It wasn't a particularly long ride from the base to the hamlet, but it felt much longer to Cedric. He was in a bit of a tough spot, his thoughts spinning rapidly between excitement, pride, and dread. He was riding straight out into the front, leaving the diggers and builders with their menial tasks behind. The fresh breeze that had swept away the rain pressed against his face, and he had to shake his head occasionally to keep his unkempt hair out of his eyes. Not only that, he had been given a place of authority. As far as he could remember, this was the first time he had been given direct command over other men, likely older than himself. His behavior and actions would be scrutinized and possibly even reported to Il, who would be expecting him to handle the task to the best of his ability, but it was still a rush in a time when moments of pride were hard to come by. Unfortunately, the task was a bit ambiguous, and he couldn't shake the aforementioned dread as he recalled his orders.

[i]"When we arrive, Ottavio wants you to take two of the other men and locate any winter supplies the farmers won't tell us about. We can't leave anything to our enemies."[/i]

In principle, the squire was absolutely right. It would be foolish to leave supplies or resources for an invading force, who may not be so merciful to the farmer. In practice, Cedric was being told to interrogate and steal from unarmed non-combatants who were not at fault for the impending conflict. Of course, the Band members weren't exactly the heroes in this tale. They had performed other somewhat immoral and illegal acts that, in the eyes of a judge, would just as heinous, and over time Cedric had come to accept that they acted out of necessity, not malice. The same was true today. After all, they were not here to kill the man and raze his home. Gregory's men may not be so charitable. In the end, though, he would be robbing men of food and pride, and it did not sit well with him.

But orders are orders.

The first of the farms came into view. It was a pleasant little place, with only a home, storehouse, and stable. It couldn't have been more than three or four acres in size. Cedric saw a slight movement near the back of the house and a lump formed in his throat. A child. He estimated that the boy could be no older than 10. He appeared to be dancing around in a small yard, though as they grew closer Cedric could see a small sword in his hands and realized he was play-fighting. It didn't gleam in the sunlight, so it must have been made of wood. For a moment, Cedric reconsidered. He really did not want to be the face of the people who came to they child's farm and stole his food. What would he think of them? Cedric had hear the stories of warriors motivated by vengeance for the cruelty of older men, and he would have considered them merely campfire stories if he didn't know several by name in the Band of Fools with that exact story. Would the boy become an adversary in later life? He took a deep breath and forced the thoughts from his mind. It didn't matter. Orders are orders. They can't leave anything for their enemies.

He split off from the rest of the party, joined by several others who would be doing most of the work. After a few words, Il rode off, taking the majority of the force with him. Cedric dismounted and tethered his horse to a post, turning just in time to make eye contact with the boy, who stared at them and darted away. A few moments passed. Then, without warning, the door of the house opened and a men stepped out into the sunlight. He looked to be at least 60, and his hands and face were lined with wrinkles, but no one could doubt from his posture and appearance that he retained a great deal of raw strength. There was not an ounce of fat on his body. Whatever was not skin and bones was pure muscle, and Cedric knew that, if push came to shove, the old farmer would not go down without a fight. Their best hope was that he was a kindly, generous old man.

The farmer stopped in his tracks and eyed everyone carefully. His eyes narrowed and his mouth tightened into a scowl. He carried no weapon or instrument, but from a good ten feet away Cedric heard the man's knuckles crack as he clenched a fist. He was greeted by one of Il's men, who informed him of the situation and told him that they were acting for the greater good. Cedric tuned him out and turned to examine the storehouse, located near the edge of one of the farmers' few fields. Halfway between it and himself was the boy, who stared at him with wide eyes. He was still clenching his tiny sword in front of him, holding it as though he wasn't sure if he would need it or not. The child took a few steps to the side to get a view of the rest of the men, then returned his gaze to Cedric.

"Are...are you h-here to k-k-kill us?"