The midday rush was finally tapering down, giving Hilda a moment to breathe behind the bar. The Dancing Bear was still nearly full, but the patrons were all served and fresh mugs of what passed for beer, rested in their hands. Lissa had the tables under control, and Hilda was left alone with her thoughts. She unconsciously grabbed a mug and began to polish its surface with a rag.

The patron’s voices were hushed, but they all talked about the same thing: The executions going on in the square. Hilda chewed on the corner of her lip and glanced at her daughter. She’d never been more worried. Maybe James was right. Maybe she was being a fool. Their lives weren’t so bad. Lissa may never be anything more than a barkeep, but at least she would be alive. Safe.

Her throat tightened. And she set the mug gently on the counter. But if it wasn’t for these people, then there never would have been danger. Her worry caught flame and turned into a simmering anger. She thought she hated them before, but it only got worse and now the Earl’s men were helping with this abomination. And Grim… She couldn’t help the feeling of betrayal. She’d always looked up to the Thorne family. Her husband, her brother in law, and her father had all served them faithfully in the war and it was the Earl who brought her husband home.

Tears began to form in her eyes as her emotions writhed within her. She struck the mug from the bar. The glass skidded across the dirt floor, not even giving her the satisfaction of destruction.

“Something I said?”

Hilda jumped and looked up to see Marc sitting across the bar from her. She chuckled mirthlessly. “I was practicing for next time you try to be witty.”

Marc grinned, but there was no humor in it. She could see the anger in his eyes that reflected her own. He pulled out a golden Hart and laid it on the table. “Something strong. Two if you’re interested.”

Hilda nodded and knelt low to the ground. she reached her arm into a small crack in the wall. Something hiding inside scurried away from her grasping hand. She ignored it and found the bottle within. She pulled out her prize. It was nothing fancy, but the bottle of whiskey was of a high enough quality that an inner-city tavern might consider putting it on their bottom shelf. She pulled out two cups from the bar and filled them to the brim.

Marc raised an eyebrow at her. “A woman after my own heart.”

She reached out and lightly smacked his face. “Your first warning.”

Marc chuckled, a hint of true mirth creeping into his eyes. It soon faded. He lifted his cup and took a long draw. Hilda followed his lead.

Lissa came up to the bar and looked up at her uncle with her hands firmly planted on her hips. Marc looked down at her with the first real smile Hilda had seen on his face today.

“Hey dove, how’s my favorite little lady doing today? Come give me a hug.”

Lissa stayed right where she stood while Marc’s arms hung awkwardly in the air. The man slowly lowered them and sighed. “I sure have a way with women today,” he grumbled to himself.

Lissa narrowed her eyes at him. “Maybe you can get a hug when you stop robbing my friends.”

Marc blinked, taken aback. “What do you mea- Oh. You’re talking about Kid.”

Lissa nodded, brow furrowed. “I thought better of you. I guess you proved me wrong.”

Marc frowned. “You’re right Lissa. It seems wrong of me to take that money from him. But believe me, I did the boy a favor. You know how it is around here. How long do you think he would have been able to hold onto that money?”

Lissa frowned. “That’s not the point.”

Marc nodded. “I know. You’re right. How about this? I assume you know he’s working for me now?” Lissa nodded. “Okay then, I’ll pay him back the money slowly as he finishes jobs. That way he isn’t so tempting a target and I can do right by him.”

Lissa narrowed her eyes at him. “What’s the catch?”

Marc smiled. “No catch.” He opened his arms for a hug. “Do we have a deal?”

Lissa smiled and embraced her uncle. Hilda cleared her throat. “Lissa, go work the tables. Marc and I need to talk for a bit.”

The girl nodded and bounced away to her duties. Marc closed his eyes, newfound irritation written across his face. “The catch is that I’m going to beat the little bastard half to death with his own arm if he makes it back,” Marc growled in a low voice.

Hilda smiled, her dark mood rising for a moment. “Go easy on him. I doubt that was his idea. Kid’s a lot of things, but he’s not stupid.”

Marc sighed and dove back into his drink. “I was in the marketplace Hil.”

Hilda froze as she reached for her drink, her eyes finding Marc’s. He continued, “As soon as we got word of the stage being set up and the prisoners being marched out, I gathered our forces and made for the market. Those are the loved ones and friends of men and women who gave their lives for me.” Marc paused and took another drink.

“We had the whole thing set up. A clear line of fire to the stage, wagons to block the roads and a safe house to hide them till things calmed down. Then they came surrounded by the Earl’s men. I couldn’t do it Hil. I couldn’t give the order. I just watched those people die. No. I let them die.” He choked on a sob, planting his hands on his forehead and leaning against the bar. “Divines Hil. I need you to tell me- I need-” Marc paused, struggling to find the words. “Did I make the right call?”

Hilda lifted her drink to her lips and drank deeply, the liquor burned her throat and seemed to light the fire inside her that had been doused. “You said it to me best yourself, Marc. There is only what is necessary. You made that call. Starting a war with the Earl does nothing for us. We have to keep our mission in sight. We can’t save every life. We can only make their deaths meaningful.” She reached out and grabbed him by the hand.

He squeezed her hand and looked up into her eyes. The sorrow she saw there was slowly replaced by a piercing coldness. “I’m going to make them pay a bucket for every drop of blood they spilled today. I swear by the Reaper, on my life be it.”

James chose that moment to walk out of the back room, sawdust coating his patchwork shirt. Hilda snatched her hand from Marc’s, realizing immediately afterwards that that only made her more suspicious looking.

James’s disfigured face contorted into a scowl as he approached his brother. He grabbed Marc by the shoulder and leaned in closely. “I thought I told you not to come around here anymore.”

“James please,” Hilda said.

James closed his eyes tightly and held a hand up to her. “Don’t defend him.” He turned back to Marc. “Get out.”

Marc shook his head. “Please don’t make me go James. I know I haven’t been the best brother, but today of all days, I just want to be uncle Marc for a few hours. Please.”

James’s visage softened, and he released his hand from Marc’s shoulder. He hesitated. “Okay. But from now on if you want to talk to me or my family you send one of your little rats over. Don’t come into my home.”

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Marc nodded. “Thank you.”

***

A dozen shades of blood covered the stage. Grim sat panting on the stool by the gallows as he nursed his shoulder. After executing another two prisoners, the rest started to opt for mercy. But that final bastard must have been an old soldier. He gave Grim a solid blow on the shoulder and even split some of the links in his mail. Luckily, they dulled the axes given to prisoners. Grim chuckled humorlessly.

Harren stood on the far side of the platform, watching as the guardsmen carried the last of the corpses off the stage and piled them onto a wagon. It was already beginning to smell. A frown creased his face.

“Not as glorious as you hoped it’d be?” Grim asked him.

Harren shook his head and walked down the stairs of the stage, ignoring Grim. Grim sighed and rose to his feet, the last to leave the stage. His boots stuck to the ground beneath him as he walked. The congealed blood beginning to squelch. The sound chilled his bones.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs he turned to Edgar. “Captain, take the bodies and ensure they receive a proper burial.”

Edgar nodded and turned to leave but Billy grabbed him by the shoulder. “Let me. Please.”

Grim nodded and Billy looked about to say something, but he closed his mouth and walked away without another word. Grim watched the man go. He would have to talk to him soon. Grim was already working hard to repress the memories of today. Divines, he needed a drink. His flask had run out long ago.

Edgar put a hand on his shoulder. “You okay Grim?”

Grim blinked and shook his head. “What?”

“The men are ready to move out.”

Grim nodded and raised his fist in the air, signaling with two fingers for two columns. The guardsmen quickly formed up behind him and Harren took a spot next to Grim. Grim threw his hand forward, signaling the advance. Then they began to march, leaving Grim alone with his thoughts once more. He was almost relieved when Harren spoke.

“You’re right. This wasn’t what I was expecting.” The following silence hung heavy between the two men as they walked through the quickly parting crowd. Eyes stared at them. Equal amounts fearful and accusatory. Grim understood shame. It was practically bred into him. But what he felt now was deeper, darker. It rippled under his flesh, threatening to consume him. He understood it as hate.

Grim clenched his fists. They made him the monster. It all made sense why Longreen wanted him. The streets grew quiet wherever they marched as Grim led them back to the Greencloak keep. A thousand eyes were always on him, and Grim knew more than a few would like to stick a knife in him. He was half expecting an arrow to come flying towards him at any moment.

Grim’s nerves were frayed by the time they reached the keep doors. He didn’t think he’d ever be relieved to walk through them. But there he was, being saluted by Greencloak soldiers as he walked down the path toward the estate. Grim pulled the green cloak from his shoulders and tossed it to the side of the road. The weight of it made him sick. More than a few of the men behind him followed suit as they entered the garden before the estate.

Marshal Longreen was waiting in the courtyard in front of a complement of Greencloaks. He must have received advance word of their arrival. Grim wanted nothing more than to plant an axe between the man’s eyes. “It’s done,” he said.

The marshal nodded. “Excellent work Harren.”

The nobleman frowned but he nodded all the same. “Thank you, sir.”

“You look troubled son. Something on your mind?”

Harren hesitated before speaking. “It just seemed a bit excessive sir.”

The Marshal nodded slowly. “I’ll be sure to write that in the letters I have to send to widows in Venar. Harren Barrington thought my response to the death of their loved ones was excessive.” Longreen narrowed his eyes. “I think they’ll disagree.”

Harren swallowed and looked down. “No need for that, sir.”

The Marshal walked up to Harren and put a hand on the man’s shoulder. Grim’s pulse quickened as Longreen neared. It took all the restraint his father had hammered into him not to attack the man. The Marshal didn’t so much as look at Grim as he spoke to Harren.

“There is something that you have to understand, son. It’s something that every leader in Venar must come to terms with. Ignore whatever divine bullshit your priest told you about what is right. The sins we create today pave the path to a better tomorrow. It’s a bit before your time, but only twenty years ago people in this godforsaken nation used to burn the northern flatlands of our home for sport and wealth.” He turned his head to Grim. “This bastard’s father used to capture our people by the dozens and sell them across the sea to the Tarans. An unforgivable crime.”

The marshal removed his hand from Harren’s shoulder. “Come. We’ll have a spot of brandy while we talk. As they walked away the Marshal called over his shoulder. “You too bastard.”

Grim scowled. He had been hoping to be done with Longreen for the day. He followed them through the main doors, into the elaborate entry hall. Longreen nodded to the men standing guard as they saluted sharply. Grim looked over his shoulder through the open door, watching as his men began to find comfortable places to lounge about the courtyard.

Divines, that phrase still felt strange in his mind. His men. A feeling of responsibility weighed on him. He had to think of them before he did anything stupid. Was this what his father always felt like? The thought made Grim frown as he climbed the stairwell behind Harren.

They emerged onto the second floor and turned right, passing the giant banner bearing the crest of the king. The second floor was no less extravagant than the first. Porcelain vases sat upon tables liberally decorated with gold leaf. More soldiers dressed in heavy bronze armor patrolled the halls, spears shining in the light from the candelabras. Wide windows let in generous amounts of sunlight, making the gold shine and underlining the incredible level of cleanliness. However, he didn’t see a single servant in sight. The place seemed too pristine, almost sterile. It felt like nobody lived here.

The Marshal stopped at a door and twisted a bronze bulb coming out of the wood. There was a click and he pulled the door open. Grim looked curiously at it as he passed. Where was the latch? He shook his head and walked into the room. It appeared to be a small sitting room with two chairs, a fireplace and a small bar holding elaborate glass bottles filled with clear and brown liquid. A butler in a neatly tailored green jacket stood at attention beside it.

“Tan, three Borish brandies,” Longreen said.

The butler immediately set to work fetching glasses and pouring the liquor.

The marshal took a seat in one of the chairs and gestured for Harren to take the other. Then he turned to Grim. “Light us a fire.”

Grim bristled, but he kept a calm façade painted across his face as he bent over to put logs into the fireplace. If nothing else, his father had prepared him well for hiding his emotions. As Grim struck the tinder, the Marshal began to speak. He gestured at Grim.

“See that. He wants nothing more than run me through with that fire poker. You can see it in his eyes. He understands how I used him, how I weakened his family.”

Grim grimaced. It was as if the man read his mind.

“But he won’t.” Longreen turned to Harren as the butler placed a glass of brandy in his hand. “He knows who holds the reins of power here. He knows that if he touches me, hell will rain down on not only this city, but his entire country.” He took a sip of his brandy as Harren took his glass from the butler.

“The Rillman is not a stupid creature, only an infuriatingly stubborn one. We took a census after the war and found that we had to kill almost a third of the male population before they capitulated. We lost nearly twice that number. I was only a captain when we first occupied this city and Divines help me, but I will never forget the early riots. Those damnable masks they wore and still wear. It was nearly a year before the city stopped smelling of putrid blood. If we hadn’t killed the king in battle, then God only knows how much longer they would have fought the inevitable. Peasants are easily replaced but every officer fallen makes Venar the lesser. It is my duty to make sure another war like that never happens.”

The Marshal paused to take another drink, then he stared into the now budding fire. Grim took his glass from the butler and drained it in a single drink. The Marshal regarded him. “It’s not their fault really. They can’t help their nature, their lack of self-control.” Grim gritted his teeth. “Like the Borish and the Caldeans before them, we have to tame them to build a world where men no longer act like beasts. The Rillman is-” He paused, searching for the word. “Uncivilized. It is our duty to tame him.”

“And what if you fail?” Grim asked, through gritted teeth.

The marshal shrugged. “It’s enough that you obey for now. Fortunately, your sister is turning into a quite quaint Venaran lady and I’m sure she’ll make a lovely bride to some fine Venaran nobleman.” Longreen chuckled. “It’s already over Grim. You just haven’t realized it yet. My job is just to maintain order until it becomes clear.”

He turned back to Harren. “Do you understand now? We are not here to do what is right. We are here to secure the destiny our people deserve. Someday our king will rule all that is under the sun and our world will be better for it.”

Harren nodded slowly. “I understand.”

Longren turned to Grim. “And you bastard, do you understand?”

Grim said nothing, not bothering to hide his distaste.

Longreen chuckled. “See? Nothing if not predictable. You may go Grim. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”