The soldiers spurred their horses, the sound of steel leaving its scabbard silenced by their leader’s screams. Blades flashed in the moonlight, and the animals’ hooves drummed.

The horse gives the advantage of height to its rider, but that is only if you’re aiming at him. Jassen sliced open the neck of the first horse that reached him, sending him and his soldier tumbling in a mess of limbs. He dodged under the swing of the next attacker and grabbed the spear of the one after him, pulling him down from his mount.

Before he could finish him off, the fifth soldier was on him, sword already in the air. Jassen swung back, and the sound of steel against steel filled the night. The soldier’s hand flew back from the power of the parry, and the dragonslayer sword continued to savage him. It cut his side and legs, and the hits that didn’t find the man’s body bit into his horse’s flesh. Scared and hurt, the animal rode off, dangling the half-dead soldier on top of it.

It was ugly work. The knight’s sword flows through the air like a dove looking for a clear spot to land. Jassen swung like a mad bull, hitting his enemies’ weapons and flesh trying to shatter them in pieces. He was doing the work of a butcher, and his friends watched calmly. He turned back to see a speartip inches away from his belly. He hit the shaft with his sword just enough so it missed him, then chopped the soldier’s head off with the back swing.

All Ogi could do was stare at the carnage and the work of his sword. It was a fine blade. More than fine. Seeing it take lives gave him a sense of beauty. That’s what it was made for, and seeing it fulfill its purpose filled him with the joy of a parent who’s seen his child succeed. But his joy came at the cost of broken bodies and shattered lives. It was what every blacksmith thought about in the moments before he fell asleep. And all of them found peace in the thought that they’re the people who make weapons, not the ones swinging them.

The sight of Jassen pulling his sword out from the last soldier’s chest brought Ogi back to his senses. The man who fell with his horse on top of him was lying twisted in a way incompatible with life, and Jassen showed him the mercy of the sword. His yelling turned into a gurgling, the body exhaling not air but blood.

Violence leaves a taint in the air, and this part of the road would reak of it for months, even when rain washes away the blood, even when travelers strip the dead of their valuables, even when vultures eat their remains. The rocks remember the heat of the bodies, and the soil gives birth to crimson flowers.

Only the leader man still lived. The freshly crippled one. There was no memory of the cheeky smile or his hunger for gold. He was half-awake, the blood loss slowly drawing him into the dreaming world.

“I won’t kill you.” - Jassen said - “You’ll find it hard to kill yourself without arms, so your life is up to fate now. If another patrol finds you, you can tell them why you ended up this way.”

Jassen cleaned his sword in the cloak of a dead soldier and put it back in the sheathe.

“It’s cruel to cut off a man’s arms and let him live. He’ll no longer hold a sword or touch a woman’s thigh. He’ll have no hands to pay for his food or hang himself when life becomes too heavy to carry.” - Ogi said, looking at the butcher in front of him.

“Is it not cruel to take from people’s hands what is not yours? The khans had a law that the thieving arm was to be cut off. I’m sure that soldier stole with both.” - Niko answered.

They left the massacre behind and followed the road. Ogi didn’t have much choice when the alternative was to join the gutted soldiers.

They rode into lands where the patrols carried the colors of a different boyar. Jassen, Ogi, and the others were lucky that no one else bothered them on their way. Maybe the soldiers here were paid better. Maybe they had their pockets and bellies filled by other travelers already. Maybe the soldiers were the lucky ones, Ogi thought, for not bothering Jassen’s band. It took them three nights, and Ogi even managed to convince them to sleep in a tavern once. Jassen’s friends were used to the comfort of the dirt, but Ogi’s bottom preferred a softer bed.

Every time they passed by a group of guards, Ogi closed his eyes, expecting to be arrested. His companions showed no remorse, but the blacksmith felt guilt for all of them combined, even though he had spilled no blood that night.