By evening, the Captain’s household gathered around the dinner table, sharing a meal and tales of travel. Though still unamused, Desider was attentive to some of his father’s tales across the ocean and the distant shores he passed by. Fatigue settled once the moon and stars became the only light in their abode. He rested his head and gazed upon the wooden roof. His eyelids lowered as he recalled his and his father’s duel, cracking a small smirk before turning his body to the side.

  Awoken by their barn’s roosters, Desider opened his eyes. With a stretch, he rose from the bed and headed toward the dinner table, sharing loaves of bread, cottage cheese and honey with his mother. He proceeded to walk toward the barn, tending to the few sheep and chicken that resided there. Carefully, he scattered the oats and wheat for the livestock then patted them. Onward to their small farm, he watered the crops, firmly grasping the water pot with focus. Done with his daily tasks, he walked back inside to his mother milling. “’Tis done,” he said.

  The mother nodded. “Bless thee, my boy,” she spoke softly. “Dost thou not see, Desider? A fine yeoman thou wouldst make. The whole town may be fed through thy hand if thou so wish. Mayhap a wife to aid thee as well. None of that sword-swinging folly...”

  Desider grumbled and turned his face away. “Dost thou need a thing?” He muttered after a short silence, almost clenching his teeth.

  His mother sighed and shook her head. “Carrots and Parsnips. Two stone weights each. And comest back soon, thy father deserveth a proper dish.”

  “Should he not be awake?” Desider asked, raising a brow.

  “Let thy father be, he sails much and toils.” She retorted with a defensive tone and a pointed look.

  Desider scoffed and shook his head before turning outside. He walked downhill, passing by the subtle aftermath of his and his father’s spar. He looked away and exhaled through his nose briefly, the corner of his lip lifted subtly.

  He reached the cobblestone path and took off west to the marketplace. His eyes caught the timber-framed houses and the young of his town who were emerging from them and playing around the greenery. The learned of them sat under shade by the temple and read. Some others his age seemed to be preoccupied with their craft, be it a carpenter’s workshop he passed by or the lively fishery by the distant shore.

  He glanced at these gatherings with a slight furrow in his brow and a purse on his lips. Seeing how most of them were in groups... laughing, playing, or focusing. Even those sitting by the temple were engrossed in their studies. Almost as if... they seemed excited to continue this routine, finding meaning in it—a purpose... his thoughts were interrupted when an arm wrapped itself around his neck.

  “What makest thee so lost in thought, O cousin?” Crepus teased with a grin.

  “O... err, mind me not. I was... fixated on the temple.” Desider swallowed, his expression feigning normalcy.

  “The temple?” Crepus raised an eyebrow.

  “N’yes.”

  “... Quite.” Crepus smirked. “Says the knave who dareth not go there save prodding from his mother.” He released and walked alongside him to the market, casting his cousin a half-lidded glance.

  “... Anyhow. Didst thou not tell me training was halted?” Desider asked, tilting his head.

  “That I did, that I did,” Crepus affirmed. “I approacheth thee not for training, but for an announcement. My father proposeth a feast for mine uncle’s return. He hath even bidden the whole band to attend!”

  Desider’s eyes widened and sparkled, his lips parting. He blinked, speaking with restraint. “A... most pleasant surprise.”

  “Excited, art thou?” Crepus teased before wrapping his arm around his cousin’s neck again. “Thou wilt get thy chance, I promise thee, Desider. But now, we must not disappoint. We shall bring forth all what we need for this night’s revelry, in honour of my uncle!”

  After his son strode to town, the Captain woke up to the calling of his wife. "Darling, wilt thou wake? Thy brother awaiteth thee."

  The Captain rubbed his eyes, scratching his head before rising. He wore his coat and boots, reaching for a loaf of bread and dipping it in honey. With a mouthful, he turned to his wife, glancing around the room. "Where is he?"

  "Down the hill." She replied dryly, not turning from the basin as she washed the bowls.

  The Captain chuckled, swallowing his food before grinning at her. "Thou art yet displeased with him?"

  His wife rolled her eyes, letting out a low grumble. "He still striketh me as a brute. I know not why Desider or this town adore him so,” she sighed. “Aye, he keepeth the town’s rats at bay, I grant him that much."

  The Captain kissed the back of her head, amused. "He is a fine man. Mayhap thou art displeased with his... knack for violence."

  His wife shook her head, patting his hand but saying no more.

  The Captain stepped outside, carefully descending the hill. With a grin, he greeted his brother and wrapped an arm around him. "Lo and behold."

  The man waiting downhill stood shorter than his brother, of average to tall height. His black leather armor was well-worn and scarred. A battleaxe rested on his back, and his belt was laden with throwing knives. His slicked-back flaxen hair barely reached his earlobes, and a messy beard framed his sharp features. Dark circles lay beneath his half-lidded eyes, yet his furrowed brows softened at the sight of his kin.

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  "Fie," he muttered, exhaling through his nose. "It taketh thee two-thirds a year to return, and all I am granted is a greeting the morn after?"

  The Captain slid his hands into his pockets as they took an eastern path along the cobblestone road. "Thou mustn't blame me. My wife was urging me to see after Desider. She claimeth he hath been oft in Crepus’ company, training in the woods. Why the sudden shift, I wonder?" He cast an inquisitive glance towards his brother.

  The Commander blinked slowly, striding in step with him. "Is he not his cousin? I see no fault in their training. I bid mine own boy to be kind to Desider and return before sunset."

  The Captain’s grin narrowed. "I know. Yet Desider is too adamant. He traineth as though war approacheth."

  The Commander was silent for a moment… "Desider shall see no war—not as he is. I tell him to take his time and train with patience. When the hour cometh and he is ready, he may stand among the band."

  The Captain’s brows furrowed, his concern hushed. "He is not one of thy men, thou knowest this well."

  The Commander exhaled through his nose. "Thy son and mine be boys no more.” He fell silent for a moment. “Yet, I shall not let him march blindly to his doom. Perchance in a year or so, when Crepus and I see he will not casteth himself into folly. On the battlefield, none shall be there to save him."

  The Captain swallowed and gazed ahead, contemplating his brother’s words with a steady expression. After another silent moment, he spoke. "And if he remaineth as he is?"

  The Commander tilted his head, giving his brother an easy glance despite his rough features.

  The brothers walked in silence before the Captain finally spoke again with less tension. "Why leadest thou me to the butcher?"

  The Commander scoffed. "Thou returnest but for a month, fool. Dost thou deny me celebration?"

  The Captain chuckled. "The grizzled mercenary, sentimental? The sky must be green..."

  The Commander’s lips curled up subtly, then abruptly pressed a hand to his brother’s chest, halting him. His smirk faded, replaced with his usual frown. The Captain froze, glancing at his brother with confusion before looking ahead.

  A gang of nine men surrounded the slaughterhouse, pinning the butcher to the ground.

  "Unhand me, thou filthy spawn of hounds! This instant!" The butcher thrashed, but the man atop him pressed a knife to his chin.

  "Pipe down, paunch, lest thou wish to taste a blade like thine own pigs." His comrades laughed as the butcher gritted his teeth. "Now, where is the gold thou hoardest?” Their leader continued. “Before thou dost not live to see another morsel."

  "Go hang thyself, thou lumpish knave!" The butcher spat.

  The gang leader sneered. "Wrong choice, thou greedy fat bastard."

  Just as the robbers moved to strike, the leader and a mugger to his side collapsed dead, skulls pierced from the side.

  The Commander strolled forward, his footsteps slow and deliberate, his half-lidded gaze fixed.

  "Grab thy tails and flee back to thine holes."

  The remaining seven turned in shock, eyes widening at the sight of him. One robber snapped, drawing his knife. The others followed suite, unsheathing their machetes. "Thou shouldst walk back whence thou camest, old man. This is not thy part of-" Before the man could finish his sentence a throwing knife met his skull, making it swing to the slaughterhouse’s wall and painting it crimson. With him another fell right after.

  "Five," he muttered.

  Silence.

  Then they lunged.

  The Commander moved first. With a single swing, his battleaxe tore through two men at once, splitting their guts and landing blood on his armor and beard.

  Another came from his side, swinging sharply. The Commander let go of his axe and stepped back. With an instinctive flick of his wrist, a throwing knife buried itself in the man’s throat.

  The robber gurgled and fell, struggling before he went limp.

  The Commander turned his gaze to the last two standing. He took hold of his battleaxe once more.

  "Two."

  The remaining pair froze, staring at the bodies around them then back at the mercenary, their lips parted at the quick, gruesome display.

  The Commander spat on one of the corpses and tilted his head toward the opposite direction, locking his half-lidded gaze on them. They took a few steps before running.

  The Captain, having watched the massacre, slowly raised a brow and exhaled through his nose. "I cannot blameth my wife..." He said under his teeth, rubbing his chin. Carefully, he walked to the butcher before kneeling to him. "Art thou well?" He offered a hand and a steady smile. “Usually he is not this messy.”

  The butcher swallowed, his hands shaking, his breath unsteady. "A-Aye, aye...” his voice wavered, “May the saints’ blessings touch thee both. How may I serve thee, good sirs?"

  The Captain waved off. "Do not trouble thyself. We-“

  "Forty fleshpounds of cattle," The Commander interrupted.

  The Captain blinked, tilting his head.

  The Commander cleared his throat. "With its payment."