The peasant woman clutched her daughter tighter to her chest, shivering under the scrutinous gaze of Warlord Kruss Tam. At first, his expression was stony and cold, but then broke into a jagged smile that did little to soften his stare.
“Why did you lie to the collector?” Kruss breathed, the rancid scent of garlic garnishing his words. The woman shook her head, sobbing.
“I didn’t… I… we would have starved…” she stuttered between gasps for breath. “Not enough food... farm froze over…”
“That is no excuse.”
The armored man flicked the woman’s forehead. She cried out. Folding his arms behind his back in a pensive swoop, Tam began to pace, his back to the pair.
“The Shimoan soldiers are under the same stresses as your precious family. The only difference is that they prevent Genzekian scum from burning your house and raping your adorable little daughter,” he blew the child a short kiss, “while all you do is sit around and watch potatoes freeze to death.”
“We have nothing to give!” the woman screamed. Kruss tutted, shaking his head slowly.
“Then you are useless, love, and better off dead.”
In a flash of black iron, the mother staggered backward, crimson blood welling from her gaping chest. The child screamed, trying to run, but Kruss’ hand snagged the back of her dress before she could.
“Now, now, darling. Don’t look upset. You’ve just been drafted into the greatest army known to man.”
