What They Don’t Say

The sun had climbed higher by the time we stopped to water the horses. Voss and Marlow stood a little apart from me, still talking. I stayed near the animals and kept an eye on the ridge to the north.

“They’re already struggling with the last increase,” Marlow said. “Another one this season and half of them won’t be able to pay.”

Voss didn’t sound particularly concerned. “Then they’ll have to find other arrangements. We’re not running a charity, Marlow. If they can’t keep up, someone else will take the land. That’s how these things work.”

I checked the girth on my horse and ran a hand along the worn leather. One of the buckles was starting to give. I made a mental note to fix it tonight. The road ahead looked clear, but I didn’t like how open it was once we left the last of the trees behind.

Marlow lowered his voice slightly. “And if they push back? We’ve had trouble before.”

Voss was quiet for a moment. When he answered, he sounded almost bored. “Then we remind them what happens when people make things difficult. A few examples usually go a long way.”

I tightened the buckle with my thumb and glanced toward them. Voss caught my eye and gave a small nod, like he expected me to agree with him. I nodded back once and turned back to the horse.

The ridge was still empty. Good.

We mounted up again a few minutes later. Voss rode in front with Marlow beside him. I followed a few lengths behind, like always.

The land was already starting to look like Westfall. Dry soil, thin grass, and that long, flat horizon that made it hard to see trouble coming until it was already close.

I kept my hand near my sword and watched the sides of the road.