Fenric Mourne knelt in the muddy square and closed a dead beggar's eyes. He did it for every fallen body he found, friend or stranger. His cracked black armor hid most of who he'd been, but not the gauntlet. One faded gold crest still marked it. That crest belonged to a broken order, and Fenric meant to clear its name before he died. First he needed to reach the shrine three towns north. That was where the order's last records lay. A voice cut across the square. "Don't move, knight." A rider swung down from a lean gray horse. She wore a coil of rope on her belt and a crossbow across her back. She pointed at his gauntlet. "That gold crest. I know it. Your order sold out three villages for coin. There's a bounty on any man who wears it." She grinned. "Your head pays my winter." Fenric rose slow. "The charge against my order is a lie." "Coin doesn't care." She raised the crossbow. Fenric had no proof to offer, only a dead man's honor and his own. If she took his head, no one would ever clear the order. He set his hand near his sword, but a hundred townsfolk watched, and he would not spill blood over a rumor. Heavy boots crossed the mud. Marcus Aldwell, the border magistrate, pushed between them. He was a squat old man with a white beard and a blue coat stitched in gold thread. He'd hanged three men that month. Fenric had never met him, but every traveler knew his temper. "Put that down in my square," Marcus said. His voice was gravel. The rider held her aim. "He wears the crest. The bounty's lawful." Marcus stepped closer, unafraid of the bolt. He studied the gauntlet, then Fenric's face. "I knew that order," he said quietly. "Before the slander. They pulled my daughter from a burning mill. This man's crest saved my blood." He turned to the rider. "The bounty was posted by liars. I strike it down. Try to collect in my town and I'll hang you beside the last fool who did." The rider's jaw worked. She looked at the watching crowd, then lowered the crossbow. "Other towns won't have a soft magistrate," she said. She mounted and rode out. Fenric bowed his head. "You have my thanks." Marcus did not smile. "I called off one rider. The bounty still stands everywhere else." He gripped Fenric's arm. "Wrap that crest. Hide it, or every road kills you." He pressed a muddied leather strip into Fenric's hand, worn soft with old creases. "And know this. The men who slandered your order still live. They run the guild that posted your price. Clear the order's name and you unmake their fortune. They will not allow it." Fenric wound the leather over the gold. The crest vanished beneath the mud-dark wrap. He had a name for his enemy now, and a longer road than before.