Billy felt ill. Only time he’d ever felt like this was when he watched Varna burn, safe in the hills his Lord told him to hide in, like a damned coward. The screams still haunted him even after all these years. Today he’d be adding more voices to the cacophony.

He watched as the Greencloaks rounded up dozens of prisoners from whatever hole they’d been kept in, deep beneath the earth. He watched without feeling as one of the Rillmen being dragged into line tripped. The nearest Greencloak kicked him until he found his feet. Blood trickled from the man’s mouth as he fell into line.

Billy spat on the ground. He used to think hell was a place. But the older he got, the more he believed that hell was what men did to each other. His hand fell to the iron axe at his hip. He felt its weight today.

As Billy watched near a hundred prisoners gathered before the gates of the Venaran fortress, he became certain today would be the day he died. The thought was not unwelcome. He shook his head, turning his attention to the young southblood strutting his way like a peacock in heat. Must be highborn the way the soldiers deferred to the little shit stain. Billy considered wiping the man’s smirk off his face with his fist but couldn't find the will.

Billy sighed as he rose to his feet from the bench by the fort’s main gate. The noble halted a few paces from him, about a pace from striking distance with Billy’s axe. Smart boy.

“Bill Billson?” he asked.

“Aye,” Billy answered.

“I trust you know your duty?” he asked.

Billy’s jaw tightened. He took a deep breath. “Aye.”

***

A sparse crowd lined the streets as Kid marched down the boulevard, one link in a long chain of prisoners being paraded down the frosty streets. The bronze manacles were cold, and Kid was thankful for the oversized gloves the Thorne soldier had given him. They were all that kept his hands from going numb as a biting wind cut through the ranks of prisoners. Kid shivered, clutching at the golden, dove shaped pendant Mother Helana had given him. He was thankful the Greencloaks hadn't spotted it wrapped around his wrist, but he had a sinking feeling it would do him little good.

Above the heads of the prisoners ahead of him, he could see a wooden stage raised in the market square. Several gallows rose from the stage, their nooses swaying in the breeze. Kid took a deep breath, savoring the crisp air. He licked his lips, glancing to the two score Greencloaks escorting their merry band of miscreants. The guards were barely sparing the prisoners a glance, their eyes fixed on the bystanders. Kid swallowed, hoping against hope that the Sons would come for them. He scanned the growing crowd as he entered the square. The faces looking back at him were an odd mixture of rich southerners interspersed with affluent Rillmen. Their clean faces and tailored clothes bespoke of a life spent profiting off the misery of people like him.

Kid’s heart sank as he looked into the crowd, hoping against hope to see the masks of the Sons staring back at him. There were none to be seen. No rescue was coming. His hands began to shake, the chains that bound them clattering. Anger and fear warred within him, and he clenched his jaw to fight the helpless tears that came unbidden to his eyes.

The Venaran soldiers forced them onward, prodding along any laggards with the pointy end of a spear. Kid stumbled to the frosty ground as a soldier shoved him in front of the platform. Kid huddled into a ball, trying to hold in the vestiges of warmth that the wind sought to pry from his grasp. Around him, dozens of other prisoners were being shoved intor place. Jeers sounded from the growing crowd around the scaffolding as the soldiers formed a perimeter. It was hard to tell whether they mocked the prisoners or the guards. Kid supposed it hardly mattered.

The prisoner next to Kid elbowed him. Kid turned to regard the man. A thick, matted beard adorned his face, speaking to many months in captivity. His eyes were haunted as he met Kid’s gaze. “Boy, you ever been to one of these?”

Kid licked his lips and shook his head, not trusting his voice to not crack.

The man sighed, releasing a fog of warm air. “Their mercy is no mercy. When they call ye, stand tall and meet your end, axe in hand. The Reaper does not smile on those who go gently into the dark.”

Kid swallowed, forcing the words he’d been dreading out, “So there’s no hope?”

The man was quiet a long moment. “Not since they took me daughter from me, no.”

“What was her name?” Kid whispered.

“Leah. Leah Carversdottir. Carved her name into the backs of a half dozen Greencloaks to end up here.” He sighed. “What brings you here, boy?”

“Got caught on the wrong street at the wrong time,” Kid said, clutching tight at the golden pendant in his palm.

The man shook his head. “Same as me girl, but they did her worse.”

Kid didn’t ask. He didn’t need to.

A trumpet blared from atop the scaffolding, drawing everyone’s gaze and silencing the growing crowd in the market square. Three men stood atop the platform, two Venaran soldiers dressed in bronze plated coats and a Rillish soldier dressed in chain.

One of the Venaran men pulled a long, rolled piece of parchment from the inside of his coat and addressed the crowd, “Good citizens of Bleakridge, and subjects of Venar, we are here today to bear witness to sentencing of convicted criminals who have upset the King’s peace.” The man paused, casting his gaze across the hundreds of faces arrayed around him. He gestured to the Rillish soldier on the stage. “Bill Billson will serve as Justicar for any who seek to take their trial before the gods.” He then gestured to the other Venaran soldier. “Jefran Laman will serve as his second.”

The crowd waited in hushed anticipation as the soldier’s gaze drifted to the prisoners and he unrolled the parchment in his hands. “Vance Torson!”

Kid watched as a pair of Greencloaks hauled the prisoner closest to the stage to his feet, a young man of maybe seventeen years. He walked willingly up the stairs of the stage, a look of grim determination written across his face. Kid hoped he had half so much courage when his time came.

The announcer regarded Vance a moment longer before continuing to read from the scroll. “For the crime of treason and murder of the king’s men, the Lord Marshal has sentenced you to death. Do you choose Mercy or the trial?”

Vance spat at the man’s feet “Trial.”

The crowd cheered in approval as Vance was armed with Axe and shield. Kid noticed Vance’s hands were shaking as squared off against the Rillish soldier.

“Begin!” The announcer roared.

Vance roared with him and charged his opponent, axe swinging in a wide arc. The soldier stepped forward quickly inside the reach of the axe. The haft bounced harmlessly off his shoulder as he rammed his shield into Vance’s gut.

Vance collapsed to his knees, breath coming in ragged gasps. Before he could find his feet the soldier’s axe bit into the nape of his neck.

The abruptness and brutality left Kid wide eyed and speechless.

“A good death,” the prisoner next to him whispered.

Kid said nothing, clenching his fists to stop his hands from shaking.

***

Billy grunted as he ripped his axe from the third man that day, the corpse lifelessly thudding against the blood-smeared wooden planks. A pair of Venarn dogs appeared to haul the corpse of the stage. Billy breathed heavily from the exertion, the thrill of combat warring with his disgust. Was this what he’d been reduced to? A puppet for the king who stole his life? Billy knew the answer to that question as he gazed into the dead eyes of the boy being dragged from the stage.

His hands shook as he pulled the flask from the pouch at his belt and took a long draw of the cold whiskey.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Ana Carlsdottir!”

Billy cringed as the next name was called. From the shrinking crowd of prisoners, a girl was pulled to her feet. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen, barely even a woman. She refused to climb the stairs and screamed as the Greencloaks dragged her up and threw her to the ground before Billy and Harren. Auburn curls ringed her face, partially concealing the tears running down it.

Harren’s gaze lingered on her a moment before continuing to read, betraying some vestige of a conscience. “Ana Carlsdottir, you are found guilty of adultery and fornicating with the enemy. We have a confession from the man in question and hence find you guilty. As your husband refuses to vouch for you, you are condemned.”

Her sobs echoed across the square as Harren paused. “Do you choose Mercy or the Trial?”

Ana’s gaze drifted to Billy. The fear in her eyes sent a rush of shame through him. His daughter would have only been a few years older. The thought brought memories of Varna to him unbidden. Watching his home in flames, walking through the ashes in the aftermath, finding the charred-”

Billy was torn from his thoughts as his name was called. Harren was addressing him. “The condemned has chosen mercy.” Annoyed groans came from the crowd.

Billy walked to the kneeling girl and offered her his hand. She looked up at him with terrified eyes and shook her head. He knelt beside her and put a hand on her shoulder. He hesitated before offering his flask to her.

She looked at it with confusion in her eyes. “Why?”

He didn’t answer.

Hesitantly, she took the flask and drank from it. “I won’t waste too much,” she said, handing it back.

Billy swallowed, offering her his hand. A sob escaped her lips as he pulled her to her feet. He followed her gaze to the gallows. “I’m sorry dad,” she whispered, shaking.

Billy’s words were choked as he spoke. “Come lass, it will be quick. That much I can offer.”

She was quiet a moment before stepping forward and climbing onto the stool beneath the noose. The girl shook as Billy tightened the noose around her throat.

Billy stared at her, unsure he could take the next step when Harren walked over and kicked the stool out from under her. The rope failed to break her neck and she thrashed, arms straining against her manacles, causing rivulets of blood to start pouring down her wrists to the ground. The blood vessels in her eyes burst as her pupils flickered at the crowd.

Billy walked to her and yanked hard at her feet.

A snap echoed across the plaza and Ana fell still.

Billy’s hands shook with an impotent rage. The only thing he hated more than Venar right now was himself. Over twenty years of service to the Rills and this was his reward? When did it end?

Billy didn’t even hear the next name called or the crime. His eyes were fixed on Ana as she swung in the breeze. “Reaper take you softly into the dark,” he whispered.

Only when his name was called did he turn from her to face his next victim. A young boy this time. Not even a man. He wore the oversized gloves of a Rillish soldier. The son of one of his brothers in arms perhaps? The boy was already taking the offered axe and shield from Billy’s second, the weight of both making him slump. A slight smile managed to climb onto Billy’s lips. He’d forged well over a hundred boys into men and every damned one was surprised by how heavy a shield was.

The grim reality settled back in as the boy met his eyes and Billy found terror there.

“Begin!” Harren called.

Neither Billy nor the boy moved. Billy’s feet felt rooted to the planks beneath them, as he remembered the smell of charred flesh.

“I said begin,” Harren called. “Do your duty soldier.”

His duty. Billy felt tears form in the corners of his eyes as he shook his head.

“There will be consequences for this,” Harren warned.

Billy said nothing, thinking of the way his wife’s eyes used to crinkle when he made her laugh. Gods he wanted to see her again. He looked to the gold band around his ring finger.

“Jefran, finish this,” Harren said, addressing Billy’s second.

The Venaran soldier nodded, drawing his sword and taking a step toward the boy. Billy raised his axe and swung forward with all his might.

Jefran’s head snapped back as Billy’s axe split his skull. Billy released the axe and swung his shield with two hands. The rim caught Harren in the chest and sent him flying from the stage with a yelp.

The crowd around him exploded into pandemonium. Alarmed screams echoed that the sons were attacking. The Venaran guards struggled to maintain order as a half dozen of them rushed for the stairs of the platform.

Billy whirled on the young boy, who stared at him as if he had sprouted horns. Billy ripped the axe from his hand and hauled the boy along by his shield arm, mind whirling. They leapt from the platform, landing in a heap on the cold cobblestones.

The crowd closest to them screamed in horror, recoiling from his proximity. The two guards closest to them turned from the crowd to face them.

The first was too slow as Billy’s axe tore through his hamstring. He fell screaming as Billy caught his comrade’s sword on his shield and pushed the man away.

As the Greencloak staggered backwards, Billy hauled the boy behind him and dove into the crowd. Pandemonium ensued as Billy was caught in a tide of panicked chaos. People were running in all directions, trampling their fallen neighbors and sliding on the snowy cobblestone.

Billy trudged onward, shoving his way through the crowd and dragging the boy in his wake. In the distance he could hear bells ringing an alarm. They needed to get beyond the walls. There was nowhere else to go. He roughly shoved a woman adorned in a rich fur coat to the ground and managed to break through the press of bodies. He looked over his shoulder to the boy who stared back at him, wide-eyed. “Me name’s Billy, now run,” Billy hissed as he took off at a jog toward the Outwalls.

***

Kid stared wide-eyed at Billy as the grizzled old man released him and took off at a jog toward the southern gate. Kid hesitated a moment then followed in his wake. He could slip away into the crowd for a time, but they would be looking for him. He ran, barely able to keep up with the brisk pace the Rillish soldier set as they raced down the cobbled roads. Bells rang out a warning as the streets quickly cleared of pedestrians. Soon, it felt as if Kid and the soldier were the only ones on the road.

Time passed in a blur as he panted, energy waning as the ramparts of the gate came into sight a few blocks away. A cry of alarm sounded behind him, and Kid risked a glance over his shoulder. At least a dozen Greencloaks were in pursuit, and more seemed to be pouring out of the alleyways and streets in their wake. The sight reinvigorated Kid and, for the second day in a row, he found himself running for his life. He really needed to stop making a habit of this.

The gate neared in the distance and Kid’s heart sank as he saw four Greencloaks by the gate, looking their way with confused expressions. They were drawing their weapons warily. The Thorne guards next to them fingered their weapons but made no hostile moves.

“Halt!” One of the Greencloaks roared. Kid could barely hear him for the air rushing past his ears. Billy only increased his pace, leaning forward with his shield raised.

Kid struggled to keep up as the distance grew between them. He gave a silent prayer to any gods who were listening as they closed on the Greencloaks forming ranks by the gate. He watched helplessly as Billy crashed into the Venaran soldiers, his momentum flinging two from their feet. He turned a blade with his axe while another rebounded off his mail coat. Billy whirled with a right hook, the rim of his shield crushing a man’s face as his fallen opponents struggled to their feet.

Billy turned on his remaining standing opponent as Kid dove, tackling the man’s knees. Kid felt the weight of the man fall atop him as specks of blood spattered his cheeks. Kid scrambled out from under the body as men screamed and metal clattered. He could see the way to the Outwalls. It was clear. He tried to run as an iron grip seized his arm. He struggled helplessly and looked over his shoulders into the eyes of the Thorne soldier holding him. “Please,” he whispered.

The man frowned and released him. Kid turned, feeling more flecks of blood fall across his arm. A Greencloak crawled across the ground before him, clutching at his bleeding throat as his lips mouthed words of aid. Kid didn’t spare him a second glace, his eyes finding Billy still standing amidst a sea of carnage. The Thorne guardsmen looked on with conflicted expressions.

Kid ran and Billy followed, the cries of their pursuers growing closer. Kid immediately left the paved road leading out of the city and dove into the warren of alleys and snow drifts that comprised the Outwalls. Small trenches were dug between snowdrifts and Kid ran through them, his feet crunching through the snow, keenly aware of the tracks he was leaving behind him. He weaved through the alleys, avoiding the routes he knew to be blocked by snow. The sound of pursuit had grown more distant but had not abated.

As they staggered out of a narrow alley onto a wider street, Kid heard a thump behind him. He paused and looked back to Billy who had fallen to the ground. He clutched at his side, his fingers blood red. Kid froze, eyes drifting the way they came and seeing the flecks of blood in the snow. Billy followed his gaze.

“Leave me,” the man groaned. Kid shook his head, falling to his knees next to the man and tearing at his sleeve. The shoddy stitching gave out and he ripped the fabric away, pressing it to the gaping hole in the man’s coat and mail. He didn’t know what else to do.

Billy’s fingers grasped the collar of Kid’s shirt. “Boy, go.”

Kid shook his head, struggling to hold back tears of helplessness. He was always helpless to do anything. Kid ground his teeth as the sound of boots crunching in the snow drew nearer. His fingers clutched at the golden dove in his palm.

Kid shook as he clutched at Billy’s hand and pressed the pendant into it. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, “Thank you.”

Kid turned to run and froze as men began to appear from the alleyways ahead of him. Men in masks who held great longbows. The man in front raised a finger to his mask as if telling Kid to keep quiet. Kid swallowed and as the drawstrings of the great bows creaked, he dropped to the ground. He held his eyes tightly shut as the calls of the Greencloaks grew louder and the crunch of snow drew nearer. Calls of triumph sounded as they caught sight of him and Billy lying in the snow. Kid clenched his teeth and made himself as small as possible.

Bows twanged and men screamed, followed by a roar. Kid put his hands over his head as boots stomped past him. The sounds of violence erupted and were swiftly laid to rest. Kid’s breaths came fast, and he tried to calm himself as he opened his eyes. There must have been twenty dead Greencloaks lying in the snow, pierced with arrows and throats slashed. The streets were filled with an ooze of red slush.

The man who had hushed him stood nearby, regarding Kid. Kid looked to Billy who was being seen to by a pair of Sons.

“Your friend will be okay if I have anything to say about it.”

Kid looked back to the masked man who was offering him his hand. Kid hesitated before reaching out and accepting the aid. The man effortlessly pulled him to his feet. “Thank you,” he whispered, glancing back to the pile of dead. Was that the price of his life? Twenty dead men? It seemed a poor trade.

“Get him to the priestess,” The masked man called. The other Sons responded immediately, hefting Billy into the air and setting off down the road.

“Come if you like, but you are free to go,” the man said.

Kid swallowed, shuffling his feet against the stone. “And if I come?” he asked, looking up at the masked man.

The man met his gaze. “Brave men are always welcome to the Sons.”