I took my hand off the sword, and the elder elf slowly faded from in front of me. He waved goodbye, and I waved back. There was a sad smile on his face, and I wondered if he was sad to retreat back to his solitary prison. The feeling of otherness inside my mind slowly faded, but there was still a lingering sense of strangeness that I could feel coming from the blade—as if a tendril of awareness connected us.

I was in a strange mood. I had been told two stories—of vastly different events from two magical beings that I could still hardly believe existed in the same world as I. And if I were to believe Theodmon, he was my blood-related father.

For the last month, I had thought I was the heir of an insane warmonger. But if I were to believe Theodmon—who claimed to be my father—then I was just the result of an accident. I was simply the child of a war that had almost been, not a war that was.

I was lost in my thoughts that night. The way you are when something shifts your perspective so far that you don't know which side your mind is on. So I didn't even notice the men until they had surrounded us.

A gruff voice cracked the silence. It was a deep, mangled, gritty voice full of violence. "What're you doin' here?" it asked.

Naro was quick--despite the fact he had been fast asleep a moment before, and before I could even react, he grabbed his short bow and knocked an arrow before I could even get up. I looked into the darkness but couldn't see anything.

A hoarse chuckle erupted from the voice. Then, a huge shadowed figure flattened the long yellow grass only a few feet away from me, and I gazed up to see the biggest man I had ever seen. It was as if a man had been built with logs, with a huge chest and shoulders nearly as long as a man's arm span.

I looked at his face and wished I hadn't. I hadn't seen many, but I knew that this was the face of a killer. If there was a road, this man had worn it, and if there was a battle, he seemed to have been a part of it. Two vicious scars ran the length of his face on each side, and his eyes seemed to be nothing more than dark slits. His long greasy hair hung over his forehead, creating shadows in the wrinkles on his face, and I could see that he was not young—more so in his eyes than in his age. He held his huge hands loosely at his hips, and I noticed that one massive paw rested on the hilt of some type of squarish weapon.

"Name's Cleaver." The man didn't say the words with any pomp or posturing; it was just a statement of fact, as if he was someone, and we were all expected to know who he was.

I looked at Naro, and I was surprised to see his face ghostly pale. It was a strange look for the gnome. His old face and wise green eyes always seemed so self-assured. To see fear on his face—well, it wasn't exactly a good omen. I had no idea how the gnome could recognize the man.

Cleaver smiled, revealing all of his teeth. "Hey lads, looks like the little one knows the name!" If he had been a sight to see, it was all the worse with a smile on his face. His teeth were large, somehow reminding me of a horse in the light. But if his smile was big, his eyes didn't match it. Instead, the man seemed to glower down at Naro, as if delighted to see a bug that he could squash.

"He's a small one, ain't he?" Cleaver turned, and I could hear a deep chuckle somewhere amidst the dark grass. Then he turned back and cracked his knuckles one by one.

"Why do they call you Cleaver?" I asked, attempting to keep my voice steady, but it sounded quiet and weak to my own ears.

Cleaver raised his eyebrows, then laughed. Suddenly, his violent eyes didn't seem as dangerous anymore. I wasn't sure when the change had come over the man.

"Well, lad, I'm glad you asked. Used to be a chef of some sort."

"Show 'em the cleaver!" This time, it was another voice, a higher-pitched one. I wondered how many men were out there in the grass, unseen. I hadn't realized how tall the grass was until it proved so effective at hiding our field of vision.

I looked around and realized there must be a lot of them. Then, it was as if a cold stone settled into my gut. It must be a bandit group. My father had warned me about them growing up, but I never thought I would come face to face with one.

Cleaver took out the weapon from its sheath, and I saw that it was indeed a cleaver. It was clean, so much so that the shine of it caught the moonlight.

For a moment, I thought the man might chop me down right then with his strange weapon. But he simply held the blade in the air and contemplated us for a few long seconds.

"Never seen such a small man before. And it's a bit odd to find a child out here with 'em. What business do you have out here in the grasslands?"

I looked to Naro, and he looked back at me. Then I saw some of the old assurance come back into his eyes, and he straightened his shoulders. "I am the child's escort. Our journey is our own business."

Another voice in the darkness called out, "Don't look much like a child to me, that one. When I was his age, I was sucking the teat—and not the one from my mama, if you catch my meaning."

I felt the color rise to my cheeks, and for the first time, I thought that the man might have a point. I was nearly 14 years of age. If I had been a child once, it felt like a long time ago. I had seen and done things that children don't do. So it was then that I decided I would be a man from that moment on, and I would strive to be seen as one.

"He's right. I'm not a child."

A chorus of high-pitched laughter and guffaws rose around us, and shadows began to emerge into rough-looking men. Beards, scars, worn leathers, and plenty of weapons.

Cleaver looked behind him at the men, and when he turned back to us, he had a wide grin on his face that stretched from ear to ear. "I like this one, lads. Got something special about him, don't he?"

There was something in that smile that I recognized, something in the crinkle of his eye and the loosening of his posture. It was the same way the captain had been on our ship around his men, and it was the way my father had been when he had brought home his friends from the tavern. His men followed him not because he was cruel, but because they genuinely liked him.

"Well, your business is our business now," Cleaver said, stating the implication as if the matter had been settled the very second he came upon us. And I suppose it had.

"These are dangerous roads and dangerous areas. You'll come with us tonight—with us and the lads." And with that, Cleaver clapped his big hands, and the men around us began to bustle and make camp.

Camp was made quickly. The men were ruthlessly efficient and before long every man was sitting around a fire keeping warm or sleeping next to one.

Cleaver had found a thick log somewhere, and Cleaver sat on it next to another man. This man was older and even more grizzled than the rest. Grey peppered his hair and beard, and wrinkles creased his forehead. But I could tell the man was sharp. He seemed less concerned with the fire, or us, or even Cleaver. Instead, he seemed to be looking out into the night, and he rested his hand on the hilt of a knife as if he might draw it at any moment.

“So how did you get your name?” I asked the huge man and he turned to me and gave me a small smile. He patted the weapon on his belt and shook his head.

"I had been in the city—greato fuckin Mildor. In the Boar's inn—delivering meat. And when I came back to my home, I found my wife on the floor and my house full of those churchmen."

"Suppose they wanted some special sort of deal, being fancy church folk and the like. But my wife was a mean bargainer, and she didn't cut slack for no one. Guess they didn't like her grit."

Cleaver looked away from us to gaze into the flames, and the man's fury was palpable. "Never going to find another woman like Rosalie," he spat into the fire. "I'll tell you that much, lads."

"And so I asked them. Which one slit my wife's throat?" Cleaver said the words slow and measured. "It wasn't that hard to figure it out, you know. Because the lad drew a sword on me." Cleaver laughed, and the noise sounded more like he was choking.

"So, I took my cleaver still in my hand, and I carved him like I might a pig. The other men didn't know what to do after I killed the first. They were scared. Not more'n kids most of them. They'd never seen a man wield a cleaver like I could. At the end of the day, meat is meat, and the way you cut it is the same."

The man next to him nodded at Cleaver. "Wise words, Chief, wise words." Then he picked up a stick and poked the fire.

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After that, it seemed there wasn't much more that needed to be said that night.

We rode on with Cleaver and his men the next morning. Naro hadn’t spoken to me much since we had joined their group. Perhaps he felt that his obligation to be my guide was over now that Cleaver and his men had found us.

Cleaver had taken a liking to me, and we rode at the front of the column of men. He had given me a horse, a large, gentle being. It was the first time I had ever ridden a horse, but the huge beast didn't seem to mind, and it was as if the animal simply knew where to go. Naro followed behind me, and the rest of the men did so as well.

It was as if we had always been a part of their company. Most of the men watched the grass, and some talked to each other. But most seemed content to watch the woods around us or ride among their own thoughts.

"Where do we ride?" I asked Cleaver. The big man had the biggest horse I had ever seen. It made my beast look like a pony, and in the bright light of day, Cleaver himself seemed even bigger. His hand rested on the cleaver at his side, and he eyed me as he considered the question.

Cleaver shrugged. "North.” Then he pointed to the right. There was a man there, perhaps ten strides away from the column. I hadn't noticed him before. He was covered in brown and green leathers, instead of a random assortment of armor like the rest of the men. I figured that was why I didn't recognize him. He seemed to blend in with the grass and shrubs, and to my surprise, he didn't ride a horse.

The man grinned at me. His hair was in disarray and looked more like a bird's nest than a man's head of hair. Some parts of it seemed cut, others seemed bald, and a few portions hung out in various directions. He pointed ahead of us and giggled.

"I swear, it’s like he has a compass in his head." Cleaver looked at the man, and then nodded. "Not sure what it is, but the men like him. They trust him."

"What's his name?" I asked. The man was still grinning at me, and he pointed again. I realized he was pointing in the direction that the column was traveling.

"He doesn't have one." Cleaver shrugged. He reached into a pouch, stuffed something in his mouth, and began to chew. “Good lad, good lad he is. And then we have this hunk of metal.” Cleaver turned and winked at another man.

"Metal Arm is my second. He's a good man. A better man, even." Cleaver looked at the man behind me in the column with an appraising eye, almost like a man eyeing a good horse. "And he's got some advantages over other men."

He leaned off his horse and rapped his knuckles on the man's metal arm, and it made a sharp clang. "Most of his enemies don't think of him as a threat. But he's the best knifeman in the company. Doesn't take more than one arm to hold a knife after all." My eyes were drawn to his chest, and I realized for the first time that the man seemed to be covered in knives. It was as if he had sewn pockets all over his metal and leather vest.

"Learned the lesson the hard way," Metal Arm pointed at his arm. "Don't bring a knife to a sword fight." He shrugged as if he didn't mind. "Now it's easy to get in close. For some reason, men think that if a man doesn't have an arm, he also doesn't have legs either. Or they are too busy staring wondering why my arm is made out of metal."

"Always said Old Metal Arm had snake blood in him, eh?" Cleaver clapped Metal Arm on the shoulder.

I heard a whistle, and I looked to our right. The Grinning Man pointed at us, and at the same time his other hand seemed to act on its own accord. His left arm slapped his right hand down, and then his two arms started to fight. One hand balled itself into a fist, and the other began slapping it.

The Grinning Man looked between his two arms in confusion, as if he had no idea what was happening. Cleaver frowned at the strange series of gestures and then whipped his head around.

Before us was the end of the valley and the beginning of the tree line. "Oh, for fuck's sake." Cleaver stiffened and stopped his horse. He held up a hand, and the column behind us stopped.

For a moment, nothing could be heard but the small snorts of the men's horses and a few of them stamping. The yellow grass waved all around us, and as the breeze tickled my nose, I smelled the tang of wood smoke.

Then Cleaver yanked and turned his horse around, causing it to rear up in surprise. "Swords!" He roared, and his deep voice boomed out in the clearing. His voice ignited a thrill in me, deep in my stomach, and without even knowing what was happening, I whooped with the rest of the men as wild screams filled the air.

"Ride!" Cleaver yelled again, and he swiveled his horse toward the tree line. He slashed his sword onward, kicked his heels in, and his horse took off. The huge weight of the horse beneath me surged forward without any need for command.

I caught sight of some movement inside the tree line, but I couldn't make anything out. The thundering of hooves around me was deafening, and I thumped and slapped against the leather of the saddle. Then we were inside the tree line, and blue and yellow men with bows were running everywhere, but several of them tripped and fell, and several had nowhere to run.

We ran them over and plowed through them. Flesh was trampled and sliced, blood spattered across my face, and the archers were screaming, and then they weren't. But then there were more men, and we crashed into them with our mass of horse and steel. I saw Cleaver hack down a man, cleaving his head off straight into the air as if the man's neck had been made of butter.

If he was a butcher of animals in his former life, he was now a butcher of men. He had an impossibly wide grin, and his eyes were wide with glee. Another man stood in front of him, and Cleaver reared back his horse, and the huge beast kicked the man into a tree with a sickening thud. Another man screamed as he watched his friend crumble on the ground. He shot an arrow at Cleaver, and Cleaver swerved in his seat and threw a small knife at the man. It hit him in the neck, and the man fell, choking on his own blood.

"Forward!" Cleaver bellowed, and we moved like a swift current, a wave of destruction moving through the ranks of churchmen with hardly any form of resistance. The archers were long dead. Now we moved through spearmen and swordsmen, and then, in what seemed only a matter of minutes, it was over.

I had done nothing but ride my horse, but I had seen more men die in the span of minutes than in my entire life. The smell of blood seemed to fill the air. It mixed with the fresh scent of pine and the stench of men who had lost control of their bowels.

Cleaver’s men dismounted from their horses and went about the task of finishing the men. They were brutal, but efficient and soon the sounds of screams were cut silent as more men died

After the last skirmish in the woods—if it could even be called that, since it was more of a slaughter—Cleaver had spared one of the churchmen. The churchman was barely more than a boy, only a few years older than Clidale and me.

The boy's name was Tuale. His hair was white, almost like snow, but in the sunlight, it shimmered gold. When we found him, Cleaver had set up a rope and tied it to a high branch of a tree. Then he had placed Tuale on a horse. Cleaver told him that if he lied, he would slap the horse's rear with the flat of his blade. Tuale simply looked up at the rope and the tree tied to his neck and nodded.

As I looked at Tuale, our eyes met. Like his hair, his eyes were a white-gold color. Something about his face and eyes made me think I had met the boy before.

"So," Cleaver leaned on a huge stick he had found. "How did you lot find us?"

Tuale pondered the question for a moment. "We didn't find you. Did you get the impression that we did, considering how you slaughtered us?"

Cleaver grinned and glanced at the rest of the men around us. Several of them chuckled. Then he patted the grinning man--the scout with tousled hair who had no name on the back, and the grinning man's grin widened.

"Ok, let's say you weren’t looking for us. What are a bunch of churchmen doing out here in the far country?" Cleaver narrowed his eyes on the boy.

Tuale stared at Cleaver for a moment, and then his eyes flicked to me. But he remained silent, his lips set stubbornly.

Cleaver sighed and raised his sword near the horse's rump. Tuale tensed and tugged at the rope around his neck in panic. "Wait," he blurted out.

"Him. We were here for him," he pointed at me with a shaky hand and clutched the rope with the other. Suddenly, the composure of the boy faltered. He slumped, and tears began to run from his eyes. "Roth sent us to bring him back. He said to kill his friends and the Shinarin, but not to hurt him."

At the mention of Roth, hot and painful memories flashed through my mind. The taste of blood and bile in my mouth as the man tried to take me. The first man I had killed, and Roth's sick grin at seeing me forced to do wrong, just as he had done to me, my father, and Shay.

"How do you know Roth?" I moved closer to the horse and drew the sword. It was as if I had left my body, and someone else had taken control. Despite the sword's thickness and heft, it felt light in my hand. Even in the bright daylight, the golden runes etched into the strange dark blade glowed brightly.

Tuale looked at the blade, his mouth hanging open. He stared at it, seemingly lost within its depths. I tightened my grip on the sword, and his eyes widened with fear. He began to struggle with the rope around his neck, and his horse shifted nervously as he fidgeted.

"He asked you a question, boy," Cleaver growled the words into the boy's face, and the boy recoiled. "He's—he's," the boy tripped and stuttered over his words as he leaned away from both me and the sword, "my brother."

The sword in my hand suddenly fell limp to my side, and I immediately recognized why the boy had looked so familiar. He looked identical to Roth, but he didn't have the permanent sneer and hateful eyes. It was as if he was a different person, but I couldn't deny that I was looking at Roth's twin.

Cleaver looked at me, without any recognition on his face at all. I watched Tuale, seeing more and more likeness as the seconds went by. "He's a prince." Memories flooded back into my mind of the sea and one of the few conversations I had with Rebert. He had told me who Roth was--one of the two heirs of the church.

"A prince?" Cleaver spluttered the words. Then he put a huge finger in his ear and wiggled it. "A prince?" he asked again, not seeming to hear my words correctly.

I nodded, and a wide grin spread across his face unlike any smile I had ever seen. He whipped his head up and turned around quickly. "Where's—" his huge voice was cut off as he bumped into the Grinning Man. Cleaver looked down at the smaller man and clapped him on the back. The man fell over in the dirt and leaves, looking up with surprise.

"We got the princer!" Around us, the men began to shuffle and buzz with excitement. "We got him," he said, a younger man next to me echoed. Then more men began to murmur the same words.

And soon, it was as if the company of mercenaries had transformed into a circus troupe. Blood-covered men started dancing and wrestling. Grinning Man sat on Cleaver's shoulders, and Metal Arm was beating his metal arm against a drum that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

Tuale looked at me as if he had just stepped into hell. Some part of me itched to kill Roth's twin--to test the sharpness of my new blade, if only because it was the closest I could get to killing his brother. But there was something in the boy that I had not seen in Roth.There was fear in his eyes--where in Roth I had only seen anger. In Roth, I had only seen cruelty--but with Tuale, he had a kindness about his features that gave me pause.