They reached the cabin by midmorning.

  Tall grass brushed against Korrak’s thighs as he walked, the girl perched upon his shoulders, her small hands resting against his brow. Smoke rose thin from a lone hearth at the forest’s edge. A man stood on the porch, rigid as a spear.

  The girl slid down before Korrak spoke.

  She ran.

  The man caught her mid-stride and crushed her against his chest. A woman burst from the doorway and fell to her knees, tears cutting bright lines down ash-streaked cheeks. Their cries were not loud, but they were raw.

  Korrak looked away.

  He drew ten coins from his pouch and tossed them to Hollick without ceremony. The rogue caught them easily, though his eyes lingered not on the gold—but on the family.

  “Thank the gods,” the father said, stepping forward. “We heard the horns. We heard of fire in the square. I have no gold. Nothing worthy of repayment—”

  “I have been paid,” Korrak said.

  The man frowned. “By whom?”

  Korrak shrugged. “An unseen hand.”

  “Then let me at least give thanks,” the man pressed. “Tell me your name.”

  “Korrak.”

  The man nodded uncertainly. “Of what house?”

  Korrak’s jaw tightened.

  “A house long burned.”

  Understanding flickered in the man’s eyes.

  “The Ash-Blood…” he began carefully. “Then you are the heir they speak of. The true lord of the Skarn—”

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  “Those days are gone,” Korrak said. “Guard your kin. Train your sons. Arm your daughters. Do not trust that men will come again. It may be best to flee.”

  The girl looked back at him once. There was no fear in her eyes now. Only a small, fierce gratitude.

  He inclined his head.

  Then he turned away.

  Korrak had walked half a mile down the dusty road before he realized Hollick still followed. He stopped without turning.

  “I paid you,” Korrak said. “What more do you seek?”

  Hollick glanced back toward the cabin, then to the road ahead.

  “Why do you do it?” he asked. “Why not raise banners? Gather swords? Take back what was stolen?”

  Korrak let out a slow breath.

  “The throne would cost rivers,” he said. “I have seen enough rivers.”

  “You are the rightful king.”

  “No,” Korrak said flatly. “I am not.”

  He began walking again.

  Hollick fell in beside him.

  “May I come with you?” the rogue asked after a moment.

  “I work alone.”

  Hollick snorted softly. “You break chains and kill priests. Can you pick a lock without sound? Slip through a city unseen? Listen at doors without being heard? You are strong. I am useful.”

  Korrak studied him sidelong.

  “You could die,” he said. “Easily.”

  Hollick considered that. Then he nodded once.

  “That was the first time,” he said quietly, “I did something that mattered.”

  Korrak walked in silence for several steps.

  “You follow my word,” he said at last. “When I say move, you move. When I say hide, you hide.”

  Hollick grinned faintly. “Agreed.”

  “Good.”

  Hollick glanced ahead. “Where do we go now?”

  “A village to the north,” Korrak said. “A dragon has taken to their fields.”

  Hollick blinked. “Taken?”

  “It hunts their cattle. Burns their storehouses.”

  Hollick swallowed. “So we help them flee?”

  Korrak shook his head.

  “No.”

  He adjusted the sword at his side.

  “We kill it.”

  Hollick stared at him.

  “The two of us?”

  “It will breathe fire,” Korrak said evenly. “Very much of it.”

  Hollick let out a thin, uncertain laugh. “You jest.”

  Korrak did not smile.

  “Come, rogue,” he said, turning toward the northern road. “There is much ground to cover.”