Once at the outskirts of the town, The Wolves found several farms dotting the outer rim of the village. More buildings began congregating together, signs of businesses and homes marking them out for all to see. Finding a series of hitching posts to leave their horses, the freelancers made their way down the main street.

Townspeople made their wat through the streets. Most hardly giving The Wolves any notice save for a quick glance before going back to their business. One woman was standing on the wooden path resting before an inn and tavern, beating two rugs hung over a rail fence with a stick. A small black cat stepped out and looked towards The Wolves as they neared her.

“Aw,” Silvius said, “It’s a little kitty.”

Jeanne noticed Cid giving her a look. “What?”

“I was half expecting you to ask if that was a distant cousin or some other relative of mine.”

Jeanne balked. “I’m a little offended.”

“You gave me a ball of string as a holiday gift one year.”

“I keep tell you, it was because you cro-fucking-chet you mother fucking bastard!”

“Do you know what they’re jabbering about?” Gabriel asked Kveldulf.

“Oh the usual,” Kveldulf replied.

“Good morrow,” the woman said. “Are you new to Baerney?”

“We are,” said Cid, “we were hoping to find either the reeve or the sheriff.”

“I’d be the reeve you’re looking for. Though Ulren is still tending to a matter about boundaries for two of the farms and won’t be back for a while, I’d reckon. Is something the matter?”

“We found the remains of someone, a man, on the side of the road on the way up here. His name was Prydwen Silla, seemed to be a merchant of some sort.”

The woman put the beating stick down and walked over. “Silla’s dead?”

The rest of The Wolves nodded as Cid dismounted. “Sadly, yes. We suspect it was … not by accident.”

“Oh,” the woman said, turning away and wincing in pain. “We told him to wait until this whole mess blew over. Between the war waging, animals being feasted on, and Shepherd knows who’s been attacking people round the Meadowlands.”

“We are sorry to be the bearer of ill tidings.”

The woman shook her head. “You’re doing right bringing him here to get something of a proper burial.”

“Is there no one to give him his rites?” Jeanne asked.

The woman shook her head. “Not anymore. Many of the monks and priests were recalled back to the cities or with the armies to grant their soldiers The Grace of the Evergreen.”

“I’d thought there’d be more than one priest in any given parish.”

“True, though many tend to stay in their monasteries. Far away from the trials and tribulations of those they’re trying to save,” said the woman.

“Course,” Gabriel replied shaking her head.

“The grace of gods is for to enjoy, and doubly that when it’s for a nobleman,” Leonidas said, dismounting from his horse.

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

“He’ll have to wait with the others until Father Olwen comes back.”

“Any word when that will be?” Benkin asked.

“I wish I knew, but that’s not something for me to know it seems.”

The sound of footsteps alerted them to the arrival of a man approaching them. A man arrived, with a sigil of a sword resting in a circular crown behind it pinned to his chest. His left hand rubbed the back of his neck as he made his way forward. Each step seemingly taking more and more of an effort to trudge onward. There was a look of fatigue on the man’s face. Lines written deep on his forehead and cheeks.

His clothes displayed wear and tear, marks of dirt, sweat and only the Sheperd knew what else. As he spotted The Wolves and the woman he said in a tired voice, “Who are these Helen?”

“They just came in from the road, Robert. Found poor Prydwen not too far from here. Dead,” Helen replied.

“Oh no,” Robert removed his hat, placing it on his chest as he lowered his head. “Not another one.”

“Has this been happening often?” Kveldulf asked.

“At first no,” Robert replied. “Things were mostly calm, even when the war between Adelize and Aethelbert began. But when Lord Bellem began leaning towards Adelize and Lord Kolville and his ilk began to remember their vagrant courage, that’s when our troubles began.”

“As the new Kolville don nothing to assist the matter?” Jeanne asked.

“If he has, we haven’t seen it,” Robert replied bluntly. “Though his predecessor left much to fix in his wake.”

“Well, where should put Prydwen before he can be given a proper goodbye?” Kveldulf asked.

“I can take you over to the church,” Robert said, “there’s a crypt that’s being used as a holding area of sorts until they can be buried proper.”

“Wouldn’t that create a smell after a while?” Silvius asked.

Robert shook his head solemnly. “We’ve gotten used to it by now,” he said before waving them over to follow.

“Kel, if you could bring the good Pyrdwen with us, please?” Cid asked.

Kveldulf nodded, grabbing the remains after dismounting his horse.

The Wolves exchanged uncomfortable glances before making their way to the local church. The building was made of a main rectangular structure with several extensions jutting out and a tall tower rising above the rest. The stone façade was dark, the windows around the building was darker and the shutters, when opened, showed little of the inside.

“Is anyone else getting an ominous feeling, presently?” Silvius asked.

“I think I might stay out here,” said Maeryn, holding her hand over her nose.

“Why don’t you, Sil, Hy, and Gabriel stay out here. Kel, if you could bring good Prydwen inside?”

Kveldulf nodded as he brought the body inside the church.

“The building itself was built long during the time of the Rubican Empire’s rule over these lands. The church was dedicated to the goddess, Aurea Fon, to win her favor for rich harvests. When the empire left it soon became a monastery for the Order of St. Scapha back in the reign of King Aelfnoth the Victorious, when he was fighting The Great Horde of Thorin the Cruel.”

“That’s hop, skip, and jump in time,” Silvius said.

“One way to put it,” Robert replied. “Many of the farms and other buildings set up around the town were to help the monastery’s daily operations. After the clash between King Olbert of Keelgard and The Holy See back in Remus did the monastery lose most of its autonomy.”

“But it’s still running?” Jeanne asked.

“Mostly because it had been a part of the town for centuries at that point, and it was the only church in a twenty-mile radius.”

“Ah,” Jeanne replied, “practicality at its finest.”

“Still, gave people a place to find a sense of community and solace. At least before the two upstarts began warring on each other.”

“Not a supporter of either claimant?” Cid asked.

“My king died five years ago. These two are glorified children who don’t seem to understand the first thing of ruling a people.”

“Well, eventually they’ll fight it out until someone is left standing,” Maeryn said.

“And towns will be left burning, people left hanging, and entire shires left as complete wastelands?” Leonidas asked.

“I’m just trying to keep my part of earth as far away from the mess as I can,” Robert said. “Though it’s been getting harder as time goes by.”

Inside the nave of the church were rows of pews. Many covered in dust and showing long signs of unuse. The columns, hewed from brilliant white marble, gave no shine, even when struck by the rays of the sun. The carpet running down the middle of the hall, was matted down with years of use, drowning out the rich crimson with brown stains of dirt and mud.

The altar rested at the far back of the nave, sectioned off by a rail long since having lost it luster. The gilded golds and silvers in the etchings of the curved ceiling behind were dulled, almost returning to their natural semblance, far from the jeweled beauty it once had. Resting on the altar itself was a white stone statue, made in the image of a man. In his left hand was a curved staff, his right hand held aloft with the first and second fingers pointing straight into the air and the other two curled inward. The figure was dressed in plain robes, one of a man of simple origins, simpler wants, and simplest of needs.