"This is the third village, ser Curster. Are you sure this is the right one?" Thandruil asked.

Ser Curster shook his head.

"No. But it's the last. These three villages are the only he could reach without a horse." The knight said trying to sound more confident than he actually was.

"I don't have to tell you what would happen if that man talks with the wrong person" Thandruil warned.

Ser Custer nodded, but he looked hesitant, unable to hide the uneasiness on his face.

"My lord, you shouldn't expose yourself this way. Sickle's cutthroats will find him. Maybe they already did. And bringing Marton..."

"Marton won't be a problem" Thandruil interrupted him. "And I am the only one who saw him. I have to be here."

"But the villagers are already on the brink of rebelling and if..." He started but stopped when Thandruil glared at him.

"I'm sorry, my lord" Curster bowed.

Thandruil shook his head. It wasn't Curster's fault, but he had to find him. He had no other choice.

"What about our men in the capital? Any problem with the seal?" Thandruil asked.

"No, my lord. The wax you provided will do just fine. They'll need months to discover what we have done."

Thandruil nodded.

At least, something goes right.

Marton came shortly afterward, his face grim and his lips tights like he didn't like what he was seeing.

"We should head back lord Thandruil" Marton said as the sun slowly began to go down. "Your lord father will send his soldiers to deal with this mob."

"Don't tell me these peasants frighten you, master of the ax?" Ser Curster asked, a sardonic smile on his face as he mocked the old man as usual.

But Marton didn't take the bait; he was a veteran of countless battles with countless copper and silver rings at his fingers, proof of his courage and valor in battle.

He had no intention to quarrel with an eighteen-something pup whose biggest achievement was to conquer some brothel's whore.

"We are but five." Marton replied. "And even peasants can be dangerous in the Wildlands, Curster." He said, omitting the "ser" on purpose.

"Dangerous?" Ser Curster smirked. "Are you unmanned by some farmboys, Master of the ax?"

This wasn't the first time that Ser Curster used Marton's title to taunt him. The ax was a traditional weapon for the people of the Wildlands, a mountainous land where plains were rare and far between and horses mostly used as pack animals instead of tools of war. That said, it wasn't strange as the Wildlanders preferred to fight on foot and the sword, a knight's weapon, wasn't so widespread as it was in the south.

However, the same thing couldn't be said for southerners like Ser Curster that only saw the ax as a barbaric weapon or a tool to cut trees.

From the tightness around the older man mouth and the barely suppressed anger in his eyes, Thandruil knew it was time for him to intervene.

"Enough." Thandruil said. "This is neither the time nor the place for this."

Curster was a friend and Marton more a brother than his real one; Thandruil didn't want to see them fight with each other.

"Of course my lord" Ser Curster said with a little bow while Marton--- grouchy as usual---just grunted.

But for Thandruil it was enough.

"These peasants have to pay what's due to their lord." Thandruil said. "But don't worry, Marton. They won't dare to attack the Highlord's son." He said, before pulling the reins of his horse with a jerk.

Custer's gave Marton's another smirk like he won the exchange, quickly following Thandruil's right after.

There were five men in the small columns of horses and riders. Thandruil was a man in his early twenties with bright gold hairs, handsome though beardless unlike most of the Wildlanders. He looked regal, a man of an old lineage standing proud and tall on his horse.

Curster the southerner, on the other hand, was quite average with his brown hairs, medium build, and decorated plate mail. He rode at Thandruil's side and was the only one not wearing chainmail. Morton and two riders followed in the back.

It was already past sunset when they reached the village, a poor hamlet with no more than fifty huts of wood and straw. As they rode inside, Thandruil and rest immediately noticed the ruckus at the entrance.

About thirty men crowded around the small square at the center of the village, surrounding three soldiers with their swords already unsheathed, and a fat man, probably a noble or merchant of some kind, richly dressed in embroidered breeches and a double-layer brocade jacket.

"Don't come any closer!" He shouted with all the authority he could master. But his face was pale, and a copious amount of sweat was trickling down his forehead.

His shrill, scared voice just encouraged the mob. The peasants grew closer and closer to the small circle made by the soldiers, like a pack of wolves that caught the scent of human blood.

"That's Martin, the tax collector" Morton said. "Probably all this mess is his fault. He is well-known for asking more coin than necessary and keep the change for himself" He spat with disgust.

"That's not the point here" Curster rebutted, not losing the chance to refute Morton's words. "They raised weapons against the Highlord's soldiers. This can't go unpunished."

Much to Marton's dismay, Thandruil's nodded in agreement.

"Halt!" Thandruil shouted, wildly riding his horse till he was only a couple of feet away from the back of the mob.

"I am Thandruil Ahlstrom !" He shouted, "Immediately break the encirclement and surrender!"

His words raised several whispers and murmurs between the villagers, and on some faces, fear.

"It's the lord's son."

"They'll hang us." Another said in alarm.

However, the mob quieted down when a huge man, carrying a big blacksmith's hammer, came forward.

"My lord" He bowed, but there was little respect in that gesture. He was a big man, in his early forties, judging from his graying beard. He towered over the rest of the crowd, his sinewy arms like branches of some ancient oak tree.

Thandruil slightly nodded to Ser Curster. The signal was almost imperceptible, but the knight understood. They finally found him.

"We meant no offense to the Highlord. However, what this scoundrel demanded" He said pointing to Martin that in the meantime seemed to regain part of his former color. "it's folly!"

"Kill the pig!" Someone shouted.

"The harvest was bad this year" The blacksmith continued, his voice growing stronger, like his confidence hearing that the others supported him."If we really give him what he demanded, how are we supposed to survive the winter?"

The shouts of agreement became even stronger, and some men started banging their weapons on their shields.

"What are we, sheep to be skinned at the lord's whim?" He said while the shouts grew in intensity until all the villagers were screaming.

"My lord maybe is better if we.." Marton began, but Curster suddenly unsheathed his sword and spurred his horse, heading directly toward the blacksmith.

"Impudent!" He screamed trying to cut him down, but the blacksmith showed an inconceivable readiness for a man of his size and avoided the fatal blow rolling at the side.

Curster hit the youth behind him instead, cleaving between neck and shoulder and almost splitting him in half.

For some seconds nobody moved while the youth slowly collapsed, blood spraying from the wound on his neck. But then someone inside the crowd shouted.

"Kill them!"

"Murderers!"

And all hell broke loose.

Fomented by the blacksmith speech and their boldness fed by their superior numbers, the villagers attacked with abandon.

However, Thandruil and his men were well trained, better equipped and on horseback while the villagers had no armor or sword, just farming tools and some simple round shields made of wood.

Thandruil slashed downward splitting an old man skull like a watermelon while one of his soldiers was quickly surrounded by the crowd.

His horse reared up when the sharp tip of a spear pierced its flank, unsaddling its rider that was quickly beaten and trampled to death.

One of the three soldiers on the ground was killed by the blacksmith, his head crushed like iron on an anvil.

Martin screamed like a pig before a slaughterhouse when he saw one of his men dying that way, his hands trembling like leaves while he backed away. But in the end he couldn't bear any more; he tossed his sword aside and begun to run away as fast as he could.

"Morton!"Thandruil shouted when four villagers ran after him, pointing at Martin with his bloodied sword. "Protect him!"

Morton looked grim. Clearly, he preferred to leave the man to his destiny. But he obeyed, urging his horse to chase after them.

Little by little, the tide of the skirmish shifted in Thandruil's favor, and from a close battle, it became a unilateral slaughter. Between the screams of the moribunds and the shouts of the soldiers, urging the peasants to surrender, the remaining villagers scattered like leaves.

Only the blacksmith remained, standing proud as he faced the soldiers, resigned and brave at the same time. That's when Thandruil charged.

Not only was the blacksmith the man Thandruil was looking for, but he also dared to challenge his authority. He couldn't bear to let him live.

However, in the same way as he did before with Curster, the blacksmith dodged the blow, but unlike before he struck back, hitting the head of Thandruil's horse with his hammer.

More than half-ton between horse and rider collapsed on the ground, the animal skull cracking and deforming at the impact with the hard steel. Thandruil stumbled to get up, but he was still groggy, a thin trail of blood flowing from the side of his head.

The blacksmith raised the hammer to finish him off, but just when he was about to strike the fatal blow, Curster hit the back of his head with the hilt of his sword.

But a mere strike wasn't enough to stop blacksmith, a man with the same size of a bear and probably almost the same weight. Custer was forced to hit him several times to put him down.

When Thandruil got up, he looked dazed, staring at the blacksmith lying motionless on the ground. But his confusion was short-lived, soon replaced by a burning rage.

He raised his sword and pierced the defenseless man on the chest, plunging the blade till the hilt. Vanished without a trace was his appearance of a handsome lord. Now he just looked like a savage: his blonde hair disheveled, teeth gritted and a look of madness on his face.

"Kill them all" He croaked to his soldier after the pulled his sword out from the blacksmith's wrecked chest.

The last of Thandruil's minions, Ser Curster and the only remaining soldier of the tax collector company swiftly begun to finish them off.

Morton returned shortly afterward when the job was already done and all the villagers dead or escaped.

Martin followed him, his white face becoming even paler if possible when he saw the gruesome carnage, the bodies piled up in the village square.

"My lord" he said, kneeling at Thandruil's feet without a shred of dignity, the trim of his cloak dipping in the mud.

Unexpectedly this action brought a smile on Thandruil's face. He always liked the groveling, servile types.

"Rise" He ordered.

Martin sighed with relief, panting as he got up.

"Look what have you done." Thandruil said, pointing at Marton and the other soldiers stacking the bodies. "A servant of the Highlord should prevent chaos, not create it." He shook his head with disapproval.

Martin's eye went wide while his double chin started trembling like jelly when he heard his words.

"So, how do you intend to repay us for saving your worthless hide?"

"M-my lord" Martin stammered. "I was just doing my duty..." He said, but trailed off when Thandruil glared at him.

"Your duty? Are you sure?"

Martin seemed to shrink under his gaze, curling up like a ball of fat and sweat.

"I...I will repay you." He said, his lips trembling as he looked at Thandruil.

"Of course you will. You'll give me all the coin you skimmed here, and from now on, I'll get half of your future earnings." Thandruil whispered into his ear. "Are we clear?"

"A-all? H-half?" Martin almost shouted, repeating his words like a parrot.

"Are we clear?" Thandruil repeated.

"Y-yes my lord" Martin replied, lowering his head.

"Good" Thandruil's nodded, evidently satisfied. "I will lend a couple of my men to you as...insurance. After all, someone who cheated the father might think about cheating the son too, don't you think?"

Martin opened and closed his mouth several times, looking more and more like a puffer fish.

"But remember this, Martin." He said. "I am not my father."

Martin paled, his face so white like it had been drained of blood. But at the end, he nodded twice before bowing.

After that Thandruil seemed to lose interest in him and went to talk with Curster.

"Send a message to Sickle" He said. "Tell him to burn the village to the ground."