Young men sent to kill people only because they still believed in big-breasted goddesses. There are worse reasons to lose your life for. This village was probably slaughtered because they prayed to one god instead of another, and he dared ask the soldier to keep it together? Is that Malek boy thinking about his parents now, hanging the idol of Lada in their house, and how they could end up for it?

The young boyar and his personal guard strode into the village after the initial search had finished.

“I’m considering resting here today.” - said Ozren.

He spoke like a true leader. He didn’t ask questions but said his intentions. If Veran had anything against that, he was given an opportunity to speak. The general knew Ozren since he was a child. Because of that, he couldn’t let him talk to him like an old-time friend, especially at war. A ruler had to rule.

“I don’t see a reason not to. The men would be glad to have a roof over their heads and a dry place to sleep. We won’t have anywhere else to rest before Rhana.”

The thought of sleeping here troubled him, though. The voice in his head whispered cryptic words in the back of his mind. Veran wasn’t a superstitious man but spending the night in a place of murder wasn’t a calming thought. Is that only because he knew? Who knows how many times he had slept on the grass where armies had clashed in the past? What makes this little patch of land any different?

The quiet village turned into an army camp in a matter of minutes. Men were throwing rubble and trash out of the houses, preparing them to become barracks for the night. Watch posts and fires were already being prepared.

Each squad took care of their job to the sound of swearing and laughter. It was controlled chaos. Each log was an inch away from pushing someone, but it never did. One step to the left would make a cart fall over, but the men knew exactly where to walk in this havoc.

Veran went through the camp, peeking over people’s shoulders, looking left and right. Making sure everyone’s doing their duties. He had almost reached the other end of the village when he saw Ozren’s golden hair. There he was, helping a group of soldiers take down a stuck tent from one of the carts.

In the disarray, he saw a short, hunched man walking straight toward the cart. He was looking straight at Ozren, holding his arm inside his coat. Something was off. Veran started walking quicker, pushing people away. The man was only a few steps away from the boyar when Veran saw him pull out a knife from under his coat. The blade flashed.

Veran started running, but there was no chance he would reach the boy in time. He was too far away. He pushed other soldiers away, preparing to draw his sword, and cut the hunched man with the first swing.

“Let me, sire.” - the man said to Ozren and cut the tent’s ropes when Veran was only a few steps away from him.

Veran’s heart was beating in his throat. He took his hand away from the sword’s hilt and dragged himself to the back of one of the houses. He leaned on the wooden wall and slid down to the ground. He let his head fall back and breathed heavily with an open mouth. There was no reason to jump like that. Why would Ozren be in trouble with his own men?

He just found out that some of them are still pagan, so you can never know everything, the voice whispered again. What would he have done if he had reached the guy? Kill him in cold blood because he tried to help? Because his general was paranoid?

“Are you well, sir?” - a soldier asked.

A young man carrying a log gave the commander a puzzled look, seeing him sitting in the mud.

“I’m fine.” - Veran answered, but that didn’t seem to ground the surprised eyebrows of the man.

“It’s the knees.” - Veran continued.

“Ah, the knees. My apologies, sir.” - he said and trailed off.

Sooner or later, everyone feels their knees protesting. Mention that they’re causing you problems, and you can get away with most things. Veran stood up, using the wall for support, and brushed the dirt from his armor.

“One last march, Veran. Get it together.” - he said to himself.