A Martyr’s Art

I wiped red blood from a white arm. Scars knotted its lines. Some pink, some white. Here and there the skin was near to bone, where flesh had long ago been torn away. The legacy of a dozen clients. “I don't fight any more.”

A Circle of Steel and Bone

Singling out the watch would keep suspicion focused outward, Meinrad hoped, to the woods and the wild Prussians who had not yet submitted to the order and the church. With so few knights and half-brothers under him, infighting would leave them defenseless fast. Fear of the outside was manageable.

From the Archives:
Eyes Beyond the Fire
Lys frayed a rope with her knife—choosing one which would not harm the sails but would send an iron pulley tumbling into the sea.