The road and surrounding hills seemed to stretch endlessly. It was the second day since they’d left Bleakridge, and the morning light warmed their back as they rode westward along a well-traveled dirt road running between the hills. Grim’s legs were already sore as all hells. He hadn’t ridden this much since he’d first learned how as a boy.

He’d stowed the plates of his armor, opting to only wear his chain after leaving the confines of Bleakridge. He was still surprised nothing had happened as they’d left the city. It seemed unusual, but perhaps the Veneran precautions had dissuaded the Sons.

Grim frowned, his eyes alighting on a column of black smoke on the horizon. None of the other contestants had passed them to his knowledge unless they’d rode through the night. He looked to Edgar, seeing the same thoughts written across his face.

“Brian,” Grim called, nodding toward the smoke.

The boy frowned as he caught sight of it. “That’s more than a campfire,” he said.

Grim nodded his agreement, hand reaching to where his weapons were still strapped to the saddle. The smoke drew closer with each passing moment, its source seeming to be over the rise of the next hill. The road skirted the rocky edifice bringing them around to reveal the sight of a smoldering barn next to a thatch house adjoining the road. The door to the home was splintered as if it had been kicked in.

Grim swallowed as he readied his axe, leaving the road to investigate further. He could hear Brian and Edgar on his heels, quiet as death. The stead was quiet, no sounds coming from either building save for the crackling of the fire. Grim took a deep breath as he dismounted, pulling his axe from its straps.

“Should we be stopping here?” Brian whispered, his eyes darting across the surrounding hills.

Grim and Edgar ignored him. Grim waved at Edgar in a circular motion, signaling for him to circle around the back of the house. The soldier obliged with a grunt as he armed himself and stalked around the rear of the house. Grim gestured for Brian to follow him and, without waiting for a response, advanced toward the shattered front door.

He searched for any sound of movement from within the home and heard nothing, but he could smell the spilled blood inside even over the smoke from the barn. His grip tightened around the haft of his axe as he pushed the broken door inward. It groaned and grated against the floor, making Grim wince.

Inside, the home was sparse. What little furniture it held was scattered and broken, small pools of blood betraying the clear signs of a struggle. Grim didn’t see anyone or any bodies, but there were two rooms on the far side of the complex, their doors closed.

Grim stomped across the open room. It was warm inside, the wood furnace still lit as if people had been here only a short time ago. He froze as a creak sounded from the far side of the house. Edgar or somebody else?

He looked over his shoulder to see Brian on his heels, a hunting knife clutched in one hand as the boy looked nervously about the room. Grim let out a slow breath, steadying his nerves and continued to the door on the left. As he pulled the latch, the door burst open, sending him reeling.

A screaming woman tackled him, nearly knocking him from his feet. Something hit his shoulder, scraping against his mail. Grim caught his balance and grabbed her by the throat with his free hand. He heaved forward and slammed her to the ground with all his strength, wincing as his shoulder protested the exertion.

Dust rose from the floor as she cracked against it, her breaths now coming in wheezes. The kitchen knife she’d been holding clattered across the room. Grim scanned the room for threats and saw nothing else.

The second door burst open to reveal Edgar, weapon at the ready. The man frowned as he saw the woman on the ground who was now openly sobbing at Grim’s feet, whatever fight was in her having faded.

Grim ran a finger across where the knife had struck his shoulder. Not so much as a scratch in the armor. He sighed, lowering his axe. The girl couldn’t have been much older than Ilyena, and looked like she’d missed a week’s worth of meals. There was no blood on her clothing, indicating she hadn’t been a part of whatever violence had happened here.

“Anything around the back?” Grim asked.

“Bodies,” Edgar answered. “Stripped,” he added.

Grim cocked his head.

“For meat,” Edgar clarified.

Grim’s stomach churned at that admission. He looked down at the girl, feeling bad for having been so rough with her. He had a feeling she was a victim in this. He ran a gloved hand through his hair.

“Edgar, keep a watch outside. Brian, get her something to eat.” Grim commanded.

Both followed his orders without question or comment, leaving him alone with the girl. Grim released her, walking across the room, nudging broken furniture out of his way as he went, and retrieved the girl’s knife.

Her eyes were equal parts sorrow and terror as he walked back to her, though she didn’t say a word. Grim flipped the knife in his hand, catching it by the blade and held it out to her. “You can have this back, if you promise not to use it on me again.”

It wasn’t as if she were much of a threat even with the blade.

Her hands shook as she accepted the knife, wincing as she forced herself into a sitting position against the nearby wall. He let his gaze drift across the devastated home. “What happened here?”

She shook her head, eyes clenched shut as she drew her knees to her chest. The silence drew out for a long moment before she spoke, voice close to breaking. “They came before but not like this.”

“Who?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I think they were coming from Bleakridge. Hundreds of people were passing by on the road every day. Some of them would come and beg for food,” she said, “My da helped them until we started running low. It didn’t go over well after that. They were angrier and angrier every day.”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Grim frowned. He had a feeling he knew where this was going. Yesterday our door got kicked in and Da yelled at me and ma to run. I got out the back and somebody grabbed me. Ma lit into him, and I don’t know what happened. I ran,” she sobbed, “I left them.”

Grim ran a hand through his hair. “What’s your name?”

“Wayled,” she said, choking out the word.

“You did the right thing,” he said, “There was nothing you could have done.” The lie fell from his lips, sounding unconvincing to his own ears. He knew full well the girl would likely have been better off to have died with her family.

Wayled shook her head, burying her face in her knees. Behind Grim, the door creaked open as Brian returned with a fistful of hard tack and dried meat. He held the food out in offering to the girl, but she refused to stir.

Brian looked to Grim, cocking his head. “Refugees from Bleakridge. Probably starving along the way.” Grim explained. “Hundreds,” he added.

Brian frowned. “Should we be out here right now?”

Grim shrugged, returning his attention to the girl. “We can take you somewhere safe,” he said, knowing such a place likely didn’t exist for a girl alone- but anywhere would be better than here.

She shook her head, face still buried between her knees. “I won’t leave them again.”

Grim sighed. What was he going to do? Tie her to his horse and post a guard on her every night only to abandon her at the next town? “I understand,” he whispered. He glanced around the broken room. “Did your Da have a shovel?”

She peeked up at him and raised a hand, pointing toward a broken cupboard. Grim walked over, kicking debris out of his path. On closer inspection there was a rack inside for holding tools. Many were missing, but there was still an iron hoe and shovel secured to the rack.

Grim undid the bindings and pulled the tools out. He turned to Brian and tossed the boy the shovel as he rested the hoe over his shoulder. “We have graves to dig,” he said. It was the only thing they could really do.

Brian looked about to protest, his eyes drifting to the front door. His mind had doubtless drifted to the competition. Any objection died on his lips as he turned back to see Wayled looking up at him.

Brian nodded and followed Grim to the backdoor of the home. Grim pushed it open, the light stinging his eyes. He could smell the blood already. He swallowed, fighting the urge to retch as he caught sight of the butchered corpses. It was messy and something nobody should have to see of their parents. He tore his eyes from the sight and walked a ways beyond the house. Behind him, he heart Brian emptying his stomach by the house.

Grim took a deep breath before raising the hoe into the air and bringing it down to sink into the hard, rocky earth. Brian joined him a moment later, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “Why would anybody do that?” he asked.

Grim grunted as he pulled dirt from the earth. “Desperation.”

Brian was quiet a moment before he set to digging a hole a few paces from Grim. He’d never actually dug a grave himself or even used a hoe for that matter and found himself surprised by just how quickly he found himself growing weary. The passage of time was measured in the cold breaths of air escaping from his lungs as sweat beaded along his brow despite the chill.

Edgar had come around the back to check on them, noting that it looked like they had matters well in hand before disappearing around the corner once more. Hours must have passed, and the graves still only came up to Grim’s waist. He had discovered a newfound respect for grave keepers. He flexed his hands, feeling the beginning of blisters even through is gloves. Seeing Grim pause, Brian fell against the edge of his hole, panting.

Grim wiped the sweat from his brow, looking up to the sun hanging high in the sky and then back down to the shallow graves. “This will have to do.”

Brian sighed with relief, his shoulders slumping. “Any more manual labor you’d like to do?”

Grim nodded toward where the corpses lay. “Somebody has to fill the holes.”

Brian slumped.

“Go get Edgar, and drag him over here,” Grim said

Brian smiled weakly. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”

Grim crawled from the grave, as Brian set out to fetch Edgar. His eyes alighted on the corpses, there was hardly any skin left on the bones- most of what remained being offal and bloody, stringy meat. Grim’s lips twisted as he knelt and grabbed the larger of the two by the bones of its shoulders and dragged it toward the graves. By some miracle it held together, and he tossed the corpse into the hole, repeating the trial with the second.

As he got the bodies settled, Edgar appeared around the corner with a shovel in hand, looking resigned to his fate. Without comment, the man set to filling one of the holes and Grim followed his example. It was far easier to fill the holes than it was to empty them and before long a pair of mounds marked where the couple lay.

Edgar stuck the shovel into the ground nearby and leaned against it. “Was this a good use of our time?”

Grim sighed, tossing the hoe to the ground, not wanting to hold it a moment longer. “Could you have just left?”

Edgar considered a moment. “No.” His gaze drifted back to the house. “If we leave her, she’ll die.”

“If we take her, she’ll still likely die,” Grim said.

“It’s a chance,” Edgar countered.

“A chance for what?” Grim asked, “Nobody is going to take her in these days. If she wants to stay, we should let her.”

Edgar conceded the point with a sigh. “Aye.”

Grim looked to the home’s open back door. “I’ll let her know we’re done,” he said, turning from Edgar. He pushed the door open, letting the sunlight stream into the home. It highlighted the dried pools of blood where Wayled’s parents had likely met their end before being dragged outside.

The girl had moved from her spot on the floor and Grim followed the sounds of movement to the bedroom she’d burst from earlier today. He gingerly knocked on the door, having no wish to repeat that ordeal.

The sounds of movement froze, and a moment later the door cracked open. An eye peeked through and met his gaze before she fully opened the door. She’d changed from her dirt stained clothes into what must have been her best dress, green with intricately carved wooden toggles from her waist to the high collar. Her hand still clung tightly to the knife held at her side.

“They’re at rest,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said stepping forward.

Grim moved to the side to let her pass and followed her as she made her way outside. She walked to the graves where Edgar still stood leaning against his shovel. Wayled knelt before the twin mounds and rested her hand atop the disturbed earth.

She seemed on the edge of tears and her jaw worked, seeming to try to come up with some words. At last, she spoke, “I don’t know the prayer.”

Grim frowned. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard a Rillman pray. It would have been before the war when he was just a boy- a lifetime ago. He found he couldn’t even remember. As Grim opened his mouth to speak, Edgar released his grip on the shovel and knelt beside her.

“To our Lady we give this offering that she may take our loved ones gently into the dark,” Edgar said, eyes drifting to the girl meaningfully.

She seemed to take his meaning and, with a shaky hand, drew her knife across her palm, letting droplets of blood fall across each grave.

“Guide them, nourish them, and may our meeting be long in coming,” Edgar said, “I see you-” he trailed off, looking to the girl.

“Atheld,” she whispered.

Edgar inclined his head. “I see you-”

“Rylan,” she said, finishing the prayer.

Grim swallowed as he watched, mind drifting to his own mother. He wished he’d gotten to see her a last time.

Edgar rose to his feet, a solemn expression on his face. He walked past Grim “I’ll be with the horses,” he said.

Grim sighed, not missing his meaning. It was time to go. He walked to Wayfled and knelt beside the girl. “Still don’t want to come?” he whispered.

She was quiet a long moment. “My place is here.” Her eyes drifted to the bloodied knife still clutched tight in her hand. Grim followed her gaze. A gust of wind blew over them and the girl shivered, her skin growing paler by the moment. It didn’t take a genius to deduce what she had in mind.

Grim opened his mouth to speak, pausing and clenching his eyes shut before releasing a deep breath. He looked to Wayfled found her eyes already on him, meeting his gaze. He reached out and pointed to the left side of her chest. “The heart is here,” he said before rising to his feet.

A sob escaped her lips as he turned and walked from her, a cold gust of wind billowing over the shallow valley between the hills. He turned the corner of the house not looking back. Brian and Edgar watched his approach, pausing in checking their saddles.

Grim looked between the two men, a coldness seeping into his heart that had nothing to do with the chill air. “Let’s go.”