Chapter 14: Paying Respects and the Prelude to the Royal Capital
He glanced at Garrick, who had pulled a tattered cloak over one of the fallen merchants. The older man's face was drawn, his side still bleeding beneath his armor. But he moved with steady purpose—setting aside sentiment, doing what needed to be done.
Inigo looked away.
He knew what came next.
They had to bury the dead.
"Start with the guards and the merchants," Garrick said with a low voice. "They deserve that much. Leave the bandits."
Inigo nodded mutely and got to work.
The soil was softer near the creek. With a borrowed shovel from one of the wagons, he began digging. Each movement felt mechanical. The blade cutting into the earth. The weight of it in his hands. The sound of it landing on the growing pile of dirt.
They made simple graves. Shallow ones, but enough.
He laid the bodies in gently. Wrapped in blankets or cloaks, when possible. Marked with stones when not.
By the time they finished burying the last of the caravan guards, the sun had begun its descent.
Inigo stood over the fresh mound, wiping sweat and grime from his forehead. His uniform—still active—was smudged with dirt and blood. His arms trembled from the labor, not from fear, but from the weight of it all.