The feast was a slaughter of light.

Candles burned low in the brass sconces, dripping wax like frozen tears onto the oak table. The air was thick. It smelled of roasted pork, stale ale, and the metallic tang of blood that never quite washed out of the leather aprons. Thomas sat at the head. He did not eat. His hands were still. They rested on the wood, knuckles white, fingers interlaced. He looked like a man waiting for a verdict.

Across the table, Sir Aldric raised his cup.

"Here's to order," Aldric said. His voice was smooth. It was the voice of a river over stones. Cold. Relentless. "Here's to the peace we keep."

The other men laughed. It was a wet sound. Thomas did not join in. He watched his own hands. He watched the veins in his wrists. They were pale. They were thin. They were the only things in this room that were true.

Thomas was a soldier. He had been a soldier for twenty years. He had killed men in the border wars. He had buried friends in the mud. But he had never felt the cold like he felt it now. It was not the cold of winter. It was the cold of the bone. It was the cold of the end.

Aldric’s eyes were sharp. They were the eyes of a hawk. They saw everything. They missed nothing. They saw the fear in Thomas’s face. They saw the grief in Thomas’s hands.

"You look ill, Thomas," Aldric said.

"I am fine, my lord."

"You are not fine. You are pale."

"I have seen snow," Thomas said.

Aldric smiled. It was a small smile. It was the smile of a man who owns the land, the men, and the air.

"Come," Aldric said. "Walk with me. The night is clear."

Thomas stood. His legs felt heavy. They felt like lead. They felt like stone. He followed Aldric out of the hall. The doors swung wide. The wind hit him. It was a sharp wind. It cut through his cloak. It cut through his skin.

They walked into the yard. The moon was full. It was a pale disc in the black sky. It watched them. It did not blink.

"The new guard," Aldric said. He pointed to the gate. "They are restless. They speak of pay. They speak of leave. They speak of you."

Thomas did not look at the gate. He looked at his hands again. He rubbed his thumb over his knuckle. The skin was rough. The skin was cracked.

"They speak of many things," Thomas said.

"They speak of a ghost," Aldric said. "They say you walk in the night. They say you touch the dead. They say you have a pact with the dark."

Thomas stopped walking. He turned to face Aldric. The moonlight hit his face. It made his features sharp. It made his eyes deep.

"I am no ghost," Thomas said.

"No," Aldric agreed. "But you are strange. You are different. You do not drink. You do not gamble. You do not speak. You only watch. And you only kill."

Thomas said nothing.

Aldric stepped closer. He was tall. He was broad. He smelled of wine and power.

"I have given you everything," Aldric said. "I have made you captain. I have given you a house. I have given you respect. And yet you look at me as if I am the enemy."

Thomas looked at Aldric. He saw the fear in the hawk’s eyes. It was there. It was small. It was hidden. But it was there.

"I do not look at you as an enemy, my lord," Thomas said. "I look at you as a man who has forgotten what it means to bleed."

Aldric’s face hardened. The softness vanished. The river became a rock.

"Be careful, Thomas," Aldric said. "Words are weapons. And I have many."

He turned and walked back into the hall. The doors closed behind him. The sound was a snap. It was the sound of a bone breaking.

Thomas stood alone in the yard. The wind howled. The shadows moved. They were long. They were black. They reached for him.

He looked down at his hands. He opened them. He closed them. He opened them again.

He was waiting.

He had been waiting for this for a long time. He had waited in the trenches. He had waited in the hospitals. He had waited in the silence of his own home. He had waited for the moment when the body would speak. He had waited for the moment when the truth would rise.

He knew what would happen. He had seen it in his dreams. He had seen it in the eyes of the dead. He knew that Aldric would come. He knew that Aldric would bring men. He knew that Aldric would accuse him of treason. He knew that Aldric would order his death.

But Thomas did not care about his death. He cared about his hands. He cared about the pain in his hands. The pain was growing. It was spreading. It was moving up his arms. It was moving into his chest. It was a fire. It was a cold fire. It burned without heat. It froze without ice.

He went to the well. It was in the corner of the yard. The stone was wet. The water was black. He looked into it. He saw his face. It was pale. It was thin. It was a mask.

He saw his wife’s face in the water. It was not his wife. It was a memory. It was a ghost. It was the ghost of the woman he had loved. The woman he had lost. The woman who had died in the snow. The woman who had died because of the cold. The woman who had died because of the neglect. The woman who had died because of the system.

He touched the water. It was cold. It was the coldest thing in the world.

He thought of the cycle. The wheel. The turning. The death. The birth. The death again. It was a trap. It was a cage. It was a circle. You could not escape it. You could only walk it.

He pulled his hand back. The water rippled. The face broke. The face reformed.

Footsteps.

They came from the gate. They were heavy. They were many. They were armored.

Thomas turned. He saw the men. They held spears. They held swords. They held torches. The light flickered. The shadows danced.

Aldric was behind them. He was calm. He was ready.

"Thomas," Aldric said. "You are under arrest."

"Charge me," Thomas said.

"High treason," Aldric said. "Conspiracy with the enemy. Theft of royal funds."

The charges were lies. They were always lies. But they were the law. The law was a mask. The law was a cage. The law was the wheel.

Thomas looked at the men. He looked at their faces. He saw the fear. He saw the duty. He saw the ignorance. They were part of the wheel. They were the spokes. They were the nails.

He did not fight. He did not run. He did not beg.

He walked to Aldric. He walked slowly. He walked with purpose.

"Let me go," Thomas said.

"No," Aldric said. "You will die at dawn."

"Let me go," Thomas said again.

Aldric raised his hand. The men moved forward. They surrounded Thomas. The spears pointed at him. The swords were drawn.

Thomas looked at his hands. One last time. He looked at the veins. He looked at the skin. He looked at the pain.

The pain was gone.

It was replaced by something else. It was a light. It was a warmth. It was a peace. It was the end of the circle.

He looked at Aldric. He smiled. It was a small smile. It was a sad smile. It was a free smile.

"You have defeated me," Thomas said.

Aldric frowned. He did not understand. He wanted a scream. He wanted a struggle. He wanted a victory. He did not want peace.

"I have done my duty," Aldric said.

"No," Thomas said. "You have only begun your cycle."

Aldric’s face twisted. He raised his sword.

"Kill him," Aldric said.

The men hesitated. They looked at Thomas. They looked at each other. They were afraid.

Thomas did not move. He closed his eyes. He felt the sword. He felt the cold. He felt the air.

He thought of the snow. He thought of the wind. He thought of the well.

He opened his eyes.

He was gone.

No.

He was not gone.

He was everywhere.

He was in the wind. He was in the snow. He was in the blood. He was in the hands of every man who had ever been afraid. He was in the eyes of every man who had ever been cruel.

The sword hit the air.

The men screamed.

Aldric fell.

He fell to his knees. He held his head. He screamed. He howled.

The men backed away. They ran. They fled into the night.

Aldric was alone.

He was alone in the yard. He was alone in the dark. He was alone in the cold.

He looked at his hands.

They were pale.

They were thin.

They were trembling.

He looked at the moon.

It was full.

It was bright.

It was watching.

He knew.

He knew what was coming.

He knew the wheel was turning.

He knew the cycle was not over.

It had only just begun.

The wind howled.

The candles burned.

The feast was over.

The tale was pale.

The tale was true.