Chapter 11 — The Roadside Attack

Chapter 11: Chapter 11 — The Roadside Attack

Chapter 11 — The Roadside Attack

The countryside changed slowly after Griffin City. At first the road ran past orchards, busy villages, and fields planted from one boundary stone to the next, but two days farther north gaps began to appear — farms with empty pens, land that had once supported three families now worked by one.

On the third morning the convoy passed a burned house beside an untouched field, new grass already pushing up through the fallen roof, and the wagons rolled on north without stopping.

Christopher rode near the front with Walter. "Did the orcs reach this far?"

"A raiding party might have," Walter said. "Could have been deserters as well."

"Does anyone live nearby?"

Walter pointed toward a manor on a distant hill, where scaffolding covered one side of the stone wall and a noble banner flew above the repaired gate; in the fields around it, men worked beneath the watch of mounted guards.

"House Bell keeps the valley," Walter said. "They survived."

Half the cottages below the manor stood empty, and black scorch marks still marked the small temple near the road. Survival, it seemed, had not left the valley untouched.

Christopher took in his own convoy — fifty original families, three new craftsman households, Joan and her daughters, and fifteen slaves, stretched along nearly half a mile of road — and thought that if Dragonwatch’s surrounding villages looked like this, the stronghold itself would be only part of his problem.

Shortly before midday, Godfrey rode out of the trees on their left. He had left the convoy less than an hour before to scout the woods.

"Two riders were watching us from the ridge," he told Walter.

"Did they carry a noble house’s colors?"

"No colors. Good horses, clean bows, and enough sense to stay beyond reach."

Christopher eyed the ridge. "Bandits?"

"Scouts, maybe. They saw the convoy and left."

"Can we spare anyone to follow them?"

Godfrey considered the wagons behind them. "With whom?"

Christopher surveyed the long line of wagons and let the riders go.

"We keep moving," he said.

Godfrey nodded. "Double the riders at the rear until evening."

The convoy halted beside a stream for its midday meal. Martha kept the fires small and served bread with cold meat so they could leave quickly, while Christopher warned Walter and Ivo about the scouts without telling the families.

They resumed before the sun reached its highest point, the road narrowing into a wooded valley where low ridges rose on both sides. Walter sent Thomas and Gilbert ahead while Godfrey moved between the front and middle wagons.

The attack came from the right.

An arrow struck the canvas above Christopher’s shoulder, another hit the road, and a third buried itself in the side of the lead wagon as someone shouted from among the trees.

More than twenty men, dressed in patched coats without a common badge, rushed down the slope carrying hunting bows, axes, woodcutting tools, and a few old swords.

Walter drew his sword. "Wagons stop! Apprentices forward!"

The driver of the lead wagon pulled too hard on the reins, and one horse turned sideways, forcing the wagon behind it toward the ditch; the rest of the convoy stopped unevenly as frightened animals and shouting families filled the road.

Christopher drew Edmund’s sword. His first thought was to order the wagons into a defensive circle, but there was no room, because the road was too narrow and trying would only create more confusion.

"Stay behind the wagons!" he shouted. "Drivers hold your teams. Do not turn around."

The order travelled down the line in broken repetitions. Some families obeyed at once; others ran toward the trees on the opposite side until Ivo and the rear apprentices forced them back behind the carts.

The bandits had expected panic to open the road for them. Instead, Thomas Reed and five apprentices formed up between the lead wagons while Walter met the first attackers head-on.

His sword struck an axe aside and cut through the man’s shoulder; a second bandit stopped so abruptly that the man behind him collided with his back.

"Knights!" someone shouted.

The warning came too late. Ivo charged from the middle of the convoy, knocked one attacker from his feet with the flat of his blade, and cut another across the chest, while the apprentices held close to the wagons, spears out, keeping the rest from reaching the families.

Christopher saw Godfrey walking toward the slope.

Godfrey wore plain armor and Cecily’s old badge, and the bandits, mistaking him for an older swordsman standing alone, sent their largest man toward him.

The man carried a two-handed wood axe and raised it overhead, bringing it down with enough force to split a log.

Godfrey moved once.

His sword left its sheath, cut through the axe handle, and entered the bandit’s chest — the man fell before the broken axe head even struck the ground.

Essence pressed across the road like a sudden weight, shaking leaves from the nearest branches, and several attackers stumbled without being touched.

"Silver!" one of them screamed.

The attack broke apart. Men who had been pushing toward the wagons turned uphill, shoving past those behind them, and Walter pursued only as far as the edge of the trees before calling the apprentices back.

One bandit stayed behind. He came around the lead wagon while Christopher’s attention was on the slope, an old sword held low beside his leg.

Joan shouted from somewhere behind the carts.

Christopher turned. The bandit was already close enough that there was no time to call Walter, and borrowed memories guided his feet: he stepped away from the first swing, caught the man’s blade against Edmund’s sword, and felt the impact travel through both arms.

The bandit was stronger than an ordinary farmer but had none of Godfrey’s control, and when he pulled back for another cut, he left his chest open.

Christopher thrust.

The sword entered below the man’s ribs; his weight carried him another step before his knees struck the road, and Christopher pulled the blade free and backed away.

The man pressed both hands against the wound as blood ran between his fingers. He tried to speak, failed, and folded onto his side.

Christopher kept his sword raised until Walter reached him.

"Are you hurt?" Walter asked.

"I’m fine."

Walter checked the dying man, then turned toward the trees. "Stay with the wagons."

Godfrey and Ivo returned within minutes; neither had chased the fleeing bandits far. Five bodies remained beside the road, including the man Christopher had stabbed. Two more attackers had fallen on the slope but were gone by the time Thomas checked, dragged off by their companions or able to crawl away on their own.

One apprentice had an arrow through the loose flesh of his upper arm, a farmer had broken two fingers when his wagon lurched, and a woman had been knocked down in the panic — but everyone had survived.

Christopher wiped Edmund’s sword on the dead man’s coat, and only after the blade was clean did his hand begin to shake.

Godfrey noticed but said nothing. "They may return."

"Can we take one alive for questioning?" Christopher asked.

"What would you do with a prisoner?"

"Question them. Hand them over at Northgate."

Godfrey pointed toward the convoy. Families were still calling for missing children, the lead horses had not settled, and four apprentices stood around their wounded companion.

"Prisoners need guards," he said. "The men who fled know we have a Silver Knight. Let them carry the warning."

Christopher looked at the bodies. One man near Walter’s feet was breathing in short, wet gasps, and he would not survive being moved.

"No prisoners," Christopher said.

They let the survivors go. Walter and Ivo sent apprentices no farther than the first ridge, just far enough to confirm the bandits were leaving, while Godfrey remained on the road with the convoy.

Martha treated the wounded apprentice after Walter cut the arrow free, Joan boiled cloth and held the young man’s shoulder still, and Meg kept Elsie behind the kitchen wagon, away from the bodies.

The slaves had remained near their assigned carts; Walter still held the collar seal, though he had not needed to use it.

Bennet counted the families twice. One boy was missing until Ivo found him beneath a grain wagon, too frightened to answer when his mother called.

The delay lasted more than an hour. Christopher wanted to move immediately, but Walter refused until the horses calmed and every harness had been checked. One strap had been cut by an arrow and would have snapped on the next steep climb.

"Where do we camp?" Christopher asked Godfrey.

"There is a walled village before sunset if we keep a steady pace."

"Will they let us inside?"

"The people, maybe. The wagons will remain outside the wall."

Christopher ordered the convoy forward. Two apprentices rode ahead to warn the village while Ivo kept six men at the rear, and the bodies were left beside the road for the local lord’s patrol to collect.

The trees thinned as they left the valley, burned fence posts giving way to a field that had gone unplanted. Farther ahead, the walled village stood on a low rise. One of its towers had collapsed, but fresh timber reinforced the gate.

The village guards allowed the wounded apprentice and two injured settlers inside, though the wagons camped beneath the southern wall. A local officer came out before dark to record the attack and the location of the bodies, and he showed little surprise when Walter described the bandits.

"Discharged soldiers, failed tenants, hungry men," he said. "Some served the orcs for coin. Some rob anyone they think is weaker, my lord."

"Will your lord hunt them?" Christopher asked.

The officer turned toward the damaged tower. "House Bell lost most of its mounted men during the war, my lord. Our patrols keep the villages and main road open. The woods are another matter."

He promised to send men for the bodies in the morning but refused to chase the survivors with darkness approaching.

The camp settled close to the wall on their third night out of Griffin City. Nobody complained about the lack of space, and few people wandered from their assigned wagons; Walter doubled the watch without being asked, and across the road the villagers closed their gate before the last daylight left the fields.

Christopher ate little. Beside his tent he cleaned Edmund’s sword a second time, working a strip of cloth into the seam near the guard until no blood remained, and when Joan brought his clean coat, she saw what he was doing and set it on the chest without a word.

Christopher returned Edmund’s sword to its sheath and laid it beside his bedroll, while outside, village carpenters went on hammering fresh timber into the damaged gate long after dark.

Lord Roland Harcourt had reached Northgate three days before Christopher Drake.

His expedition occupied two fields beneath the western wall. Lesser nobles had gathered around the Harcourt banner during the journey, pleased to borrow the protection of a ducal name, and Roland welcomed them. A second cousin inherited little from a duke, and the Northern Resettlement Order had given him a chance to build something of his own.

One of his men found him near sunset with mud on his boots and a folded sheet in his hand.

"Another claimant has reached the gate?" Roland asked.

"House Drake, my lord." The man offered him the sheet. "Edmund Drake’s son."

Roland read the first few lines: fifty families, two Bronze Knights, a dozen apprentices: enough to survive the road if fortune behaved, but no more impressive than half the claimants already gathered beneath his banner.

"You ran across the fortress to tell me this?"

His man tapped a name near the bottom.

Roland read it twice. "Godfrey Hales."

"Silver Knight. The gate officer asked which Drake commands him. Hales said none of them."

"Yet he came north with the boy, my lord."

"Looks that way."

Roland set the report beside his untouched supper. A man like Godfrey Hales did not follow an unwanted grandson north without a reason of his own.

"Has Drake met Baldwin?"

"He is being taken there now."

"Then don’t crowd him tonight. Send an invitation in the morning."

"An invitation, my lord?"

"Yes. Try to make it sound like one."

The Wentworth and Fairfax expeditions had not yet reached Northgate, and Roland meant to speak to Christopher before their representatives had the same idea.

He watched another northern wind shake the Harcourt banners outside. The margraves called the resettlement order an attempt by the capital to weaken their hold over the north, and Roland suspected they were right — he intended to claim his share anyway.

Martin Pike developed a fever during the night. The arrow had missed the bone, but the wound had reddened, and Martha cleaned it again and ordered him into an empty cart despite his protests.

The convoy continued beneath a grey sky, cold wind forcing them to unpack heavier clothes at the next open field. Farther north, burned farms and roofless manors appeared more often, and the surviving estates stood behind earthworks and sharpened stakes, guarded by old soldiers and boys.

At a House Bell bridge, a garrison healer treated Martin and left medicine with Martha. His fever began falling two days later.

The journey remained slow: rain turned the road to mud, wagons crossed damaged bridges one at a time, and every camp required room for families, fires, livestock and guards. A single broken wheel spoke cost them half a day, even within Northgate’s patrol range.

Northgate appeared late on the eleventh day from Griffin City.

The fortress crossed the valley from one rocky slope to the other, three walls protecting the southern approach, each higher than the one before it. Square towers stood above the gates, and smoke rose from hundreds of chimneys behind them.

Parts of the outer wall were darker than the rest, new stone filling the gaps where siege engines or magic had broken the older work, and wooden buildings crowded the fields outside, forming a rough settlement of merchants, refugees, laborers, and families waiting for permission to travel south.

The road divided into six lines before the first gate. Soldiers directed carts toward inspection yards while mounted messengers used a separate passage beside the wall.

Christopher’s convoy waited behind three northern expeditions and a train of empty army wagons. By the time they reached the inspection yard, the sun had dropped behind the western ridge.

An officer met them at the barrier. "Your house and destination, my lord?"

"Drake," Bennet answered. "Dragonwatch expedition under Baron Christopher Drake."

"May I see your patent?"

Christopher handed over the sealed copy from Griffin City, and the officer checked the royal seal and the convoy papers, ready to wave them through — until he saw Martin lying feverish in the cart. Godfrey briefly explained the bandit attack.

"House Bell sent notice this morning," the officer said. "Five dead found. More blood in the woods."

"The rest fled," Godfrey replied.

The officer studied him. "Sir Godfrey Hales?"

"Yes, that’s me."

Recognition ended the questions. The officer sent Martin to a military healer and directed the convoy toward a temporary field inside the southern wall.

Christopher expected to follow the wagons. Instead, the officer kept his patent.

"Lord Marshal Griffin wants to see you."

"He expects me tonight?"

"He has been waiting since Griffin City sent word."

Godfrey accompanied Christopher through streets crowded with soldiers, workers and refugees. Armorers worked beneath canvas roofs, fresh stone covered breaches in the inner walls, and wounded soldiers moved between healer buildings on crutches. Northgate had survived the war, but every yard showed its cost.

They crossed an inner courtyard where half the windows remained boarded after the siege. Lord Marshal Baldwin Griffin’s office occupied a tower above the northern gate.

The Lord Marshal was standing over a map when they entered: iron-gray hair, a short beard, a left hand missing two fingers. He dismissed his clerk and turned to Godfrey first.

"Hales. I heard you had attached yourself to Edmund’s boy."

"I travel by my own choice," Godfrey said.

"So the papers insist." Baldwin turned to Christopher. "You have your father’s face around the eyes."

Christopher did not know how to answer. "Lord Marshal."

Baldwin pointed toward the map. Dragonwatch appeared near its northern edge, marked by a faded fortress symbol.

"Your father was a good man," he said. "A dependable knight, which is rarer than a powerful one. He held the western road long enough for two damaged companies to reach Northgate."

Christopher had not seen that memory. Edmund’s death had reached House Drake as a sealed report and a wounded messenger, leaving most details behind.

"Were you there?" he asked.

"I was here trying to keep the walls standing. Your father was where I sent him."

The answer left little room for comfort. Baldwin rested his damaged hand on the map.

"Now his son arrives with a baron’s patent and an old legend for a destination. I’ll give you advice you didn’t ask for."

Christopher glanced at Godfrey. The knight’s expression did not change.

"Secure roofs before honor," Baldwin continued. "Food before walls. Do not waste men searching for vanished dragons, buried weapons, or whatever else the tavern stories place at Dragonwatch. If the stronghold cannot be occupied, build somewhere close and survive the winter."

"I didn’t come looking for legends."

"Good. Most young lords say that before they see their first ruin."

Christopher kept his irritation off his face. Baldwin spoke to him like a boy playing at Edmund’s sword, chasing an old story, but the Lord Marshal was also responsible for every expedition passing through the fortress, and arguing would change nothing.

"I will remember your advice," Christopher said.

Baldwin gave a tired grunt. "You don’t have to like it."

He returned the patent and signed an order allowing the convoy to remain for two days.

"Buy food while you can," Baldwin said. "The warehouses are low, and every lord heading north wants the same sacks. You will find few volunteers here."

"Is it only the danger that keeps people here?"

"Anyone willing to live near the frontier already has work rebuilding Northgate or the surviving estates. Sensible people need a strong reason to move farther north."

Christopher folded the order. "Then I will look for people with strong reasons."

Baldwin stared at him for a moment, then waved them toward the door. "Edmund would have argued more."

Outside, darkness had settled over the inner yard. Horns sounded from the walls, followed by the groan of chains as the northern gates began to close.

Godfrey descended the tower stairs beside Christopher. "You managed to remain polite."

"He called me a foolish boy without using the words."

"A lord marshal learns to insult people without wasting time."

They found the convoy camped beneath the southern wall. Martin had returned from the healer with a clean bandage and medicine for the fever, the families had raised their tents close together against the wind, and Martha’s fires burned on between the wagon lines.

Bennet brought Christopher the supply list. Grain, lamp oil, leather, medicine, and winter cloth remained at the top. Beside each item, he had written the prices quoted by merchants outside the wall.

"They’re higher than Griffin City," Christopher said.

"Everything here came from somewhere else," Bennet replied. "The army purchases first. Rebuilding houses purchase second. We purchase what remains."

Christopher marked grain and medicine as the first priorities. Nobody knew what stores remained at Dragonwatch, and arriving with empty wagons would cost more than Northgate’s prices.

"We start at dawn," he said. "Supplies first. Workers after."

Bennet’s gaze drifted to the crowded shelters beyond their field. "The Lord Marshal may be right about the workers."

"That has not stopped anyone from giving me advice today."

Bennet wisely returned to his lists.

Christopher handed Bennet the two-day order. Beyond the wall, the last gate struck shut with a sound that carried across the entire fortress.