The Crow of Madenfal

This wasn't just a cold that shriveled the withered leaves. The boy was counting sunflower seeds and that he would survive.

"I haven't had a nightmare in a long time," he noted, looking at the sleeping farmstead. His name was Sato , and he soothed the abrasions from the long ride with the sweet thought of revenge.

- That's because you didn't kill anyone. When I was nine, I killed my father. I watched his entrails leak out of his belly. Since then, I've never been able to sleep peacefully. The world has become somehow black... When you take someone's life, the memories turn into nightmares. And then we experience them live. That's the way it goes. I guess that's when a man becomes a man. Do it, and you'll be reborn, but nothing will be the same. Everything will be disgusting, and the taste of blood will always be with you in your mouth. - The commander in the antlered helmet turned his head towards him and answered with clouds of steam flying out through the holes. - It's time to do your duty. The border you have to cross is a stone bridge, but you shouldn't cross it. It has a bad reputation. The soul of this bridge, as legend has it, is its builders. As soon as they finished it, they cut their throats. Everyone is disgusted by this story and stays away from this land. She is somehow provoking. Look at this clump of trees. They look alive, but in the fire their branches do not shrink. Something is wrong here.

 Their lips were frozen with frost, and the frost was melting in their hair. The world was hidden under a thick blanket of snow. It looked like a bunch of white roses on a grave.

- The snow melts into the mist, Migar said. Hallowfall , his pale grey eyes glaring at the massive, sharp-edged mountains. He wore black armour, battered with dents and scrapes. "I will not rot here. This land is hard to search and is riddled with disease. It takes your breath away because you've become so accustomed to the warmth. I'm tired of your chattering teeth and babysitting this boy who ended up here by accident. Where is our voice of reason?"

- It's none of your business, mercenary. - The commander's voice was serious and betrayed his age. Visander was a man well over forty in shining armor, reflecting the light source coming from the torches. He looked around sharply through the holes in his helmet, and the pale moonlight crept into their interior. - At least I feel present when he doesn't hold his tongue. I'm not going to shut him up because you have some whim. Stop for a moment. I can hear you freezing from the cold. Regardless, if you turn back, you'll end up under the jagged blade of the executioner. And sometimes he has to try twice, so think carefully. Returning is even more dangerous.

- Then let them cut off my head - Migar replied , biting his lip. - Go ahead, because threats may not work on me. I am immune to them. We sweat, bleed and die for scraps. With my last breath I would rather take my freedom than wear their collar cutting into my throat. When they finally open me, they will see the same as everyone else. But cold does not give privileges. No... I do not treat anyone better, that is why I am here with you of my own free will. This time.

- So you're suggesting that Hjalkan didn't force you? - Visander provoked him . - Do you think you had another choice?

Migar Hallowfall grimaced, a trace of nervousness appearing on his face.

- You're not half as dry and cold as you were when you were young. - He tugged at his black whiskers. The huge man looked like a bear in the starlight. - Besides, he didn't force me, he just hinted that when I returned I would sail on a river of gold. In other words, he promised me riches. I could drink fluffy, frothy beer foam... Drink it with some redhead, and I'm the blade of a knife that the highest bidder uses. What does that say about me?

Visander said with painful honesty.

 Sato had only fear in his eyes, which is usually a bad advisor. Now he was certain that he shouldn't be here. He was that slim figure who was afraid of fighting like the plague. There was really little life in him, and he had only been through fourteen summers. That day, he saw snow for the first time. His heart became a sea of emptiness. His clothes were stained with mud and clods of earth. Ermine fur stuck out from a tattered leather jacket. A coat of arms was visible on a thick, dark coat that was impossible to recognize even up close.

It was the third night since they had agreed to what they had agreed to. And the first since they had parted ways with the group led by Visander himself . They had divided into groups and avoided the main roads. They moved in dozens. Without any colors, coats of arms or banners that could betray their affiliation. They did not want to feel the uncomfortable gazes of eyes on them, and there are usually such that shine among the trees and rocky slopes.

"I hope they are waiting for our return," the boy began.

- And I, that I will go to hot springs and the stench that spreads from the farmsteads will evaporate from me. - Migar did not remain silent. – Boy . If they're waiting for anything, it's the head of a traitor, so they can nail it to the iron gates of the stronghold. The stench of its corruption would remind them of their loyalty. Everyone would be discouraged from betraying. This is the bloody reality, and hope is not one of them. You live in a corrupt world, and your life means nothing. Not to those who warm their asses in castles and manors. Remember.

- Imagine that the head is a thread, and they can weave whatever they want from it - Visander dreamed . - We have undertaken to cut it off, and this is the least evil that could be chosen. Let us stick to this, and our master will reward us for the suffering we will experience here.

- From now on, the lesser evil is a silent execution? - Migar asked inquisitively . What he did, he did for money, and he did not agree with the commander on this issue.

"The king wants the traitor to die suddenly, " Visander replied . "And as quietly as a mouse, and we will carry out his order. That's why we're here. Besides, is it better to kill the wolf who is the leader, or the whole pack that blindly follows him?"

- It doesn't matter, as long as they pay well for it, but any evil is not a choice, so don't bullshit. Smaller or greater will kill them the same. Neither of those things exist. It's a lie. An illusion. This is how we try to justify killing. There's been more and more of it lately. I feel like the day isn't even getting brighter here. I don't like it here.

- Mercenary lies are divided into those that have come to light and those that no one has to tell. I am lucky enough to see the world as it should be.

- And do they show mercy in this world? And it's probably ruled by the Skybreakers ?

- It is beheading - Visander answered his first question immediately. - The real punishment would be to throw someone to the dogs to tear him in the mud. Everyone would watch as they sank their fangs into the victim, as they ate it with relish. It was once believed that pain was felt after death. So what will it be, mercenary, whose side will you choose when it comes to choosing?

Migar Hallowfall spat.

- None of them are worth my clearing my throat with phlegm.

"I'd rather not choose either," Sato chimed in . "And even though I'm here with you, I don't like wars. I…

 The mercenary smiled gently.

- You have no experience, and you have never seen war. If you think that everyone can choose, you will soon be dead. Choice is first a small drop of blood, and then a thick, flowing stream in the white snow. If it is yours and you are slowly choking on it, then you look at the waxing crescent moon and feel that there is no hope. You die alone with some fucking knife in your guts, wheezing something that does not resemble words. - He began to grip the reins and looked at him nervously and uncertainly. - I hope it's someone's, boy . And if we have to fight, you'd better end your wounded pride, but find shadows to hold on to. There's no point in someone else's war taking such a young soul. Focus on hiding and surviving. You'll be of no use in a fight anyway.

"The one who knew the shadow best was the one who hid under rocks. I've been hit in the head with them ever since I can remember, " he replied in a thin tone of voice. He could barely stay on his saddle, his bruised hands tightening around his rusty knife. " My father was a stable boy, murdered by toothless guards playing with spears. They dragged him out to the stable and stabbed him to death, and I had to tend to their horses despite the humiliation. I felt like a rotting leaf buried under a horseshoe. Those memories haunt me. I know what shadows are. I had to cast them myself to hide."

 Everyone was impressed. The boy had something about him.

- An eye for an eye, does that mean anything to you? - Migar asked . - When you see their helplessness, how they choke on their own blood, you will feel emptiness, but right after it freedom. You have to avenge your father. I doubt he deserved such a death.

 The young man closed his dark eyes for a moment and daydreamed a little. He saw them being ripped open from the chest to the neck. A blackened stream of blood flowed from under the jingling rings of the enemy's mail. The crunching snow under the hooves of dark bay horses brought him back to the present. And the hooting of an owl, said to be the wisdom of the night.

- All in all, I loved life in the stables - said Sato . - I miss it like nothing else, but this job was taken away from me forever. I know that this is not my place. However, I had no other options. War is bloodthirsty, dehumanizing, and nothing speaks to the heart anymore. That's what my grandmother used to say. If I hadn't had to fight poverty, the mother of hunger, I would never have ended up here. This is the last resort...

Migar reached out his hand and touched his black hair.

- I understand why you're here. I just wonder who allowed you to be so reckless.

- Once they stripped me naked and stood me against a stone wall - the boy complained. Somehow he couldn't stop feeling sentimental about the past. - The irony was that they were always throwing them at me. Stones... I got used to it. They cleaned out my pockets like plates of roasted meat. That was the moment when you feel like you're ready to die - he confessed, wiping wet tears from his cheek. - Laugh if that's what you need. I don't care anymore. Just like back then...

"We're getting closer ," Visander interrupted . " It's getting more dangerous, and I'm not your fucking nanny. If the cold doesn't kill us, the bared teeth of the rocks will. Put out those torches and focus on the road. I don't want to be ambushed, and sometimes they set up ambushes here that nobody gets out alive. Didn't anyone warn you about the things that happen here?"

 He was right about the land they were on. The Blackened Ridge was a deeply jagged rocky rib with white powder on its peaks, deeply cut passes, and a crest of sharp-edged mountain ridges. At night, it resembled a dark abyss of steep slopes, rubble, and icy cascades. The lower levels of the valleys were dominated by a view of stunted willows and towering spruces, a landscape of densely planted pines and patches of dwarf pines binding together large masses of snow. The narrow, steep-walled bays were perpetually frozen. Something had been keeping winter for many years.

The commander didn't seem to care about the boy's fate or any of his companions. All he cared about was giving orders. He liked to give them, and he was obsessed with them. He had once cut off the tips of all the fingers of one of his men for disobedience, but now he no longer had that power. He knew strategy and the world, where there was no room for compassion or weakness of any kind. He also hated losing those who were living steel in his eyes. He also didn't like those who didn't know when to be silent. 

- Let him finish. We're out of danger yet.

- A moment ago you wished him to be silent. But that's fine, mercenary, as much of him as he talks.

The great Hallowfall nodded understandingly and wrapped himself more tightly in his thick, black fur.

- I was always treated badly - Sato continued to despair . - Then I understood what anger was, and I had its glints in my eyes. I'm serious! There were barrels behind the stable, and between them there was a knife. I knew it was hidden there. I tried to plunge it into the neck of the largest of the city guards, but all I hit was air. He jumped back. He knocked me down, hitting me in the throat with the hilt. I was choking and clenching my hands. I had never been closer to death. He gave me a look as terrible as the depressions he had on his head. He looked like a monster. I remember what he shouted... "Reap what you sow, dog !" It started to rain. Suddenly a man appeared with an owl on his shoulder. I'm telling you, it was Hjalkan . I'm not lying! It turned out that they had been receiving complaints about them for some time. They were not doing their job well, so someone had to take care of it.

"So you're saying he saved you? " Visander asked him out of curiosity. " I don't know him very well, but everyone is aware of his indifference to anyone's life. It's hard to believe someone like that would care about you. I doubt you're a highborn boy who got into the wrong place. You were lucky, nothing more, but you won't find that here."

 The soldiers riding right behind them shared his opinion. Their lips stretched into smiles. Cold, adorned with mockery.

- And I believe you, boy. - Migar said unexpectedly . - This place is sinister. I miss the hills green like spring leaves. My home. But since we are here, at least finish this story. To the shore with it. For a second I will forget about these peaks and the dry, twisted trees we have just passed. I hate this place. This is the last time I am here. I tell you.

- So... so he asked if I could lend him a knife for a moment - The boy stuttered with stress. - He stuck it in the eye of one of the guards and said: - Look what a good man he was. He decided to be an example so that others would not follow in his footsteps. - Immediately after that Hjalkan laughed, and the others could not control their trembling. This fear... The rest was just noise. Insides that had flowed out like earthworms dragged down the alley. The rain washed them away and I understood then that when running away from an earthworm one could come across vipers. I wondered if they were digging corridors under us, if they could carve them out in our entrails. It was terrifying and liberating at the same time.

The commander took a deep breath.

"Now I have no doubt that it's true. That sounds like him. But I still don't understand how you got here. And I assume that rusty blade you're holding, you pulled it out of your eye socket after it was all over. You left a dark hole behind it, and it serves you to this day."

"You're not wrong at all," Sato assured him . "I lied to Hjalkan that I wanted to repay you, that I would do whatever he wanted. What was I supposed to do? He allowed me to earn my meaningless life. Now I'm doomed to you and your fighting skills. Maybe I'll succeed."

"You're smart for your age, but this time you've outsmarted yourself. You realize that you'll probably die if you get the chance? Even if you make it out of this unscathed, you'll come back with a healthy body but a scarred mind. It's not worth it."

- First I'll avenge my father! - the boy insisted. - I'll kill the one who knocked me down, and then I'll fall asleep by the fire. By some burning coals... - he argued with dried tears on his chin. - Then I can die. This is the death I've dreamed of. I don't want any other fate.

- I admire your determination - Visander replied, slightly angry. He was increasingly convinced that the boy would be of no use. - And yet you want to earn money. To survive. Without it, you won't grow up and avenge anyone. It's high time you were on your guard. Look at the hole in the trunk and other trees. If it's not inhabited by wild animals, then maybe a warrior is sitting there. With a spear. Maybe. Maybe not. But you have to be prepared. You never know. People here are famous for traps, and with this weapon they would gladly pin you to the ground, a land as wild and harsh as its inhabitants. You'd be surprised how strange they are. Pale-skinned. That's what they're called. It's not hard to come across them here. They're horrible people with disgusting habits and symbols carved into their skin. Such people usually grew up in the shadow of the gallows on which their parents were hanged. They're mostly runaways and outlaws. They're dangerous. They like to wreak havoc by burning small, defenseless towns and settlements.

 The forest was white, and the trail was slippery, icy, and covered in a thin layer of snow. The smooth surface of the ice on the lake next to it allowed light to penetrate its depths. The mercenary saw a streak of smoke rising up in the distance like a ghostly tower.

"Look. There's a village about a mile from here ," he said, pointing with a crooked finger. "I hope that's nothing more than our destination. I want to get out of here as soon as possible. Get this over with."

- You are not impatient, and a patient man can boil even a stone - Visander explained to him . - Soon the worst will turn out to be true. Listen to the wind. Do you hear it? It is a melody. So cold and it penetrates even the hearts of trees, but it is us that it wants to take revenge on. For the cruel words that it had to spread. Kylhar Since the dawn is that wind. He is the target. Some call him a hero, others a murderer. Our lord has ordered him hunted down, and he does not forgive sins. Kylhar has betrayed and is wanted. Let us see to it that we deliver his head, and you will never again worry about poverty or frost. He will pay you well, as promised.

 The rapid beating of hearts was soothed by the promise, even though the anxiety was terrifying. The small column of riders moved up the slope and then down a narrow path until they passed the moor. A spreading oak tree caught their attention. They dismounted and tied their horses tightly to a branch as thick as a barrel. The village, on the icy river, looked like a floating ghost in the mist. The modest cottages were built of wood that was already beginning to rot. They were covered with thatched roofs. During the day, they might have been lit by window openings, but at night they allowed darkness to creep in.

 Migar went to another tree to cool down. He touched the birch bark and cut it gently. For a moment it seemed to him that a liquid similar to blood had leaked from it. He sought the sweet taste of sap, for he knew that the supplies would soon run out. He hated suffering from hunger. He had no intention of saving himself with ground bark and poisonous herbs like his previous companions. He would rather cut his throat with a knife and not feel anything like this. He crouched down by a puddle and gathered water in his cupped hands. Ice crystals were floating in the water. He wiped his damp lips with the back of his hand.

 The commander yawned loudly. The others felt a paralyzing tension.

- Don't worry if you get lost during the fight. It's dark, but it could have been a lot worse. They call this river the Imprisoned. It stretches all the way to Hjastfal . The streams freeze right up to the banks, so they're hard and safe. You can walk on them. None of you will drown. Unless you drown in a puddle, that is.

 Migar's voice grew hoarse. His voice began to weaken in the icy wind.

- Everyone has heard of it. Thousands of years ago, there was a mighty fortress here, and deep beneath it were dungeons. For the worst of the worst. Now they are at the bottom, and their frozen bones are the stuff of legend. But I don't believe in fairy tales. I outgrew them a long time ago.

- My lord - said a soldier with golden-red hair, in a snow-white, frayed cloak. - I doubt that the rebel is hiding in this place. There were no traces. Nothing leads us to this place. - He did not hide the indignation caused by fear. - It makes no sense!

- Look. – Visander pointed at a black-striped snowy owl, which began to whine strangely . Hjalkan sees through her eyes. He's the one who tracked down the rebel, and I'm following her. He's not wrong. Take your weapons and let's get this over with. Literally. Turn this place upside down. If they weren't hiding anything, the townspeople would be warming themselves outside by the fire.

 Instead of a weapon, the commander took out an apple with a brown spot. He dug into it greedily, until the juices flowed out. He didn't have time to swallow a bite when his men began to comb the area. For a moment, he thought he saw a silhouette cut off by a distinct dark line. Finally, something else caught his attention. The barn door creaked and a terrifying sound was heard. Visander twisted his lips in a grimace and headed in their direction. There they saw a man hanging by his ankles on a large butcher's hook. His ribs had been removed and his fingers had been crushed, and they were scattered under the corpse. Blood was dripping from him and was already a wide puddle, and the hilt of a short blade protruded from his mouth, piercing him through and through.

- Fuck! We're looking for a ghost. No human did this! - One of the mercenaries got scared, punching a wooden beam with his fist. The rafter shook . - For God's sake! - The soldier started looking around. His face was smooth as silk. - It can't be! Barely! Barely, but I can recognize him. It's Gladys from the Raven Guard, one of the volunteers. His unit must have gotten here first, but where are the others? It's unwise to stay here! It's not too late to turn back!

"Then come back, and you know where you'll end up," he said warningly. " I doubt anyone survived, and I doubt he killed them himself. I think they sank the bodies. They've got to be here somewhere." He took a step back. " I hope so..."

The assailant emerged from the darkness. A cloth, white as cut clouds during the day, was pinned to the shaft of his spear. Folds of fat jumped under his leather vest. They looked like a tide bouncing off a rocky shore. His hair was braided in a thick braid. Migar was standing closest. He parried the first blow, and after a moment he knocked away his opponent's sharp weapon. He quickly approached and struck from the head. He struck until a thin stream of blood appeared on his forehead. The opponent staggered, and the mercenary smashed his face to pulp with one powerful blow of his fist. He quickly grabbed his sword and plunged it into the base of the enemy's skull, simultaneously feeling a throbbing pain in his left thigh. Someone's arrow ploughed through the outside of his leg. It was wrapped in goose feathers, the color of which resembled congealed blood. Migar noticed the tip cut from bone and spat on the floor. It was wet with blood. The mercenary's heart was beating fast and hard like the first time he took someone's life.

Sato couldn't utter a word from his terror. He pressed his lips together tightly. He held a knife in his hand that was useless. The boy was shaking with fear. And with cold. He was surprised by a man with a drooping beard tied with a bone bead. His hammer, studded with nails, was heavy and iron. He must have killed many people… – helplessness thought for him. He closed his tearful eyes, and then the words he uttered in his soul remembered his mother. The strange man swung and hit. A powerful blow from above his head tore a large part of the small boy. He had never seen snow before, and now they were falling, sticking to him. A bone protruded from his shoulder, and his chest resembled a soup with pieces of meat and red water. Migar ran up and delivered a grueling blow at the height of his heart. He felt that he was alive, when only spots of blood and darkness flashed before his eyes. The man jumped back and parried the blow. A hoarse laugh escaped his throat. The mercenary jumped up abruptly and ran up again without hesitation. With the last of his strength, he pushed the assassin onto the sharpened pole, and it tore his body apart, piercing organ after organ. His insides were spilling out of his abdominal cavity, and he tried to hold them up with his hands. He whimpered.

 The next Paleskins were as fierce as hungry wolves. They were known for their brutality and love of fire. They were accompanied by the stench of charred corpses. They wore grey, exceptionally long skins that wrapped them like armor. They looked as if they had been freshly torn from an animal. One of them stood with a torch and threw it inside the barn, and its flickering flame began to eat away at the walls. There was no chance of taming the fire. Its hunger. The man was ready to burn his own men alive as well. The night was torn apart by the clang of iron. Bone cracked. One could drown in a sea of limbs, severed, swimming in a fountain of blood. Almost all of the mercenaries were already dead. One tried to escape, seeing his comrades die from brutal cuts, but after only a few steps an arrow pierced his throat. The dead body thudded to the ground. Another threw down his weapon in a gesture of surrender. He fell to his knees. Another Paleskin with a cold gaze plunged his sword into his neck, even though the man had stopped fighting. He wiped his sword on his leather glove and snorted quietly.

Migar felt a brush against the bridge of his nose. He swung at the next target. He slashed diagonally, hitting one under the chin. Blood from the cut neck spurted through the cracks in the boards. The victim gurgled and fell on his back. In the end, there were too many of them. They surrounded him. They tore the sword from his hands and felled him in a trio. With difficulty. He struggled desperately, knowing that this was the end. Bitter tears of suffering were born in the cracks of his pupils. They tied his hands tightly with a rope that cut into his wrists. He looked at the boy's ground body and felt a surge of regret mixed with helplessness. He cursed. Apart from the commander, the rest of his companions were already a bloody memory carried by the wind. Greed had brought them and it was greed that took them to the grave. From the forests came the thunder of drums, like the chirping of crickets at night. The mercenary knew the stories of these places, but he refused to believe them with all his heart. His eyes watered from the smoke.

Visander was the last one standing. Tired of the cold, the fight, and the uncertainty. He watched helplessly as his own men were torn apart. The man with the grey beard hit him with the hilt from below. He drew a terrible breath through his yellowed teeth and laughed nastily. He grabbed the commander by the head and threw back his helmet. Under it was a long, ugly face with an expression of deep hatred. However, his sparse beard could not hide it. Two Paleskins dragged him to the entrance of the collapsing barn. A wall of fire grew before his eyes, and flaming tongues forked outwards.

Kylhar Skorowit was sitting by the fire, warming the blade with the flaming blade of his sword. His hair was long, greasy, and matted with blood. On his breastplate was a black bull with steam flying from its nostrils, on a silver-gold field. He sighed and grabbed his sword with both hands. The commander was not impressed.

- I hate cold steel - he said. - You won't feel this cold.

Visander shouted back . His face, without his helmet, was dripping with blood. - I hate them because they are like an open wound that will not heal. Tears come to my eyes when you mete out justice. It must be pleasant when you slaughter bodies like they were old rags. These people deserve a burial!

- Maybe they deserve it - he sneered. - Some of them. But how do we put them back together now?

- You have no heart...

- Gladys was a murderer - Kylhar explained . - He kidnapped a girl and raped her. I should have dealt with him a long time ago. Back in Syvandis . Greed pushed him out of the capital. Right into my hands. Unlike him, you're not interested in money. You came here for glory, lost honor. Right? And the line between betrayal and faith in a better tomorrow has long since been blurred. I poured out a sea of suffering in the name of your master. I accepted every order, and they turned my thoughts into sharp icicles. Something began to melt them... I opened my eyes, or rather my eye, because it's making me half blind. See? Don't speak up if you don't know what justice is.

 Visander could no longer bear these insults.

- What are you waiting for, coward? - he provoked him. - I would never hesitate. I prefer...

"Cold steel," Kylhar finished for him, his voice full of determination. A clean cut separated the commander's head from his torso. It rolled gently into the black, muddy water, and the scabbard of his sword, braided with snake scales, shimmered against the moon.

 Kylhar sighed. He rubbed his eyes, as if unsure if he had done the right thing. He was running away from the judgment of a king who had left him no choice.

"Come here, mercenary," he ordered, frowning.

 Migar approached him, aided by the Paleskins' blades he felt on his back. He watched as the rebel dressed the wound on his wrist.

- I like herbs boiling in wine, and I like soaking a bandage in them even more. I like drinking them the most. You know, there's a place... I think I'll go there.

- Visander liked wine... He said so during one of his expeditions...

 Kylhar pulled a small bottle from his belt. He walked over to the severed head and placed it on the black stump. He poured wine on it, condensing onto the snow.

- I won't refuse a thirsty man. - He grabbed the red marks of the bandage. - The commander wanted to regain his honor, but he miscalculated a bit. All he could think about was how to kill me. It was the only way to gain the king's favor. Fuck him. He had murders on his conscience, which had removed him from the royal chair and council. He liked him, unlike the most important figures who sat with him. I intend to spare you. But... You will go to Serpent Garden and pass on this message to Lord Xolorian . - He approached and whispered it in his ear. He took out a knife with inlaid rubies and cut the thick rope of the captured mercenary. In the process, he skillfully cut him in the hand and around the collarbone as a warning. - If you chicken out or don't get there fast enough, thousands of innocent people will die. Hjalkan will find you anyway to understand what happened, and his owls will take your chopped flesh for a meal.

 It began to clear. The rising sun reflected off the snow-capped mountain peaks, spilling a shade of blood-red light on the horizon. The giant nodded, taking it to heart. He had barely mounted his horse, but not before he had grabbed his thigh, pierced with pain. In the cold of the dawning day, he tugged at the leather reins with his hands and rode into the depths of the forest. The last streams of light were absorbed by skin the shade of misty dawn. He dissolved behind the curtain of trees like a ghost, and the damp edges of the leaves were a thousand witnesses. After a while, in the distance, he saw a sign above the door that he had never seen before. The wind was tossing it from side to side, and the tooth of time had barely gnawed at the name. The shield and its rim were filled with a curved rod with winding edges. Blood flowed from his body in a stream. Before he fainted, he looked closely. "Under the Bloody Hook, or where God is not."

"Fuck, I knew it," he thundered, and slipped into unconsciousness in a stream of blood.