Saska nodded. “It just seemed like it would be that way.”

“Indeed. But we are not always as we seem, are we?” He gave her a knowing look. “Savage is quite pleasant when the fighting is done, in truth. But when battle stirs…” The wild screaming of the axeman said it all, as she tore out a chunk of flesh from his neck, dropped off his back, drew a knife, and stabbed wildly through his armour with a godsteel blade, quick as a woodpecker. The Surgeon enjoyed that, by his smile. “But we can say the same about many other people, can we not? Look at the Butcher. All those scars, that torn and tattered cloak. He is fearsome to look upon, a pit fighter and a brute. But also a man of mirthful character when you get to know him.”

A terror to his enemies, a godsend to his friends. Saska liked the Butcher tremendously.

“And you, of course.”

She looked at him.

Another of his unreadable smiles. “You are more of an enigma than anyone. A slave-girl, who is a princess, who is Bladeborn and the heir of Varin. And I hear you are Seaborn too.”

She nodded. “My father’s mother was Princess Atia, of Rasalan. Most people believe she died of tuberculosis, but that was never true. She died birthing my father.”

“As your mother died birthing you.” His eyes dipped to the blade at her hip, glimmering blue and silver in its sheath. “It is said that the blood of Varin is so strong that often women perish when birthing great Bladeborn. It is an omen of greatness, some say. We must hope this is the case with you.”

He sounded sincere enough, in that. “I hope the same,” was all she said. Then she turned back to watch the battle.

The sun was beginning its descent into the west, turning the skies a soft shade of red, slashed through with spears of pink and vermilion, soaking the clouds in colour. The battle went from a boil to a simmer, the enemy ranks depleting. Some of them decided that they wanted to live a little longer after all, turning to run, men giving chase. Others threw down their arms where they stood, heaving and bloody, and yielded. A few fought on, the strongest of them, though soon enough those too were overwhelmed, killed or captured.

By the time it was all done, the company had lost some dozen men, each of them under the charge of Sunrider Tantario. Half of those were the men who had gone scouting into the buildings, where they were set upon without warning. The rest were made up of spearmen, swordsmen, and a paladin knight, who had been killed by the rebel leader, who had survived the battle, fighting on until the end, before being disarmed and disabled by the Wall. The giant had his great fist around the knight’s neck, dragging him across the bloodied cobbles, to throw down at Saska’s feet. “Their leader,” Sir Ralston boomed. “His name’s Sir Gavin Trent.”

That name seemed familiar to her. She frowned, trying to place it.

“He was Cedrik Kastor’s man,” the Wall told her. “His battle commander.”

Saska’s lip pulled back. Sunrider Tantario was with them, and several others. The rest were gathering the dead, corralling the few other men who had given themselves up as prisoners. The red in the skies thickened and darkened to match the blood on the stone. “You were here to ambush innocent travellers,” Tantario accused.

Trent gave no answer. The Wall hooked a hand under his chin, lifting him into the air. With his other hand he pulled off the man’s helm, revealing a rugged face, craggy as the canyons through which they’d passed, torn with old battle-scars. “Speak,” he demanded. Nothing. He squeezed, steel fingers digging into the flesh of Sir Gavin’s throat. “Speak.”

He can’t, with you holding him like that. “Put him down, Sir Ralston,” Saska said. She tried not to call him Rolly during these moments.

The man was lowered, the Wall’s fingers opening. Sir Gavin sucked in a sharp ragged breath, and stumbled, dropping to a knee.

“A little late to pay me fealty,” Saska said to him.

He snorted, looking up at her. “I know you.”

“And I you. Kastor’s lapdog. He’s dead, you should know.”

“Figured he would be.” His eyes shifted up to the Wall. “Was it you?”

“Her.” Saska pointed at Joy, who had come stalking over to her side, black fur shimmering, shoulders going up and down. The silver spots on her coat were like stars, more visible when the sun was down. And those eyes, like silver flame, burning as they stared right into the man’s soul. “He didn’t die well, Sir Gavin. Speak, else you won’t either.”

The threat didn’t seem to faze him. He looked at Sunrider Tantario. “We holed up here after the fighting. Seemed a good spot to catch a fish or two flapping by. Didn’t expect the likes of you.”

“A dozen of my men are dead.”

“And five dozen of mine.”

“You are enemies of this land, invaders. But my lord is merciful. You are to be taken back to Aram, to face judgement for your crimes.”

Sir Gavin scoffed. “The judgement of a noose. I’d sooner die here and now.” He turned to Sir Ralston Whaleheart. “You’re a knight, like me. Give me the honour of…”

“Why aren’t you with Prince Robbert?” Saska interrupted. She wanted to know before the man died. “He marched from Aram with what remained of your army. Why did you not go with him?”

“We did, at first…then we left him. Me and these…” He glanced over at the ruin of his little band. There must have been a good sixty of them lying scattered and dead and dying across the square. Only a handful had given themselves up. Perhaps another score had run for the hills. “The boy wanted to sail north, take us all down to Daarl’s Domain. Not us. We here wanted to die with blades in our fists, not wooden decks beneath our feet. I’d die a warrior, a knight, as I have lived.” He looked at Sir Ralston again. “See it done. One knight to another. See it done.”

The Wall looked at Saska. She thought about it. “And your other men?”

“Them too. Line ‘em up. Take their heads. You ask them if you want. See if they want to be taken back to Aram in chains. None will, I’ll tell you. They’d all sooner die, here and now. By Sir Ralston’s blade. That’s a worthy way to go.”

Saska shared a look with Sunrider Tantario. “We will have to confirm it with these men,” he said. “Lord Hasham’s orders are plain, Serenity. Though…”

Though you have lost a dozen men already, Saska might have said for him. They could hardly afford to be sending more back to Aram as escort for a few lowly prisoners.

Tantario clearly thought the same. “Bring them here,” he called out.

There were five of them. One was a greybeard, long in the tooth, a pair of others of middle years. The youngest two were in their twenties, it looked.

“It’s here, or Aram,” Sir Gavin said to them. “It’s the rope or the Wall. Your choice.”

“What choice is that,” growled the greybeard. “End it now. And be quick about it.” He even lowered his head, plainly asking to be first.

The others took a moment longer to think about it, though in the end, all of them decided it was better to die a quick clean death than be marched back to Aram to die slow. Clearly, none expected mercy from the moonlord. Saska had to commend their courage, at least, to look death in the face and shrug.

“See it done, then,” she said, giving out the final command once the prisoners had made their choice.

The men were positioned on their knees, lined up in single file, one behind the other, so they did not have to watch. The Wall started from the back, the greybeard first to die. “Any last words, old man?”

“Does spitting count?” The old soldier spat a gob onto Sir Ralston’s greaves, the spittle sliding down an old dent in the godsteel.

The Wall gave no reaction. He merely lifted his greatsword in a heave, and swung down, cutting clean through the nape of his neck.

He stepped to the next, one of the younger men. “Any last words?”

A silent shake of the head, and another head went rolling along the cobbles.

Saska watched the executions from one side, never once turning her eyes away, unpleasant though it was. I’m the leader, she told herself. I gave the final command, and should watch. She sensed that she would earn some respect for that, from the men.

Soon enough five heads had rolled, five bodies toppling, blood flowing and pulsing to the stone. Sir Gavin Trent was the last, kneeling in front of the bodies. He turned his neck to have a look, nodding in approval. “You make a good headsman, Whaleheart. Nice and clean. You sure you didn’t miss your calling?”

The Wall looked down at him flatly. “Any last words, Sir Gavin?”

The gruff battle commander gave a grunt. He looked at Saska, frowning, then at the others gathered around, the Sunriders and Starriders and paladin knights, Leshie in her red armour, Del. “Might ask what all this is about, but not sure there’s much point now.” He shrugged, took one last look at Saska, then lowered his head. “Ah, just get on with it, Whaleheart. Had enough of this cursed land.”

Sir Ralston stepped forward, and obliged him, sending his head to join the others.

Saska looked at the corpses, the severed heads, the blood sprayed across the square. She shook her head and sighed at all the killing.