The days pass slowly and as Luna predicted, no one comes to recruit us.

  So, we spend our time harassing the village in small ways, pilfering unattended goods, knocking over carts, frightening livestock, enough to cause a stir, but not enough to truly hurt anyone.

  A poor choice it seems, as still, no one comes for us, despite our camp being clearly visible from the village outskirts.

  By the fifth day, Luna paces angrily by the fire, her arms crossed, eyes blazing.

  "This is taking too long," she snaps. "We should escalate. Smash a few doors. Accost a few farmers.”

  Hamza rises immediately, face stern. "Absolutely not," he says firmly. "We must not harm the innocent."

  William throws up his hands, trying to ease the tension. "Maybe we just steal somethin' bigger?"

  "They have nothing bigger, fool. Where do you think we are?" Luna snaps. "The brigands see us and think we're soft. That's all there is to it."

  I sit by the fire, rubbing my temples, trying to think up a new plan.

  I was certain my little show in the tavern would pique their interest. Have they stopped recruiting?

  Before I can sink deeper into thought, the village suddenly stirs with frantic energy. Voices murmur with urgency, doors slam shut with heavy thuds. Villagers one and all lock themselves inside their homes.

  We glance around, bewildered by the sudden shift in the village's mood.

  William leans closer, whispering, "What's goin' on?"

  Luna's hand drifts instinctively to the hilt of her short sword, her body tense.

  Then, through the falling snow at the edge of town, we see them, a group of cloaked figures, striding purposefully toward Redwick.

  Watching them approach, I whisper under my breath, "Is that..."

  "Brigands," Luna finishes with a smirk.

  One of the figures spots us and points. We hold our ground, trying to look firm, though each of us fidgets slightly. This was what we wanted, after all. Still, counting their numbers... twenty, at a guess. Not exactly favorable odds if things turned ugly.

  At their head strides a massive man, his silhouette unmistakable as he grows closer. That towering size. That vicious scar.

  Yurik.

  He was there at the raid. With Brother Two.

  Panic prickles at the edge of my mind.

  Fuck. What if he recognizes me?

  Yurik halts in front of us, his ugly face twisted in a scowl.

  Too late now, running would only look suspicious.

  "You lot the ones stirrin' up trouble in our little Redwick?" He says, his voice deep and rough.

  I stand firm, forcing myself not to flinch. I meet his eye directly, the only one among us with the size to not look up.

  Yurik looks me over slowly, rubbing his chin, a long pause stretching between us.

  "Do I know you from somewhere?" he asks, voice low.

  I shake my head. "Reckon I'd remember a face like yours," I reply coolly.

  He glares at me for a heartbeat longer, then lets out a booming laugh, slapping my shoulder hard enough to bruise.

  He jerks his thumb toward the alehouse. "Come on then. Let's have a drink. Business is best done over ale."

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  Slowly, I nod, and we follow.

  We return to the alehouse. The two brigands from before are there, lounging by the hearth. The place has been cleared out, only the tavern keeper remains, polishing mugs with shaky hands.

  Yurik stomps over to a chair and throws himself into it, the wood groaning under his bulk. He waves me over, grinning broadly, the scar across his face showing too much of his teeth.

  "Sit yerself down, lad," he says, voice rough.

  I nod carefully and take the seat across from him.

  Yurik leans back, eyeing me lazily. "So I'm guessing yer the leader of yer little gang, then?" he asks.

  "Aye," I answer, keeping my tone guarded.

  He chuckles deep in his chest, scratching at the scar along his jaw. "Thought so. Man needs strength to lead, and it ain't often I meet one what stands taller than me. Even if yer a bit scrawny. Decently armed too."

  He leans forward, his thick arms resting heavily on the table, the wood creaking under the strain.

  "Me boys tell me you lot been causin' a stir," he drawls. "Robbin' good folk, scarin' 'em half to death. Nasty business."

  He eyes me critically, a slow grin tugging at the corner of his scarred mouth.

  "Though... you don't look all that nasty yerself."

  He pauses, scratching his chin thoughtfully, then shrugs.

  "Don't mind folk willin' to do ugly work now and then. I've done my fair share, when it needed doin'."

  His expression hardens, voice dropping to a low growl.

  "But here's the rub, lad. This piss-stain of a village? Redwick? It's under our protection."

  The threat in his tone hangs heavy between us, unmistakable.

  I straighten and look him in the eye. "Who’s 'us'?" I ask. "We're new to this region."

  He raises an eyebrow, then nods slowly. "Fair enough. Maybe you ain't heard yet. We’re the Bleedin' Knives, led by Edric the Butcher hisself. Strongest damned gang this side o' the Solstar River."

  He leans back in his chair, ticking off names on his thick fingers. "We own Redwick, sure enough. Mornstead, too before it went to shit. Took Ravensby last winter. Burned down Halcroft ‘fore that, made it ours. Even got our knives sunk deep in Black Hollow."

  He smirks, tapping the table. "All these piss-pond villages, they pay us. And we make sure nothin' too bad happens to them."

  He continues, drawing a long knife and idly spinning it between his thick fingers.

  "And them villages I didn't name? The ones what don't want us around?" He chuckles darkly. "They pay too. One way or another. Got to get our loot somewhere, don't we?"

  Yurik slams his knife into the table, the blade quivering inches from my hand.

  He leans in, voice rough. "See, boys like you stirrin' up trouble... it upsets the balance. What's the point in payin' us if we let little shits like you run amok, eh?"

  He grins, mean and slow. "I'm thinkin' I'll gut the lot of ya."

  Around him, his men chuckle darkly, drawing blades with deliberate menace. Yurik rises, his chair screeching back, one hand reaching for the warhammer slung across his back.

  In an instant, our weapons are out too, Luna's short sword gleams under the firelight, William fumbles for his arrows, and Hamza stands ready, axe held firm.

  Yurik glares across the table, tension crackling in the air....

  ....then throws back his head and lets out a booming laugh, the sound filling the room.

  "I'm fuckin' with ye," he says, wiping a tear from his eye. "Relax, lads."

  He slaps the table with a heavy hand. "There's an easier way to settle this. Join us. Bleedin' Knives could use men like you."

  He grins, wide and wolfish. "Stop scavengin' for scraps in this pisshole. Come be part o' somethin' bigger. Make real coin. Make a real name for yerselves."

  Despite the roughness of his words, the offer feels surprisingly genuine.

  Doing my best to act suspicious, but also with genuine curiosity, I lean forward. "What exactly would we be doing?"

  Yurik chuckles. "Whatever needs doin'." He counts off on his thick fingers. "Raids on travelers, roughin' up merchants what don't pay, collectin' debts, guardin' the hideout now and then, maybe torchin' a farm if they get too uppity. Nothin' too fancy fer green lads like you."

  I nod slowly, mulling it over. "And who would we answer to?"

  Yurik thumps his chest with a meaty fist. "Me. You do what I say, when I say it."

  I tilt my head, feigning caution. "And this Butcher you spoke of... the one leading you? Would we meet him too?"

  Yurik leans back, grinning wide. "’Course, if you prove you’re worth a damn. Captain likes to look each man in the eye ‘fore he’s made one of us."

  He slaps his hand on the table, giving me a wide grin. "So, we settled then?"

  I lift a hand, halting him. "How much do we keep of what we take?"

  He smirks, nodding in approval at the question. "Fair askin'. You keep a quarter of what you earn. Rest goes to the Knives. That's the way of it."

  A quarter, huh? Not exactly what I'm here for, but good to know regardless.

  I nod in agreement.

  Yurik claps his hands together, his grin wide and eager.

  "Good then. Time to get to work, show us yer worth havin’ around."

  I blink, surprised.

  "Already?"

  He nods, his voice rough but lively.

  "Got plenty of business here around Redwick. It’s why we love this place. Didn’t think we came here just for you, didya?"

  He jabs a thick finger toward us.

  "You’ll each have your own tasks, more than enough work to go around. Do good, and I’ll count you as one of us. Maybe even let you in on a big job coming up.”

  Our own tasks… meaning we’ll be split up?

  I don’t like the sound of that… Luna could be discovered and Hamza might cause issues too.

  He jerks a thumb at the alehouse around us. "Find yerselves a blanket and a patch o' floor. You can sleep here with the rest of the boys when the night ends." He nods, turning to the men around us. "Alright lads, time to drink!"

  The brigands around us erupt into cheers, rallying around Yurik with raucous laughter and pounding fists.

  While we watch, and consider what atrocity we’ll be forced into tomorrow.