“Change your bandage twice a day and soak the wound in garlic and lime juice,” the tall man told him. He spared them a nod of farewell and turned to go, pausing when the boy spoke up, the first words the tall man had heard him speak.

“Don’t do it.” He spoke in a clipped murmur, casting a fearful glance at the tall man’s face before turning a yet more fearful one toward what lay beyond the chapel. “They say the Mad God can’t abide a kindly soul.”

The voice’s laughter was loud as the tall man laid a hand upon the boy’s shoulder, looking into his earnest, fear-filled face and seeing so many others. That day River Fork Keep fell, the voice recalled with keen enthusiasm. The Duke had three sons, if memory serves. The youngest was about the same age as this little shit. You should take his ear for reminding you. Just one, of course.

“Then,” the tall man said, taking hold of the boy and lifting him onto the stallion’s back, “he will abide me quite well.”

He watched the caravan trace its way east, keeping to the road as it skirted the escarpment for a mile before veering north. When it faded from sight he walked to the edge of the escarpment, looking down at the sheer cliff below before raising his gaze to the dark grey expanse that stretched away south for many miles. He could make out the hazy outline of mountains beyond the flat wasteland, painted red by the fading sun.

“They call it the Whispering Sands.”

The woman stood a few paces off, her hyena at her side as she stared out at the grey waste. “But it’s not sand,” she went on. “It’s ash. They say a mighty forest once stood here, all turned to cinders at the whim of the Mad God, and this was the least of his crimes.”

“They say he also created everything south of these cliffs,” the tall man replied. “Including the mighty forest. Is it a crime for a god to destroy what he made?”

“Perhaps not. But to destroy all those who lived under his protection certainly is.”

“It might be best not to say so.” He turned and started towards the chapel. “Should you have chance to meet him.”

“I will.” The hard certainty in her voice made him pause, turning back to see her daubed features set in a mask of implacable resolve. “Your actions in coming to the aid of those people speak well of you,” she continued. “But know that I will have my prayer heard by the Mad God, whatever the price to my soul, my body or to any other who walks at my side.”