“Please provide an estimate of your expected crop yield.”
The farmer shifted from foot to foot, his face pained and back bent. Guard Captain Graysoul looked at the man, stared through the man, and repeated herself, “Please provide an estimate of your expected crop yield.”
“Ma’am, Guard Captain Graysoul, you know that it’s been a dry summer.” The farmer muttered, his voice faint. “It’s been difficult all across the plains.”
Graysoul remained silent.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am, but I hardly have a bushel of wheat to offer…”
“That is of no concern,” Graysoul replied, shaking her head. “The tax is the tax. You owe the Kingdom of Halfax 15% of your crops.”
The farmer, hands trembling, tried to meet the Soldier's gaze. She had an angular face and a gap between her front teeth, steel armor protecting a strong physique. “Ma’am, Guard Captain Graysoul, please… I’m struggling to feed my family. We all are…”
“Sir, you forget yourself. You seem to believe that your farm is your own. That the grain is your own.” Graysoul replied, stifling a yawn. “All that you are, all that you see, belongs to the Kingdom of Halfax. You shall pay your tax or face the consequences.”
“...I have five children and a wife. My Mother stays with me as well. It’s my duty to protect them, feed them. Will you deny me this? To care for my own kin?”
“And what of the children who are wards of the State? Whose parents have departed this earth for one reason or another? Who, if not for the rations granted by the Kingdom, would surely starve?” Graysoul answered. “And what of the Royal Guard? The brave men and women who protect our borders from Rime’s advances and enemies unknown?"
The man’s face turned red, then white.
“Have you ever been in battle, sir?” Graysoul asked, stepping closer, towering over the farmer. “Has anyone ever approached you with the intent to harm, to kill? Such creatures walk among us, sir. And who do you think keeps these killers off this farm, off of your mind? So that you can go to sleep at night and think that everything’s fine?”
“...who are you to decide what’s wrong and right…”
“No one at all, sir. But the law is the law. You have my sympathies, not my mercy.”
The man responded in a hoarse voice, but Graysoul didn't hear his pleas. She didn’t need to. Swinging atop her steed, the Soldier departed the settlement and set off for Stonegate. It was there, riding through the open plains, thick black hair trailing behind, that a crow appeared out the corner of her eye.
“Guard Captain Graysoul,” the familiar called, its voice hollow and distant.
The Soldier remained silent.
“Marshall Firehammer requests you depart immediately…”
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