After tying my horse to a tree, I pulled my hammer from the saddle. Its hammerhead, the size of a human’s head, fell to the ground, ripping the handle from my grip. The oversized weapon was beyond rare. Other than me, only the strongest dvergr could wield such a beast effectively in battle. Vurrot, whose arms were four times thicker than even my own, crafted the war hammer himself, adding Demerge crystals that made it lighter to swing but heavier on contact. Even with its unique construction, to use it properly in battle for any extended amount of time, I needed to use a strength potion.

  I rifled through my bag again, pulling out the six potions I had. Two went directly back into the bag. They were the ones that would stop my blood from freezing. Drinking them now would be a waste. The other four, given to me by Godfree, had a specific purpose. The green one would give me vision at night, the blue offered speed, the brown potion turned my skin to armor, and the yellow one was for healing. No potion of strength.

  Petra had yet to set, so time remained on my side. To regain strength, I ate some of my jerky. Instead of resting, I trained with my hammer. Unlike the knights, who swung sharp swords with precision, I didn’t practice special steps or unique moves. Instead, I readied my body to wield such a weapon. First, with the head resting on the ground, I grabbed the handle at the far end and lifted the heavy beast as far as my arms could reach, repeating the action until I could lift no longer.

  After taking a short break, I pulled the hammer from the ground, holding the handle right under the hammerhead with one hand, while gripping the far end of the handle with the other. I lowered the hammer toward the ground, then lifted it back into the air, repeating until too tired. I continued with other maneuvers until Patra finally set, its yellow glow disappearing over the horizon. Filus followed, its red light blanketing the forest around me

  As Filus disappeared behind the trees, I snuck through the forest. The cottage of the Void Wigon didn’t take me far off my path, costing me only one day’s travel. The potion they’d give for capturing him would far exceed the time cost. Plus, I would receive more spells, which hopefully included one for strength.

  I couldn’t be certain what potions he had access to. But I was quite confident he didn’t have one that allowed a yaksha to survive the frigid night air, giving me an advantage. It also allowed me to figure that, as with nearly all yaksha, he’d be sleeping at this point of the night.

  Once I reached his cottage, I crept to the door. As most peasants of Mallma, he had no exterior lock. I pushed on the door. It didn’t budge. He likely had a plank on the inside. I ran my hand along the wooden doorway. Judging by the dryness of the wood and the size of the cracks, I figured it was quite old. Fresh wood was more flexible, making it harder to splinter. Kicking down the door fast was important. I wanted to take him by surprise before he could reach a potion. Since having unsanctioned spells was illegal, he likely kept them somewhat hidden and not within quick reach.

  I pushed against the edge of the door, seeing which part offered the least give. That would be where the plank rested in the holders. Once I found it, I remembered the look of that spot. There were two black specks above a small crack that resembled a smiling face. I stepped back, resting my hammer on my shoulder and lifting my foot. Lunging forward, I kicked my heel directly on that smile.

  With a loud crack, the door flung open. A gust of wind followed me inside, causing embers to fly from the fireplace, scattering across the room. After taking three big steps, I hollered while swinging the large hammer from my shoulder, aiming for the center of his bed.

  A yaksha rolled out of the bed as my hammer reduced it to splinters. He screamed while scurrying away, trying to reach a sword that lay nearby.

  I kicked the sword out of his reach, then lifted with all my might and swung the hammer. It whizzed over his head, slipping from my grip and slamming into a table in the corner. The table smashed into a dozen pieces.

  “Take what you want.” The yaksha held his arms above his head and trembled. “Just don’t eat me.”

  “Eat you?” I asked.

  “Forgive me. I’ve not met a dvergr before, and know not what you eat.”

  I chuckled. On the battlefield, other knights would joke that Vorrut and I were half-brothers. While bigger than most yaksha, my arms and legs weren’t nearly thick enough to match a dvergr. “I’m not a dvergr, nor a thief.”

  “I know only thieves to smash through someone’s door while he lies in bed.” He scoffed. “But you won’t get rich stealing from the likes of me.”

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  “Miles Keeton, Godfree the Harbinger has sent me.”

  He exhaled slowly. “I told his men I’d pay when able. Killing me won’t put coin in his pocket.” He scowled. “Or am I to be made an example of?”

  “I’m no more a tax collector than I am a thief.” I glared at him. “You have been exposed as a Void Wigon.”

  He chuckled. “Me? A Void Wigon.” He stared at my large hammer, which made his smile fade. “Someone is gravely mistaken.”

  “And what of this tax?” I glared at Miles, studying every aspect of him. His clothes weren’t old and tattered, but they hung off him as if tailored for a larger yaksha.

  “Godfree imposed an additional tax on everyone in the village. Most have paid. But a few of us haven’t. Despite my living in such squalor, his goons insist I’m refusing out of principle, not because I have no coin to give.”

  An extra tax. Another corruption unheard of under our previous king. I wondered if his oldest son, who now claimed the throne, sanctioned such things. More likely, he failed to garner the same respect as his predecessor. If the nobles and knights were unsure of his future or their standings, they might see fit to take what they can while the new king adjusts to his role.

  I took a second look at the yaksha, realizing that his frail body and loose clothing made sense for someone who lacked the funds to enjoy regular meals. “Can you prove you aren’t a Void Wigon?”

  “How does one prove he isn’t something?”

  The trembling yaksha didn’t strike me as being a force of evil. Did Godfree send a brute to scare the locals into paying his new tax? Of course, I was no longer Stevyn the Brute. Instead, I had become Stevyn the Cursed. But why send a cursed knight to flex his strength instead of sending one of his loyal followers? Nothing about Miles struck me as being physically dangerous, but Godfree must have feared something. Perhaps the yaksha was well liked, and he didn’t want the fallout of his death to land on his door. “What are you then?”

  “A blacksmith and an adamant practitioner of the True Blood Wigon ways. I can take you to meet my Gothi when Patra warms the sky. He has been sanctioned by the royals to preach the True Blood ways. Ask him, and he’ll confirm my commitment to the faith.”

  I had no intention of talking to his Gothi. Several of his order visited my cell when I was first imprisoned, preaching about how my torture was justified because of my crimes against the nobles. Made up crimes.

  But his being a blacksmith was interesting. That trade was a quick road to riches during the war. But when we returned, we came back not only with our weapons, but with weapons and armor we had seized from our enemies and liberated from our fallen. I’d imagine the influx of used wares has diluted the market quite a bit. It makes sense that he struggles to pay his regular tax, let alone an additional one. As a blacksmith, he was likely once a muscular yaksha, not the weakened shell I saw before me.

  Godfree claimed Miles would have potions nearby. If I found them, then I would know he told the truth. I threw him a length of rope. “Tie your hands and stay on the bed.”

  As he bound himself, I went through his place. He had limited supplies and only a few places to hide things. After scouring the cottage, I found no trace of anything magic-related. Realizing Miles could barely afford to eat, I wondered if he would have sold anything that could be incriminating. I pulled my hammer from the ground and slung it back over my shoulder, then walked over to him. “Have you sold your instruments for practicing the dark arts?”

  He laughed. “If you find something, you’d deem me guilty. If you find nothing, then I must have sold it.” He shook his head. “Do to me what you must, but I will not let you besmirch my honor. I told you the true reason Godfree the Greedy has sent for my head.”

  I’ve heard that moniker once before. Not during the war nor in the nights after. But once, from another prisoner’s mouth as he passed my cell. At the time, I thought it just the plea of a criminal trying to blame others for his misfortune. But now I wonder if Godfree has earned himself a mockery of his title.

  I studied Miles’s face, deciding he had told the truth. “I can leave here, allowing you to continue breathing. But if you truly are broke, then you’ll have no means to fix your bed or table.” I raised my eyebrows. “And I’ll wager Godfree will send another to finish what I started.”

  “You think I don’t realize how bleak my fate is.” He shook his head. “Except for having to sleep on the hard floor, it’s not much different from the previous night.”

  I looked the yaksha up and down. For a starving peasant, he had a sturdy build. I hadn’t met a blacksmith who couldn’t wield a weapon with some skill. They had to understand the basics to really know how to make the balance correct. “Grab anything of value and meet me outside.” I flared my nostrils. “You are now my squire.”

  “You’re offering me a job.” He grinned.

  “Jobs pay coin, offer fancy titles, and promise a future.” I shook my head. “I’ll put food in your stomach and keep you from Godfree’s reach. For that, you will do my bidding.”

  “Anyone tell you that you have a way with yaksha?” He smirked. “A real charmer you are.”

  “You’re a funny yaksha.” I glanced at my hammer. “Do you know how many funny yakshas I had to scrape off the end of my hammer.” I shook my head. “Their insides tend to be sticky when they become their outsides.”

  “But then again, everyone has their own methods of motivating the workforce.” He laughed nervously. “Let me make up for my sharp tongue. I can tell you where we will find a real Void Wigon.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “If you are trying to trick me as Godfree did...”

  He put his hand up. “I know. You’ll be scraping my sticky insides off your hammer.”

  I nodded.

  “No tricks. No games.” His eyes narrowed. “She is as evil as they come.”

  She. Only the third night of my new job, and already I faced a dilemma I had hoped to avoid. Could I really turn my hammer against a woman?”