A tall youth, so emaciated his bones seemed ready to puncture his skin, knelt before Aldric in the dirt. His hands were bound behind him with coarse hemp rope. He looked up, his face a mask of desperation.
"My Lord, we had no choice!" he cried, his voice cracking. "The Lions came with fire and steel, driving us from our fathers' lands. The Wolves were at our heels like starving hounds. The Lords—the Great Lords—they hid in their high towers and left us to rot! We had to find our own way. We kept these people alive, didn't we? Surely there's a price for protection!"
Aldric looked down at the boy, his expression carved from stone. "Rape is no price, boy. By the Law of the Light, it is a death sentence. Or the gelding knife, if the Mother feels merciful."
The youth whirled around, shouting toward a huddle of refugees. "Betty! Tell him! I didn't force you! I gave you bread every time! You were willing—you and Celia both! Tell the Lord how it was!"
A girl named Beth, standing near the Sunwalker Martha, didn't wait for a command. She stormed forward and delivered a crackling slap that sent the youth sprawling into the mud. She spat on him before turning to Aldric, her eyes blazing with a cold, sharp fury.
"Hang him, Commander. His crimes are written in our scars."
Aldric remained silent for a long moment. He signaled Martha to bring forward the victim, a girl named Betty. She was a slip of a thing, her hair like matted straw, her clothes a mosaic of tattered patches. Her hands were raw and blackened by work that no child should know.
"Betty," Aldric said softly. "This boy claims you were willing. But I know this world. I know that in a slaughterhouse, a 'choice' is just a different kind of knife. He protected you from the road, aye. But he broke you in the camp. Do you truly wish for his life to end?"
The girl remained silent, her shoulders shaking with a rhythmic, soundless sob. Aldric sighed and gestured to his Praetorians. "The rope."
A guard stepped forward, binding the youth's mouth and slipping a noose over his head. They prepared to toss the line over a thick oak limb.
"Wait!" the girl shrieked, finally breaking. She collapsed into the dirt, wailing. "Let him live... please... let him live!"
Aldric signaled the guards to lower the boy. He knelt before the girl and pressed a Gold Dragon into her palm. "This does not mend the soul, child. But let it buy you a future where no man can claim a price for your breath."
He turned to the youth. "I have paid your blood-debt. Now, you belong to the Dawn. You will labor until you have earned the value of two dragons back for the Order. Do you accept?"
The youth, white-faced and trembling, nodded frantically. He was dragged to the rear of the column to join the laborers.
It took an hour to finish the trials. There were twenty-one "bandits" in the manor. They weren't soldiers; they were commoners who had traded their dignity for survival. The three leaders, whose cruelties had surpassed the needs of survival, were left swaying from the trees. The others were whipped and pressed into service.
"Is this not too merciful, Master?" Kevin asked as they resumed the march.
"The heart of man is gray, Kevin," Aldric explained. "Without Law, we are all beasts. But can you blame the wolf for eating the rabbit when the forest is on fire? We are here to rebuild the forest, not just kill the wolves. If we can let a boy-king sit on the Iron Throne, we can let a peasant redeem his soul through sweat."
Kevin nodded, though his grip on the hilt of Tide-Breaker remained tight.
Three days later, the scent of salt and rot reached them. Saltpans appeared on the horizon.
It was a nightmare in the daylight. The town, once a thriving port on the Bay of Crabs, was a charred husk. Houses had collapsed into blackened timber; the streets were littered with the belongings of the dead—shattered furniture, torn silks, and the bodies themselves.
The stench of decay was so thick it seemed to coat the back of the throat. Clouds of flies buzzed over the ruins like a living shroud. In the harbor, a few broken ships leaned drunkenly against the docks, their hulls holed and abandoned.
"Granger," Aldric called to a soldier who had visited the town before. "Was it like this when Jon Snow passed through?"
"No, Master," the man whispered, horrified. "It was raided, aye, but there was life. This... this is a graveyard."
Aldric's jaw tightened. This was the work of the Bloody Mummers—the remnants of the Brave Companions. He led his guard toward the town's small castle, a square keep of weathered stone.
"Who rules this ruin?" Aldric roared at the walls.
An old knight in ill-fitting plate appeared on the ramparts. Ser Quincy Cox. He leveled a bow at them. "What do you want, brigand?"
"I am Aldric Cerese! I come from the Gods Eye to offer aid to the survivors!"
"Liar!" the old man screamed. "The Mummers said the same before they raped my granddaughters! Begone, or I'll put a shaft through your throat!"
He loosed an arrow. It fell limp, clattering into the mud yards short of Aldric's horse.
Friar Ray stepped forward. "Ser Quincy! It's Ray! I was there for your grandson's Naming Day four years ago! Do you not remember the prayer?"
"I know no Ray! I know only fire and blood! Leave this place!" the old man cried, ducking behind the battlements.
"The man is broken by fear," Ray sighed.
Aldric looked toward the docks. A few fishing boats were tied to the shore, but as the armored riders approached, the fishermen leaped onto the decks and rowed frantically into the bay, fleeing as if from a plague.
Communication was impossible. The town was a shell, and its master was a ghost of a man.
Aldric looked downstream. In the center of the river sat a small, verdant island with stone buildings and the slow movement of figures in brown robes.
"What is that?" Aldric asked, pointing his whip.
"The Quiet Isle," Ray answered. "A septry for brothers of the Faith who have taken a vow of silence. If anyone knows what truly happened to this port, it will be the Elder there."
Aldric turned his horse. "Then we seek the silence. Move out."
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