If this hast been done to language, I fear to know the fate of all else.

Royce turned to Hadrian. “It’s supposed to make them look tough, but all it really does is make it easy to identify them as thieves for the rest of their lives. Painting a red hand on everyone is pretty stupid when you think about it.” “That tattoo is supposed to be a hand?” Hadrian asked. “I thought it was a little red chicken. But now that you mention it, a hand does make more sense.” Royce looked back at Will and tilted his head to one side. “Does kinda look like a chicken.

There are still eight of us,” Guy pointed out. “Not exactly an even fight.” “I was thinking the same thing,” Mauvin said. “Sadly, there’s no one else here we can ask to join your side.” Guy looked at Mauvin, then Hadrian, for a long moment as the men glared across the ash at each other. Then he nodded and lowered his blade. “Well, I can see I’ll have to report your misconduct to the archbishop.” “Go ahead,” Hadrian said. “His body is buried with the rest of them just down the hillside.

Alric looked up at the thief with a scowl. “I just want to say for the record that as far as royal protectors go, you’re not very good.” “It’s my first day,” Royce replied dryly. “And already I’m trapped in a timeless prison. I shudder to think what might have happened if you had a whole week.

Another last-minute, good-deed job,” Royce grumbled as he stuffed supplies into his saddlebag. “True,” Hadrian said, slinging his sword belt over his shoulder, “but this is at least a paying job.” “You should have told him the real reason we saved him from Trumbul— because we wouldn’t see the hundred tenents otherwise.” “That was your reason. Besides, how often do we get to do royal contracts? If word gets around, we’ll be able to command top salaries.” “If word gets around, we’ll be hanged.

You didn’t really hold back on Braga so Pickering could kill him, did you?” Royce asked after the two were left alone in the hallway. “Of course not. I held off because it’s death for a commoner to kill a noble.” “That’s what I thought.” Royce sounded relieved. “For a minute, I wondered if you’d gone from jumping on the good-deed wagon to leading the whole wagon train.

Each killing steals a bit of humanity until a murderer is nothing more than an animal. A hunger replaces the spirit. A want for what was lost, but as with innocence, the soul can never be replaced. Joy, love, and peace flee such a vessel and in their stead blooms a desire for blood and death.