After feeding the mounts and hauling everything inside the shack, he crawled under his blankets and curled up before the little stove. Mags spoke to him, but sleep stole him from the world of the living.

Dreamless and heavy, Marek’s sleep went to work on his ragged body.

Sometime later, he awoke. He knew at once something was wrong. His body ached, sweat soaking his clothes so thoroughly they clung to his skin. And he was so very cold. He found he was shivering uncontrollably. The world seemed blurry and surreal when he tried to open his eyes.

"Marek, you're scaring me. Wake up, will you? Marek!"

The voice faded, and he slipped back into darkness. This time, he wasn't alone. Marek stood in a dark forest. Fires flickered all around. Men bound to stakes burned, their skin peeling away in strips. Marek saw a path that led from the hellish landscape.

Then he was running, sparks burning his skin. His escape was near; he could feel it. Only a few more steps and he'd be free to leave this place and find his uncle. Then a figure stepped out from behind one of the trees.

Marek crashed into a muscled chest. He fell onto his back and stared up into the hateful eyes of a man wearing a black sword. The stranger extended a hand, and Marek took it. The limb fell off as he did so. Blood sprayed across Marek's chest and neck. The man opened his mouth, but no words came out. Only a stream of hot blood emerged.

Marek tried to crawl backwards, but the man stomped on his chest and pinned him to the forest floor. Leaning over Marek's face, the man's blood cascaded into Marek's mouth and eyes.

Panicking, he wiped the blood away. When he could see again, it was his own face he encountered.

“Well done, Marek. I hope you’re proud.” The figure wearing his face smiled wide. “Murder looks good on you."

Marek sat up in a start. The light entering the cabin had the same dull gray of early morning. Somehow, he'd only slept a few minutes. His body trembled, and he wrapped the blanket tighter around himself and turned to see the stove was cold, not a single coal left burning.

"Finally," Mags said. His friend crossed the room and knelt beside him. "Marek, you look like shit. I thought you were going to die. Principalities, you sure know how to make a friend worry."

Teeth chattering, Marek only managed two words. "The fire?"

Mags sighed and shook her head. "Sorry, I let it go out. Things are... Well, I'll explain it all soon. When it’s nightfall, I'll light a small fire and we'll get some tea in you. I think you caught a cold when you..." She shook her head again and averted her gaze. "Anyway, you should change your clothes. You're soaking wet, and you can't warm up like that."

Marek complied, and a few minutes later he'd slowed the ceaseless shivering. Now with dry clothes, thick socks, and Mags' blanket draped over his shoulders, he regained the power of speech. "How long?" he asked, eyes flitting to the window and noticing it was darker outside, not lighter. “I slept all day?"

"More like two," Mags corrected. "Like I said, I thought you might be dying. You passed out and didn't move for hours. That’s when the fever hit. You've been rolling around and groaning ever since.” She paused, worry written plainly across her face. "Marek... who's Leyan?"

He remembered the man in his dream. Leyan, the deadly swordsman and bandit, the first mortal Marek had ever slain. "He was their leader," Marek answered flatly. "The man I took the black sword from."

A long pause stretched out between them. Finally, Mags laid a hand on Marek's shoulder and drew in a breath. "Those men didn't strike me as the generous type. How did you get this Leyan's sword? Please don't tell me you stole it."

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Marek's stomach groaned. It was empty and cramping, and bile threatened to rise in his throat. He pulled the blanket tighter. "After you fell asleep, I followed the bandits and found their camp. Then I ambushed them… They're all dead, Mags. They won't be coming after us any time soon."

His friend didn't react as badly as he'd feared. She pursed her lips and blinked away a few tears, then squeezed his shoulder. Finally, her composure crumbling, she crushed him in a fierce hug. "Okay," she said in his ear. "That's alright, Bones. Sometimes, killing needs to be done. We're alright now. We’re alright.”

Marek pressed a hand to his sternum. It felt like he’d been kicked in the chest. It was a strange phenomenon, expecting rebuke and disgust only to be confronted with acceptance by one he loved. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so unworthy of grace. And here his friend was, handing it out freely.

Anguish and gratitude ate through the ice shielding his heart. Whatever force had numbed him the night before fell away in that very moment. No longer suppressed, his emotions flowed like liquid steel. It was overwhelming. Like when one’s hands are warmed after being numb for hours, his heart ached with the return of feeling.

His eyes burned. His chest heaved. Marek realized he was sobbing. Mags held him tight, not speaking a word. She didn’t loosen her hold on him until the fit passed a minute later.

When it did, she withdrew and sat before him, eyes red and hair tousled. "Same happened to me after I killed my first kobold," Mags said with a sad smile. "I wasn't so brave, though. I waited until everyone was asleep before I let it out. Strange, ‘cause it wasn't like I had any regrets. The kobold was part of a raiding force. He almost seemed to seek me out. We traded blows for a while, and then, just like that, the kobold slipped." Her laugh was bitter. "Probably a bit of mud that saved my life. Soon as I saw the opening, I slammed my spear into his chest. I didn't do much more killing after, but I don't think it really matters. Once or twice is enough."

"Or three times," Marek said. He wiped his cheeks and sighed. "Oh, Mags, it's downright terrifying."

"I know."

"No, not the killing," he said. "My Class—it does something with my mind and emotions. Last night was... Judgement take me, but it was easy. Not the actual fight, mind you. That was damned brutal and a close thing. The decisions, though, were simple and clear. Even the cleanup was easier than it should have been. I looted them, Mags, like they were enemy soldiers on a field of battle. I emptied their pockets and took their keepsakes… The only thing I felt other than a bit of fear was a burning thrill."

He could tell Mags was trying not to react. He knew his best friend too well, however. The slight twitch at the corner of her eyebrow and a softening of her eyes. Again, she seemed afraid of him. "Didn't your uncle tell you not to use your abilities?"

Marek nodded.

"Why’d he say that? You didn't explain it to me. Are your powers evil? Is your soul in danger or something?”

"It's because of the madness," he said. "That's why I need to find an ironwood tree quickly. Mirrin thinks if I use my powers, the madness will set in faster. Not sure if he's right, but after last night, I think he might be."

"Then why do it?” she asked calmly. "Don't get me wrong, now. I'm pleased you got Lydia and our supplies back, but we didn't need riches. We might have been able to go back to Misthearth and replace what was lost. Was it really worth it?"

Marek's response came immediately. "It was. We couldn't complete any of our goals if I hadn't. Chances were too high I’d be caught if I went south again. Besides, without your bow, we’d probably starve.”

“That reminds me,” Mags said as she got to her feet. “Reason I let the fire go out is the same as why we’re changing our route. I saw a wagon pass yesterday afternoon, and a pair of riders this morning. The road isn’t as safe as we’d like to think it.”

“So what do you propose? We must go north,” Marek said firmly. “That isn’t an option.”

Mags began rifling through the baggage in the corner of the room. She answered with her back turned. “Aye, we will. There’s an old trapper’s trail we can reach if we travel through the forest a ways. It’ll take us longer to reach the Quartz Road, but we’ll get there in time.”

“I don’t know, Magpie. If you’re talking about the forest to our west, I think we might be worse off. Kobolds could find us, not to mention the beasts.”

The woman returned and sat back down. She held a large leather pouch in one hand and some bread and an apple in the other. She handed him the food and said, “Those bandits were worse than any kobolds. And I think we’ve been foolish to think the Casterans will leave us be for long. Besides, what happens if them fellows you killed have friends? I want to get as far from here as possible by the time someone notices they’re missing.”

Marek considered her words before responding. “I was thinking we should sell some things at the next town. Some of what I took wasn’t so easily identified.”

Mags arched an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah? Seems like this might draw some attention.” She let the sack of gold and trinkets thump on the floorboards. “Eat, Marek, and drink some water. When you’re finished, the two of us are gonna figure out what we should do about the treasure.”