯s hand brushed the mask resting against his hip and Marc¡¯s eyes flashed down to it. ¡°Then again, maybe you already do. The things we do are not meant to be easy, Kid.¡±


    A chill ran down Kid¡¯s spine. ¡°Then why do we do them?¡±


    Marc locked eyes with Kid. ¡°Nothing worth doing is ever easy. The price of grain is measured in silver. The price of freedom is measured in blood.¡± Marc¡¯s eyes drifted down to the mask. ¡°That,¡± he said, ¡°is to make sure you never forget.¡± Marc ran a hand along the wood of the bow stave. ¡°Do you understand?¡±


    Kid swallowed then nodded.


    A slight smile crossed Marc¡¯s lips before it fell into a deep frown. ¡°It¡¯s good you¡¯re here. I need to ask something of you, Kid.¡±


    Kid cocked his head, meeting Marc¡¯s gaze.


    Marc averted his eyes. ¡°I received word that James was taken after the battle.¡±


    Kid¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Lissa¡­¡± He trailed off.


    ¡°I just found out, and need to tell her,¡± Marc said, ¡°She¡¯ll need a friend afterwards,¡± Marc said. He stepped closer to Kid. ¡°A friend that I can trust.¡±


    Kid nodded slowly. ¡°Of course.¡± He hesitated. ¡°Can he be saved?¡±


    Marc¡¯s silence hung heavy in the air.


    It was the answer Kid expected, but it still stung. He and James had never been close, but he¡¯d known the man most of his life.


    Marc put a hand on his shoulder. ¡°War is hard on us all, but in the end, we¡¯ll see the sacrifices were worth it. I promise.¡±


    Kid looked up to Marc. His freshly bloodied mask hung heavy at his side. ¡°I hate them,¡± he whispered.


    Marc¡¯s hand squeezed his shoulder. ¡°In the coming days, you¡¯ll have an opportunity to express that hatred. I guarantee you that.¡±


    Kid¡¯s hand unconsciously grasped the hit of his dagger.


    ¡°You¡¯ve exceeded my every expectation these past days, Kid, and now you are a Son of the Reaper in truth- not just name. Keep making me proud.¡±


    A rush of emotion ran through Kid at Marc¡¯s words. ¡°I will,¡± he whispered.


    ¡°Good lad.¡± Marc sighed, looking toward the door. ¡°No sense delaying any longer.¡±


    Kid rushed after Marc as he stowed his bow and strode from the room. The man walked with purpose down the long halls. As they passed Sons, every man stopped in their tracks and saluted Marc, fist over heart and head bowed.


    It was easy to forget the authority the man commanded among the Sons. But every time he did, Kid found himself met with a stark reminder that Marc was a very powerful man. Kid wondered at his luck to fall on the man¡¯s coat tails.


    This was a life he could take pride in. His hand ran across the dagger at his side. A sense of unease ran up his spine, but he ignored it. This is who he was now. There was no going back.


    He followed Marc down the halls as he led the way to Lissa¡¯s rooms. He wondered if she¡¯d be asleep and then realized that was foolish. Of course, she wasn¡¯t. How could one sleep not knowing if your parents were alive or dead?


    Marc¡¯s gait slowed as he neared the door. He rested a hand on the latch and met Kid¡¯s gaze. Marc took a deep breath and opened the door. Kid followed him inside.


    The room was dimly lit by candles resting atop the familiar altar that dominated the far side of the room. Above it sat the tapestry of the Reaper. Both were seemingly untouched from the flames that consumed Melna¡¯s home.


    However, the tapestry was almost unrecognizable from its previously bleak depictions. The Reaper still stood front and center, her lips drawn in a hard line. Her eyes were shadowed beneath her hood, but a line of blood ran across her left cheek as if she shed a single tear of blood. Around her visage, the forest- glowed a dark red. The thread was so rich in hue that it seemed to glow of its own accord.


    Kid blinked. No- It was glowing.


    Lissa knelt before the altar, arms crossed across her chest, the whisper of some prayer falling from her lips into the quiet of the chamber. The surface of the altar rippled with dark lines that swirled like smoke across its surface.


    Marc had come to a stop a few paces into the room and started at the scene open mouthed. Kid could just barely hear whisper on the man¡¯s lips. ¡°By the Divines.¡±


    Kid came to a halt beside him, equally entranced. He barely noticed as Kryll uncurled in the far corner and interposed himself between them and Lissa, eyes wary.


    She was dressed in a simple black robe with the hood down, but her hair seemed to float, defying gravity. As she finished her whispered prayer, the red light dimmed, and her hair drifted back to its natural place. She looked over her shoulder at them, eyes as black as night. Lines of black liquid fell along her cheeks like tears. With one of her sleeves, she wiped at them as the darkness slowly faded from her eyes.


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    ¡°They¡¯re friends, Kryll,¡± she whispered.


    The Keeper dug its claws into the ground, leaving small indents in the stone then sulked away back to its corner.


    ¡°That was incredible,¡± Marc said, ¡°What were you doing?¡±


    Lissa presented a forced smile as she rose to her feet and turned to them. ¡°Talking. I¡¯ve been hearing whispers since Melna passed. If I focus my intent into the altar, I can just barely hear them.¡±


    Kid looked to Marc out of the corner of his eyes. The man looked almost afraid. ¡°And what do they say?¡±


    She frowned. ¡°It¡¯s like they whisper in passing. They¡¯re scared. They say they never should have come here and that that they want to go home.¡± She bit her lip. ¡°I give what comfort I can.¡±


    The hairs on the back of Kid¡¯s neck stood up as he put the pieces together. Had she spoken to the man he¡¯d killed? For some reason the thought shamed him. He tried not to let it show, feeling uncomfortable as her eyes drifted to the mask hanging at his side.


    Kid¡¯s mouth opened to speak but no words came out as he struggled to find them. Marc spoke, having apparently found his first. ¡°We need to talk, Lissa.¡±


    At his words her face fell, and the room seemed to darken. ¡°What happened?¡±


    Marc met her gaze. ¡°Your father was captured by-¡±


    Marc trailed off as the candles snuffed out, leaving them in total darkness. For a long moment, the only sound Kid could hear was the beating of his pulse in his ears. Then, a sob echoed through the room. Kid felt himself rushing forward and suddenly Lissa was in his arms. She crumpled and he eased them to the floor. Warm tears fell across his neck as she buried her face into him.


    Kid could hear Marc¡¯s bootsteps as he walked past them to the altar. He must have had some kind of tinder on hand as sparks flew, followed by the low flame of a single candle. Marc calmly used the candle to light the others.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry Lissa,¡± Marc said, ¡°I have no way to get to him.¡±


    Lissa gasped, trying to find the breath for a response. ¡°You could try.¡±


    ¡°And whose father should die to save yours?¡± Marc asked.


    Lissa shuddered in Kid¡¯s arms. ¡°He¡¯d come for you.¡±


    Marc hesitated, eyes seeming to grow distant for a moment. ¡°This is about more than us,¡± he whispered.


    Lissa leapt to her feet, shrugging free of Kid. ¡°And what about us? Are we just pawns to be sacrificed for the cause? How much more do I need to lose?¡± she screamed.


    Kid slowly rose to his feet, wishing he were anywhere but here.


    Marc matched Lissa¡¯s gaze. ¡°We will lose whatever it takes to keep you safe.¡± He shook his head. ¡°Your father fought for what he believed in and that was you,¡± he paused, ¡°I believe in you.¡±


    Marc reached out and held Lissa¡¯s cheek. ¡°Lass, you¡¯re all I have.¡±


    Lissa¡¯s anger seemed to melt away, replaced with deep sorrow. ¡°There¡¯s nothing we can do?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Marc whispered.


    Lissa shuddered. ¡°Me too,¡± she whispered, reaching out to him and wrapping him in an embrace.


    Marc hesitated as he returned the embrace. He held her for a long moment before saying ¡°I can¡¯t stay for long.¡±


    Lissa¡¯s shoulders sagged. ¡°I know,¡± she said, ¡°It¡¯s okay.¡±


    Marc kissed the top of her head before releasing her and turning his gaze to Kid. ¡°Keep an eye on her for me, Kid. I¡¯ll be back this evening and, should everything go as planned, I¡¯ll have a job for you in the coming weeks.¡±


    Kid blinked at that. A job for him. What in the hells kind of job was he the best suited candidate for?


    With a final smile for Lissa, Marc strode from the room. A long moment of silence passed between her and Kid before Lissa broke the quiet. ¡°I hate him sometimes,¡± she whispered.


    Kid frowned, waiting for her to continue.


    ¡°Walks in, ruins my life, and walks out just as quickly,¡± she added, stifling a sob.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Kid whispered.


    ¡°You have nothing to be sorry for,¡± she whispered.


    Kid¡¯s frown deepened.


    Lissa¡¯s wide brown eyes enveloped him. ¡°He asked you to report on me, didn¡¯t he?¡±


    Kid paled a shade. He averted his eyes, unable to meet her gaze.


    Lissa nodded as if that were all the confirmation she needed. ¡°I wasn¡¯t born yesterday, Kid.¡±


    He winced.


    A new quiet hung between them. ¡°You can talk to me,¡± she said.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what to say,¡± he whispered.


    He forced himself to meet her gaze and as he took in her tear-filled brown eyes, he found the words. ¡°I¡¯ll always be here when you need me. Marc be damned.¡±


    A small smile broke across her lips, though it quickly faded. She took his hand in hers and looked to the altar. ¡°Will you make an offering with me, to ask safe passage for my parents?¡±


    Kid glanced up at the tapestry, fighting the urge to shrink beneath the Reaper¡¯s hooded gaze. ¡°I don¡¯t know how,¡± he said.


    She squeezed his hand. ¡°I¡¯ll show you.¡±


    Lissa led him to the altar. The swirls of darkness across its surface had vanished, leaving the surface a ruddy reddish color. They stood before it together and Lissa touched its surface, tracing it with her fingers. Where she touched, dark lines spun outwards across the surface, coalescing into an image of a-


    Kid blinked. ¡°Is that me?¡±


    Lissa nodded, her finger tracing the final line to complete a very good approximation of his nose.


    He grinned in wonder. ¡°That¡¯s incredible.¡±


    Lissa pursed her lips, taking in the image. ¡°I have little to do other than practice my intent in here. I¡¯m barely ever allowed to leave my cell.¡± With a wave of her hand, the image dissipated back into the altar. ¡°You¡¯re a bit more handsome in real life,¡± she said off-handedly.


    Kid blushed despite himself, knowing she had to be teasing him. He ran a finger along the smooth, cold surface of the altar. ¡°What even is this made of?¡±


    Lissa wiped at her eyes before laying a hand on the surface of the altar. The stone stirred at her touch. ¡°Just rock,¡± she said, ¡°What makes it special are the sacrifices made through it. Melna said this altar is nearly as old as the Rillish Kingdom.¡±


    Kid tested the words ¡®Rillish Kingdom¡¯ on his tongue. Saying it out loud sounded strange to him.


    Lissa seemed to not notice his fixation as she pulled a small knife from her robes. She angled the blade toward her opposite palm and slowly drew a thin red line, droplets of blood falling freely from her hand and beading atop the altar.


    The sight made Kid uneasy, his eyes drawn toward the knife and hands clenching in sympathy pangs. Lissa took note of his unease. ¡°Why are you afraid?¡± she asked.


    Kid looked to the tapestry above them. ¡°It feels wrong,¡± he said.


    Lissa followed his gaze. ¡°Our lady keeps the Veil where souls are kept. We all end up in her arms eventually. I choose to think she¡¯s a kind mistress.¡±


    Kid swallowed. ¡°And if she¡¯s not?¡±


    ¡°What if the Southerner¡¯s Goddess is the cruel one for birthing life into this world?¡± Lissa asked, ¡°Would it make a difference?¡± she asked.


    Kid frowned. He supposed natural laws were a silly thing to worry over. Their course had been set long ago. Lissa seemed to take his silence as acknowledgement as the candlelight began to dim around them. The droplets of blood that had fallen on the altar sank into the stone like water into a sponge.


    Lissa¡¯s eyes were fixed on the tapestry of the Reaper above. ¡°To you, our lady, we give this sacrifice. May you carry my mother and father gently to the veil.¡± Her voice choked, but she continued, whispering, ¡°I love them.¡±


    She lowered her hand to the altar. As she touched the stone, the veins on her arm began to stand out. Lissa winced, her muscles going tense. Darkness seeped into the stone from where she touched its surface before fading into the rock.


    After a long moment, she tore her hand from the stone with a visible effort. She gasped, seeming drained of energy. Kid watched as the dark cloud faded into the stone. ¡°Where does it go?¡±


    Lissa took a moment to steady herself before responding. ¡°Some is stored. The rest goes to our lady.¡±


    Kid blinked. ¡°Stored?¡±


    ¡°Like grain in winter,¡± she said.


    Kid ran a hand along the surface, but it felt no different than before. He wondered how much power was in there, and moreso- he wondered what Lissa could do with it.


    She rose to her feet and walked to her dresser in the corner of the room, retrieving a bandage and wrapping it around her wounded hand. After tying off the knot, she returned to him, offering the knife hit-first.


    Kid looked at it a moment before shaking his head and drawing the bronze dagger at his hip. ¡°I¡¯ll use mine,¡± he said.


    Lissa shrugged and sheathed her blade within her robe.


    Kid looked between his hand and the shining metal reflecting the fire-light. ¡°Just cut and put it there?¡± he asked.


    Lissa nodded. ¡°With a message if you like.¡±


    Kid bit his lip before taking a deep breath and drawing the blade across his palm. Droplets of blood beaded on the surface of the altar as they had for Lissa. He grunted as he placed his dagger atop the surface and pondered his message.


    He sighed, a pang of hurt running through him as a memory rose to the surface. He looked to Lissa. ¡°Do you remember when your father put me to work during one of the harder winters?¡±


    She nodded, a question in her eyes.


    He smiled softly. ¡°He set me to sweeping the snow off the roof of the tavern and patching any issues with the thatching.¡± He shook his head. ¡°He showed me how, but I still barely knew what I was doing. Paid me way more than he should have too.¡±


    Kid smiled. ¡°Neighbors told me a year later that he¡¯d paid to have the roof redone before the real snows came. Just wanted to help me and my mom while letting me feel like I was earning it.¡±


    Lissa cocked her head. ¡°Was that why he climbed onto our roof every night that winter?¡±


    Kid pursed his lips and nodded. ¡°To fix everything I fucked up.¡±


    Lissa snorted, her mirth quickly fading.


    Kid took a deep breath. ¡°To James. May our lady guide him.¡±


    Kid placed his hand on the altar and gasped. A force surged along his arm and pulled at him, and he could feel his blood flowing faster, pulse pounding in his ears as his heart began to race. It was at once, exhilarating, terrifying, and painful. But he found that he couldn¡¯t let go- didn¡¯t want to let go. His doubt and unease had vanished, replaced with a sense of purpose and duty. He owed James this and more. His mind was clear.


    At the edge of his awareness, he could hear Lissa saying his name, but he couldn¡¯t make out the words. He pressed harder against the stone, looking up to the tapestry overhead. He could see her eyes, black as night, watching him with interest.


    Kid was torn back to reality as Lissa grabbed his arm and wrenched it from the altar. The confusion and fear seeped back into him, compounded by a deep wooziness. He tried to rise to his feet and found that his cheek was pressed to the stone floor.


    Small hands rolled him over and Lissa¡¯s face appeared overhead a terrified expression on her face. She was beautiful, he thought as his eyes drifted shut.

 Ch 40: Together

    Fire was his only light in the darkness, his only feeling- pain. Wounds long healed were split open once more and blood flowed freely, coating his skin wherever they hadn¡¯t already branded it shut.


    He shuddered, a familiar terror gripping him as he staggered through the hall. Madness called for him to hide in its embrace, to bury himself in the coffin of his mind. Time was meaningless in such a place, his waking terror extending minutes into a lifetime. How much more could he bear?


    A soldier held a chain around his neck, dragging him onward into the abyss. He staggered forward, legs shaking as they struggled to hold his weight. He nearly staggered into the guard as they came to a halt. The man recoiled from him, but whether out of disgust or fear, it was hard to tell.


    The door to a cell opened.


    ¡°In,¡± The soldier commanded.


    He obeyed, shuffling into its confines. This was the peace between his hell. A time where he could rest in the quiet dread. Bars surrounded him, encircling a straw mat and a pile of shit left by the previous occupant. He settled far from the latter, straining with the effort of settling onto the cold stone.


    He had a vague awareness of eyes upon him from the surrounding cells. Some perhaps even recognized him. His gaze drifted to his mangled hands. Where before one finger had been missing from each, now three more blackened stubs greeted him. He clenched his fists, the fresh pain barely registering.


    He closed his eyes, trying to remember her face. It was what had gotten him through this before. Droplets trickled along his cheeks, but whether it was tears or blood was impossible to tell.


    He could still see her; envision the day they were married. The first day he held his baby girl in his hands. There was good in the world- a reason to hold on to. He had one purpose left in this life, and he would see it through. Reaper take him and those who sent him here, but he would do his duty.


    Marc was right.


    A sob escaped his lips unbidden. How long would it be? A week? Two? A month? Longer? His hands shook at the thought, and he clenched them once more, thinking back to her. He could almost hear her voice calling his name.


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    ¡°James?¡±


    A humorless laugh escaped his lips. Perhaps he was already mad.


    ¡°James,¡± the voice called, more confidently this time.


    He froze, turning his head to look into the adjoining cell. His heart stopped. She was there, reaching to him through the bars of his cell. His lip quavered. He didn¡¯t want her to see him like this- her last memory being this broken shell of a man. He curled into himself, hiding the shame of his ravaged face where they¡¯d taken his nose and ears.


    ¡°Not like this. Not like this. Not like this,¡± he whispered into his knees, willing it all to stop.


    It didn¡¯t.


    Hilda¡¯s voice cracked. ¡°Come to me. Please,¡± she begged.


    A wretched sound escaped his lips.


    Her voice broke as she spoke. ¡°When I vowed, I¡¯d stand by you through age, trial and tribulation, I meant it,¡± she said, ¡°Don¡¯t leave me now.¡±


    James shook, her words like a lance through his heart. He winced as he revealed to her the singed hole where his nose had once been and the blackened scars along his skull.


    She didn¡¯t recoil.


    She reached out to him, reiterating her first request.


    ¡°Come to me.¡±


    Crawling on broken hands and bloodied knees, he obeyed. His ravaged body fought his every command, but there was nothing that could keep him from her. He reached to her, and their fingers touched as he collapsed to the floor, gasping.


    Her hand was in his, and he felt her fingers grasp him tight. ¡°To me,¡± she whispered with a strength and determination that brought fresh life to his limbs.


    With a final effort, he heaved himself forward as she pulled him, and he fell against the bars of the cell. He was close enough to see his face reflected in her eyes. Disgust filled him but, in her look, he saw only love. What had he done to deserve such a woman?


    His lips worked as they looked into each other¡¯s eyes, but no words came out. Her hands stroked his hair soothingly.


    It was Hilda who broke the silence with the most important question in the world. ¡°Is Lissa safe?¡±


    James gave a shuddering nod, watching as fresh tears appeared in his wife¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°They think I¡¯m her,¡± Hilda whispered.


    James¡¯ throat tightened. ¡°They¡¯ll-¡± he trailed off, unable to say the words.


    She squeezed her eyes shut. ¡°I know what they¡¯ll do,¡± she said, ¡°But if it keeps her safe-¡± she trailed off.


    He took a shuddering breath. ¡°When?¡±


    She stroked his cheek, wiping away something wet. ¡°A week. Maybe two.¡±


    He was going to lose her again.


    ¡°Why are we cursed?¡± he whispered.


    Hilda firmly grasped his head in her hands. ¡°Our lives have been a blessing because we had the joy of each other and because we raised a perfect daughter,¡± Her voice broke, ¡°This is not the end, James. I will find you dark of the veil and we will watch her remake this world together.¡±


    He reached through the cell with a broken hand and caressed her cheek. She leaned into it, seeming to savor his bloodied touch. The thought of Marc with his daughter turned his stomach, but there was no point in telling Hilda. He didn¡¯t want to sully these last moments any more than they had already been tainted.


    ¡°We were supposed to die old and in bed together. We agreed on it long ago,¡± he whispered.


    She took his hands in hers. ¡°I¡¯ll settle for together.¡±

 Ch 41: Normalcy

    Harren walked the King¡¯s Road at the front of the entire Fifth Cohort. To either side of the road, a palisade had been erected to shield the length of the road from the rocks, stones and arrows that seemed to fly from the surrounding alleys at passing patrols. It¡¯d been a week since the fire had taken the south-eastern quadrant of the Outwalls and, in that time, the Marshall had taken extreme efforts to maintain control of the southern road from which supplies and men streamed in from Venar.


    His cohort was no longer alone in its duty to maintain order beyond the wall. The other cohorts were being forced to pay their tithe in blood as well. And it had been bloody. In the past week, over a hundred men were dead or missing. To bolster morale and replenish their numbers, Longreen had recalled two cohorts of the fifth legion from the surrounding countryside. They¡¯d be regrouping in Blaven, a day¡¯s march to the south, and ought to be arriving at the city within two weeks.


    Harren was looking forward to their arrival. The general staff meetings of the sixth legion had been growing more tense by the day. It felt as if they were under siege within their own city.


    Even now, he could see hungry eyes watching him from the alleyways whenever they passed a gap in the palisade. At every entrance, there were a score of men assigned to check the residents for weapons before allowing them onto the road. Similar checks were made for any caravans entering the city. The merchants raised uproar over delayed deliveries, so Longreen hung a few of their number and the complaints seemed to vanish overnight.


    Harren ran a hand over the hilt of his sword, wincing as he did from the tenderness of his hands. He was far from fit for battle, his hands still blistered and body still aching. But, he was well enough to walk through the city, which meant he was well enough to share the risks with his men.


    He glanced over his shoulder at them, taking in their wary glances toward the edges of the road. Even with the palisade protecting them, they still clutched at their shields, ready to raise them at a moment¡¯s notice.


    He hardly blamed them. He was at the edge of his frayed nerves himself. In the distance, he could see the sea of tents where the refugees huddled in the surrounding hills. They were a hotbed of Sons activity, far worse than the Outwalls had ever been. The first few days had seen rampant robberies and the pillaging of passing caravans vital to the stability of the city.


    Longreen¡¯s response had been as swift as it was brutal. Halfway up the King¡¯s Road, the palisade wall gained occupants- dissidents nailed to the wood and given their wings in a crude fashion.


    Hundreds lined the wall to either side of him, their voices long since faded. Some few still lived, their dead eyes following him as they hung from puss-filled wounds. Ravens feasted on the dead, most already missing their eyes and much of the flesh from their face. The smell was ungodly.


    It had been shocking at first, but it was amazing how quick one adapted to horror as it becomes the new norm. He barely noticed the bodies, intent on their destination at the far end of the road. A forward base had been established at the edge of the city to support patrols for miles down the King¡¯s Road. The entire third cohort had been assigned to that duty, with the others picking up their former duties within the walls.


    Carts pulled off to the side of the road as his men crossed their paths. The drivers peered nervously at him and the corpses along the wall, doubtless unsettled by the changes outside the city since their last visit. He could hardly blame them. As he passed, the merchants bowed their head in deference, but it barely registered in his mind.


    He released a breath he didn¡¯t realize he¡¯d been holding as they reached the end of the road. Harren led their column into the forward base, stepping through the gate into a clearing manned by hundreds more Venaran troops. The King¡¯s Road passed directly through the center of the base, many travelers pausing within to ask about the changes. New Barracks were being built using building supplies requisitioned from the surrounding area. A stone wall surrounded the complex, far from complete but already built higher than Harren was tall.


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    It was amazing what a single legion could accomplish in so short a time when properly mobilized. Within a month, he expected this would be a bastion to rival that within the inner city.


    His men passed through the buzzing activity, their numbers making traffic part for them like a knife through butter. He had orders to mobilize the entirety of the Fifth and report to Peltar at the forward base for further orders.


    While the barracks were being built, half the clearing was dedicated to dozens of canopied tents which served as mess halls, temporary housing, and command centers. As they neared the center of the complex, Harren raised a closed fist, signaling for a halt.


    As one, the marching boots cracked their final step. Harren ordered the men to fall out, letting them disperse


    Harren shifted his gaze to Gavin and nodded toward the command tent. Without another word, he made his way towards it, quartermaster in tow. The guards outside bowed their heads at his approach. With the mottled flesh along the left side of his face, it was very rare for him to go unrecognized these days. The thought made him grimace, but he shook it from his mind. He had more important concerns.


    He ducked through the tent flap and entered the well-furnished tent. The floor was lined with carpets to hide the dirt beneath while curtains hung from the ceiling to cordon off private areas of the tent. A table large enough to fit the prefectus of every cohort occupied the center of the tent, surrounded by folding chairs. The rest of the tent was austere and devoid of decoration.


    Peltar sat at the head of the table on the far side of the room next to a stack of parchment, quill in hand. Harren stepped forward into the room and saluted, feeling Gavin do the same behind him.


    ¡°At ease,¡± Peltar said without looking up. ¡°Take a seat.¡±


    Harren did as commanded and settled into a chair to the General¡¯s right. He waited as Peltar¡¯s eyes flicked across the page and he finally signed his name at the bottom, shifting the parchment to a pile on the right.


    Peltar sighed. ¡°How are your men holding up?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Poorly,¡± Harren answered. ¡°They¡¯ve been running double shifts for nearly a week, and on a day many should be resting, we were called to mobilize.¡±


    Peltar nodded. ¡°The sentiment is shared across the legion, but relief will be coming from the fifth legion before long.¡±


    ¡°And who is relieving the fifth legion?¡± Harren asked.


    Peltar didn¡¯t answer for a long moment, letting the question hang in the air. ¡°If the situation develops, the King will provide aid.¡±


    Harren nodded as if he believed it. ¡°What are our orders?¡±


    Peltar looked as if he didn¡¯t want to say, but forced the word out anyways, ¡°The next competition in the Lord Marshal¡¯s games requires the contestants to leave the city, and some of the nobility will seek to follow as is the custom.¡±


    Harren¡¯s jaw dropped. ¡°You can¡¯t be serious. They¡¯re still planning to hold that?¡±


    Peltar nodded. ¡°I received positive confirmation today.¡± He took a deep breath. ¡°Your cohort is the least necessary to secure the city, so you will be providing security for the contestants as they leave the city confines and the nobility who choose to follow.¡±


    It took a moment for that to fully digest in Harren¡¯s mind. ¡°That¡¯s insanity.¡±


    ¡°Those are orders,¡± Peltar countered.


    Gavin took the opportunity to speak up, ¡°If we¡¯re to travel to Calumn, we¡¯ll need to requisition supplies for three days of travel, and enough horses to properly equip scouting parties and a vanguard.¡±


    ¡°All accounted for,¡± Peltar said. He shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t like it either, but the Marshal is seeking to instill a sense of normalcy.¡±


    Harren laughed. ¡°Normalcy?¡± He shook his head, mirroring Peltar. The silence lingered a moment before Harren continued, ¡°Like you said, orders are orders. I¡¯ll array my men along the King¡¯s Road, and we¡¯ll regroup once our charges are gathered here.¡±


    Peltar nodded. ¡°Cassandra Longreen will be accompanying you. From my experience, she will take up a great deal of your time and be a constant thorn in your side.¡±


    Harren ran a hand through his hair.


    Peltar met his gaze evenly. ¡°You are to follow her orders and whims so long as they don¡¯t jeopardize the safety of your charges.¡±


    ¡°I can manage her,¡± Harren said, ¡°I¡¯ve known her for ages.¡±


    Peltar leaned back in his chair and regarded Harren. ¡°Sure,¡± he said, unconvinced.


    Harren shrugged, looking back toward the Outwalls. ¡°Hard to imagine a better way to paint a target on our backs.¡±


    ¡°If the Sons call, you will answer,¡± Peltar said.


    Harren sighed, leaning back in his chair. ¡°The Red Sun Rises.¡±

 Ch 42: A Long Ride

    Grim winced as he pulled as he pulled the steel gauntlet over the hand of his injured arm. His shoulder ached like all hells, but he could move the arm if he absolutely had to, though the tugging of the stitches was a distinctly unpleasant feeling. He flexed his fingers inside, watching as the fine plates covering his fingers interlocked, mimicking his joints. The craftsmanship was beyond incredible.


    Around him, the courtyard before the Marshal¡¯s residence was abuzz with activity, as servants passed to and fro, carting supplies, mounts, and weapons to the where the contestants were making their individual preparations. For the occasion, he¡¯d been supplied with a dappled black mare. A solid riding horse, but a far cry from the muscled stallions some of the contestants rode. Grim had few illusions about his chances during this event.


    Many of the nobles and their seconds were already mounting their horses and setting off toward the fort¡¯s gate where the race would be started at mid-day. Edgar would be waiting for him there, lacking permission to enter the grounds of the manse. Grim had been surprised to see the man return willingly, having expected him to desert and slip into the night. Grim may very well have done so himself in Edgar¡¯s position. He didn¡¯t deserve this kind of loyalty.


    Brian watched Grim test the straps of his armor while he checked the saddlebags of his horse. He gave Grim a weird look. ¡°Remind me again why you¡¯re putting on-,¡± he paused, gesturing with his hand toward Grim, ¡°Whatever this is, for a contest of speed and endurance?¡±


    Grim grunted as he checked the straps of his armor. It was heavy and made his shoulder ache, but the weight was well-distributed and didn¡¯t overly hinder his mobility. ¡°If you¡¯d seen what was beyond the walls last week, you¡¯d be arming yourself too.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll have guards to escort us from the city,¡± Brian said.


    ¡°And after that?¡± Grim asked.


    ¡°The roads are safe,¡± I traveled them just a few months ago.


    Grim wasn¡¯t so sure. ¡°You haven¡¯t been outside the fort. Things have changed. And if they¡¯ve changed here, then who¡¯s to say they haven¡¯t elsewhere?¡±


    Brian frowned ¡°So you¡¯re saying I should have brought a sword?¡±


    Grim snorted. ¡°That¡¯d be a start.¡±


    ¡°And where do I get one of- whatever it is that you¡¯re wearing?¡± he asked.


    Grim shrugged. ¡°You¡¯d have to ask my father.¡±


    Brian shrugged in return. ¡°Then I suppose, I¡¯ll have to settle for being comfortable,¡± he said, tugging at the edges of the fur coat draped about his shoulders.


    Grim shook his head as searched for any belongings he¡¯d forgotten to pack. His spare travel clothes and boots had already been stowed away along with foodstuffs for the three-day journey. An axe, shield and spear were well secured to the saddle by leather straps. There was no way he¡¯d be convinced to leave the limits of the inner city without them. His family wasn¡¯t the target of the Sons ire, but there was little to stop him getting caught in the cross-fire.


    As Grim tied off his fur cloak about his shoulders, he saw Rafe approaching. The man wore fine travel garments above a pair of riding boots.


    Brian looked him up and down appraisingly. ¡°I thought you said there was ¡®no bloody way in hell you¡¯d accompany us on a three-day traipse through the devil¡¯s frosty anus, even if you are my second.¡±


    Rafe grinned as he came to a stop near them. ¡°I¡¯ll not be accompanying you through said frosty anus. Instead, I¡¯ll be gallantly defending the fine ladies seeking a taste of adventure and danger on the road,¡± he said.


    Grim raised an eyebrow. ¡°They¡¯re still doing that this year?¡±


    Rafe nodded. ¡°Indeed. Most of the court young and fit enough for the journey will be setting out.¡±


    Grim was quiet a moment. ¡°Do they not understand what just happened? A lot of people died and more will.¡± It was one thing to send the contestants out. Sending a menagerie out to celebrate a party in neighboring town was a whole different level of madness.


    Rafe waved dismissively. ¡°The danger just adds to the excitement. Our group will be accompanied by the Fifth Cohort for security,¡± he said with a meaningful look at Brian.


    Brian¡¯s eyebrows rose and stopped cataloging his belongings to meet Rafe¡¯s gaze. ¡°Harren will be leading the security as we leave?¡±


    Rafe grinned. ¡°I¡¯m way ahead of you, little Bearington. I handsomely paid a messenger to deliver a very specific request to my dear friend. I think it¡¯s safe to assume the competition may experience some delays when leaving the city.¡±


    Brian chuckled. ¡°I look forward to hearing the complaints as we ride past.


    Rafe leaned forward and clapped a hand on Brian¡¯s shoulder then turned his attention to Grim. ¡°What in the hells are you wearing?¡±


    ¡°Armor,¡± Grim answered as he finished securing his cloak. He looked to the sky, taking in the sight of the sun nearing its zenith. The race would be starting soon, and he didn¡¯t intend to be late.


    ***


    The area around the barracks had been unusually empty since last week¡¯s raid. The soldiers were working double shifts to cover those who had fallen and meet the increased security needs around the city, which left few men in reserve. Bags hung around many of their eyes, but Grim felt it difficult to feel sorry for them.


    He and Brian rode down the main boulevard of the camp to where a small crowd had gathered around the gate. The contestants all sat ready in their saddles, hands tightly gripping the reins of their mounts. Conversation buzzed amongst the assembled nobles as they waited for the Marshal to start the newest event.


    Longreen himself stood atop the gatehouse, high over the assembled crowd and waiting riders. He appeared deep in a conversation with his wife who was attired in a fine riding dress suited to travel. The man looked deeply displeased, a scowl written across his face.


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    Grim tore his eyes from the scene as he noticed Edgar waiting atop his mount on the edge of the crowd. The man¡¯s expression had been dark since the night of the fire, and he¡¯d been unwilling to talk to Grim about whatever he¡¯d seen beyond the wall.


    Grim glanced to Brian. ¡°I¡¯ll meet you at the start,¡± he said.


    Brian met his gaze and nodded. ¡°See you there.¡±


    As Brian made his way to where the contestants and their seconds waited, Grim steered his horse towards Edger. Grim realized the man¡¯s eyes were fixed on Longreen. As he noticed Grim¡¯s approach, he turned to face him. Heavy bags hung under eyes filled with a simmering fire.


    Grim turned his horse to bring it astride Edgar, taking a deep breath and looking up to where Longreen stood. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t fault you for sitting this out. It¡¯s my punishment to bear.¡±


    Edgar didn¡¯t answer for a long moment. ¡°My place is here,¡± he said, his remaining hand drifting to the axe strapped to his saddle.


    Grim fought the urge to ask him what had happened that night. Whatever it was, it was bad. ¡°Then let¡¯s go,¡± he said, setting his borrowed horse into motion.


    Edgar mirrored his motion, following close on his heels as Grim joined his place among the competitors. They occupied the road leaving the fort, facing the closed portcullis. On either side of them, the nobles could be seen making guesses and bets on who would come out ahead. This was one of the more dangerous challenges and it was not entirely unknown for a contestant to find himself waylaid by bandits who seemed interested only in breaking their legs and leaving them on the side of the road alongside their mount.


    The conversation began to die down and heads began to turn upward. Grim followed their gazes to see Longreen facing the crowd from atop the gatehouse, hands raised. ¡°My esteemed guests,¡± he greeted, ¡°Today we are marking the beginning of the third trial. Some thought we should cancel this tradition on account of the sedition occurring beyond the walls, but I will not stand to see us shackled by fear.¡±


    He paused for a moment letting his gaze drift over each of the contestants. ¡°Each of you is a fine example of Venaran manhood, but not all were created equal. In the coming days, we shall take your measure and know those found wanting.¡±


    Murmers rose from the crowd along with many a sidelong glance. Longreen raised his hand once more to quiet the murmurs. ¡°The rules are simple, but I¡¯ll state them again. The first to report to the Chancellor of Calumn will be the victor of the third trial. The Fourth trial will begin the moment you complete the Third,¡± he said, ¡°In the woods near the township, you will lead a hunt and return to my wife with a freshly earned bear pelt. Sadly, I¡¯ll be unable to attend the festivities in Calumn, myself, due to operations in the city requiring my direct attention, but I leave you in Cassandra¡¯s capable hands.¡±


    Polite applause broke out at that pronouncement as Cassandra waved to the crowd from her place by her husband¡¯s side. Longreen gestured to somebody on the ground, and a clank sounded from the portcullis as the great gate began to rise. A man stepped forward into the roadway ahead of the riders. Grim recognized him as the herald from the previous challenge.


    The herald held a flag aloft, eyes fixed on the horsemen. Hands tightened on reins. The teeth of the portcullis rose higher, high enough to ride beneath. The flag came down and, as one, over a score of horses set into motion as one, galloping into the city.


    Grim grimaced as he passed beneath the teeth of the portcullis and emerged into the city beyond. He was near Brian at the end of the pack of horsemen, but it mattered little at this leg of the race. This was a test of endurance, not speed, and that was reflected in the middling pace riders set their horses to.


    The streets beyond were surreal, devoid of pedestrians and emptied of any obstacles for the occasion. Roads were cordoned off by squads of Greencloaks while annoyed citizens watched them from the far side of blockades, waiting for their opportunity to cross the major streets. Grim remembered being among them before, watching as the dandy fops rode past. And now, here he was- one of them. He sighed and set himself to focusing on maintaining an easy pace for his horse as they turned down the planned path out of the city.


    Within minutes, they came in sight of the southern gate, leading out of the city proper. Grim blinked at the sight through the gate. It looked as if the King¡¯s Road itself had been walled off from the Outwalls. He¡¯d heard talk of that being done, but thought it exaggerated. In fact, he could see what looked like the beginnings of a fucking fortress a long ways down the straight road.


    He shook his head as they rode through the gate, emerging into the Outwalls. A chill ran down his spine as memories of his last arose- the bodies, the tunnel, the fire. He gripped his reins tighter to keep his hands from shaking as he forced his gaze forward, doing his best to keep from looking for Sons in the alleyways.


    The road proper was heavily reinforced with soldiers today, an armed contingent at the ready every hundred paces. All traffic seemed to have been halted to keep the roadway clear, and-


    Grim¡¯s eyes widened as the corpses came into sight and he slowed his mount to look up at them. Hundreds of men and women were nailed to the beams of the palisade lining the road. A contingent of Greencloaks were pulling down the corpses and finishing off those who still lingered, doubtless to provide a more pleasant view for Cassandra and her retinue.


    Grim stared at the dead eyes, wondering what they had done to deserve this, wondering if it mattered. ¡°I hate them,¡± Edger whispered.


    Grim swallowed, tearing his eyes from the dead. The other riders had gained a lead on them, though Brian had slowed to wait for Grim. The boy looked as if he might be ill. ¡°Come on,¡± Grim said, increasing his speed.


    Edgar was deathly silent, following as ordered.


    Catching up to Brian, they rode in silence. What was there to say?


    Together, they followed the other contestants toward the forward base. A queue was starting to form at the entrance as a cordon of soldiers barred passage through the camp. It looked as if each noble was being asked to dismount and submit to a search of their saddlebags.


    They approached to the sounds of outraged yelling, watching as one of the nobles had to be restrained. Another tried galloping through the cordon. Grim winced as one of the soldiers rammed his spear into the meat of the horse¡¯s thigh as it passed, sending both the rider and mount crashing into the ground. Soldiers grabbed the nobleman as he rose and dragged him away as he yelled in pain and fury. The horse was quickly silenced with a sword to the throat, ending its cries and its rider¡¯s hopes to win.


    The display quickly silenced the other nobles, and Grim caught sight of Harren barking orders to his men past the cordon. He caught the man¡¯s gaze a moment later and a grin spread across his lips.


    Harren waved toward Brian. ¡°Brian! Come on over here!¡±


    Brian led the way with Grim and Edgar in his wake as Harren commanded the others to make way. Their competitors glared at them, understanding exactly what was happening. Grim made a point to catch Reginald¡¯s gaze and grin. The young man¡¯s hand was wrapped tightly around a sword on his waist, teeth grit in frustration.


    Harren called out to his men, ¡°Make way for my brother and his escorts. I consider them above suspicion.¡±


    The ranks of soldiers parted for them, and they rode through into the camp. Harren was grinning up at Brian from the ground. ¡°Good to see you, Brian. Sorry for the unpleasantness,¡± he said, gesturing to where the horse had fallen. ¡°We got word that the Sons are using the day¡¯s proceeding to deliver messages to traitors within the camp. We¡¯re taking every precaution necessary.


    Grim looked to the line of dismounting nobles where soldiers were emptying their saddlebags onto the ground and rifling through their possessions at an astoundingly slow pace.


    ¡°And maybe a few more that aren¡¯t strictly necessary,¡± Harren said with a chuckle.


    ¡°Thanks, Harren,¡± Brian said.


    Harren waved him off. ¡°You¡¯d best get going. I can¡¯t hold them forever.¡±


    Brian nodded and set his mount into motion. As he passed, Grim locked eyes with Harren and gave him a curt nod which the other man returned. They passed through the camp at a sustainable gallop and set off into the hilly countryside beyond.


    It¡¯d been a long time since Grim had left the outskirts of the town, but things had changed. The hills beyond were now covered in a patchwork shantytown of tents and thousands of people crowded among them, doing their best to eke out living until reconstruction could occur- if it ever would.


    As they ascended the first hill on the King¡¯s Road, Grim looked over his shoulder and got his first good look at the devastation that had been wrought on the Outwalls. Over a square mile of the slums was just gone- from the road all the way to the collapsed wharfs by the sea. It was a blackened scar across the face of the city, and Grim had the uneasy feeling that this wound wouldn¡¯t be healed easily.

 Ch 43: An Unwelcome Guest

    Billy sat on the cot in his tiny room, deep beneath the Earth, the image of Melna¡¯s face flaking away at his touch running through his mind again and again. Why was he always the one left behind? Was their lady so cruel?


    Melna would have known the answer.


    He signed, running a hand through his mostly grey hair. Every joint still ached from the battle, but he was piecing himself back together. There was little choice but to keep moving. He hadn¡¯t been this busy since the last war. Between efforts to keep the refugees alive and the induction of countless new Sons, their numbers had swelled to near double what they had been before the fire.


    Swelling their numbers had been a mess of logistics, the barriers between their distinct operations and cells being torn down by necessity. At first Billy wondered why Marc was compromising their security. Then he realized the shift was being made from resistance to revolution. They were in the twilight of the Rillish occupation, and the coming months would likely tell the story of either a glorious rise or a bloody fall from grace.


    His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at his door. The sound surprised him. The hour was late, and his daily duties were at an end. He rose to his feet, fingers wrapping around the haft of his axe. Billy edged to the door and cracked it open to find Kid standing beyond the threshold. He released a breath and widened the door.


    ¡°Can I help you lad?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Marc called for us. Asked me to fetch you.¡±


    Billy raised an eyebrow as he tucked his axe into his beltloop. ¡°For?¡±


    Kid shrugged.


    Billy looked him up and down. He looked pale as a sheet. ¡°You get bled by our lil Priestess lass?¡±


    Kid blushed, his cheeks a deep red next to the paleness of his skin. ¡°I couldn¡¯t get out of bed without a dizzy spell for a few days after.¡±


    Billy chuckled, patting the boy on the shoulder. ¡°Sacrifice is a thing to take pride in, or at least that¡¯s what Melna liked to say when she asked me to fetch water or nail the thatch on her roof.¡±


    Billy reflected the sad smile across Kid¡¯s lips. He looked over Kid¡¯s head into the barracks beyond where dozens of sleeping men lay. They¡¯d run out of beds long ago and men were sleeping between the bunks atop piles of woolen blankets. He supposed it was a cut above sleeping outside in the frigid night air.


    He looked to Kid. ¡°Suppose we ought to find out what the old bleeder wants of us then, eh?¡±


    Kid nodded, following Billy as he walked past, navigating the floor of sleeping bodies- a task easier said than done. Soon, they emerged into the many entry halls of the undercity with a minimal number of curses slung their way. Hundreds more warm bodies were packed into the space- most of these refugees or the families of new recruits. Any secrecy the undercity once held was long gone. Marc had opened the doors in the hour of need.


    Billy could commend that.


    Kid took the lead and brought them into the tunnels of the undercity proper, winding a route to Marc¡¯s room. Actual patrols now walked the halls, stopping passersby to ask their business. Security had been tightened tenfold since the outsiders were brought into the fold en masse. No incidents had occurred as of yet, but Billy knew some young idiot was bound to get a little too curious and find himself occupying a cell.


    A pair of heavily armed and armored sons stood guard outside Marc¡¯s door, watching them warily with hands on their weapons as they approached. Billy squinted his eyes at them. Something looked- off with their armor. The shading of the chain links seemed different in the torchlight.


    ¡°Here to see Marc,¡± Kid said, ¡°Kid and Billy.¡±


    One of the guards nodded and cracked the door open behind him and slipped inside, leaving the second guard behind to stare menacingly at the pair of them. To give credit where credit was due, the man made for a good watch dog- as menacing as he was stiff in his posture. Billy grinned and leaned against the far wall. Men on watch duty hated that.


    The guard said nothing, but Billy could see the annoyance in his eyes. A moment later the second guard appeared, waving them inside. Billy followed Kid beyond the threshold into the familiar room.


    Marc sat at his small sitting table, a glass of wine in hand. He looked even more tired than usual as if the past week hung heavily on him. He waved toward Billy, gesturing for him to take the empty seat.


    Billy lowered himself into the chair, meeting Marc¡¯s gaze. They were still far from on the best of terms. Marc turned to Kid. ¡°Kid, please bring Billy a glass. I think he¡¯ll want a drink for this.¡±


    Billy ran a hand across his face as they waited for Kid to fetch a clay cup from beneath the bed. As Kid grabbed the open wine bottle from the table and poured the wine for him, Billy raised an eyebrow. ¡°Got the boy working as your butler then?¡±


    Marc snorted as Kid set the cup atop the table with an impressive approximation of a Venaran courtly bow. ¡°Believe it or not, he took to the training extremely well.¡±


    Billy cocked his head.


    Marc grinned at the sight, clearly enjoying having the upper hand on Billy. ¡°Tell me, how many times have you been to the grounds of the Marshal¡¯s residence?¡±


    Billy picked up the offered cup of wine and took a deep drink of the red liquid. He had a feeling he knew where this was going. ¡°A dozen times. Maybe more,¡± he shrugged. ¡°Never been anywhere inside save for the kitchens. That¡¯s where the Earl usually left his guard when he was doing-¡± He waved his hand. ¡°Earl things.¡±


    Marc nodded, a pleased expression settling across his face. ¡°That¡¯s as far as you¡¯ll need to go. ¡°The boy will be delivering a message from there.¡±


    Billy leaned back in his chair. ¡°Are you telling me you actually don¡¯t have a single informant on the manor¡¯s staff?¡±


    Marc chuckled. ¡°We have several, but this task demands a certain level of reliability.¡± He leaned forward in his chair. ¡°I don¡¯t know them personally, but I do know I can trust your dedication to the cause.¡±


    Billy took a drink from his wine. ¡°Who¡¯s the message for?¡±


    Marc averted his eyes, looking into his wine. ¡°My brother. I have one final task for him before the Reaper takes him to her embrace.¡±


    ¡°Then make sure his sacrifice is worth it,¡± Billy said, a frown crossing his lips. He knew what it was to lose a brother, and if James was in the Venaran fortress- lost is exactly what he was.


    Marc nodded, sighing as he did. He turned to Kid. ¡°When this is all over, statues of him will stand in every city across the Rills.¡±


    ¡°A cold comfort,¡± Billy said.


    ¡°But the best I can do,¡± Marc answered.


    Billy raised his glass. ¡°To the Gatekeeper.¡±


    Marc raised his glass in turn. ¡°To James.¡±


    ***


    The cart clattered across the cobblestones while Kid enjoyed the high vantage point from the driver¡¯s bench. The ability to see over the heads of the crowd and scan for threats alleviated some of his anxiousness. He had to resist the urge to flinch every time he caught the glint of metal in the distance. Divines, but a part of him wanted to fade into the background of the streets like he had used to. Marc had given him a handful of Harts for his part in helping Lissa and they hung heavy in his pocket. Over the past few weeks, he was beginning to realize that wealth did not equal security and the thought terrified him.


    He just had to survive another day.


    Next to him, Billy guided the draft horses by the reins with white knuckled hands. The man was so tightly wound, he made Kid appear relaxed. His bug eyes scanned the streets, never lingering on an individual for more than a moment, as if that were all the time he needed to take the measure of a man. Kid caught Billy glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. He couldn¡¯t help but wonder what he saw. A permanent frown had creased his face, so Kid doubted it was flattering.


    They had set out from one of the Son¡¯s manses in the inner city. He¡¯d never quite grasped the resources Marc had at hand. Before becoming a Son, he had always thought they were delusional, but now¡­ If Marc could hold everything together, it might be possible.


    The scrape of a blade dragged Kid from his thoughts and his eyes shot towards the noise. A Greencloak soldier sat on a stool by the edge of the road, sharpening his blade. Kid took deep breaths, trying to calm his beating heart.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    Kid blinked, looking to Billy? ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°Sorry my generation wasn¡¯t better and sorry yyoue have to pay the price for our mistakes. You¡¯re too young to be doing shite like this. Too young for scars.¡±


    Kid didn¡¯t know how to respond to that. He shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m alive. That¡¯s what matters.¡±


    Billy frowned. ¡°Life without joy rings hollow, boy. Take the advice of an old man.¡± Billy turned to look him in the eyes. ¡°As soon as ye get some coin in your pocket, run. Turn your back on this city and don¡¯t look back. You¡¯ll find no rest here. Find a place where men grow old and die surrounded by their sons.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t that what we¡¯re fighting for? Peace?¡±


    Billy hacked and spat over the side of the cart. He turned back to Kid. ¡°I just want to kill the bastards who took that life from me.¡±


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    Kid was quiet, lost for words yet again, and they lapsed into a contemplative silence as the cart rumbled down the road in the dawn¡¯s light.


    Kid tugged at the collar of his Venaran serving uniform. It felt odd to wear green and gold. He could see the walls of the Greencloak fort in the orange light of the rising sun. The morning¡¯s supply carts waited in a line at their gates while sentries paced the battlements above. He half expected them to point at him, yelling an alarm, at any moment. But they didn¡¯t, and Billy guided the cart into line.


    They waited in silence as the line grew shorter. Twenty minutes later they were pulling up to a half dozen Greencloaks dressed in bronze armor that shined in the morning light. The Soldier in the lead raised his hand, signaling for them to halt. Kid fought to keep his face expressionless and his breathing level.


    Billy bowed his head in deference and Kid followed his lead. ¡°Morning Sargent.¡±


    The man held out a hand, ignoring his greeting. ¡°Papers.¡±


    Billy reached into the satchel at his side and drew out a sheaf of parchments. He passed them to the soldier. Kid watched his eyes flick over the writing. After an excruciatingly long time, the man nodded and handed the papers back to Billy. ¡°Welcome Mr. Balson.¡±


    Without another word the Sargent raised a hand into the air and waved his men forward. A handful of soldiers climbed in the back of the cart by Billy and began opening the crates.


    ¡°Just lots of wine captain.¡±


    ¡°Make sure one falls off the back of the cart.¡± The officer called back.


    Kid¡¯s eyebrows raised, but he didn¡¯t say anything as the Greencloaks offloaded a dozen jugs of wine.


    The officer pointed through the gates. ¡°You¡¯re free to head down the main boulevard through the gardens. Once you get to the estate, pull off the main and unload at the usual spot.¡±


    Billy nodded as if he¡¯d done this a thousand time. ¡°Enjoy the wine, gents,¡± he said whipping the reins and set the cart into motion.


    When they were out of earshot Kid leaned close to her and spoke in a low voice. ¡°The wine isn¡¯t poisoned or anything right?¡±


    Billy snorted. ¡°Nobles always order twice the wine in a shipment because the guards are like as not to steal half the drink on the way in,¡± he said ¡°Besides, if the guards started dropping, we¡¯d be soon to follow.¡±


    Kid nodded in understanding as he stared across the dozens of stone buildings and the hundreds of soldiers patrolling the yard. He was still amazed they¡¯d just walked inside. All it took was borrowing the seal and shipping orders of a sympathetic drover.


    Within moments they were passing through a wrought iron fence flanked by another pair of guards who eyed them but made no move to halt their progress. Kid soon found himself gawking at the sight of the manor at the end of the evergreen garden. It was more grandiose than any manse in the inner city and far more decorative than the castle had been.


    A grand fountain gilt with gold occupied the center of the courtyard, the well-maintained roadway flanked by evergreen shrubbery that was cut into perfect geometric shapes. The manse itself seemed carved from the whitest stone he¡¯d ever seen, its windows wide and inviting, seeming to suck in the sunlight.


    Servants milled about the yard, passing between the nearby stables and tending to various plants. Many were digging in the gardens. Kid supposed they must be prepping the yard for the coming warmth of late spring and summer. He expected the garden would be a thing of magnificence to see in all its glory.


    Billy twisted the reins, guiding the horses through the winding garden paths. Logistically, the road made no sense, taking as scenic a route as possible. Kid supposed that was the point. Caught up in the scene, for a moment, Kid forgot his worries.


    Then they came crashing back as they neared the central fountain, and he caught sight of the guards flanking the great double doors of the manse.


    Billy nudged him with his elbow. ¡°Relax Kid, we¡¯ll be in and out real quick like.¡±


    Kid eyed him doubtfully.


    The cart turned the rear corner of the mansion, revealing a small army of heavily laden carts. Dozens of men were hard at work unloading and carrying the supplies inside A single woman stood by a lit brazier outside an open door. She rubbed her hands together over the small fire but paused when she noticed their cart.


    Billy maneuvered the cart in line with the others and brought it to a halt as the woman approached them. The man climbed to the ground and Kid followed his lead. Kid watched the woman approaching them as she closed the last few paces. Her southern heritage was evident in the darkness of her skin and hair. She crossed her arms.


    Billy addressed her, bowing his head. ¡°Good morning mistress, we¡¯re-¡±


    The woman cut him off. ¡°I don¡¯t care who you are. I need porters, not friends.¡± She pointed at Billy. ¡°You, help the others unload the carts.¡±


    She turned to Kid. ¡°Why is he here? He¡¯s too small to be of any use.¡±


    Kid cringed and Billy¡¯s eyebrows raised. ¡°Wanted to give my boy a chance to see the grounds. He¡¯ll be taking the cart from me in a few years¡¯ time.¡±


    The woman rolled her eyes. ¡°Yes yes.¡± She snapped her fingers at Kid like one would a dog. ¡°Come. I may have a use for you.¡±


    Kid looked to Billy and the man shrugged. ¡°You heard her.¡±


    Kid rushed after the woman as she walked toward the side door of the manse. She made no effort to slow her strides to accommodate his shorter legs, forcing Kid to adopt an awkward half-jog to keep up. He entered the door close behind her and gaped.


    It was like walking into a kitchen from another world. The floor consisted of identically sized tiles, and he couldn¡¯t help but admire their meticulous perfection. It was unlike anything he had ever seen, and this was an area for servants. Dozens of cooks raced about, crafting dishes as though they were creating great works of art. He didn¡¯t even recognize most of the things heaped atop the plates, but damn were they pretty.


    He was so focused on the food he nearly ran over a serving girl carrying a jug of wine. He stumbled to a halt while she shot him a nasty look. She kicked him in the shin as she passed by. Kid grunted and sucked air in between his teeth. Fuck, that hurt.


    Kid scurried after the woman as they crossed the kitchen, doing his best not to get in anybody¡¯s way. He didn¡¯t need a second reminder. She led him to a crusty looking old man who was struggling to tear a loaf of bread apart. He cursed as he tugged at the thick crust and had to resort to bending it across his knee before loaf snapped apart. Kid could have sworn he saw dust fly out from inside it. The man mumbled under his breath as he tossed the two halves on a pair of rust-stained metal trays.


    Kid¡¯s handler spoke to the man. ¡°Winson, I¡¯ve got you a delivery boy.¡±


    The man scowled at Kid. ¡°Really? Are you sure I shouldn¡¯t take it to the dungeons myself?¡± He scoffed like that was the most ridiculous thing in the world.


    ¡°If you mouth off to Mara again, you might have to,¡± the woman answered.


    Kid¡¯s ears perked up at the name. That was the name of the kitchen¡¯s head cook who was supposed to be his contact here to get him into the dungeon beneath the manor where the most important prisoners were kept.


    The woman pushed Kid forward. ¡°Here. He¡¯s your problem now,¡± she said, turning and walking away, leaving Kid behind.


    Kid raised a hand in greeting before nearly dropping the tray Winson threw at him. ¡°Half a loaf per prisoner, and a ladle of-¡± He scrunched his nose. ¡°That.¡± Kid followed his gaze to a large vat in the corner of the room. As he watched, another cook poured a pot full of grease into it.


    ¡°In the Kitchen, we call it a hunk of rot and a plop of slop. If you want to add a little seasoning, feel free to spit on it.¡± Winson pointed to a nearby door. ¡°The stairs to below are down that hall and to the right. It¡¯s hard to miss the guards there.¡±


    With that, Winson turned from him and mumbled under his breath as he fought with another loaf of bread. Kid stood dumbly with the tray before realizing that was all the instruction he was going to get. A hunk of rot and a plop of slop. Got it.


    Kid grabbed two trays and walked to the vat. He set them down and grabbed the ladle hanging at the side and reached inside, taking a deep scoop of the congealed mess. He dumped it on the tray, and it was immediately evident why they called it a plop of slop. He probably would have turned his nose up to this meal on his hungriest day. He watched in fascination as the green of the bread seemed to leech into the slop. Kid wrinkled his nose. No, he didn¡¯t think he¡¯d ever been desperate enough to eat this.


    Kid cast an uncertain gaze around the room, but nobody seemed to be taking any notice of him. It was as if he were invisible. Kid shrugged and walked through the doorway Winson had indicated, trays in hand. Kid¡¯s boots squeaked against the floor as the tile gave way to wood. It was so brightly polished, he could see a glimmer of his reflection in the red-hued wood. The hallway was wider than most houses in the Outwalls, able to accommodate four or five grown men walking side by side. Paintings of places and people Kid didn¡¯t recognize adorned the walls, surrounded by golden frames.


    He paused when he saw a figure wearing a crown, depicted standing on a hill above the remains of a battlefield. He held a banner bearing the golden sun of Venar. The hills looked a lot like the land beyond the confines of Bleakridge. Kid stared at the figure wearing the crown, an uncomfortable feeling welling up in him. So, that was the man who shaped the world he lived in. Kid had an insane urge to tear the painting down. He quashed it and loosened his grip on the trays. He let out a deep breath and continued down the hall.


    Winson was right. The stairs to the prison were hard to miss. The lavish decorations gave way to a hard, stone archway in the wall flanked by two men who looked even harder. The bronze plates along their chests were clean but didn¡¯t shine like the armor of the other soldiers Kid had seen this morning. Thick bladed swords hung at their sides, their hilts worn with use. There was no pomp or grandeur about them, only a solemn sense of danger.


    Kid struggled to keep his nervousness from showing as he approached them, feeling their hard eyes turn to him. ¡°I¡¯ve been told to feed the prisoners.¡±


    The guard on the left looked him up and down. ¡°You think they could pull him through the hatch?¡±


    The other guard narrowed his eyes and inspected Kid. ¡°Maybe. He looks scrawny enough.¡± He turned to his comrade. ¡°Hey, remember that one kid who thought it¡¯d be funny to take a piss through it?¡±


    The guard on Kid¡¯s left snorted. ¡°Yeah. The prisoner reached through, grabbed him by his cock and slammed the hatch shut on it.¡± The man smirked. ¡°Divines, that was a bloody mess. Remember what the little shit was yelling?¡±


    The guard on the right laughed. ¡°Yeah. I was on duty up here and I hear him hollering ¡®Me cock! He¡¯s got me cock!¡¯¡± The guard shook his head. ¡°Stupid fuck.¡± He looked to Kid. ¡°Go on in, but do try and keep your pants on.¡±


    The guard on the left shrugged. ¡°Or don¡¯t.¡±


    Kid looked down the torch lit stairway and swallowed. That was reassuring. He steeled himself, walking between the two guards into the archway. The air grew progressively colder as he walked deeper beneath the earth. Laughter sounded from behind him.


    ¡°Divines, did you see the look on his face?¡±


    ¡°Fucking priceless.¡±


    ¡°What should we tell the next one?¡±


    Kid pressed his eyes closed and sighed in annoyance. Assholes. He continued walking down. The stairs didn''t extend far, only about one floor. The small tunnel opened up into a wide room cordoned off by cells crafted from iron bars. The stench was- ungodly. Kid hesitated at the foot of the stairs as he heard a scream echoing through the room from down an adjoining hall. The scream didn¡¯t stop, only seeming to increase in intensity.


    Chills ran down Kid¡¯s spine, and he had to force his feet to continue moving. As he walked between the cells lining either side of the wall, he began to feel ill. There were maybe six prisoners in total, each more mutilated than the last. Hands missing fingers reached to him through the bars as unrecognizably scarred and bloodied faces wordlessly stared after him.


    ¡°Kid?¡±


    The whispered words drew his gaze and he saw Hilda. She was completely unscathed- standing at odds with the other prisoners. His heart rose with hope only to feel it fade away as he remembered where they were.


    His hands shook as he walked closer to her. She was filthy, still wearing the same singed clothing she¡¯d been wearing the day of the fire. Her body was pressed to the bars of the cell, hands clutching them in a white-knuckled grasp.


    ¡°Lissa?¡± she gasped, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.


    ¡°Safe,¡± Kid managed to say through the lump in his throat.


    Hilda shuddered in either pain or relief, her eyes looking beyond Kid as if hoping for some kind of rescue. A moment later, her shoulders slumped as understanding dawned on her. ¡°Why are you here?¡± she asked.


    Kid licked his lips, looking down the hall to where the screaming still sounded. ¡°Message for James from Marc,¡± he whispered.


    ¡°Tell Marc to go fuck himself,¡± Hilda growled, anger seeping into her apparent grief like poison.


    Kid¡¯s eyes widened, not sure what to say to that. ¡°Where is James?¡±


    The anger died in her eyes as she looked down the hall where the screams came from. Kid swallowed, a chill running down his spine.


    ¡°He¡¯ll be back soon. They can only work on him for so long without killing him,¡± she whispered, looking into his eyes. ¡°Will you give Marc a message for me?¡±


    Kid nodded, unable to meet her gaze. ¡°Of course.¡±


    Hilda pressed harder against the bars as if it would better convey her message. ¡°They think I was Melna¡¯s apprentice and are going to make a spectacle of me. Tell him my execution is due in three days at noon. If he can save me for Lissa¡¯s sake- I won¡¯t say anything. She needs her mother. Please. Tell him.¡±


    Kid cocked his head. ¡°Say anything about what?¡±


    Hilda hesitated, seeming torn. ¡°I- I-¡± She closed her eyes and turned from him. ¡°Please. Just tell him.¡±


    Kid frowned, nodding as he looked to the small metal hatch built into the door, likely to pass food through. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t linger,¡± he whispered.


    Hilda nodded as if to herself. ¡°Go. He¡¯ll be back soon.¡±

 Ch 44: A Debt Owed

    Kid descended the stairs from the dungeon for the fourth time in the past hour. It turned out that the guards were only half kidding. Grasping hands covered in weeping cuts and sores reached out for him through the grates in the door. He¡¯d had to use a torch from the wall to keep some of the prisoners at bay as he passed the food through the hatches. Kid shuddered at the thought.


    Kid froze at the bottom of the stairs as he saw a pair of Venarans dragging a prisoner from the hallway where the screams had been coming from. The two men wore bloodstained smocks and red blood coated their hands. They hardly glanced at Kid as they opened one of the cells and tossed the limp form inside, locking the door behind it. The two exchanged some words with a laugh, walking toward the next cell in the line.


    The man inside scrambled away from them, fingers scratching against stone as he muttered ¡°No, no, no, no.¡± over and over. The gate opened and the two Venarans easily overpowered him, dragging him screaming from the cell and down the hall. The man reached for Kid, desperation in his eyes as he disappeared around the corner.


    Kid let out a slow breath, trying to keep himself from trembling as he walked between the cells. He stopped before James¡¯s cell door. James lay facedown on the floor, heaving sobs coming from his chest. Hilda sat in the adjoining cell, curled up against the bars and reaching to him. James barely seemed aware.


    ¡°James,¡± Kid whispered.


    James flinched, then levered himself to a sitting position and turned toward Kid. Kid nearly gasped as he saw the seared, blackened skin marking where James¡¯ nose, ears and right eye had been. His face had a ghoulish, skeletal look and his remaining eye looked like it belonged to a corpse. His bare chest was covered in wounds that had been neatly stitched shut. He looked like a patchwork mockery of a man.


    James¡¯ mouth opened but no words fell out. He saw the horror and fear in Kid¡¯s eyes and whatever light was remaining in his eye seemed to die.


    Kid felt shame, wishing he¡¯d been able to control himself, but even now he found it hard to look at this shell of a man. A good man he¡¯d known all his life and cared for. Tears blurred his eyes, and he blinked them away as James¡¯ dead eyed stare pierced him.


    Kid forced himself to mee James¡¯ gaze not wanting to turn away from him. ¡°Marc sent me here to deliver a message he wants you to provide to your captors. He-¡±


    James cut him off ¡°Marc,¡± he rasped, what was left of his brittle voice dripping with hate.


    The sound sent chills through Kid. His voice quavered as he continued, ¡°You need to tell them-¡±


    ¡°Kill me Kid,¡± James said, cutting him off once more. Tears began to leak from the man¡¯s eye as blood dripped from the empty socket on the left.


    Kid¡¯s mouth worked, but there were no words.


    ¡°No, please. No,¡± Hilda cried from her cell.


    James dragged himself forward, careless of the stitches splitting along his torso. ¡°Kid. Please. I can¡¯t do this anymore. I can¡¯t.¡± His hands gripped the bars of the cell and he whimpered as he pulled himself to his knees.


    Kid shook his head. ¡°I- I can¡¯t do that.¡±


    ¡°How can you not?¡± James whispered.


    Kid looked to Hilda, but she was curled into a ball, tears falling down her face as she looked between them. He had the feeling they¡¯d had this conversation a number of times between themselves. Kid thought he might throw up. ¡°If I do, this will all be for nothing,¡± he said, hating the words as they came out of his mouth.


    ¡°It already is,¡± James said, any last flickers of hope fading from him. ¡°Please,¡± he said, voice breaking.


    Kid¡¯s hands shook. He could sneak a knife from the kitchen and end this. It would be the right thing to do, of that he had no doubt. But, if he did, Marc¡¯s plan would fail. Any hope the Sons had of breaking free would come to an end. For better or worse he was one of them. He couldn¡¯t let Marc down. The man had told him the price of freedom was measured in blood. Kid supposed that included the blood of friends.


    He closed his eyes as he spoke, knowing his resolve would waver if he looked upon James a moment longer. Kid delivered his message, heart heavy and soul torn. James listened in silence until the end.


    A profound silence hung in the air, broken as James whispered ¡°Please.¡±


    ¡°Is there anything you want me to tell Lissa?¡± Kid asked.


    James looked like he wanted to say something but after a moment he shook his head as if thinking better of it. ¡°Tell her that my memory is something to live for, not die for.¡±


    Kid bit his lip and nodded. ¡°I will.¡± As he turned from James, the man reached through the cell and grabbed him by the arm. Kid startled, eyes locking with James. A final desperate plea hung between them until Kid ripped his arm away, sealing James¡¯ fate. Kid made his way to the stairwell, turning to look at James and Hilda a final time as their outlines faded into the dark of the dungeon. James¡¯ gaze followed him, a sight that he knew would haunt him the rest of his days.


    ¡°Marc did this to me,¡± he cried after Kid, voice ragged. ¡°He did this to all of us.¡±


    Kid clenched his eyes shut, rubbing away the tears he didn¡¯t want the guards to see.


    ¡°He did this.¡±


    The cries of rage, pain, and sorrow followed Kid as he ascended like phantoms on the wind. His mind was drawn to a memory of the Reaper¡¯s tapestry, a tear of blood streaming from her left eye. He steadied himself and emerged into the light.


    ***


    Kid sat at one of the many tables in the kitchens, having both completed feeding the prisoners and his mission. Billy seemed to have somehow gotten roped into unloading all the carts in addition to their own, which elicited much grumbling and cursing from the old man. Winson told Kid to bugger off when he¡¯d returned from the dungeons and the Venaran stewardess who¡¯d originally tasked him, Grela, or as Winson affectionately called her- that bitch, was nowhere to be seen.


    That suited Kid fine as he twiddled his thumbs, fending off the dark thoughts of what he¡¯d seen. The kitchen buzzed around him, the cooks and serving girls rushing about as though they were putting out fires rather than delivering food and drink. A particularly large woman seemed to be directing the chaos, ladle in hand and Kid froze as her eyes locked on him and she began to move in his direction.


    He found himself unconsciously sitting straighter at her approach. He bowed his head in greeting, not certain where he¡¯d sit on the Venaran pecking order in relation to her. She looked him up and down. ¡°You look like you could use a little meat on those bones of yours, boy. Are you hungry?¡±


    The sight of James¡¯ emaciated face ran through his mind. Kid shook his head. ¡°No, Mistress. I don¡¯t think I could eat.¡±


    She frowned, taking a seat at the table across from him. Her eyes glanced to the left and right across the kitchen then she leaned closer to him. ¡°Me name¡¯s Mara.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s already done,¡± Kid whispered.


    Mara blinked as if not understanding for a moment, then her brow furrowed. ¡°The fuck you mean- it¡¯s done.¡±


    Kid shrugged. ¡°Grela caught me on the way in and sent me to Winson. Winson sent me to the dungeons.¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Mara stared at him for a long moment before a grin spread across her lips and she began to cackle. ¡°By the Reaper¡¯s bloody tits. Venaran security is a wonder. If you¡¯re carrying food or wine, you can walk damn near anywhere in this place.¡± She shook her head.


    Kid forced a grin, wishing he could share in her good humor.


    She cocked her head at him. ¡°You look like you saw a ghost down there.¡±


    Kid bit his lip. ¡°It¡¯s- bad down there.¡±


    Mara¡¯s grin faltered. ¡°War is a terrible thing. They say it breaks a man and breaks a woman¡¯s heart.¡±


    Kid¡¯s brow furrowed and he spoke in a whisper, ¡°But you¡¯re in the Sons.¡±


    Mara nodded. ¡°Aye, but we don¡¯t enjoy these burdens placed on us and if you did then you¡¯d be fucked in the head,¡± she said tapping her noggin.


    Kid nodded, conceding the point. ¡°Some would disagree.¡±


    Mara shrugged. ¡°Some are fucked in the head,¡± she said. ¡°They say conscience is the thin line between madness. Make sure you see to yours, boy¡± she said, reaching out and patting him on the shoulder.


    Mara¡¯s gaze flicked over him and a moment later a hand grabbed his shoulder, twisting him about.


    He found himself face to face with Grela. Kid swallowed as her eyes burrowed into him. ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    Kid swallowed. ¡°Uh- Nothing.¡± It was the best he could come up with.


    Grela grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to his feet. ¡°You¡¯re lucky I have a use for you, or I¡¯d give you a flogging to beat the laziness out of your bones. She pushed him forward into the hall beyond the kitchen and he fell against a crate full of wine.


    Kid gasped for air and rubbed at his throat. Grela pulled a full jug from the crate and deposited it into his hands. She pointed to the door. ¡°I need you to take this to the Marshal. He sent one of his guards for more wine and God forbid the man carry it back himself.¡±


    Kid paled. ¡°You want me to serve the Marshal?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t. But I¡¯m shorthanded as it is, and he probably won¡¯t bend you over a table for fifteen minutes. He¡¯s in first floor foyer. Go down the hall to the end, make a right and it¡¯ll be the fourth door on your left.¡±


    She turned and left Kid holding the jug of wine. Did she say probably?


    Kid swallowed and followed her directions, exiting the kitchen. He walked the long, gilded hall until the very end. The glass windows were bright, and light streamed through the finely crafted panes, some of them colored. He had to resist the urge to touch the glass panes. It was rare that he was allowed so close to anything this fragile or expensive.


    Kid followed Grela¡¯s directions to the foyer door. It was guarded by a southern guard bedecked in a coat of shining, bronze plates. He eyed Kid as he approached, placing his hands on the hilt of his sword.


    Kid halted a good ten paces from the man. ¡°Wine for the Marshall.¡±


    The man knocked twice on the door then nodded for Kid to enter. As Kid neared the door, he stared at the strange bronze knob protruding from the wood. Where was the latch? Seeing no obvious apparatus to open it, he touched the knob. It twisted at his touch. Kid committed himself to his hunch and twisted it further. A click sounded and the door opened before him.


    Kid shifted his gaze from the strange, yet fascinating latch to the room. His eyes widened as they met the grey eyes of the Earl. It took a conscious effort to keep his legs from shaking. His first instinct was to run, but that would just end in a quick trip to the gallows. The man¡¯s eyes weighed. There was no chance the Earl didn¡¯t recognize him.


    ¡°Are you going to go inside or stand there like an idiot?¡± the guard asked.


    Kid started. He had been standing there like an idiot. He made his decision and scurried inside. The Earl¡¯s eyes followed him as he walked to the table. The gnawing fear in the back of his mind welled up as he drew closer to the man. Each step he took was the hardest step he had ever taken.


    He averted his eyes from the Earl, unable to even look at him any longer. Instead, he looked to the Marshall. His eyes were no kinder, and his was the face of the empire who had made his life such a hell. The image of James¡¯ face flashed through his mind. Kid looked at the floor.


    It took every ounce of will he had to keep his voice steady. ¡°Wine your grace.¡± He placed the jug on the table between the two men.


    The Marshal nodded curtly. ¡°Get out boy. I have things to discuss.¡±


    Kid tried to bow while backpedaling and stumbled in his haste to leave. He mumbled apologies and rushed to the door. Behind him the Earl spoke. ¡°Excuse me. The Privy calls.¡±


    Kid¡¯s spine went cold as he crossed the threshold into the hall. The Earl¡¯s chair skidded against the hardwood behind him, followed by thumping footsteps. Kid quickened his pace. As soon as he rounded the corner of the hall to the kitchen he broke out into a run. He didn¡¯t make it two paces before his collar snapped tight around his throat. A strong arm pulled him from his feet and hauled him backwards.


    The Earl dragged him into the closest room. The door closed with a sense of finality. Kid struggled in the man¡¯s grip, scraping his feet against the floor while he struggled for breath. Rodger Thorne tossed him to the floor. Kid scrambled backwards, knocking over a set of chairs that crashed into the nearby table. His back grew suddenly hot, and he stopped. Kid glanced over his shoulder and realized he¡¯d almost ran headfirst into a lit hearth. The Earl followed him across the room and, looking into the man¡¯s eyes, Kid considered making the plunge.


    Kid struggled to maintain his breathing as the imposing man towered above him, one hand on the hilt of his sword. Rodger Thorne knelt over him, and Kid¡¯s breath caught. The man uttered one word. ¡°Talk.¡±


    Kid shook his head. The Earl leaned closer. ¡°Boy, don¡¯t make me do something you¡¯ll regret.¡±


    Kid kept his silence more because he was too scared to talk than any semblance of courage. The Earl grabbed him by the throat and pushed his head backwards. the heat behind him intensified as he was inexorably driven toward the fire. Kid flailed against the man, hitting his arm and trying anything to ease the iron vise around his throat. The discomfort at his back became pain. Tears streamed from his eyes.


    Then, it stopped. The Earl pulled him away from the fire. ¡°I won¡¯t ask again.¡±


    Kid coughed as his throat throbbed. Blood pulsed through his temple so loud he could hear it. He worked his mouth, trying to find his voice through the pain and overwhelming sense of terror. With the flames at his back and the difficulty he had breathing, his mind flashed back to the fire in the Outwalls.


    The Earl seemed more patient this time, only staring at Kid with eyes as dispassionate as their color.


    ¡°Message,¡± he managed to get out between breaths.


    The Earl waited.


    ¡°To a prisoner.¡± Kid panted.


    The Earl stared hard at him. ¡°What Prisoner?¡±


    ¡°James,¡± Kid whispered, eyes wide.


    The man¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°James Haverson?¡±


    Kid nodded, his stomach sinking. The man¡¯s face was calm, but Kid could tell it belied a simmering rage.


    ¡°What was the message?¡± The Earl demanded.


    Kid hesitated. That was the line that would unravel the plan if it reached Longreen. He swallowed, shaking his head.


    The Earl¡¯s cold eyes bored into him as the door clicked open behind them. Kid glanced over the Earl¡¯s shoulder to see Billy slip into the room, a kitchen knife clutched in one hand.


    ¡°Let him go,¡± Billy growled, closing the door behind him.


    The Earl rose to his feet, drawing the blade at his hip. He held its point toward the ground in a non-threatening manner. ¡°Bill Billson with the Sons? I never thought I¡¯d see the day.¡±


    Billy scowled. ¡°These days are pretty shite m¡¯lord.¡± He glanced toward Kid. ¡°I¡¯ll be taking the boy.¡±


    Rodger Thorne was quiet a long moment, glancing between the two of them. ¡°I need only call the guards to end this.¡±


    ¡°Are you willing to bet I won¡¯t end you first?¡± Billy asked.


    The Earl¡¯s scowl tightened. ¡°On your honor, Bill- will this mission hurt a member of my family?¡±


    Billy shook his head without hesitation.


    The Earl sheathed his sword. ¡°Then before you go, tell me one thing.¡±


    Billy frowned but nodded as Kid scrambled toward him. As Kid looked back to face the Earl, he realized the man was talking to him. Kid met his gaze.


    ¡°How were they treating him?¡± the Earl asked


    Kid swallowed. ¡°Torture. He begged me to kill him. But- I-¡± He trailed off.


    The Earl closed his eyes, shoulders slightly sagging. ¡°Go. I will see to this.¡±


    For some reason that didn¡¯t ease his worries. Kid frowned as Billy grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him back towards the kitchen.


    Well, shite,¡± he said, shoving a serving girl out of the way. She fell to the floor with a scream followed by the shattering porcelain. Billy didn¡¯t pause or give her a second look. He ignored the angry shouts and kept walking. ¡°Nothing for it now. It¡¯s time to go.¡±


    They rushed through the door and emerged into the cold morning air. Kid retraced his steps from earlier to the cart they came in on. He expected guards to come charging from the house at any minute, but the night was quiet- the only noise being the sound of distant music and laughter.


    Kid fixated on the cart and almost tripped as they scurried across the yard.


    Billy clambered into the driver¡¯s seat, clutching the reins in his hands and whipping the horses into motion as Kid pulled himself into the seat next to him. As the cart clattered around the outskirts of the manse, Kid waited for the alarm to sound, for the distant gates to slam shut.


    Nothing happened.


    They made it to the gardens without incident. Billy glanced toward Kid. ¡°Calm down boy, you look you just killed somebody.¡±


    Kid unclamped his hand from the edge of the cart and focused on keeping his breathing even. He looked to Billy, noting the kitchen knife he still had clasped his hand. They were quiet as the cart wound its way toward the exit.


    The garden seemed to go on forever. Kid fought the urge to wring his hands. The wrought iron gate appeared as the last of the foliage fell away. It was still open. The cart passed with only a cursory glance from the guards. Kid exhaled a breath he didn¡¯t realize he had been holding.


    They followed the paved road to the outer wall, the soldiers on either side of the road entirely ignoring them. The guards at the gate had clearly long since cracked into the crate of wine appropriated from their cart. However, the officer who had stopped them earlier still stood by the entrance. As the cart neared, he smiled at them and waved the cart through without a second glance. Kid stared, trying to keep the disbelief from his face.


    Once they were out of earshot he asked, ¡°Why didn¡¯t he stop us?¡±


    ¡°A guard only cares who comes in, not who leaves,¡± Billy said


    Kid leaned against the edge of the cart, letting the waves of relief wash over him as they emerged into the relative safety of the city.

 Ch 45: The Reapers Prayer

    The road and surrounding hills seemed to stretch endlessly. It was the second day since they¡¯d left Bleakridge, and the morning light warmed their back as they rode westward along a well-traveled dirt road running between the hills. Grim¡¯s legs were already sore as all hells. He hadn¡¯t ridden this much since he¡¯d first learned how as a boy.


    He¡¯d stowed the plates of his armor, opting to only wear his chain after leaving the confines of Bleakridge. He was still surprised nothing had happened as they¡¯d left the city. It seemed unusual, but perhaps the Veneran precautions had dissuaded the Sons.


    Grim frowned, his eyes alighting on a column of black smoke on the horizon. None of the other contestants had passed them to his knowledge unless they¡¯d rode through the night. He looked to Edgar, seeing the same thoughts written across his face.


    ¡°Brian,¡± Grim called, nodding toward the smoke.


    The boy frowned as he caught sight of it. ¡°That¡¯s more than a campfire,¡± he said.


    Grim nodded his agreement, hand reaching to where his weapons were still strapped to the saddle. The smoke drew closer with each passing moment, its source seeming to be over the rise of the next hill. The road skirted the rocky edifice bringing them around to reveal the sight of a smoldering barn next to a thatch house adjoining the road. The door to the home was splintered as if it had been kicked in.


    Grim swallowed as he readied his axe, leaving the road to investigate further. He could hear Brian and Edgar on his heels, quiet as death. The stead was quiet, no sounds coming from either building save for the crackling of the fire. Grim took a deep breath as he dismounted, pulling his axe from its straps.


    ¡°Should we be stopping here?¡± Brian whispered, his eyes darting across the surrounding hills.


    Grim and Edgar ignored him. Grim waved at Edgar in a circular motion, signaling for him to circle around the back of the house. The soldier obliged with a grunt as he armed himself and stalked around the rear of the house. Grim gestured for Brian to follow him and, without waiting for a response, advanced toward the shattered front door.


    He searched for any sound of movement from within the home and heard nothing, but he could smell the spilled blood inside even over the smoke from the barn. His grip tightened around the haft of his axe as he pushed the broken door inward. It groaned and grated against the floor, making Grim wince.


    Inside, the home was sparse. What little furniture it held was scattered and broken, small pools of blood betraying the clear signs of a struggle. Grim didn¡¯t see anyone or any bodies, but there were two rooms on the far side of the complex, their doors closed.


    Grim stomped across the open room. It was warm inside, the wood furnace still lit as if people had been here only a short time ago. He froze as a creak sounded from the far side of the house. Edgar or somebody else?


    He looked over his shoulder to see Brian on his heels, a hunting knife clutched in one hand as the boy looked nervously about the room. Grim let out a slow breath, steadying his nerves and continued to the door on the left. As he pulled the latch, the door burst open, sending him reeling.


    A screaming woman tackled him, nearly knocking him from his feet. Something hit his shoulder, scraping against his mail. Grim caught his balance and grabbed her by the throat with his free hand. He heaved forward and slammed her to the ground with all his strength, wincing as his shoulder protested the exertion.


    Dust rose from the floor as she cracked against it, her breaths now coming in wheezes. The kitchen knife she¡¯d been holding clattered across the room. Grim scanned the room for threats and saw nothing else.


    The second door burst open to reveal Edgar, weapon at the ready. The man frowned as he saw the woman on the ground who was now openly sobbing at Grim¡¯s feet, whatever fight was in her having faded.


    Grim ran a finger across where the knife had struck his shoulder. Not so much as a scratch in the armor. He sighed, lowering his axe. The girl couldn¡¯t have been much older than Ilyena, and looked like she¡¯d missed a week¡¯s worth of meals. There was no blood on her clothing, indicating she hadn¡¯t been a part of whatever violence had happened here.


    ¡°Anything around the back?¡± Grim asked.


    ¡°Bodies,¡± Edgar answered. ¡°Stripped,¡± he added.


    Grim cocked his head.


    ¡°For meat,¡± Edgar clarified.


    Grim¡¯s stomach churned at that admission. He looked down at the girl, feeling bad for having been so rough with her. He had a feeling she was a victim in this. He ran a gloved hand through his hair.


    ¡°Edgar, keep a watch outside. Brian, get her something to eat.¡± Grim commanded.


    Both followed his orders without question or comment, leaving him alone with the girl. Grim released her, walking across the room, nudging broken furniture out of his way as he went, and retrieved the girl¡¯s knife.


    Her eyes were equal parts sorrow and terror as he walked back to her, though she didn¡¯t say a word. Grim flipped the knife in his hand, catching it by the blade and held it out to her. ¡°You can have this back, if you promise not to use it on me again.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t as if she were much of a threat even with the blade.


    Her hands shook as she accepted the knife, wincing as she forced herself into a sitting position against the nearby wall. He let his gaze drift across the devastated home. ¡°What happened here?¡±


    She shook her head, eyes clenched shut as she drew her knees to her chest. The silence drew out for a long moment before she spoke, voice close to breaking. ¡°They came before but not like this.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I think they were coming from Bleakridge. Hundreds of people were passing by on the road every day. Some of them would come and beg for food,¡± she said, ¡°My da helped them until we started running low. It didn¡¯t go over well after that. They were angrier and angrier every day.¡±


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    Grim frowned. He had a feeling he knew where this was going. Yesterday our door got kicked in and Da yelled at me and ma to run. I got out the back and somebody grabbed me. Ma lit into him, and I don¡¯t know what happened. I ran,¡± she sobbed, ¡°I left them.¡±


    Grim ran a hand through his hair. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°Wayled,¡± she said, choking out the word.


    ¡°You did the right thing,¡± he said, ¡°There was nothing you could have done.¡± The lie fell from his lips, sounding unconvincing to his own ears. He knew full well the girl would likely have been better off to have died with her family.


    Wayled shook her head, burying her face in her knees. Behind Grim, the door creaked open as Brian returned with a fistful of hard tack and dried meat. He held the food out in offering to the girl, but she refused to stir.


    Brian looked to Grim, cocking his head. ¡°Refugees from Bleakridge. Probably starving along the way.¡± Grim explained. ¡°Hundreds,¡± he added.


    Brian frowned. ¡°Should we be out here right now?¡±


    Grim shrugged, returning his attention to the girl. ¡°We can take you somewhere safe,¡± he said, knowing such a place likely didn¡¯t exist for a girl alone- but anywhere would be better than here.


    She shook her head, face still buried between her knees. ¡°I won¡¯t leave them again.¡±


    Grim sighed. What was he going to do? Tie her to his horse and post a guard on her every night only to abandon her at the next town? ¡°I understand,¡± he whispered. He glanced around the broken room. ¡°Did your Da have a shovel?¡±


    She peeked up at him and raised a hand, pointing toward a broken cupboard. Grim walked over, kicking debris out of his path. On closer inspection there was a rack inside for holding tools. Many were missing, but there was still an iron hoe and shovel secured to the rack.


    Grim undid the bindings and pulled the tools out. He turned to Brian and tossed the boy the shovel as he rested the hoe over his shoulder. ¡°We have graves to dig,¡± he said. It was the only thing they could really do.


    Brian looked about to protest, his eyes drifting to the front door. His mind had doubtless drifted to the competition. Any objection died on his lips as he turned back to see Wayled looking up at him.


    Brian nodded and followed Grim to the backdoor of the home. Grim pushed it open, the light stinging his eyes. He could smell the blood already. He swallowed, fighting the urge to retch as he caught sight of the butchered corpses. It was messy and something nobody should have to see of their parents. He tore his eyes from the sight and walked a ways beyond the house. Behind him, he heart Brian emptying his stomach by the house.


    Grim took a deep breath before raising the hoe into the air and bringing it down to sink into the hard, rocky earth. Brian joined him a moment later, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. ¡°Why would anybody do that?¡± he asked.


    Grim grunted as he pulled dirt from the earth. ¡°Desperation.¡±


    Brian was quiet a moment before he set to digging a hole a few paces from Grim. He¡¯d never actually dug a grave himself or even used a hoe for that matter and found himself surprised by just how quickly he found himself growing weary. The passage of time was measured in the cold breaths of air escaping from his lungs as sweat beaded along his brow despite the chill.


    Edgar had come around the back to check on them, noting that it looked like they had matters well in hand before disappearing around the corner once more. Hours must have passed, and the graves still only came up to Grim¡¯s waist. He had discovered a newfound respect for grave keepers. He flexed his hands, feeling the beginning of blisters even through is gloves. Seeing Grim pause, Brian fell against the edge of his hole, panting.


    Grim wiped the sweat from his brow, looking up to the sun hanging high in the sky and then back down to the shallow graves. ¡°This will have to do.¡±


    Brian sighed with relief, his shoulders slumping. ¡°Any more manual labor you¡¯d like to do?¡±


    Grim nodded toward where the corpses lay. ¡°Somebody has to fill the holes.¡±


    Brian slumped.


    ¡°Go get Edgar, and drag him over here,¡± Grim said


    Brian smiled weakly. ¡°I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll be thrilled.¡±


    Grim crawled from the grave, as Brian set out to fetch Edgar. His eyes alighted on the corpses, there was hardly any skin left on the bones- most of what remained being offal and bloody, stringy meat. Grim¡¯s lips twisted as he knelt and grabbed the larger of the two by the bones of its shoulders and dragged it toward the graves. By some miracle it held together, and he tossed the corpse into the hole, repeating the trial with the second.


    As he got the bodies settled, Edgar appeared around the corner with a shovel in hand, looking resigned to his fate. Without comment, the man set to filling one of the holes and Grim followed his example. It was far easier to fill the holes than it was to empty them and before long a pair of mounds marked where the couple lay.


    Edgar stuck the shovel into the ground nearby and leaned against it. ¡°Was this a good use of our time?¡±


    Grim sighed, tossing the hoe to the ground, not wanting to hold it a moment longer. ¡°Could you have just left?¡±


    Edgar considered a moment. ¡°No.¡± His gaze drifted back to the house. ¡°If we leave her, she¡¯ll die.¡±


    ¡°If we take her, she¡¯ll still likely die,¡± Grim said.


    ¡°It¡¯s a chance,¡± Edgar countered.


    ¡°A chance for what?¡± Grim asked, ¡°Nobody is going to take her in these days. If she wants to stay, we should let her.¡±


    Edgar conceded the point with a sigh. ¡°Aye.¡±


    Grim looked to the home¡¯s open back door. ¡°I¡¯ll let her know we¡¯re done,¡± he said, turning from Edgar. He pushed the door open, letting the sunlight stream into the home. It highlighted the dried pools of blood where Wayled¡¯s parents had likely met their end before being dragged outside.


    The girl had moved from her spot on the floor and Grim followed the sounds of movement to the bedroom she¡¯d burst from earlier today. He gingerly knocked on the door, having no wish to repeat that ordeal.


    The sounds of movement froze, and a moment later the door cracked open. An eye peeked through and met his gaze before she fully opened the door. She¡¯d changed from her dirt stained clothes into what must have been her best dress, green with intricately carved wooden toggles from her waist to the high collar. Her hand still clung tightly to the knife held at her side.


    ¡°They¡¯re at rest,¡± he said.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said stepping forward.


    Grim moved to the side to let her pass and followed her as she made her way outside. She walked to the graves where Edgar still stood leaning against his shovel. Wayled knelt before the twin mounds and rested her hand atop the disturbed earth.


    She seemed on the edge of tears and her jaw worked, seeming to try to come up with some words. At last, she spoke, ¡°I don¡¯t know the prayer.¡±


    Grim frowned. He couldn¡¯t remember the last time he¡¯d heard a Rillman pray. It would have been before the war when he was just a boy- a lifetime ago. He found he couldn¡¯t even remember. As Grim opened his mouth to speak, Edgar released his grip on the shovel and knelt beside her.


    ¡°To our Lady we give this offering that she may take our loved ones gently into the dark,¡± Edgar said, eyes drifting to the girl meaningfully.


    She seemed to take his meaning and, with a shaky hand, drew her knife across her palm, letting droplets of blood fall across each grave.


    ¡°Guide them, nourish them, and may our meeting be long in coming,¡± Edgar said, ¡°I see you-¡± he trailed off, looking to the girl.


    ¡°Atheld,¡± she whispered.


    Edgar inclined his head. ¡°I see you-¡±


    ¡°Rylan,¡± she said, finishing the prayer.


    Grim swallowed as he watched, mind drifting to his own mother. He wished he¡¯d gotten to see her a last time.


    Edgar rose to his feet, a solemn expression on his face. He walked past Grim ¡°I¡¯ll be with the horses,¡± he said.


    Grim sighed, not missing his meaning. It was time to go. He walked to Wayfled and knelt beside the girl. ¡°Still don¡¯t want to come?¡± he whispered.


    She was quiet a long moment. ¡°My place is here.¡± Her eyes drifted to the bloodied knife still clutched tight in her hand. Grim followed her gaze. A gust of wind blew over them and the girl shivered, her skin growing paler by the moment. It didn¡¯t take a genius to deduce what she had in mind.


    Grim opened his mouth to speak, pausing and clenching his eyes shut before releasing a deep breath. He looked to Wayfled found her eyes already on him, meeting his gaze. He reached out and pointed to the left side of her chest. ¡°The heart is here,¡± he said before rising to his feet.


    A sob escaped her lips as he turned and walked from her, a cold gust of wind billowing over the shallow valley between the hills. He turned the corner of the house not looking back. Brian and Edgar watched his approach, pausing in checking their saddles.


    Grim looked between the two men, a coldness seeping into his heart that had nothing to do with the chill air. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±

 Ch 46: Refuge

    The road was as empty as it had been throughout their journey, the hooves of their horses beating a steady rhythm as they cantered down the seemingly endless dirt road. Grim¡¯s mare snorted in protest as the trail inclined, wrapping up towards the crest of a hill. Grim sighed and patted the side of the horse¡¯s neck. They¡¯d been on the road almost two days while setting a hard pace, and the horses were getting tired. Grim¡¯s own legs ached like all hells from being in the saddle so long, and he knew it¡¯d only get worse.


    They hadn¡¯t run across any of their competitors yet, or anyone else for that matter. It made for a lonely, desolate ride across the rocky hills of the Rills. The most disturbing part was the lack of fellow travelers. Grim would have expected to see some of the hundreds of travelers the girl mentioned having passed. There were old campfires that had been long abandoned along the road- some showing signs of some kind of struggle, but there were no bodies or people remaining to remark on what had happened. They¡¯d even come across fully laden wagon filled to the brim with iron ore. The horses, however, were notably missing.


    It gave the journey a disturbing quality and Grim found himself questioning whether they should keep going. He hadn¡¯t heard of anything bad having happened in these parts, but it was becoming clear that anybody traveling toward Bleakridge these past days weren¡¯t reaching their destination. And even if they did turn back, he couldn¡¯t go to his father or the Marshall without some explanation of what was happening.


    Beneath him, his mare panted as they crested the top of the hill, revealing a deep valley beyond. The sun was sinking on the horizon, its rays kissing the ridges of far distant mountains to the north. It was rare to see them from such a distance, but the day was as clear as the air was crisp.


    Edgar sidled up next to him and nodded down toward the valley. ¡°Fires,¡± he said.


    Grim followed his gaze. Sure enough there was a scattering of camps far below. He could just make out the figures of people setting to building fires or fetching wood from the sparse copses of trees scattered across the lowlands. It was clear that their company had been spotted. The figures were pausing in their wok to gaze up at them. It was hard to miss men dressed in mail on horseback at any distance.


    ¡°Think they¡¯re responsible for what we¡¯ve seen on the road?¡± Grim asked.


    Edgar shrugged. ¡°Does it matter?¡±


    Brian rode around them and looked down. ¡°Is there any way around them?¡±


    Grim looked at the steep hills and ridges surrounding the valley. ¡°Not without losing the horses or adding a week to our trip.¡±


    Brian bit his lip. ¡°Somebody is getting their wings down there.¡±


    Grim squinted his eyes and saw that Brian was right. A man thrashed as several others held him down against what looked like a makeshift cross. It was too far to make out the details or hear the screams.


    He took a deep breath and looked to Edgar. ¡°Help me with the armor.¡±


    Edgar nodded as he set to dismounting. Grim leapt from his own seat and set to removing the metal plates from where they¡¯d been stored across his saddle bags. Within a few minutes, he was encased in a new layer of steel. Grim ran a gauntlet along the briar etched into the steel, wondering if he¡¯d soon be testing its strength.


    He glanced to Brian, taking in the boy¡¯s woolen coat and hunting knife. ¡°If something happens, stay behind us,¡± he said, climbing back into the saddle.


    Brian chuckled nervously, ¡°Wish I brought that sword after all. Think we could just camp on the other side of the hill?¡±


    Grim lowered the visor of his helmet, gathering the reins in his hand. The sun was dipping below the horizon, and he did not want to be caught in the freezing dark without a fire. ¡°Better we go to them in the light than they come to us in the dark.¡±


    Brian swallowed. Grim kicked his horse into motion, the mare snorting before moving into a trot, descending down the steep incline of the road. Grim undid the straps holding his spear in place and hefted the weapon, holding the tip in the air.


    As they descended, the disparate camps below seemed to coalesce, perhaps seeking safety in numbers. There had to be at least two dozen men collected on the road, with many more figures remaining around the fires. As Grim drew nearer, it became clear that those blocking their way were armed with a variety of axes, picks, and even the occasional proper weapon.


    By the time they¡¯d reached the floor of the valley, the sky had darkened, and the twilight was giving way to the inky blackness of night. Grim slowed the pace of his horse as they drew near to the crowd. They were a sorry looking lot. Most had gaunt faces stretched around ragged beards, looking as if they hadn¡¯t eaten properly in at least a week. They watched him with hungry eyes.


    Grim didn¡¯t see any bowmen among them and risked raising his visor. ¡°Evening gents,¡± he called out.


    The crowd mumbled amongst themselves, clearly not having properly discussed what to do now that Grim and his party were actually here. Grim waited as they conferred amongst themselves, his breath beginning to frost in the cooling air.


    After a long moment of deliberation, an older man stepped from the crowd, his skin stretched taut against his face and eyes dark beneath a heavy brow. He scratched at his beard as he looked up at Grim. ¡°Evening sirrah. What¡¯s bringing you down our stretch of road?¡±


    Grim didn¡¯t miss the possessive statement. He leaned the spear over his shoulder and walked his horse a few paces closer to the man whose eyes widened a fraction. ¡°Making my way to Calumn in the name of Earl Thorne. Been a few days since we¡¯ve received word from the city,¡± Grim said, having a feeling that would go over better than confessing to being the Marshall¡¯s bitch boy.


    An uncomfortable silence fell across the crowd and the old man sucked a gap between his teeth, eyes drifting to Brian. ¡°Odd of you to bring a southerner with you.¡±


    ¡°Odd of you to block my way,¡± Grim answered in kind.


    The old man spat.


    Grim swallowed his unease. ¡°All I¡¯m looking for is a fire. If there¡¯s a man among you willing to provide it, we have food to share.¡±


    The old man barked a laugh. ¡°And what¡¯s to stop us from taking it?¡±


    ¡°Try.¡± Grim answered, hands flexing around the haft of his spear.


    Nobody moved. The tension hung heavy in the air as Grim wondered whether they¡¯d call his bluff here and now. Each of them was doing the math. There was no doubt they¡¯d win this fight, but how many of them would die, and how likely was it that it¡¯d be them?


    To Grim¡¯s right, Edgar readied his own spear.


    ¡°It¡¯d be a shame to ruin so fine a night with blood,¡± Grim said, giving them an out.


    The old man sucked at his teeth. ¡°Aye. You may be right,¡± he said, waving the men behind him down. The tension bled from the air as he met Grim¡¯s gaze.


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    ¡°You can share my fire for the night for one of the horses,¡± he said. ¡°Man¡¯s gotta eat.¡±


    Grim frowned. ¡°Done,¡± he said- seeing little real choice in the matter.


    The old man nodded and waved for Grim to follow him. The crowd began to disperse as some of the men returned to the fires they¡¯d come from and others parted to make way for them, all still eying Grim and his party with feral eyes.


    Grim doubted he¡¯d find any sleep tonight. He followed the old man down the road, keenly aware of the eyes on his back and the footsteps following them as they passed small copses of trees down the curving road. A moment later, the foliage gave way and revealed the makeshift cross they¡¯d spotted from the crest of the hill. Reginald hung limply from it, blood trickling down his leg into a muddy pool at the base of the cross.


    Grim let out a slow breath as the old man looked over his shoulder. ¡°He was a bit more rude than you were. Think we botched the job though. Didn¡¯t last near as long as my brother did a few years ago.¡±


    Grim said nothing as he followed in the man¡¯s wake. Brian looked pale, hands tense around the reins of his horse. Edgar barely spared the corpse a glance as they left the road and headed toward one of the many fires.


    The day¡¯s light had nearly vanished by the time they reached the outskirts of what was presumably the old man¡¯s flame. Over a dozen women and children were crowded around the large fire, looking just as malnourished as the men from earlier had. A spit hung over the flames, roasting some kind of meat. Grim hoped it was from one of Reginald¡¯s horses, but he hadn¡¯t seen any evidence of the man¡¯s retainers.


    His appearance had a mixed reception- the women trying to shield their children while the kids peeked around their mothers to get a better look at the newcomers. Their eyes looked too old for the youthful faces.


    Grim bit his lip before taking a deep breath and dismounting from his horse. He held on to his spear- not particularly wanting anyone to get their hands on it when he wasn¡¯t looking. He considered taking the food from the saddlebags before handing over the horse, but it seemed poor form to take food directly from the hands of hungry children. There was enough for the three of them between Edgar and Brian¡¯s stores.


    He walked to the old man who had turned to face him and held out his arm. The man glanced down at the arm and hesitated a moment before clasping arms. ¡°Vargeld Therric,¡± he said.


    ¡°Grim Thorne,¡± Grim answered.


    The man¡¯s eyes widened a fraction as he pulled his hand away. ¡°Bullshit.¡±


    Grim shrugged and held out the reins of the horse to him. ¡°As promised.¡±


    Vargeld sucked air through his missing tooth. ¡°Dane,¡± he called. A young man around Brian¡¯s age came bounding from the shadows. ¡°Take her with the others and bring back the saddle.¡±


    Dane nodded, taking the reins and leading the horse off into the darkness. Vargeld looked between Brian and Edgar. ¡°You can tie yours off anywhere. No guarantees somebody won¡¯t try and take them tonight.¡±


    Edgar clapped Brian on the shoulder and pulled him toward the treeline to find a place to hitch the horses. Grim felt extremely exposed without them at his back, but he tried not to let his unease show. He eyed Vargeld, gaze drifting across him and the men returning to join their families by the fire.


    ¡°Where are you all from?¡± Grim asked.


    The man snorted. ¡°Come. Sit by the fire. I¡¯m not going to stand here and chat with my balls crawling into my stomach.¡± With that, he turned and settled onto the ground by the fire.


    Grim looked over his shoulder and, not seeing anyone trying to stick a knife in him yet, followed the man to the flames, sticking the point of his spear into the hard ground and taking a seat on the edge of the fire. The quiet was oppressive, with every eye shifting toward Grim uneasily.


    ¡°Where are you all from?¡± Grim asked again, his words cutting through the silence like a knife.


    ¡°Bleakridge,¡± Vargeld answered. ¡°Left after the fire when food started running out.¡±


    ¡°Food was being distributed,¡± Grim said. ¡°Why leave?¡±


    Vargeld shook his head. ¡°A drop in the ocean of need. Blood is in the water. We chose to leave before the frenzy.¡±


    Grim¡¯s eyes drifted to the meat hanging from the spit. Around them, hushed conversations had picked up though the furtive glances still clung to Grim. ¡°On the way here, we came across a burned down homestead and stripped corpses,¡± he said, carefully watching Vargeld¡¯s expression.


    The man was quiet a long moment, face impassive until at last he nodded toward the fire. ¡°Aye.¡±


    Grim¡¯s stomach churned as his gaze drifted across the dozen gaunt faces shooting him furtive glances, the air filled with unease and disquiet.


    Brian joined them a moment later, settling to the cold ground by Grim¡¯s side. Grim looked past him towards where Edgar stood by the horses. ¡°He insisted on keeping watch,¡± Brian explained.


    Vargeld¡¯s eyes seemed to bore into Brian. ¡°Friend of yours?¡± he asked nodding his head in the direction of the cross Reginald¡¯s corpse hung from.


    The blood drained from Brian¡¯s face. ¡°No,¡± he whispered.


    Vargeld¡¯s attention shifted to Grim. ¡°How do you look yourself in the mirror after fraternizing with them? After all they¡¯ve done to us?¡±


    ¡°The company may be lacking, but dying in the alternative is worse,¡± Grim said, jaw clenching.


    Brian narrowed his eyes at Grim.


    Vargeld scowled then nodded slowly. ¡°Aye, but is it better to live a dog or die a man?¡±


    ¡°I could ask you the same.¡± Grim answered, patience already wearing thin.


    The man¡¯s eyes drifted to where the children were huddled on the far side of the fire, a frown creasing his lips. ¡°You actually Thorne¡¯s bastard?¡±


    Grim nodded, seeing no reason to be shy about it.


    ¡°He is,¡± Brian affirmed.


    Vargeld spat into the fire. ¡°Next time you see him, tell him to go fuck himself for me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to relay the message,¡± Grim muttered, flexing his fingers. ¡°Any Idea what¡¯s down the road?¡±


    ¡°A couple thousand just like us, from what I¡¯ve gathered,¡± Vargeld said.


    Grim¡¯s eyebrows rose. ¡°Thousands?¡±


    ¡°Aye,¡± Vargeld answered, ¡°Gonna be a bloody fucking mess at Calumn, but anything is better than Bleakridge.¡±


    Grim wasn¡¯t so sure. There was only a few thousand people in the city of Calumn itself. ¡°Do you lead this group?¡±


    Vargeld shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m old. I fought in the last war. Young fools look to old fools when the days are dark.¡± He lowered his voice. ¡°Guess they think I know what I¡¯m doing,¡± he muttered. ¡°We lived on the same block in the Outwalls. Lost everything in the fire. Tried to go back to our jobs with the forgers a few days after and found they replaced us.¡±


    A silence fell over them as Grim gazed into the fire, watching droplets of fat fall and steam into the flames. One of the women rose and began cutting strips of meat with a long knife, handing them out amongst those gathered.


    Vargeld broke their quiet with a sigh, ¡°Truth be told, I could use you and your companions,¡± he said, ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve noticed the roads aren¡¯t exactly safe, and we¡¯ve lost good men along the way.¡±


    Grim shook his head and waved the woman away as she held out a strip of the mystery meat in his direction. Vargeld declined as well when offered.


    ¡°How many are you?¡± Brian asked.


    ¡°Fifty some odd,¡± Vargeld said, eyes drifting across those at the fire. ¡°Was a few more when we first set out.¡± He shook his head, meeting Grim¡¯s gaze. ¡°And there¡¯s no telling what we¡¯ll find at Calumn.¡±


    ¡°Come across anyone on the road?¡± Grim asked.


    ¡°Some dead. A few bandits,¡± Vargeld answered.


    Brian leaned toward Grim, whispering. ¡°We should go back.¡±


    Grim sighed, releasing a slow beath. Brian likely had the right of it, but Grim couldn¡¯t conscience returning without knowing what was happening at Calumn. ¡°You¡¯re welcome to one of the horses,¡± he answered.


    Brian glanced toward where Edgar stood with their remaining mounts, brushing the dirt from them with a rough brush. Then he looked into the dark of the night where the road would be. The boy sighed, shoulders slumping with resignation. ¡°So be it.¡±


    Grim forced a grin. ¡°I hear Calumn is lovely this time of year.¡± He patted Brian on the shoulder, eyes drifting toward Edgar. The man stood stiffly by their mounts, running a brush along the horses¡¯ flanks. His eyes were cold, and he¡¯d been distant since they¡¯d begun their journey.


    ¡°Wait here,¡± he said to Brian, rising to his feet and pulling his spear from the ground. The boy followed him with worried eyes as Grim walked to Edgar, leaving him surrounded by a crowd of Rillish folk. He¡¯d be fine- probably.


    Edgar met Grim¡¯s gaze as he neared before returning his focus to the horses. ¡°Think we¡¯re safe enough here for the night?¡± Edgar asked.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± Grim asked, ignoring the man¡¯s question.


    Edgar stiffened at the question, his brushing ceasing. The horse snorted as Edgar stared at its flank a long moment before answering. ¡°What the hell are we doing out here, Grim?¡±


    Grim dug the butt of his spear into the ground, leaning some of his weight against it. ¡°What choice do we have?¡±


    Edgar barked a humorless laugh. ¡°We could have ridden right off into the Outwalls and stopped playing this fucking game,¡± he spat.


    Grim grimaced. ¡°There¡¯s more at risk than winning or losing their game. People could die if I do the wrong thing.¡±


    Edgar¡¯s voice raised as he turned to Grim. ¡°People are dying. People have died. Look around you. This is about nothing more than you wanting to secure your family¡¯s place.¡±


    Grim¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°That¡¯s not the full picture.¡±


    Edgar met his gaze. ¡°Then enlighten me.¡±


    Grim tensed. On some level, Edgar was right. But, to fight back would doom them all. His father was consolidating power and resources in case such a thing became necessary, but could he tell Edgar that? In his hesitation, the moment passed.


    Edgar spat at his feet. ¡°I made an oath, but once this is all over, I will be resigning my post.¡± He turned back to the horse. ¡°Please leave me be, my lord.¡±


    Grim winced, considering saying something more before he at last turned from Edgar and returned to his place at the fire by Brian. Somehow it felt colder by the flames.

 Ch 47: Cracking a Few Eggs

    Harren sinched his sword belt tight around his waist, adjusting the bronze pates of his armor into a more comfortable position. He was sore as all hells from riding in full battle armament for more than a day of travel, but Cassandra had demanded he and his soldiers ¡°look the part¡±. He sighed, looking around the sparse tent. It was tall enough for him to stand in but just wide enough to hold a foldable cot and a trunk for him to toss his armaments into at the end of every day. It made his accommodations in the barracks look positively lavish.


    He brushed at his hair with his hands, trying to get it into some semblance of order before giving up and striding from the tent. Gavin was waiting for him outside, standing at attention. Harren looked past him across the neat rows of tents occupying the valley between the vast hills rising on either side of their encampment. Towards the peaks, he could see men ascending the steep incline to relive the night¡¯s watch as the dawn¡¯s rays peeked over the horizon.


    Within the camp, there was a long line of men carting buckets of water into the camp and an equally long line hauling firewood to keep the meagre fires burning in the chill morning air. The closest source of water and wood was nearly a mile distant through rough terrain.


    Even Harren could tell this was a piss poor place to set up camp. A handful of bowmen could kill them all from atop one of those hills and his soldiers had to work though the night to ensure there was enough wood to keep the fires burning and for the baths of any nobles complaining of the dirt from the road. He¡¯d gotten a hiding from Cassandra on their first day of travel for not anticipating that need. The mere thought made him grit his teeth.


    The worst of it was that there was a defensible location within sight down the road that was close to both wood and water, but this place had pleased Cassandra¡¯s ¡°sense of aesthetics¡±.


    Harren shook his head, rubbing sleep from his eyes. ¡°At ease. You don¡¯t have to wait outside my tent, Gavin.¡±


    Gavin¡¯s posture slackened. ¡°Good morning, Sir,¡± he said, ignoring Harren¡¯s comment, ¡°The camp is in order, and I believe the men have gathered enough water for the nobility¡¯s needs.¡±


    Harren looked to the east where the nobles had set up an entirely separate camp away from the commoners. Harren had tried to dissuade Cassandra, but she refused to conscience her tent being within smelling distance of his men. Instead, a perimeter was set around their separate and entirely unnecessary camp, further stretching his limited manpower. They were barely starting their third day of the treck, and part of him already wished he were back in the Outwalls.


    ¡°Any news to report?¡± he asked.


    Gavin shook his head. ¡°Men are grumbling, but They¡¯ll survive the next two weeks without mutinying.¡±


    Harren pursed his lips. ¡°Make a note to disappear some of Cassandra¡¯s wine reserves and see that a reasonable portion ends up in the hands of our sentries tonight.¡±


    Gavin smirked. ¡°Done.¡±


    Harren¡¯s gaze returned to the separate camp. ¡°I¡¯d best attend to the day¡¯s duties,¡± he said, a grimace crossing his lips. ¡°See to it that the camp is ready to move at the lady¡¯s whim.¡±


    ¡°Naturally,¡± Gavin said, ¡°It¡¯s the pace at which our world turns.¡±


    Harren snorted, dismissing Gavin with a wave. He walked through the camp, waving down any men who paused to salute in his direction. It was a needlessly long walk from his camp to the Nobles¡¯ encampment down the road. He passed the sentries from the night-shift of the perimeter on his way across the field and they exchanged looks of commiseration, though Harren was certain he had the easier end of the equation.


    The tents ahead dwarfed his own. Some could be considered small homes in their own right. The smell of fine cooking wafted through the air as Cassandra¡¯s chef set to the day¡¯s work with a fully functional kitchen behind her. The fresh sentries on the perimeter let him pass without comment and Harren strode among the towering green tents. Few nobles were up and about yet, but Harren was certain the smell of food would begin drawing many from their tents before long.


    An army of footmen and handmaids walked among the tents, boiling water for baths and scrubbing the grit from travel-stained clothes. They paid him little heed as he passed, and he returned the favor. Cassandra¡¯s tent was, by necessity, the largest in the compound. She and Carys shared its cavernous confines. After the first day of travel, it had been made abundantly clear that he was expected to attend them throughout the day as if he were some sort of glorified butler.


    It rankled his pride, but he¡¯d managed to swallow the objections. He could survive two weeks of this.


    Probably.


    A pair of the Marshal¡¯s personal guard stood at rigid attention by Cassandra¡¯s tent. They barely spared Harren a glance as he approached.


    ¡°Hoy Harren,¡± a voice called.


    Harren looked to the left of the tent to see Rafe lounging across the length of a bench set alongside the tent. He raised his eyebrows. ¡°Surprised to see you awake at this hour,¡± Harren commented.


    Rafe grinned, revealing wine-stained teeth as he rose to a sitting position. ¡°Who said I went to sleep?¡±


    Harren snorted. ¡°And who was the lucky lady?¡±


    Rafe formed his fingers into a makeshift mouth and engaged it in a passionate kiss.


    Harren met the gaze of the nearby guards. ¡°Sirs, I think lord Talstad has had more than his fill of wine. I would suggest escorting him to his tent before Lady Cassandra awakens.¡±


    The guard closest to Rafe required no further prodding, grabbing Rafe by the arm and bodily dragging him away from the tent.


    Rafe shot Harren a betrayed look. ¡°And this is what I get for popping in to see a friend, eh?¡± he called, ¡°Manhandled on my own vacation!¡±


    Rafe continued spouting nonsense as he was removed from the premises. Harren sighed, meeting the gaze of the remaining guard. ¡°Is she awake?¡± he asked.


    The guard shook his head without elaboration. Harren nodded and took a seat on the bench Rafe had left open. Yesterday had been a long wait.


    He watched as the camp around him slowly awakened, nobles emerging from their tents, looking as meticulously groomed as one would expect for a day at court. The sole difference being that the style of dress had changed from ball gowns and fine suits to leather traveling clothes and riding dresses- not that any of the ladies would be caught outside their carriages. He¡¯d been on this trip three times before and had never before truly registered the sheer waste of it all.


    Five hundred fighting men pulled from the legion to fetch water for baths and stare at cold, dead hills. All so two score nobles could drink in a fresh, new locale. Time passed as more and more nobles followed the smells of breakfast, taking seats at the large tables that had been laid out for the daily meals. There was an entire cart in their baggage train dedicated to those tables.


    Haren was shook from his thoughts as a cough came from within the tent. Harren rose to his feet as the guard pulled the flap of the tent open wide. Cassandra Longreen strode from the interior, looking every inch an empress preparing to greet her court. Carys followed on her heels, looking much the same. Harren bowed deeply as Cassandra took notice of him. She held out her ring and he kissed the large sapphire, taking great care in his every movement.


    ¡°Prefectus Barrington,¡± she greeted.


    She had yet to use his noble title since the day of his arrival in Bleakridge. He was reasonably sure it was intended as a snub, but he found it hard to care. ¡°Lady Cassandra. Ever a pleasure. I trust the evening festivities were to your liking?¡±


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    She waved a dismissive hand. ¡°The venison was dry, but that is no fault of yours.¡± She looked past him toward the dining area from which tantalizing aromas drifted on the wind. ¡°Come,¡± she said.


    Harren¡¯s forced smile fell as she passed him. Carys leaned toward him as she followed her mother. ¡°Almost as dry as the company here,¡± she whispered.


    Harren coughed into his hand to hide the bark of laughter that escaped him. Nobody seemed to take note aside from Carys, and he fell into step behind her as they walked toward the dining area which more resembled a formal banquet with each passing moment. Every noble seated at the table rose to their feet as Cassandra approached, returning to their seats and conversation only after she had taken her place at the head of the table.


    Within moments, servants appeared bearing trays of food for the Lady Marshal and her daughter. Platters of fancifully crafted egg dishes and freshly cooked bacon soon lay before them. Harren took a seat at the table, waiting in silence as they picked at their food. A few moments later a serving girl placed a dish before him. He nodded in thanks, drawing his utensils from his napkin before beginning his meal.


    Cassandra broke the quiet. ¡°So, Prefectus, I trust there were no incidents or threats last night that we should be aware of?¡±


    Harren chewed his mouthful of bacon before answering. The scouts had been reporting pillaged homesteads and had been removing abandoned carts from the road from the very day they departed Bleakridge. But, there hadn¡¯t been any signs of real danger. Whatever happened had passed, and he doubted it posed any threat to a party as large as theirs.


    ¡°No, my lady,¡± he answered, ¡°The men haven¡¯t spotted anything that could pose a danger to our expedition.¡±


    Cassandra rolled her eyes. ¡°Proof to the point I made to my husband that your detail here is useless. My house guard would have been more than sufficient without the need for-¡± She gestured vaguely in the direction of some of Harren¡¯s men patrolling the surrounding hills. ¡°That.¡±


    Carys wiped at her lips with her napkin. ¡°Try to think of it as an honor guard, mother.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t fill an honor guard with commoners, Carys,¡± Cassandra snapped.


    Harren sipped from a glass of water placed before him. ¡°I assure you they will be out of sight and out of mind once we reach Calumn.¡± The words tasted bitter in his mouth as he said them.


    Cassandra sniffed. ¡°How much longer until we reach the city?¡±


    Harren drummed his fingers against the table, thinking. ¡°Perhaps two more days at current pace. We¡¯ll at least be able to see the city by dusk tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps with a smaller party we¡¯d have made better time,¡± Cassandra commented.


    Harren bowed his head. ¡°Doubtless, my lady.¡±


    Harren caught Carys rolling her eyes but, whether at him or Cassandra, it was hard to tell. She picked at the eggs on her plate with her fork with little gusto.


    ¡°Too runny,¡± Cassandra commented as if agreeing with Carys¡¯ unspoken comment.


    Carys arched an eyebrow but didn¡¯t¡¯ say anything.


    Cassandra turned to face Harren. ¡°Prefectus. I¡¯d given our cook a warning yesterday evening and yet her performance this morning is no better. As head of our security, I¡¯d like you to see to correcting her behavior.¡±


    Harren blinked. ¡°Correcting?¡±


    Cassandra chewed through another mouthful of her meal before answering with a wave. ¡°Whatever you deem an appropriate response.¡±


    Her eyes met his and he had the distinct impression she was playing with him. He forced a thin smile to his lips. ¡°Of course, my lady.¡±


    Carys tried to interject, ¡°Mother it¡¯s-¡±


    ¡°Unacceptable,¡± Cassandra finished.


    Harren took a final drink of his water before he rose to his feet, knowing there was no use arguing the point. He bowed in the ladies¡¯ direction, turned on his heel, and made his way towards the smell of cooking, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do.


    He turned the corner of a tent and came in sight of the makeshift kitchen. The setup was actually quite expansive, complete with several camp stoves and a full kitchen¡¯s worth of utensils neatly arrayed along folding tables. A score of cooks scurried about, seeing to the myriad of dishes cooking simultaneously and preparing ingredients on their limited counterspace.


    A haggard looking, plump, Rillish woman seemed to be directing the chaos. Harren waited on the edge of the kitchen, and she soon took notice of him, making eye contact with a frown. She plodded toward him, leaving her staff with a few final orders.


    She curtsied as she neared. She was young. Much younger than the head cook at the Marshal¡¯s estate and Harren supposed that explained the supposed gap in quality.


    ¡°Morning your lordship. How may I please you?¡± she asked as she rose from her bow. There was a twang of nervousness and fear in her voice. She had an inkling for why he was here.


    Behind her, the staff shot furtive glances in their direction whenever opportunity presented itself. Harren frowned, still not certain what he was going to do to the poor woman. ¡°When the Lady Marshal expressed her displeasure last night, what did she say your punishment would be?¡± he asked, hoping that might solve the dilemma.


    The woman paled, eyes widening a fraction. ¡°M¡¯lord- I can-¡±


    Harren cut her off with a raised hand. ¡°I wasn¡¯t sent here to negotiate.¡±


    Her shoulders slumped and she averted her eyes. ¡°She didn¡¯t say. Just that it would be unpleasant.¡±


    Harren scowled. In his experience, when Cassandra referred to a punishment as unpleasant, somebody was getting lashed or ruined. The cook seemed to have the same interpretation, almost looking like she might run. What was he going to do? Lash her until she couldn¡¯t walk and leave her here, strip her of her position and abandon her in the middle of nowhere? Fall on his own sword for her?


    The last thought was beyond ridiculous, but an idea struck him. ¡°You¡¯re stripped of your position here,¡± he said, ¡°You will report to the legion camp and find our quartermaster, Gavin. Tell him Prefectus Barrington pressed you into the 5<sup>th</sup> cohort for the duration of this campaign as a cook.¡±


    She blinked in confusion then looked over her shoulder at her fellow staff. ¡°I can¡¯t just leave them-¡±


    ¡°That was not a request,¡± Harren said.


    Somehow, she became a shade paler, almost looking as though she may faint. ¡°Sir,¡± she whispered, bowing her head in acknowledgement.


    Harren turned from her without another word, striding back the way he¡¯d come. Cassandra and Carys soon came back into sight. They¡¯d finished their respective meals and, in Harren¡¯s absence, nobles had congregated around them, engaging in some manner of fluffing Cassandra¡¯s ego no doubt.


    The Lady Marshal caught sight of him on his return and held up her hand. The conversation around her silenced and she called out to him. ¡°Prefectus, that was fast. I trust the matter has been handled appropriately?¡±


    Harren didn¡¯t respond for a moment, as he forced eye contact with Lord Valen Carlyle who had taken his seat.


    The younger man soon took the hint and looked ready to object before taking in the look on Haren¡¯s face. He mumbled some excuse to leave and Harren took the seat as it was vacated. He cleared his throat. ¡°Indeed, my lady. I stripped her position and pressed her into the legion as a cook. If she serves slop, then she¡¯s only fit to serve commoners, wouldn¡¯t you agree?¡±


    Harren fought the urge to swallow as Cassandra met his gaze. He¡¯d effectively taken the cook beyond her reach unless she directly countermanded him. By her own words, being forced among commoners was an unbearable punishment. Her snubbing of him and his men might very well be that girl¡¯s salvation.


    ¡°Very well,¡± Cassandra said, not sounding particularly pleased. ¡°Prefectus, set your men to loading the carts. I¡¯d like us to be on the move within the hour.¡±


    Harren shot a rueful glance to his half-eaten meal before rising to his feet. He bowed to her. ¡°As you will.¡±


    As he rose from his bow, a horn sounded in the distance. Harren¡¯s hand instinctively fell to the blade at his side. One horn meant a handful of travelers, two meant enough to be a threat, three was an immediate call to arms.


    He let out a breath he didn¡¯t realize he was holding as the next bellow of the horn never came. Cassandra¡¯s personal guard now surrounded them, their eyes fixed on the direction the horn had come from, though little could be seen between the tents.


    ¡°I¡¯ll investigate, and set men to breaking camp,¡± Harren said before setting off at a brisk pace.


    He could feel the eyes of the nobles on him as he strode away, more curious than worried. However, Harren had been on edge since the day they¡¯d left the city. If the Marshal¡¯s family got so much as a paper cut under his watch, it¡¯d be his head. The tents fell away, revealing the wide valley. In the distance, he could see a lone horseman approaching their camp at a gallop. The rider had veered off the road and was bearing straight toward the camp.


    Harren fingered the blade at his side, walking toward where his men along the perimeter were congregating on an intercept course with the rider. As the man drew nearer, it became apparent that he was Venaran which meant he was likely one of the contestants they were meant to be following.


    The man¡¯s horse slowed as he reached the handful of soldiers, the rider slumping in his saddle before swaying and nearly falling to the ground before a soldier caught him and gently lowered him from the horse.


    Harren cursed beneath his breath and set off at a run toward the scene. The soldiers stood around as if unsure what to do as Harren arrived. The rider was Lord Raleth and he had an oozing red cut running along his stomach. His hands clutched at the sucking wound, blood leaking between his fingers.


    Harren shoved the nearest soldier. ¡°Get a healer,¡± he roared.


    The soldier¡¯s eyes went wide, and he set off toward the camp at a sprint.


    Harren fell to his knees next to Raleth. He barely knew the boy beyond his name, but he held his hands over the boys¡¯, adding some pressure to the wound. Raleth cried out in pain, his eyes blurry and unfocused. Blood trickled from his mouth.


    Harren grimaced, looking off in the direction of the soldier running for help. The boys travel clothes were soaked in blood and there¡¯d be no healing it without a god-touched healer on hand, which they sorely lacked.


    He met the boy¡¯s gaze. ¡°Who did this?¡± he asked.


    The boy¡¯s mouth worked a moment before any sound came out. ¡°Rillmen,¡± he gasped, ¡°In the hills.¡±


    ¡°Where? How Many? And wha-¡± Harren cut himself off, realizing he needed to slow down. ¡°How many?¡± he asked.


    Raleth opened his mouth and coughed. Blood speckled Harren¡¯s face and he winced. The only sound that came from Raleth after that was a choked wheezing. Harren¡¯s jaw clenched, and he knelt next to the boy with his hand over the wound until Raleth¡¯s chest stopped rising.