The sun was setting, staining the edge of the sky with orange and red. In the distance, only small hills were visible; everything else was a vast expanse of plains. Kael stood at the forest's edge, watching a small village a few miles away with dead eyes.
— Got out, — he whispered in a hollow voice and crouched by a tree on the green grass. It was the second month of spring, and the cold winter winds were behind him. Lowering his gaze to look at himself, he took stock. His clothes were almost completely torn, the remaining scraps of fabric caked in dirt and dried blood. His left arm was bandaged with a rag, hiding the slave brand on the back of his hand. Over his shoulders hung a fur cloak made from the hide of a young bear he'd killed. The dagger was still with him, its blade now badly dulled.
Turning back toward the forest, Kael walked a couple of miles deeper in, where he found a small stream no more than two meters wide and barely knee-deep. Crouching down, he looked at his wavering reflection in the water and sighed.
— The night will be long and bloody, — Kael muttered, splashing his face with the cold water and frowning slightly. Touching his cheeks, he noticed the faint stubble was almost a full beard now. — Torgrim would've liked this, — he said with a barely noticeable smile and lowered his head. Memories from the past began to surface, but Kael quickly plunged his face into the creek to distract himself. The sharp cold jolted him, and the unwanted thoughts vanished instantly.
With the appearance of the first stars, the young man walked out onto a broad field, stepping slowly on the soft green grass. The dagger hung at his belt, and his cloak swayed in a light, fresh breeze. The sky was clear, enchanting, even pleasant to Kael. For the first time in a long while, his eyes looked not with empty indifference, but with a slight sense of relaxation and pleasure.
The village drew closer,the lights from torches and houses burning brighter. The forest smells of dampness and moss slowly faded. Kael was aware that soon, blood would be spilled—someone else's, innocent blood. With every step, the awareness of what was to come made his heart beat faster. Doubts crept in unnoticed, even making him shudder and stop for a moment. But the moment the images of his fallen comrades surfaced, the blood began to boil in his veins again.
Kael stopped. Twenty meters away stood an old hut, the very last one, set apart from the other houses. He stood and watched as a faint light played behind thin curtains and someone's shadow passed quickly in front of the window.
He headed toward the hut.His steps were quick but silent, making no sound. Reaching the door, he drew the dagger from his belt and raised his hand to knock. But right at the door, his hand froze. Kael went still. Through the thin, cracked and warped door boards, he heard voices. Voices that caused a sharp pain in his chest, brought involuntary tears to his eyes, and reminded him of those he had tried so hard to forget.
— Grandpa, it hurts, — came a weak child's voice.
— Just a moment, grandson, grandpa is preparing the medicine. Be patient, just a little longer, — the old man's words were quiet and hurried. However hard he tried to seem calm, hiding the fear was difficult.
—bMama... — the child moaned, slowly falling asleep. The old man looked at him, his hands trembling. His weak, gaunt, and wrinkled hands held a bowl of ground herbs and berries he'd bought from the herbalist that day. He looked at his little grandson, wrapped in a thin blanket, and closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he put the bowl on the table and headed for the exit.
Stepping outside, the old man sat by the door and, unable to hold back, wept.
—bGods, I beg you, have mercy on this child. He's all I have left... I pray to you... — his voice was full of despair. Yet even so, it was clear the old man held no hope, for the gods had long since abandoned them...
Kael stood and watched this scene from behind the corner of the hut. Returning the dagger to his belt, he turned toward the other houses.
— The gods have abandoned us, but still, I hope your grandson lives, — the young man whispered, walking away from the hut. He did not look back. The tears on his cheeks had already dried, burned away in the cold flame of a new purpose. His steps no longer led to random doors. They carried him along a straight, dark path that led through sleeping vegetable gardens right to the dark silhouette on the hill. To the manor. There, it wasn't a sick child waiting for him, but another old man. One who had something worth taking. And Kael was ready to take it. — All for the sake of vengeance.
In the very center of the village stood a two-story manor with stone walls. The baron's house, the local fortress and administrative seat that governed all the lands under this feudal lord's power. And Kael was walking right toward it.
On the way,two guards came toward him—a miller and a butcher with pitchforks. They were not warriors, but by the baron's order, all men were obliged to take turns on patrol.
Hiding behind the fence of a neighbor's garden,the young man waited for the two men to pass. They were chatting and seemed very tired, so they didn't pay much attention to their surroundings.
Passing a few more houses and a sleeping dog that noticed him,Kael reached the baron's house. The stone walls and well-fortified windows and doors wouldn't let a hunter simply walk inside. He circled the house several times, carefully examining every corner. There weren't many options for a stealthy entrance. The best of them was a second-floor window that didn't look closed and wasn't barred with an iron grate like those on the first floor.
Kael was almost certain that was where the local lord's chambers were. Not wanting to waste any more time, he found a small trash barrel around the corner and dragged it to the wall. Every movement was careful and slow, to avoid drawing attention or making unnecessary noise.
He climbed onto it,feeling it sink into the loose earth. The windowsill was just a little more than an arm's length away. Kael pressed his fingers into the rough stone and drew his dagger. The blade slid into the gap between the window frame and the wall. He pushed—a latch clicked inside.
Opening the window with a faint creak,he grabbed the frame and pulled himself inside, lowering his feet to the floor as softly as possible.
The snoring in the room did not stop. The room was spacious. Tables stood to the left, and a wide, ornate bed to the right. And on that bed, snoring loudly, lay the baron, a man of about fifty. His large, round belly protruded from under his shirt, and the smell of strong drink emanated from him.
Kael approached his bed and stood right over him.His dark figure loomed over the defenseless body, the dagger clenched tightly in his hand.
He took a deep breath and swung the dagger sharply.