The next morning, a boot slams against the post beside my head.

  "Up! On your feet, dogs!" Yurik's voice booms through the barracks like a warhorn.

  Bran is already pulling blankets off men still groaning in their sleep, tossing them to the stone floor with little sympathy. "Move your arses before I move 'em for you!"

  Around us, the room stirs with groans and curses. Men scramble to dress, some still fumbling with buckles and laces, others clutching their heads, blinking through the ale haze.

  William curses, rubbing his eyes. "Do they always wake folks like this?"

  I’m already pulling on my hauberk. "Could be worse, you should've seen the way my mother used to wake me."

  Hamza checks his axe, lips tight, alert. Luna, who slept in her gear is already standing, waiting for us.

  "Grab your gear and form up," Yurik growls. "Got work ahead. No time for pissin' about."

  Once we're dressed, they lead us through the fort back to the feasting hall, where a third man waits.

  He's tall, but rather slender, even in his brigandine. His face is gaunt, weathered and scarred, presumably from a life of battle. And at his side sits a longsword, he rests a hand on the pommel as he waits for us to form up.

  Yurik and Bran stand to either side of him. Yurik stretches, rolling his shoulders with a grunt. "Mornin', Halric. Ready to get started?"

  Halric… second only to Edric, right?

  Halric gives a curt nod, his expression unreadable as he turns to all of us.

  "Hope you enjoyed the feast," he says, voice smooth and controlled, a sharp contrast to the rough gravel of the men beside him. "Because from here on, it's work."

  He steps forward, gaze cutting across the lot of us.

  "Edric's given orders. We need more men if we want to take more than a few worthless hamlets. Taking and holding a town like Ravencroft? We'll need a few hundred men at the least."

  He crosses his arms. "We’ll need weapons too, and armor if we can get our hands on it. The silver from the raid will keep us supplied while we focus on both fronts. Some of you’ll be hunting steel, the rest, bodies to use it."

  Yurik and Bran nod in unison, stepping up beside Halric.

  "We'll divide the territory," Yurik says, folding his arms. "My lads'll take the east. Plenty of scattered villages and well-traveled roads to sniff out steel."

  Bran gestures southward with a jerk of his chin. "Mine'll sweep the southern woods. There's a few old outlaw bands down that way. I'll see which of 'em are smart enough to join up."

  Halric gives a single nod. "That leaves the north and west to us."

  The brigands bristle with excitement, shaking off the morning haze. Shouts rise as they rally around their captains, Yurik and Bran each commanding around fifty men, while Halric has closer to eighty.

  William leans toward us, whispering. "This is our chance. Let's get out of here!"

  The four of us start toward Yurik’s band, the one we arrived with, but as we move, Yurik grunts and holds up a hand to stop us.

  "New blood stays. Chief wants a look at you. You can join up with us later."

  Dammit...

  About a dozen of us remain, the rest having left with their captains.

  The hall falls quiet, lit only by the flicker of torchlight. Boots echo against the stone floor as ten minutes crawl past.

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  Then the far doors creak open.

  Edric enters, flanked by Two and Maldor. His pace is steady, unhurried, yet it feels like he crosses the hall rather quickly. Two’s eyes lock on me immediately, though his expression doesn't change and he says nothing.

  Edric surveys us, hands clasped behind his back, jaw set. His voice, when it comes, is rich and commanding, too polished for a simple cutthroat.

  “So. Fresh blood.”

  He walks the line, inspecting each of us in turn.

  “You’ve come at a good time,” he says. “The Bleeding Knives have never stood stronger. And never hungrier.”

  He stops before us, voice lowering.

  “Strong arms make a warband. And we need arms, blades, and men with the grit to use them.”

  He continues pacing in front of us, eyes scanning over us one after the other. The way we stand, the weapons we carry, the look in our eyes.

  He stops before me. His gaze lingers on my face.

  "Red eyes," he says, leaning in closer. "Curious, just like...."

  He glances sideways toward Two, pausing for a long moment. Then he turns back, inspecting me more closely.

  He nods once. "Nice spear. And a hauberk too. Better equipment than most of my lads have and clearly used..... You’ve seen battle, boy?"

  Depends what you mean by battle...

  Not exactly sure how to reply, I just shrug and then nod.

  "And what brings you to the Knives, boy?"

  I meet his gaze, careful not to look too brazen. "Just coin, sir. Sick of going hungry."

  He lets out a low chuckle, nods once in understanding, then steps past without another word.

  Then he comes to Luna, eyes widening at the fine sword hanging from her belt.

  "That's a nice blade... may I see it?" he asks, voice measured.

  She says nothing, her fists opening and closing.

  Edric's gaze sharpens. "I asked you a question, boy."

  Before Luna can move, Maldor speaks, his voice a dry rasp. "Not a boy. That one's female."

  The air shifts. Edric straightens slightly, studying her more closely. I feel a cold sweat dripping down my neck.

  Luna begins to tremble, just barely, her fists clenching.

  Edric’s voice softens, though it’s no less firm. "Take off the mask. And the hood."

  She hesitates a moment longer... then, slowly, does as commanded.

  The hall goes quiet.

  Torchlight catches her face, her long dark hair. Gasps ripple from the others in line, murmurs erupting in unison as their gazes fill with lust.

  Edric’s head snaps towards them. "Quiet."

  The men go pale, mouths closing immediately.

  Edric turns back to Luna. "So... a woman. And a beauty at that..."

  The brigand recruits leer hungrily, eyes crawling over Luna with open desire. A few nudge each other, grinning, licking their lips. Her hand drifts to her sword, knuckles white, gaze hard.

  Edric raises a hand, voice calm but firm. "Easy, girl. No need for steel. No man will move without my word."

  Maldor’s dry rasp follows. “Let her work under me. A woman's gentle hand has its value. My work requires precision.”

  Edric glances sideways at him, then nods once. “Perhaps.”

  He turns back to Luna. “But what’s a woman doing in a place like this? Among killers and thieves?”

  Luna lifts her chin. “My father was a knight. He trained me with the blade, but left me no inheritance. So, I sell what he left me, my skill and this sword. To those who can pay.”

  Edric regards her a moment longer, then snorts, amused. “A woman selling her blade....”

  Two cuts in, his voice calm. “It happens on occasion. To the north, Drakenstone keeps a full company of sword-sisters.” He chuckles quietly. "If the rumors hold true, they hold a wide array of skills... some I wouldn’t mind seeing for myself…"

  Edric raises a brow at the thought, but gives a small grunt of acknowledgment. Apparently satisfied, he moves on without another word.

  At last, Edric finishes his inspection and the hall grows quiet. From his belt, he draws a long, narrow-bladed knife. He turns it once in his hand, then holds it out to the first man in line.

  “Palm,” he says.

  The man stretches out his hand, and Edric places the hilt in it. The man grits his teeth, slices his other palm, letting the blood run.

  A brigand steps forward, holding a clay bowl beneath the wound, his filthy fingers steady.

  “Repeat after me,” Edric commands. “By blood, I bind myself. To the Knives, to my brothers, to Edric the Butcher. To my warlord and warband.”

  The recruit repeats the words, voice rough.

  One by one, we follow suit. The blade is passed down the line. Each man slices his palm and bleeds into Edric's bowl. Each recites the oath.

  When it comes to Luna, she hesitates. Her lips press tight. But under Edric’s unwavering gaze, she grips the knife, draws it across her palm, and says the words without trembling.

  When the last of us finishes, Edric steps forward.

  He looks to us, a slight smile on his face. Then he nods.

  “You’ve bled. Now, you're one of us. Welcome, brothers of the Bleeding Knives.”

  He taps a fist to his chest. “I’ll remember each of you.”

  Edric steps back, his gaze sweeping over us one last time. "Return to the captains who brought you here," he commands. "They’ll see to your assignments."

  Most of the recruits begin moving, filing out in the direction of their respective bands.

  As Luna turns to follow, Maldor raises a thin, bony hand. "Not her. She’ll come with me."

  Luna halts, glancing back uncertainly. Edric says nothing, merely nods.

  Likewise I’m stopped, Two’s massive arm draping over my shoulder, pulling me close.

  “I’ll be taking this one,” he says quietly, his word brooking no argument.

  I look to Edric and he nods again, this time more slowly, before turning away.

  Two looks down at me, a broad smile on his face. “Here at last, little brother. I was getting impatient.”

  The grip on my shoulder tightens painfully. "Come, let us talk."