Lothan did not like horses. They were dirty, difficult to master, smelly, and uncomfortable; which is why he tried to travel on foot as much as possible. Unfortunately the distance to Dawn Castle was too great to make on foot. So here he was, trotting along with his ax, trying to ignore how his buttocks felt like they were turning into wood.

He was only a little perturbed at the ordeal though. According to Lord Lindrel there were plenty of heads at the end of this road. He smiled at the image, then frowned at the thought the lord might be lying. His horse let out a snort as if it could sense its rider's discomfort. It was a small doubt. Lothan was good at reading people, and Lord Lindrel was a lot of things, but he did not strike the executioner as a liar. He spurred his horse alongside Sir Douriff. "How much longer?"

"One moon, maybe two." Sir Douriff said, keeping his eyes on the road.

"You have not told me what you mean to do when we get there."

"We will repair the gate."

"And after it is repaired?"

"You need only do as you're told, headsman. We will worry about the rest. Rest assured you will get what was promised."

Lothan squinted at the captain and watched him squirm in the saddle, then fell back and occupied himself with the scenery. It was clear Sir Douriff wasn't going to give him anything else.

The Ghoen mountain range towered to his right. They played that trick on his eyes that large mountains do. It seemed that if he rode just a few miles north he would be right at their base, even though the distance was much farther than that. Light reflected off the white peaks and illuminated a jagged outline against the glowing orange horizon. How the mountain tribes that lived on the slopes survived, Lothan would never know, nor did he care to.

The landscape they were traveling through was some of the strangest territory he had ever encountered. A few moons ago the company had halted, and when Lothan went to investigate he found that one unfortunate rider had steered his horse off the road and fallen, but not into a sinkhole, at least not any sinkhole he'd ever seen before. The mud was bubbling like boiling paint. Both rider and horse shrieked when their skin started to sear while they thrashed about, trying to escape. It was a firm reminder not to stray from the path.

Since then the land had grown more and more alien. The trees thinned out into stumps and blackened spikes that had been drowned and stained white at the base by hot springs. What he thought was smoke turned out to be steam rising from clear bubbling pools. They passed one close to the road, and it seemed to Lothan that the spring was a gaping wound in the earth, and the red and yellow mineral deposits that ringed it were evidence that the wound was festering. The wound belched out a cloud of sulfur smelling mist that drifted across Lothan and the Dindrans. He breathed it in, welcoming a relief from the smell of his horse.

The cloud dissipated to reveal a black lump lying in the middle of the road. Sir Douriff was already there, along with his second in command. Both of them were staring. The captain held his nose. Lothan trotted up and realized what the lump was. The smell of rot hit the executioner and threw off his balance in the saddle. For one terrifying moment he thought he would fall face first into the decaying body. He caught himself and let the nausea pass. It might seem strange for a headsman to be put off at the sight of a corpse, but Lothan was used to the pristine cuts of his ax. After that satisfying thunk, the headsman didn't have to worry about anything else. He never saw or smelled decay, only that final moment of a man's life.

He stared at the horse. The empty socket stared back. Maggots wriggled in ecstasy as they digested the beast. The small bits of skin that were left were charred, which seemed strange to Lothan. If the horse had received burns severe enough to barbecue flesh from a spring, shouldn't it have died in that spring? It didn't seem likely that there was a horse arson roaming the lands near the Castle of Dawn. Then again, lunatics *were* known to be about - Lothan was proof of that.

Sir Douriff broke the silence. "Get five men, give them shovels and move this..." The Captain let out a sigh and gave up trying to find the right word.

"Yes sir." His second trotted off.

Douriff glanced at Lothan and met the executioner's eyes. Apparently he didn't like what he saw there because all Lothan got was a growl. "Do as you're told, headsman."