The village was still burning.
Most of the houses had already collapsed, leaving behind blackened beams and piles of smoking rubble. The few buildings that remained standing had been stripped of their doors and windows, and the smell of burned wood mixed with the stench of bodies left too close to the flames.
At the center of the village square, a young man sat on a pile of corpses.
He looked barely twenty-five, with dark hair, a clean face, and the sort of appearance one might expect from a nobleman's son rather than someone sitting on the remains of a slaughtered village. His clothes were remarkably clean considering his surroundings, and he rested his chin against one hand while watching two men drag another corpse out of a nearby house.
The body belonged to an older man.
One of the retainers grabbed him beneath the shoulders while the other took his legs. They carried him across the square and threw him onto the pile.
