‘I hope you realise I cannot allow you to marry my daughter, after this,’ the Baron of Umlok said. ‘Third daughter or otherwise, even one so low down the line of inheritance should not marry someone of… your social status. I endured the thought to keep my family happy—the gods know this to be an impossible task—but after the escape… Well, you see how it must be.’

Lambkin blinked lamely at the baron, hearing the words but somehow also not quite understanding them. They stood in an otherwise empty chamber in the castle, the baron sat upon a throne far too grand for anyone but a monarch, and Lambkin staring up at him from the bottom of a tall set of stairs. The baron did enjoy looming over people, Lambkin knew, but he’d never before been on this end of it. ‘But, my liege, we are in love. We are meant to be. We are—’

‘I say what is meant to be, when it comes to my land and my family, Lambkin.’

‘It was one escape, I—’

‘Two,’ the baron replied.

‘Two escapees,’ Lambkin clarified, ‘but one escape.’

When the baron didn’t reply, he realised that this detail was lost on his employer.

‘I appreciate an escape isn’t ideal,’ Lambkin continued, and the baron raised his eyebrows at the descriptor “ideal”, ‘and that the blame must land at the feet of your head of guard—me—but—’

‘There is to be no more “but”s, Lambkin. A tragedy has occurred—a slaughter of a town under my supervision. Do you see how this makes me look? The one saving grace was that we had a suspect in custody. Someone that we might point to and say, “It is under control. The threat is over.” Yet somebody let them escape.’

‘If it’s any consolation, sir, I don’t think this “Styk” fellow could’ve been the one to do it. He—’

The baron waved Lambkin down. ‘I’m not interested in your facts, Lambkin. Only results. Do you understand?’

‘I—’

‘And this is one bad result too many. I have to ask you to turn in your bow and your badge.’

‘I don’t have a badge, sir,’ Lambkin replied, ‘and I brought my own bow from home.’

The baron raised his eyebrows once more. ‘You weren’t provided equipment by the armourer?’

‘No, sir.’ Before the baron could speak once more, Lambkin continued. ‘If I may, sir, there must be some other way this can all turn out. I’ve done good work before. Do you remember when your second cousin—the farmer—had his sheep stolen? I found them, didn’t I? I returned them to him?’

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‘Except for their heads, yes.’

‘And I know there is a certain status that comes along with employing one of the highest-levelled archers in the Gentle Tundras, sir.’

‘The second-highest-levelled, Lambkin. Let us not dance around that point.’

‘First or second, it matters not; I could still shoot an apple off a sheep’s head at one hundred yards.’

‘Is that what happened to those sheep’s…’ The baron trailed off, apparently not wanting an answer. ‘Look, Lambkin. It’s over. There’s nothing left to say.’

But the previous head of guard wouldn’t give up so easily. ‘And there is—’

‘Lambkin!’ the baron shouted, ‘I’ve spoken, Lambkin. I’ve spoken.’ He sighed, deeply, and this was the only suggestion the baron gave that he didn’t relish making this decision. The two men stood in silence, not making eye contact, for a moment longer, until the baron’s mouth twisted as something occurred to him.

‘What kind of name is Lambkin, anyway?’ the baron asked. ‘Friend of Lambs? Do you have witch blood in your veins, Lambkin?’

The ex-head of guard held up his hands to protest his innocence. ‘No, sir. My family were farmers, sir. Lamb farmers. That’s all. I—’

‘It isn’t very friendly to the lambs, though, is it? Farming them? I mean, you do slaughter them at the end of that process?’

‘After being kind to them, sir, I assure you.’

The baron narrowed his eyes, pressing his lips together. ‘Perhaps I should have sent a man to the archives earlier. Perhaps I should have pulled out your family history.’

‘Please do, sir, if it would make you feel more comfortable about me marrying Sae. I have nothing—’

But the baron interrupted. ‘We have discussed that already, I thought? You will not be marrying her, no matter the result. This only decides whether or not you are burned at the stake.’

‘Sir, please, I—’

‘I think this conversation has rather gone on long enough, don’t you?’ the baron turned to the other end of the chamber. ‘Guards!’ he called out, and the doors swung open. ‘If you will please escort Captain Lamb— Sorry, Mister Lambkin out of the castle.’

‘Sir!’ Lambkin cried. ‘There must be something I can do!’ Two of his once employees grabbed him by an arm each, dragging him across the stone floor. ‘Anything! You want results? I’ll give you results! Any results you want, I’ll—’

But the doors to the baron’s reception room slammed closed behind them, and the guards continued dragging him until they reached the front gate.

‘Noz, Bart,’ Lambkin tried. ‘You’re good men. You know you don’t want to do this to me. You know—’

‘I’m sorry, boss,’ Noz said, averting his eyes before dropping Lambkin to the ground.

‘Yeah,’ the other guard echoed. ‘Sorry, boss. We don’t… It’s just orders, you know?’

The two guards returned to the gate, then stopped for one last look at their former captain, lying on the wet dirt. Noz opened his mouth as if to say something, then thought better of it. He shook his head, and they disappeared back into the barony, leaving the ex-captain truly alone for the first time in years.

Lambkin wasn’t the kind of man to give up so easily. He was a good man. He would be good to Sae. She would be good for him. And they would marry, some day. All he needed to do was to redeem himself. To find the man the baron thought responsible for Plainside.

He needed to hunt down the man known to him only as “Styk”.

If that was his real name.