It was, in Narms humble opinion, an abysmally poor day for digging graves. Too cold for it by half. Of course, if you asked him in the summer, he would say it was too hot, and in the spring, it would be too wet, and in the fall… in the fall there were too many damnable leaves. No, Narm didn’t much care for digging, and was glad he was now retired. His fingers throbbed with fantom aches from frostbite long ago, and he felt a twinge of sympathy for the lads out digging today. He was personally quite comfortable, seated by the crackling hearth and looking out the only glass window that the Murphy family had. Marci was curled up in a chair across from him reading a romance novel of some kind, her cane propped against her chair in much the same way his own rested by his seat. Her cane however, was carved with myriad vines and leaves, courtesy of Narm, creating something of a work of art, especially after he had polished the wood.

Narm liked carving, and it was something he had done often in his youth. He had fallen out of the habit when he came to the boneyard, primarily because he lacked the time to indulge it. Now though, tiny figurines could be seen scattered about the office. Here a perfect replica of Count Isaac as he had been twenty years ago, there a carving of Marci’s smiling face, or Isabelle’s stern visage.

Animals littered the shelf over the fire, amazingly fine replicas of a lion, a bear, an ox, and a wolf. Other carvings were made too, but Narm was rather picky about letting them be seen. Most he burned, but some he kept in a long wooden box under his bed. That was his private box, and no one dared try to open it. Not that they would be able to. The aged wood was hard and reinforced with steel. Six iron padlocks that had been commissioned from the finest lockmaster in Great River over twenty years before held it shut, and no thief had ever successfully picked one of that lockmaster’s locks. When Marci, Ally, and Caj were young, Narm had let them try to open it, as he hadn’t been concerned about them actually succeeding, and they never had. He found it amusing. No, the items in that box would stay there until after he was dead, when they would be less likely to get people killed.

Narm was carving even now, working on a gift for Rai. He had finished a much better hook for the boy just a week before, one with a metal head rather than a wooden one, and fine carvings of ocean waves at it’s base. Caj’s identity was out in the open now, albeit not widely known. IT was not uncommon for knights in the service of the more powerful houses to have their own sigil, so it would not look amiss anymore. Also, it struck Narm as a damn shame for the servant of a duke’s son to have an undecorated prosthetic. The lad had taken to the hook immediately, and used it every opportunity he had. It widened his horizons. He would never be able to do things the way a man with two hands could, but he could hold things without having to cradle them, and he could wield a quarterstaff. Admittedly, his “wielding” of the staff was clumsy at best and abysmal at worst, but he could at least hold the damn thing. More importantly, he could easier hold a broom or mop.

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Narm hoped that the boy would have more need of the tools of that trade than the tools of war. Rai was capable of bloodshed, Narm could see that in his eyes well enough, but the boy was meant for something different. As much as he pretended to hate math and economics, he was quite good at them. Exceedingly good in fact. Narm could see him someday running a household for Caj, or maybe even starting a mercantile business of his own. Narms thoughts were interrupted by a frantic pounding on the door before it was flung open by Rai. His sister Emma was not far behind him, and both were out of breath. They had gone outside for a break from studies since it was still technically lunchtime. The bang of the door the deep groan of hinges brought Isabelle and Isaac from the kitchen, looking concerned. Rai was bent over, hands on his knees, panting. His ragged breath produced puffs of steam in the air. Narm immediately wrapped the carving he was working on and stood up.

“What is it Rai?” he demanded. Narm had seen the boy’s eyes. Fear and panic resided there.

“One-eye…” Rai panted, “There be twenty men coming down the road… in red coats all fancy-like, ‘cept fer the fella in the lead… Big, mean-looking bloke in a black cloak.” Rai inhaled deeply, getting his breath back, “They be looking fer ye, One-eye, they described ye real correct-like, and they did nae seem happy.” Narm’s face paled.

It can’t be… not now… oh Reapers Sickle not now… Narm’s thoughts raced, hand he felt a fantom pain run through the X over his left eye. The same type of X that had been over both Dougal and Sherin Donovan’s eyes. He’s here. Dammit. Narm’s fear turned abruptly to rage. He’s here. How dare he. In his hand, the wood of his cane actually creaked from how tight he squeezed it. He drew himself up and marched to the door, hardly seeming to need the cane, despite his limp. He paid no mind the stricken look on Isabelle’s face, or confused one belonging to Marcella. Isaac’s face he saw for only an instant, though the man looked resigned. Narm marched to the door, but was stopped by Rai’s last words to him.

“Wait! One-eye,” The boy said, “Black-cloak… when he asked about ye, Jeremy told him to sod off, he…” Rai swallowed hard, but his one good eye was flinty, “He killed Jeremy, One-eye. Split him from throat to prick, clean as ye like, then cut out both his eyes, made an X over them he did.” Rai traced an X formation in the air in front of him. Marcella let out a sobbing gasp and clutched Isabelle, who had made her way to her daughter. Emma padded over to them also, looking fearful. Narm felt his blood run cold with fury. He turned to the door with cold fire in his veins. He stepped out the door and into the cold, muddy snow. His cane left a curious mark on the ground, and if one looked close enough, they would realize it was a pawprint, stamped into the ground.

“Wait here.” Narm growled tersely over his shoulder as he stepped onto the road. Just coming into view was the procession of riders. Perhaps it wasn’t such a poor day for digging some graves after all.