The Red Hand of Doom (3.5)

[Saintheart]

Arendi
At the Guardpost, Drellin’s Ferry, Cannath Vale
Nine bells, the Seventh of Mirtul,
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

The boy looked at the purse in his hands, then back at Arendi. "This belonged to my--? Where did you get this? Did you steal--"
"Tyrmon," said the woman. She had gotten to her feet and was moving toward Arendi. Her eyes were brown and her face had fading freckles. "That's enough. It's your father's purse. He was taking it to Sheirtalar - he had a transaction he thought could solve our problem once and for all."
"What transaction? I thought he didn't--"
She looked at her son with eyes that were still swollen from the tears. "There was a shipment of adamantine. He was going to buy part of it with a couple of other traders, sell it at a profit over in Rethmar."
For a second the boy, Tyrmon, seemed about to argue with her. But then grief overwhelmed the young man, and he bowed his head.
The woman looked back at Arendi. "Forgive my manners, saer. I am Danuta Lakelock, husband to Jendar. These are our three sons. You must be the greywarden Hersk told me about, the one that came in with the circus last night. You have my thanks, saer. Not all men would have sought out a widow to return a raider's spoils." She put her fingers to her mouth, and in the morning light Arendi could see the water forming there. "I .. know you are of the Lord of the Dead, saer. When you found ... when you found him, did -- did you have a chance to give h-him the ... proper rites?"

Arendi didn't have an opportunity to respond, because that was the moment a wagon rounded the last turn before the guardpost. There were riders to either side, moving at a slow walk, and Sergeant Hersk was leading the horse hitched to it. In the buck of the wagon four long forms had been wrapped in makeshift sheets. As the wagon slowly made its way up to the checkpoint, the farmers on the guardpost removed the leather caps or helmets they wore.