Western Road

The road out of Darkshire was quiet this morning. Too quiet, if you asked me. The kind of quiet that makes you watch the treeline a little closer than usual.

Lord Harlan Voss walked a few paces ahead with his man, Marlow. They spoke in low voices, the way men do when they think the help isn’t listening. I was listening. Enough to get the shape of it.

“…the contracts should be ready by the end of the month,” Voss said. “Once we have the transport rights secured, we can move the goods straight through Westfall without the usual delays.”

Marlow made a pleased sound. “And the farmers? They’ll fall in line once they see there’s no real choice in the matter.”

Voss chuckled quietly. “Most of them will. The ones who don’t… well. We’ll make it worth their while to reconsider.”

I kept my eyes on the woods. A pair of crows lifted from a dead tree up ahead. Nothing else moved. My left pauldron had started rubbing again where the strap had worn thin. I shifted the weight of the shield on my back and kept walking.

They went on like that for a while. Talk of ledgers, percentages, and “mutually beneficial arrangements.” I didn’t need the full picture to know what it meant. Westfall was already bleeding. This would just make sure it kept bleeding in the right direction.

A branch snapped somewhere off to the left. I stopped. Both men kept walking for a few steps before Voss glanced back.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“Deer,” I said.

He nodded and turned back to Marlow. I waited another moment, then followed. It hadn’t been a deer.

The road curved ahead, bending toward the hills that marked the edge of Westfall. I could already see the change in the land — the trees thinning out, the ground turning harder and drier. Voss and Marlow kept talking. Something about new levies and “streamlining the collection process.”

I adjusted the grip on my sword hilt and kept scanning the treeline.

Just another day on the job.