The Windblade

Morgan was silent for the moment it took for him to lower the cover back over the Collins. "They were good friends of mine. Three souls I loved very much," he said, his voice low, sad and with a trace of shock in it, "I found them on the south road about four miles out. They were trying to leave." Here he tone became hard, harsher but still had a sad, calm quality endowed to it, "I found them murdered by the council's men. They were looting them as I approached."
"I'm sorry, my son," replied the pastor. He himself was in shock and grieving. He had also known the Collinses since they had moved there about 10 months ago. Whispering Oaks had been a good place for a family back then; but now… "I truly am. I knew the Collinses. They were good people; real good, decent people. I will miss them." Cecil paused a moment, then asked, "What happened to the bandits?"
Morgan shrugged. "They attacked me; I left them in the mud where they fell," he replied, his voice still bitter. "If I had been quicker, I could've saved them."
"You did what you could," stated Cecil automatically. He was in a quandary. The Word teaches that both killing and revenge were wrong, yet this man needed help with his grieving. Not to mention he had helped the town by murdering those men. His grief over his friends was deep and genuine. The pastor wanted to both lecture him and praise him for bringing those evil men to justice. What could he say to a man about that?
"Do you have any one you can send to get the caretaker?" asked Morgan, thankfully interrupting Cecil's thoughts.
"Yes, I can send one of our few acolytes."
"Could you, please," stated Morgan. He then reached into the wagon behind him and pulled out a bag and tossed it to the pastor, who caught it instinctively. "That should cover the costs. Keep any extra to help around town. Please, sir, see to it that they get a good, Godly burial. Nathan would've wanted that."
Cecil nodded. "I will see to it that everything is taken care of," he said as Morgan climbed down off the wagon. Morgan took one last look into the back at his friends' remains and wiped his face.
To wipe away the tears or the rain, or both, Cecil could not tell.
"Will you be ok, son?" he asked.
"Yeah," replied Morgan as he slowly began to walk away.
"Wait. What will you do?"
"I've some things to set straight at the warehouse."
"Please, sir, no more killing," pleaded the pastor, "the men on the road may have deserved it, but the men at the warehouse are mostly locals. They are just trying to support their families."
Morgan stopped. "What's your name?" he asked.
"Cecil Pennington. I'm the pastor of this sad town."
Morgan nodded. "Nathan had said you were a good man. Now, I can't promise you there won't be any killing, but, in Nathan's memory, I'll do my best not to take any more lives tonight. Besides, I'm not going there to kill anyway."
"May I ask your name, stranger?" inquired Cecil.
The man paused for several seconds, then said, "Morgan Caine." Then he disappeared into the rain soaked day.
Cecil was stunned. Morgan Caine?! A Blademaster?! There's a real Blademaster in Whispering Oaks?! Oh, Lord, he thought, God has answered us! And how!