The camp fire had been burning a couple of hours at this point. They settled on a small clearing between the trees off the main road to keep out of the way, but the firelight made them seen from nearly any direction. Willem didn’t think it was an issue, despite the problems they’d had the just the night before. Darro argued with him, but when Syne stepped between them, he backed off. Brother Daines didn’t mind as long as he was warm, knowing the others would fight more than he, and last night was proof that they could do just that as long as he kept out of their way or didn’t step into a blade himself on accident.

They sat on their respective perches, rocks or fallen logs they’d pulled closer to the fire, and sat in silence shortly after eating their roadside dinner. Syne stood and took the dishes from everyone and walked into the dark of the woods towards the creek they saw in the daylight. With her gone for the moment, Darro wanted to argue with the old man again, but it was Daines who spoke up first.

“We’ve been on the road for days and you still haven’t said anything about this man we’re going to find. Don’t you think we need to know what we’re getting into?” he asked, with a tremble of hesitation in his voice.

Willem scratched the gray hairs on his head and grimaced. “Not really.” He took a deep breath, and looking into the scholar’s eyes he could see that wouldn’t be enough this time. “It’s a long story. Dark times and tidings. We need to focus on the matter at hand.”

Loud and with a hint of anger, Darro spoke up, “Yeah, there’s seven gods coming back to the realm, hellbent on destroying creation.” He took a drink from his flask. “If you’re hiding anything old man, anything that might fuck this up, you should tell us.” Darro’s eyes darted towards the woods, where Syne walked into. He heard her footsteps in the brush, and surely, she reappeared, setting the dishes into the travel pack on Willem’s horse. Darro watched her a moment, but looked back at Willem, demanding an answer with his eyes.

“Does she scare you, Darro?” Willem asked with a half-smile. Syne’s attention was fully on the fire before her, largely ignoring the conversation at hand.

Darro exhaled sharply. “Well, your bodyguard hasn’t said a word since we left the city. Actually,” he said, interrupting himself, “she hasn’t said a word in all the time I’ve been around. And I was there when we picked up the librarian before we got our orders. That was odd at first. But then last night, we get attacked by a pack of were and she butchers them like cattle to slaughter. Still, not a word, not a sound.” He took a moment to breathe, pausing before finishing. “Yes, she scares me.”

“Ward,” Willem said calmly, taking a drink from his cup.

“Ward?” Daines asked, cautiously. “As in, she’s your daughter?”

At the sound of the last word, Syne looked up directly Daines, yellow eyes glaring into his. He looked away in submission. As he dared to look up, he saw her attention return to the fire.

The tense silence was broken again by Willem. “Not mine, no. But I did raise her. And she has her own reasons from coming along.” He looked up at the cloudless sky and took a long, deep breath. “I’ll tell you about him tomorrow, on the road.” His head fell back to the others around him. “We’ll be passing through the Deadlands, and it only seems an appropriate backdrop for my confession.”

“Confession?” Daines asked again, still cautious of Syne on the other side of the fire from him.

Willem raised a hand in protest. “Tomorrow. I have walked a long and dark road.” He breathed a single laugh, “And it seems like it’s still going.”

Darro’s demanding glare fell into a curious and sympathetic gaze. “What do you mean?” he asked. “I’ve heard stories about you, even growing up. The great Willem Osgoth, Crown Champion and Herald of the Arcane Protectorate. For everyone’s claims for you being a good and righteous person, why do you claim to walk a long and dark road?”

Willem’s gaze fell to the ground as he took another deep breath in thought. “Because the most difficult thing anyone can do is reconcile the darker parts of themselves. To look at your own every fault and failure, every mistake and misguided step, to look at the shadow of yourself and see the enemy within, and live with it.” He looked at each of them as he spoke, ending on Syne with the last of his words.

Daines, not noticing the gaze as he stared into the dirt to collect his scholarly thoughts, replied, “The temple books speak of battles between good and evil, within and without. Could you not face those inner demons and conquer them?”

Willem laughed. “So many people speak of hope without acknowledging that hope is meant to be a beacon in the dark.” His gaze fell to the scholar, who watched him with hesitation and urgency. “Such people also think that hope can burn out the darkness. But hope is meaningless without the courage to act. More than that, however, we forget that anything the light touches will inevitably cast a shadow.” Willem looked back up at the sky, taking another long, deep breath. “At the end of the day, my boy, conquered or not, those demons still belong to you.”

 

 

It was late morning when they rode into the noticeably changed landscape, the lush greenery dissolving into a barren, desolate plain of rocks and dirt. The well-treaded path they rode upon nearly vanished; local traders and travelers were not known to come this far from civilization, or pass through this particular area.

Willem spoke aloud, “We’re crossing the land at its shortest point, but we still must be mindful of our surroundings. With luck, we should be out long before dusk.”

“Enough time to confess your sins?” Darro called back.

Willem stopped, nodding to Syne to keep going. As Brother Daines and Darro rode up beside him, Willem resumed the pace on his horse. “You’d be surprised at how quickly one can speak of their past. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hold any weight.” There was a pause in his words as the wind picked up, whistling in their ears for a moment. “Tell me, do either of you remember the Fourth Servile War?”

“I have read about it,” Daines said, “but I was barely born at the time it occurred.”

Darro laughed, “I’m surprised that even a single child was spared the bloodshed of that war.” He sidled up closer to Daines and reached out, shoving his arm abruptly. “Did your books say anything about the mayhem that existed purely because of the war? How thieves and criminals ran rampant through the cities, and ruled the outlands?” The scholar was silent. “Did your books tell you about the men, women, and children who were raped and murdered, whose bodies were put on display for no other reason than to demonstrate the power and authority of—”

“Yes,” Daines replied, quietly.

Darro stopped cold in his questioning. After a moment, he asked, “What?”

“Contrary to most records and public thought, the books in the temple are not written by the victors. They are written to remember history, including all of its stains and scars. They are written for the remembrance of the innocent. They acknowledge righteousness and tyranny equally, regardless of which side either may be on.”

“Huh,” Willem muttered, drawing attention back to himself. “Surely, then, they speak of one who led the slaves to revolt and war.”

“Aye, they do. He was a beastman, skin black as coal, with yellow eyes that burned red with rage. A ferocious monster, known for killing quickly, and not reveling in the bloodshed. The soldiers of the Realm called him Mercy, for confronting him on the fields of battle assured a quick and painless death.” Daines looked over at Willem, whose gaze wandered forward, a half-smile crawling on the visible side of his face. Hearing no interruption to his words, he continued, eyes forward with the rest of them. “Near the end of the war, all indications of his presence had practically disappeared. The fear was still there; patrols and formations would hesitate to venture into areas that were rumored to be under his watch. Once it had been confirmed, however, all of the bands had rallied, overtaking the camps and fortifications the slaves had used. And just like that, the war was over.”

“’Just like that’,” Darro scoffed. “As if it were so simple.” There was a moment of silence in response to the comment.

“Willem,” Daines started, “is the man we’re going to see…is it Mercy?”

Willem laughed. “No, my boy. Who we’re going to find predates the war, if only by its precipice.”

“Who, then?” Darro asked, pointedly.

“Before the war, I was as you said, Champion and Herald. Those titles afforded me access to places and, more importantly, people. Even among the decadence of higher society, I found a greater amount of solace spending my time with the Headsman. As was tradition and superstition, he was not allowed to live in the city, as people believed his association with death would corrupt and defile the living. His apprentice was a slave, a child orphaned during some conflict the Realm had no doubt exploited for its own gain. When the Headsman fell ill and died, it fell to me to finish teaching the apprentice of his duties. As a part of this time, he was tasked with the execution of band of criminals and conspirators. Because it was treason, they were not only beheaded, but had their head on display as a warning, an example. After he had finished with the last of them, we spoke that night. He asked me if it was possible for him to be free of this burden, to find a new life. He was a grown man, and though he was brought in as a slave, he had afforded his own freedom. I told him that the only thing keeping him there was himself.

“He stayed, for the time being, but then the rumors started to circulate about coming revolt. I remember the very day, explicitly well. I watched him from the crowd like I normally did, not in any formal dress, instead attempting to be with the people. The woman on the block was a slave, convicted of conspiracy to commit treason, among a number of other things. She did not plead for her life, but I saw from my distance, that she spoke to him, words that caused him some hesitation. It took another moment, but he hefted the axe, and took her head like any other. Afterward, I went to speak with him, but he was nowhere to be found. I stayed in his simple home that night, but he never showed.”

There was a silence again as the wind blew through their path.

“Is that your sin?” Darro asked. “You spoke to a boy and he made his own decision?”

“The greatest changes in our world do not happen overnight. They are subtle, slow, deliberate.” Willem took a deep breath. “And sometimes, you don’t know what you’ve done until it’s too late.”

 

 

The midday sun was blotted out by the thick overcast sky, a light rain pouring coldly onto the woodland. Even in such gloomy daylight, the carved wooden spikes adorned with the skulls of humans and other beasts was hard to miss.

“Gods,” Darro muttered as he saw the display, his horse stopping in the middle of the trail. “What kind of beast could do such a thing?”

Willem rode forward, speaking as he passed by, “Someone who wants to be left alone.”

They rode onward a few moments more before a simple shack appeared, with a thin column of smoke seeping out of a chimney on its far end. “The trail seems to end here,” Daines said.

Willem dismounted his horse, tying it to a nearby tree. “This is the place. With luck,” he said, pointing to the smoke, “he’s here.”

The others followed suit, tying off their mounts to other trees and branches along the trail. Willem and Syne took the lead, Darro and Brother Daines following closely behind. Steadily and cautiously, they approached the door, and Willem reached his closed fist to knock on it. Before his hand could touch the woodwork, there was an echoing sound of impact coming nearby. The four looked around, but could not place it. Again, the clacking sound of splitting wood. Willem heard it more intently the second time, and moved around the side of the shack to investigate.

Behind the wood shack, ten paces away, a hulking figure stood with an axe in one hand, as the other reached to set up another piece of timber to split on a larger wooden stump. The sleeveless tunic revealed dark grey skin, muscular from use, yet slacked with age. Long thick strands of black hair were peppered with grey and white, all of it wet from the rain. Placing the wood on the block, he brought the axe around on his right side and over his head. Not a word or noise uttered from his form, just the sound of the axe splitting the wood. As he reached for the next piece, he paused, turning to see the group of four cloaked figures watching him chopping wood. His face was scarred in three places, cutting through his left eyebrow and two other places along his trimmed full beard, and his eyes burned a dull yellow color.

Willem pulled back the hood on his cloak, revealing his face to the man. “Hello, old friend.”

A low growl of a voice replied, “Friend.” He scoffed with a half-smile, “It’s been a lifetime since I’ve heard that word.”

Darro drew his blade. “Gods above and below… It’s you.”

“It is you, isn’t it? You’re Mercy?” Daines asked, a tremble in his voice.

The smile washed from his face. “A name born from fear,” the gravelly voice replied. His head cocked slightly, his eyes measuring up the scholar quickly. “Born from fear. Something you know a lot about.” Looking at Darro, his eyes darted around, taking in every detail of the man’s appearance and posture. “And you, a soldier. No, a sellsword.” Turning back to Willem, he asked plainly, “Is this what you’ve been reduced to?”

Willem took a step forward, to which the man raised a hand in protest. “Khastor, we need your help.”

“I know,” he replied. “They’ve come back.” His eyes moved again, reacting to the movement of the fourth figure in his view. “And you…”

Syne took a step forward, standing shoulder to shoulder beside Darro. She pulled back the hood of her cloak, the uneven black braids of her long hair soaking in the rain with immediacy. Her face was stoic, her stare blank. Yellow eyes meeting yellow eyes. “Hello, father.”