"For men like us, the North is a closed door," Conrad said, his eyes fixed on the embers. "The crannogmen are sworn to House Stark; to pass through the Neck, we would need the Young Wolf's leave. In his eyes, we are deserters. If he catches us, we'll be lucky to get a rope instead of a flaying knife. Going home is a dream for men with more luck than us."
Cain, who had been silent until now, spat into the dirt. "Go home? To what? I didn't earn a single copper. When Edi recruited us, he promised silver every moon, a full belly, and women in every town. Now? We spend our days hiding from Westermen, hiding from Rivermen, and now hiding from our own kind. I should have stayed in the mountains. I'd at least have a wife by now."
"Why hide from the Rivermen?" Morley asked, leaning forward.
"Because of the idiots who ran before us," Cain grumbled. "They hunted the Kingslayer and slaughtered anything that breathed along the way. Now, every farmer with a pitchfork thinks a Northman is just a bandit with a different accent. I tried to buy bread in the last thorp, and they chased me out like a rabid dog. We've been living on stolen corn until my jaw aches from the chewing."
"There was a village slaughtered four days north of here," Morley pressed. "Was that your work?"
"The Others take that village," Cain swore. "We came from the west. Every Lord has barred his gates. If it weren't for the abandoned gardens and the odd head of cabbage in the fields, we'd have starved. We're soldiers, not butchers."
Kevin smirked. "I remember you being quite fond of a good raid, Cain. Thirteen of you could have sacked a village easily."
Cain offered a bitter laugh. "And be hunted down by the likes of you? I may be a sellsword, but I'm not a fool. We're few, we're tired, and we don't even have horses. If we kill a Lord's tenants, we're just inviting a noose."
Lrand frowned. "Then who killed Calum and his people?"
Tom, the Brotherhood's scout, spoke up. "This world is broken. Anyone can kill. Men with swords, men with clubs... they're all tearing at each other, leaving nothing but scraps for the wolves."
Lrand turned to Conrad. "Thirteen men, no horses, no meat. It's proof enough of your story. I won't hang you, but I won't let you go either. If I give you your steel back, you're a threat to the next village. If I leave you without it, you won't last three days in these woods."
Conrad sighed. "You're right. Riverlands is a maze where the walls are made of spears. I don't think I have the luck to find Jaime Lannister on my own. We'll follow you. At least under Captain Aldric, I don't have to worry about a wound turning to rot, and I might actually see a piece of salt beef again."
Tormund murmured nervously, "Will he even take us? We left him."
"I don't know," Conrad admitted. "But it's better than drifting like ghosts in a land that wants us dead." He looked at Kevin. "Tell us, Kevin. What did the Master teach you that made sixty Sunwalkers? We have time on the road. Speak."
Kevin glanced at Lrand. The Brotherhood followed the Lord of Light, R'hllor. He didn't want to spark a holy war over a campfire. "Lrand, would it bother you? In our way, Anshe is the source of all Light. Your red god... he might see it differently."
Lrand laughed, a deep, hearty sound. "The gods are many these days. Old Gods, the Seven, the Red God, the Storm God... what's one more named Anshe? Speak your piece, lad. I want to know how you knit flesh without a needle."
"Fine," Kevin agreed.
Over the next few nights, Kevin recounted Aldric's speeches. He spoke of the Solar Core, the strategies for the people, and the pillars of the new world. He didn't just speak of 'equality'; he spoke of a kingdom where every Sunwalker was a foundation stone.
The outlaws of the Brotherhood were moved. They were idealists who had abandoned the Lords' wars to follow Beric Dondarrion, but they still fought in the name of a dead King Robert. Kevin's words offered something more: a world where the cycle of noble ambition—the Dance of Dragons, the Blackfyre Rebellions, the War of the Five Kings—could finally be broken.
Lrand began to wonder if St. Maur's was the paradise Kevin claimed.
A few nights later, they found shelter in the charred remains of a sept in a place called Dancing Village. The leaded glass was shattered, and the old Brother who met them was weeping. Bandits—or soldiers—had stripped the Mother of her silk robes, stolen the Crone's gilded lantern, and pried the silver crown from the Father's head.
"They hacked the breasts from the Maiden's statue," the old man sobbed, "even though she was only wood. They dug the eyes of jet and pearl out with daggers. May the Mother have mercy on their souls."
"How many?" Lrand asked.
"A dozen," the monk replied. "Riders. They wore surcoats like..." He pointed a trembling finger at Conrad and the Karstark prisoners. "Like those. Northmen. Barbarians who worship trees."
The prisoners bristled but kept their mouths shut. They were disarmed and deep in the south; they weren't about to start a religious debate.
"Was anyone killed?" Lrand asked.
The monk nodded heavily. "A few. They set fires to drive the people out. They took the grain and the coin. Anyone who fought back was cut down. The girls... they were defiled. I have no medicine, Lrand. No salves for the burns or the blade-cuts. I can only pray the Seven take them quickly so I can give them a proper burial."
Kevin looked at Morley, then turned to the monk. "Brother, the Seven have not abandoned you. They sent us. Lead me to the wounded. Start with the ones closest to the Grave."
The monk squinted at the young man. "Are you a Maester from the Citadel?"
"A Maester? I wish," Kevin said with a faint smile. "You don't need a chain to heal. You only need the Light."
The monk looked to Lrand for confirmation. The outlaw nodded. "Trust him, Brother Rune. Kevin is a healer sent by Lord Beric himself. Let him try."
Rune led them to a half-gutted cottage. Inside, a thin woman was washing a blood-soaked rag in a basin. She jumped when she saw the strangers. "Brother Rune?"
"Peace, Mona. These are... friends of Lord Beric. They've come to help."
"Did you find more medicine?" she asked desperately. "Old Joby... he's not well. He moans all night. The swelling won't go down." Her voice broke. "Is your potion not working?"
Rune sighed. "The potion is all I have, Mona. But this young man... he has a different way. Let him see your husband."
They entered the small, thirty-foot room. A man lay prone on a cot, a filthy white cloth covering his back. He groaned as he heard the footsteps. "Mona? Who is it?"
"A doctor, Joby. Brother Rune brought a doctor."
The man didn't move. "Don't waste the bread, Mona. Let me go. I want to see our little Jon again. I miss him so."
"Don't speak such rot!" the woman sobbed. "If you die, who will harvest the wheat? It's rotting in the sun, and I can't swing a scythe. A year's work, gone to the crows!"
Kevin stepped to the bedside. "Auntie Mona, let me look."
The woman hesitated but stepped back. Kevin peeled away the cloth. A jagged sword-cut ran the length of the man's back, swollen and weeping green pus that mixed with the dark residue of Rune's herbs. It was a grisly, necrotic mess.
"I need to clean it first," Kevin said. "Auntie, fetch me boiled water."
As the woman hurried to the hearth, Kevin's calm voice seemed to settle the room. When the water was ready, Kevin used a clean cloth to wipe away the filth and the rotted slime. He turned to Lrand and Morley. "Hold his arms and legs. This will itch like a thousand stings."
Lrand whispered, "Can you really save him, Kevin?"
"In the North, a spider the size of a hound put a spike through my chest," Kevin said. "I stopped breathing. My Master brought me back. A simple back-cut won't stop me. I just need to make sure no steel is left in the meat."
Brother Rune watched, eyes wide. He expected a knife to cut away the rot and a needle for the stitching. He expected the grisly work of a surgeon.
Instead, Kevin raised his hands, palms upward as if catching the sun. His voice rang out, solemn and heavy with power:
"Great Anshe, source of the Seven, I ask for your Grace in this dark hour. Here lies a broken soul, tormented by the shadow of pain. You whose Light gives life to the world, turn your warmth into a mending fire! Let this body be whole once more!"
A brilliant, golden radiance filled the scorched cottage. It enveloped the dying man, who bucked and screamed as if being burned. A second later, the light vanished.
Old Joby lay still. The jagged, festering wound was gone. In its place was smooth, pink skin, as healthy as a newborn's.
Brother Rune's jaw dropped. A memory of his own master beating him for failing to memorize a basic prayer flashed through his mind. He looked at his own wrinkled hands and then at Kevin.
"I... I can't learn that," he whispered in awe.
70+ chapters are available now and daily updates! @patreon.com/zefyrus