Eagle Eye spits on the corpse: “Ptew! Devil!” Then he turns around and shouts towards their sled: “Anna! Get some bandages!”

  Kale looks at the frail child in front of him. So badly beaten that it is hard to believe he is still breathing. Even a man who makes a living taking lives finds it hard to look at such a sight.

  “Why would someone do this?” This question escapes his stunned lips and lingers in the air for a while.

  “Not someone. …Something; Some kind of monster…” Viper answers. Not even his own childhood spent in slavery could compare to this.

  Anna finally arrives to the scene, bandages in hand. She had grown somewhat used to human remains and misery in her short time with the mercenaries, but this time she gasps in horror and freezes in place like a deer in headlights.

  Eagle Eye wants to shout at her to snap out of it, but instead he quietly grabs the bandages and alcohol out of her hand. Gently, he dabs the cuts with alcohol to disinfect. The child barely has the strength to twitch with pain caused by the rudimentary disinfectant.

  After he is done dressing the wounds, Eagle Eye drapes a woolen gambeson over his arms and coddles the child inside it. He carries him over to the sled and sits down next to Rabbit, nursing the child like he were a new mother.

  Once alone, Thorvald and Landyn get ready to start on their chores. Thorvald drinks down a mouthful of strong booze to drown his feelings, but immediately regrets it as he then has to fight his guts who refuse to take in this much alcohol at once. After his small internal war is over and he has won, he hands the bottle over to Landyn who takes a swig as well.

  “You think the kid will live?” Thorvald asks, wanting reassurance.

  “Can’t say… I’ve seen grown men die from less.” Landyn’s eyes focus on something in the distance: a vulture.

  Yes, a vulture is associated with death, but it also cleans the forest. Heals it. For a deer, a vulture is nothing but a greedy cruel thing, waiting to defile his body as soon as he drops dead. For a forest, a vulture cleans it of rot and lets it grow stronger trees and greener grass in place of the carcass.

  ‘I hope this kid’s like the forest…’

  “*sigh*...Whatever. Let’s get to work.” Thorvald breaks the contemplative mood by immediately starting to remove rings off the vile woman’s fingers and checking her pockets.

  After they are done, they take stock of their loot: Three full sets of armor in almost pristine state, five gold rings, three swords, two polearms and around 1500 crowns which were hidden under the seat in the carriage.

  There is an argument to be made that they are richer now than their company ever was, even under Jon’s leadership. From now on, every single one of the Knight Flayers will be donning a full set of armor when going into battle… except for Thorvald. Nothing fits him.

  “It’s too much weight for the donkey. Thorvald, carry Rabbit on your back for now.” Landyn commands. An unusual problem to have: too much loot; but it is still a problem.

  “Ooh! Piggy back ride!” Rabbit exclaims with glee.

  “If you get a stiffy I’ll break your back again! Y’hear?”

  “Even a half-chub?”

  “For that, no more piggy back.” Thorvald says, throwing Rabbit over his shoulder.

  “Aww man…”

  “You’re scaring the poor kid, you brutes!” Eagle Eye scolds them from the back of the sled, still holding the child tightly.

  “You know what? You could help us push the sled uphill.” Landyn tramples on his parade.

  “But-”

  “Oh! I’m sure Anna would love to sit down for a while and hold the kid. Not to mention that the kid would like to lay his head on something softer than your pauldrons.” Viper adds.

  “F-Fine…” Eagle Eye reluctantly gets up and gently hands the child over to Anna.

  She shoots Viper a wink, thanking him for sparing her feet the long road ahead for once.

  She settles into the cramped space between pikes and spare armors and finally gets a good look at the child. He is no older than twelve, yet he bears more scars than even the most grizzled warriors around her. The thick gambeson which he is wrapped in has already soaked through with his blood, despite the bandages.

  ‘I don’t know his name… and he won’t tell me. But a child can’t die without a name. I… want him to lead a normal life. Not like us…’

  She whispers softly into his ear: “I will call you Jacob. An ordinary name, for the ordinary man I hope you will become.”

  At the front of the sled, Thorvald still feels like something was left unsaid:

  “You know you could’ve got us killed back there, right?”

  “...I wasn’t thinking.”

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  “I know being a leader is hard, but you can’t be reckless like that. If those were actual knights with magical powers and combat experience… We wouldn’t have so many people left… if any.”

  “I know. I fucked up. I won’t do it again.”

  Saul, hearing the conversation, can’t help but jump in: “But that was truly heroic what you did! Tell me, Sir Landyn, were you a knight before? Perhaps a robber baron?”

  Thorvald and Landyn stop and stare at each other for a second before erupting in contagious laughter, making Saul turn red in the face.

  Thorvald: “HAHAHA! *wheeze* N- HAHAHAHA! No- No he wasn’t! He was a stinky tanner’s boy! If you want, you can call him Sir Tanner! HAHAHAHA! *wheeze*”

  And thus, a new nickname was born.

  —

  The road stretched on and on and there was no rest stop nor even a single trace of human life.

  They passed abandoned carts by the roadside, reclaimed by rot and roots over the years. They passed babbling brooks so isolated that not even animals stopped to have a drink at them. They passed dust and rocks and grass and nothing at all.

  But every time they glanced back at the sled, they saw Anna hold the child tighter, more desperate. He was growing colder. His wounds were drying up, but his breaths grew shallower and shallower.

  So they hurried their pace. To find a doctor, a herbalist, a travelling alchemist, anything at all. Any ray of hope.

  Thorvald is the tallest among them, and thus the first to see ahead: “You’ve gotta be fucking joking…”

  “Stop being so fucking dramatic and tell us what you saw.” Kale grunts out with laboured breath.

  “Another fucking carriage.”

  This carriage was even more impressive. A house on wheels, drawn by six steeds tall and strong. Six more steeds flanked it all around, carrying six knights atop them, armor glinting in the distance.

  “Fuck it. Keep moving.” Landyn orders.

  “But- What if they see us as a threat?” Rabbit asks.

  “Did I fucking stutter?” Landyn boldly shuts him up.

  Everyone is concerned. A noble with such retinue might just order their knights to kill them all preemptively; for safety, or just for the fun of it. But if the order was given, then they must keep pulling the sled. Not even the donkey disobeys the captain.

  They trudge on. Hours of marching at a break-neck pace straining their legs and backs. Sweat slowly rusts their heavy chainmail.

  When the distance between them and the strangers is just twenty paces, the carriage stops and knights grip their swords without unsheathing, just a quiet threat that was nonetheless fully understood by the Knight Flayers.

  “We’ve no time to stop! We carry a wounded child with us! We mean you no harm! Let us pass!” Landyn shouts with ragged breath and honest eyes.

  The knights hesitate, their apprehension seeming unchivalrous even to themselves.

  However, an unintelligible order comes from inside and they trot to the middle of the road, blocking passage.

  “Halt!” One of them shouts from behind the cold steel visor of his helmet.

  The men halt, since there is no way forward. Despite their tiredness, none dare let out their breath. Their blood runs like raging rivers flooding their veins. When before they wheezed now they growl.

  Thorvald puts Rabbit onto the back of the donkey and unsheathes his falx. He shouts in a deep voice that puts fear even into the hearts of the distinguished knights before him: “WE ARE THE FUCKING KNIGHT FLAYERS!” One of the warhorses neighs and rears up onto its hindlegs, almost unsaddling the knight atop it. “Do you godless whoresons really want to find out how we earned this name?”

  The door of the carriage opens with dramatic timing, disarming the tense situation a little.

  ‘If whoever is inside is willing to come out of safety and face us… either they don’t know fear or they don’t actually want to fight us.’ Landyn thinks.

  A woman’s figure carefully steps out from the carriage with grace and nobility in every step. She shakes her head to move her long orange hair behind her sharp features blurred by myriad freckles centered around blue eyes.

  “Calmez vous, my brave sellswords.” She proclaims with confidence and a muted smile. “You are very lucky to have run into us. We are transporting high ranking healers of the guild off the frontlines. They are willing to use what little mana they have left to aid this child as a favor to me, the humble daughter of Baron Winchillas, Vulpes of Winchillas.”

  Landyn pull Thorvald by the shoulder and says into his ear: “Put that fucking thing away before you fuck this up!”

  As Thorvald sheathes his falx like a dog sheathing its tail between its legs, Landyn addresses the baron’s daughter: “Nice to meet you, Lady Vulpes. I apologize for my men’s hastiness and hope you take no offense.” Normally one would wait for a reply here, but Landyn is no noble.

  He continues in the same breath: “If you are willing to allow your companions to heal the child, we would be very thankful.”

  “I know.” Her smile grows wider, but unlike the duchess they met before her, her smile is playful, innocent, charming.

  “...”

  “...”

  “So?”

  “Oh! Right! Come out, guys!” She gestures toward the open carriage door and three healers wearing their usual robes pour out and then stop, confused as to where the supposed wounded child is. “Well? Are you going to bring the child?”

  “Oh! Right! Eagle Eye, would you go get him?”

  “Yes, sir.” He says without thinking.

  “Oh? You are a Sir? Perhaps a Baron or Knight?” The Baron’s daughter asks, somewhat surprised. He is wearing plate armor after all so she expected some sort of noble rank from him.

  “N-”

  Before Landyn could answer, Saul starts laughing: “Hahaha! No, he is not of any noble birth! He’s a stinky tanner’s boy, but we call him Sir Tanner because of his chivalrous heart!”

  Rabbit, upside down and strewn across the donkey’s ass: “Shut the fuck up, Saul!”

  “Hahaha!” The lady lets out a pure laugh, more pleasing to the ears than the song of the most beautiful bird. “It is nice to see you get along so well with your men, sellsword. Tell me then, what is your actual name?”

  “My name is Landyn, your Highness.”

  The lighthearted atmosphere changes when Eagle Eye lays the child down at the healers’ feet and unwraps the thick blankets and the gambeson which coddled him. As he starts to shiver his wounds open once again.

  The oldest of the healers speaks with urgency while another of the healers blindfolds the child: “We have agreed to heal this child as a favor to the honorable Lady Vulpes of Winchillas. However, I ask that you follow our customs and look away while we perform the sacred rites!”

  The lady’s smile turns serious and she curtsies before turning away. The knights follow suit. The Knight Flayers wait until Landyn gives them the nod and they also turn away.

  They can hear their robes cutting the wind as they move in sharp rehearsed ways and soon they can see a faint glow crawl up to their feet. They hear the sickening squelching of flesh being knit back together and weak groans of pain coming from the boy.

  “It’s done.”

  The boy is healed. The bruising is gone and the blood is no longer seeping from him. He sleeps, peacefully.

  Relief washes over everyone. The men are so hardened by war and death that this unfamiliar warm feeling brings tears to their eyes which they valiantly swallow and bury deep in their chest, like any other emotion they encounter in life.

  “Well, it looks like it is time we move on. I hope we meet again, Knight Flayers, Sir Tanner.” She shoots Landyn a cheeky smile as she climbs back onto her carriage.