Book 1: Chapter 32: Dread.

Book 1: Chapter 32: Dread.

Instinct screamed for action as the frenzied mass of flesh and steel galloped toward me. Wisdom whispered to stay my hand. Eyes narrowed, fist clenched around the hilt of my blade, and sweat upon my back, I chose to follow the quiet voice. The dark figure pulled to a halt before me, her horse viciously jerked to the side.

Again you stand before me. Came the imperious statement, delivered from on high. A moment passed as I carefully considered my words. Cold was the malice I discerned in her tone. Something about her..unsettled me. Put me on edge as I glanced at the figures that continued to march on.

You sought me out, not the other way around. I returned slowly, trying to stay expressionless. What brings you to my humble farm?

Had the baron decided to come in force, to attempt and make an example of me? The sheer amount of soldiers that marched along the road behind the adjudicator could flood my farm in bodies, drag me down through sheer attrition.

I could almost hear the sharp smile behind that blackened armor.

No need to flatter yourself, farmer. The barons business lies elsewhere today. You being here is merely a distraction on the route. But, as you have seen fit to bring up the subject, She swung one leg over and slid from her horse. Armor clanked as she struck the ground and strode towards me. Instinct screamed and I took a step back before realizing what I had done.

There was something wrong about the figure. A sense of dead and malice that entered my mind whenever I looked at her. Irrational emotions that reigned over my mind. I was a giant before her, the imposing one here. But there mere sight of this figure brought uneasiness into my heart.

Is the supposed hospitality of farmers simply a fable? Came the sneering voice. Given only to those you favor?

She expected me to invite her into my home, well-

No, she expected the rebuke. This person wasnt stupid. I had already seen that. Back at the square. Taunts meant to get rises out of better people. She would not receive the like from me.

Pained was the smile that came through my gritted teeth, but I cordially stepped to the side and invited her to share my shade. Another rider drew close behind her, and she simply waved him on.

You are not incompetent enough to not carry on without me. She snapped at that the soldier. You have your orders. Follow them.

They were marching up the mountain, I realized. Towards Raffnyks camp. Cold eyes followed my gaze and a derisive laugh broke escaped the confines of her throat.

Your friends will not be harmed today, The Adjudicator sneered. But they cannot outrun my lieges wrath forever. Vengeances hand will close round their throats, one day.

Those words I chose to ignore and instead led her towards the tree where I entertained my guests. Ishila had vanished, I found. The young woman had seen the situation, put the factors together and bounded away into the woods. Good. Much as I considered her a lass, she was a capable, grown woman experienced in her own ways.

Gol growled warily as the armored figure approached, slowly backing up as she drew near.

You tamed one of these for a pet? Came the laugh, almost scornful. How quaint.

Grateful am I, then, that I hold little value in your approval. I tossed back and sat myself on the largest stump. Everything seemed eerily quiet as the woman sat herself in the shade across from me. There was an awkward silence as she looked around, her posture relaxed. Someone who was used to strolling right into a place and owning it. I could not explain why she unsettled me. Physically, she was perhaps half my size. Yet I had learned that in this world, there was much more to a person than would meet the eye.

I stood abruptly and dusted off my pants. Something to keep my hands distracted instead of sitting there quietly.

Could I offer you a drink? I spoke with forced pleasantness.

Fuck fair. She spat. But since you finally asked, I am Valencia.

Valencia, Adjudicator in the service of Baron Ironmoor and currently enjoying my hospitality. Does that sound right? I asked.

You are far better at grasping the surface details than any other of your kind. Valencia smirked coldly. And I have met many of you brutes. Killed nearly as much of your spawn as I met.

If that was meant to provoke a reaction from me, she received naught but silence. Sharp fangs smiled further as she sniffed the air and found the scent of my discontent.

Yes, Farmer. You are a long way from home. Not that your kind has a home anymore. The War of the Beast saw fit to end that.

Many people speak of this event, yet I find I care little for it. I shrugged and sipped at more milk to calm myself. I would not let her bait a rise from me. Not now, not ever.

And I. I served on the front lines in the minotaur campaigns. I know more of your kind than you do.

Enlighten me, then.

She did not pause, but immediately launched into what she intended to speak next.

You are a simplistic, brutish species. Fueled by bloodlust, barely able to contain your desire to pillage and slaughter. Even your precious kingdom was only built because the elves altered your rules. But you, a base bull, are only drawn to slaughter and bloodshed. Consumed by it. When you have naught else to fight, you strike at each other.

I cannot even commend you on survival of the fitness or might through strength. Your kind is too animalistic and savage for even that. Even worse than the orcs. They, at least, have some structure and honor. Your kind is fallen, corrupted. You fight for the joy of it, for the very act of bloodshed and little else.

She stopped and looked me up and down.

And that is why you have provoked my interest. To move out here, in the middle of nowhere. It must be torture not killing everything you come across.

It really wasnt, but I left her continue on.

This facade of calm you have. The Adjudicator looked at me with unblinking eyes. It will slip, sooner or later. And then I will be at hand to contain you.

But for now, She smiled. I am satisfied with your hospitality.

She reached into her cloak and pulled out a sealed roll of parchment and placed it on the stump, then stood.

And what is that? I asked, not moving to pick it up.

Payment due for assaulting a guard, and two separate instances of damage rendered to the walls of Hullbretch. The baron understands that such decisions were made in irrational haste and is willing to overlook them if you agree to pay for what you broke. Contemplate it.

Personally. She offered. Im hoping you dont. Be the nail that sticks up, so I can return to hammer you down.

Before I could formulate a response, she had strode across the clearing, mounted her horse, and galloped off, leaving me with a bill, an empty jug of milk, and dread roiling in the pit of my stomach. A fantastic combination.