“Can he speak?” Harin asked.

Four men turned in surprise, their faces painted with shock at seeing their king.

“My liege,” All four dropped to their knees.

Geral stepped forward with Brago, waving for the men to move out of the way.

Across the timber wall of the camp was splayed the last assassin that had tried to kill Harin. His arms were tied up with ropes, slung across the wall from hooks attached to the top of the wall with spikes. The ropes were put through the hooks, and then tied to stakes buried in the earth.

The man’s legs had been beaten, blood and bruises covering them. This face a pulp of flesh and blood. His clothes stained dark from the beating he’d endured.

“Your king asked you a question, can he speak?” Geral growled, inspecting the assassin.

The man on the far right glanced to Harin, averted his gaze and then back to Harin.

Harin pointed. “Speak, now,”

The man looked down again. As Harin was about to command the solider to speak, the man cleared his throat.

“We didn’t do this, the Praetorian’s delivered him like this,” The man glanced up.

Harin nodded. “What say you Legate Brago?”

Brago’s cheeks turned rose red. “I will investigate, with your leave sire,”

Harin gave a sharp nod.

Brago looked at Anastasia, then have a salute to Geral and Harin.

Harin watched the Praetorian go, his mind heavy with indecision about the Praetorian. Would he be able to forgive the man? He’d said as much to his sister, and to Brago, but the ugly head of anger had reared it’s ugly head in his heart. He was angry with Brago. He didn’t know how long that would last.

“Cut him down, and leave us,” Harin saif to the four soldiers.

The four soldiers went about their task without comment, glancing to Geral and then Harin as they did.

The assassin came to the ground with a grunt of pain from the battered man. Harin waited for the men to slip the restraints off and then to go.

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“Sire, I think I’ll go first,” Geral put his hand up in front of Harin.

“Aye old man,” Harin muttered.

Geral smirked, and stepped forward to the would be killer of the king.

Harin followed, kneeling slightly behind and to the side of Geral. Geral picked up the man’s head, gently, as if he were picking up an egg.

“Tell me lad, where are you from?”

Geral tucked the man’s long hair behind his ear with his free hand.

The man flinched at the touch.

“Easy, easy,” Geral shushed the man. “You’ll not be hurt while I’m here, I promise you lad,”

“I - I am from the north,” The man muttered.

Geral reached back to his side and pulled a wine skin from his side. He uncorked it, and slowly poured some into the man’s mouth. The man choked and spit it up.

“Easy lad, it’ll sooth the pain,” Geral offered the skin again.

The man took a drink, wincing as he swallowed.

Harin watched with surprise, the gentle nature of Geral in contrast to the martial man he knew the Legate to be.

“How’d you get pulled into this?” Geral asked.

The man closed his eyes and shook his head.

“Why not lad, why not? I promise you that the worst is over, the pain is almost over,” Geral smiled down at the beaten man.

The man opened his eyes and looked back at Harin. “I’m sorry, they threatened my girls, they threatened my wife. They told me -”

The man started coughing, a wet and phlegmy cough. Harin shivered from the sound. He’d heard it after fights, when a man’s lungs were filling with blood and liquid. There was not saving this man now. He was as good as dead.

Harin fought not to gag. The man’s breath, as he coughed was dark. The smell of sweet sickness on it.

Geral offered the wine skin again. The man drank.

“Tell me, who was it?” Geral said.

The man shook his head.

“Who were they, who made you do this? Tell us and we will find your family, protect them,” Geral said.

The mans eyes were wide. “Do you swear it?”

“I swear it, tell me truthfully who had you try and kill the king, and I will find your family, protect them,”

The man looked from Geral to Harin. “I’m sorry, they said they’d kill my girls. I couldn’t say no. They were mercenaries. They took my girls and my wife when they were at the service. A new church, they were mercenaries, hired to protect the new church in the north,”

“Who did they work for?” Geral prodded.

The man shifted uncomfortably, trying to roll away from Geral.

Geral grabbed his head in both hands, shaking him. “Tell me who they worked for! Tell me now!”

Harin stepped forward to stop Geral, but stopped himself. He wanted to know, he needed to know. Who were these mercenaries? Who were they working for?

“They worked for the Church! That’s all I know!” The man started crying.

Geral dropped the man’s head and spit in disgust.

“He doesn’t know any more, does he?” Harin asked.

Geral shook his head.

“Tell me you will find them, tell me, We were north of the Pass, just beneath the Car Lauch, a village called Ahmer!”

Geral pulled a dagger from his belt and stabbed the man in the head, driving the blade through the man’s temple.

“No!” Harin shouted.

Geral dropped the man’s head, now limp from his one hand and spit on him.

“You said you’d not hurt him, you said we’d protect his family.” Harin said.

Harin clenched his fists, shaking with anger.

Geral wiped his knife off on the dead man’s shirt, then inspected it before sheathing it. “I told him the truth, sire. I killed him, he wasn’t hurt by my hands, was he now? As for his family, he tried to kill mine, I’ll not loose any sleep over his death,”

Harin closed his eyes and took a long breath.

“When you speak of such things, when I am here, you invoke my honor. I will not have it shamed, Geral,”

Geral narrowed his eyes in question.

“He said the mercenaries took his family after they were at a service. It has to be at a Church of Zufier. It was so in the south, my father killed a garrison, burned a church down. His letter said they’d had to in order to get to some truth. That they church was involved with the Council,”

Geral pursed his lips.

“What do you know?” Harin asked.

Geral sighed. “Your father had informants inside the church. They were working for his spymaster. They say that the Church is funded by the Council. They are one in the same. The information the Church gathers goes straight to the Council,”

Harin nodded. It was what his fathers last letter had said. One he’d sent directly from Landor a week before, the bird had found Anastasia. She’d told him it was from her own Aviary.

“Spread the word. No one in, no one out,” Harin said.

“And The Council?”

“I will handle them in my own time. For now, no one speaks of this. They do not need to know it failed,”

Geral nodded and began to leave.

“Geral,” Harin said, staring at the dead body before him.

“Aye, sire?” Geral said form behind him.

“Find this man’s family. Dispatch a squad. We honor our word in Landor,”

Harin waited, but Geral said nothing. The moment stretched on, then Harin heard his footfalls receding.