Chapter 22 — Those Who Remained

Chapter 22: Chapter 22 — Those Who Remained

Chapter 22 — Those Who Remained

Mabel refused to let Ellis ride.

"The arrow missed the bone," she said. "That does not mean you should spend two days tearing the wound open."

Ellis sat against the hide shed with his injured arm bound across his chest. "I can stay on a horse."

"You could also fall off one."

"I have another arm."

"Then use it to hold this."

She pushed a cup into his good hand and moved on to Walter. The Bronze Knight’s cut required only three stitches, but Mabel made him sit for all of them.

Black Hollow smelled of blood, damp ash and opened storehouses. The nine rescued captives remained together beneath the shed roof, where Walter had given them blankets and food taken from the bandits’ morning pot; they ate slowly while watching every armed man who passed.

The seven surrendered bandits sat against the wall opposite them, their ankles tied as well as their hands, with two apprentices standing guard.

Christopher stood in the yard between both groups.

Godfrey had already questioned the prisoners. They knew nothing useful, and leaving them behind meant they would rejoin the escaped bandits.

Christopher looked through the open doorway. The seven bandits sat with their hands and ankles tied; one whispered to another until an apprentice struck the wall with the butt of his spear.

Dragonwatch lacked the guards and food to hold seven more prisoners, and releasing them would only restore fighters to the bandit group.

Christopher stared at the prisoners. They had surrendered, and in his old life that should have meant something. Here, there was no prison, no court coming to collect them and no spare soldiers to keep them behind a locked door.

"There’s no other choice that keeps our own people safe?" he asked.

"Not one that does not endanger your people," Godfrey said.

Christopher remained silent for a long time.

"Do it," he said at last. "End it quickly, and keep the rescued people away."

Christopher did not watch.

The executions took place beyond the southern wall. Godfrey and the apprentices handled them quickly, and when it ended, seven graves were dug beside the nine belonging to those killed during the attack.

The rescued people stayed near the settlement while Godfrey dealt with the bandits beyond the huts, and Christopher spent that time with the captives.

The older man from the hide shed introduced himself as Aldwin Coldwater. He had hunted the valleys west of House Bell’s lands for nearly twenty years. The younger man beside him was his nephew Perrin, who trapped smaller animals and knew the winter paths.

"The bandits kept you for hunting?" Christopher asked.

Aldwin flexed his cut hands. "For meat. Skins too. Malric sold the better ones south."

"Do you think your hands will recover enough to work?"

Mabel had cleaned them earlier; several cuts were deep, but his fingers still moved.

"If the wounds do not rot, I should keep most of the movement."

"They won’t," Mabel called from where she was binding another captive’s bruised ribs. "If you keep them clean."

Aldwin appeared unconvinced.

Another captive, Bertram Hollowreed, had worked in Black Hollow before the war. His family burned charcoal and prepared rough hides for merchants; he was not a proper tanner, but he knew how to scrape skins, stretch them and keep them from spoiling long enough to reach someone who was.

The remaining captives had farmed, cut timber or worked the charcoal pits. One woman had cooked for the camp because refusing meant her fourteen-year-old son went without food.

Christopher offered them a place at Dragonwatch.

"We’re returning there," he said. "You may come with us as free people. We have food and shelter, though both are limited. Once the settlement can afford wages, anyone who works will be paid."

"And if we do not want to remain at Dragonwatch, my lord?" the woman asked.

"You can leave when we reach somewhere safe enough to travel from. I won’t send you into the forest alone today."

"Is Dragonwatch truly safe enough for families?"

Christopher considered the missing gate, leaking roofs, unchecked castle and smoke beyond the ridge.

"Safer than this camp. I won’t promise more until the walls are repaired."

The largest storehouse held grain, flour, peas, smoked meat, salt, cheese, preserved vegetables and beer. Mabel, Aldwin and the rescued cook inspected every container, discarding damp flour, infested peas, spoiled meat and several jars of unidentified powder. Two sacks concealed stones beneath the grain, but most of the food remained usable.

Safe supplies were marked with charcoal and loaded onto the two wagons, along with the sound bows, arrows, axes, knives, spare clothes, blankets, rope, hides and useful tools. Malric’s armor went into a locked chest, and the weapons taken from the dead and surrendered bandits were wrapped separately.

Five usable horses remained in the camp, along with three mules and several chickens.

The wealth did not resemble treasure from a story. It looked like sacks, barrels, bundled hides and chipped tools.

Christopher had never been happier to see grain.

Godfrey refused to leave that evening.

"The wounded need rest," he said, "and no wagon travels that forest path safely in darkness."

They stayed one final night at Black Hollow. Guards watched the approaches in pairs, and no bandits returned.

Christopher slept inside the central house where Malric had lived. The room contained a real bed, a locked cabinet and a carpet stolen from somewhere richer than the settlement. He chose the floor.

A northern noble paid us.

Godfrey had killed the man before a name followed, and the dead man’s last words returned whenever Christopher closed his eyes.

They left after sunrise.

Ellis rode in the first wagon beside two rescued captives. Mabel walked alongside him until she was satisfied the wheels would not shake his shoulder apart. Walter rode ahead with Simon and Adam, while Godfrey covered the rear.

The return took two days.

The wagons used the longer charcoal road to avoid the steepest ground. Workers cleared two fallen trees, and Bertram replaced a broken wagon pin with hardwood.

The rescued captives remained close together. Perrin helped Simon read animal signs along the road, and they found deer tracks, fox scat and claw marks on one tree that made Aldwin steer the column farther south.

"Do you think the tracks belong to a Magical Beast?" Christopher asked.

"Could be," Aldwin said. "Could be a large bear. I would rather not discover which while guarding wagons."

That sounded like the kind of answer Walter had been unable to give.

Near sunset on the second day, Dragonwatch’s towers appeared between the trees.

Its chimneys were already smoking. The temporary barrier still blocked the gate, and men watched from the wall, a horn sounding before the column reached the road.

One wagon rolled aside.

Ivo waited beneath the arch with all four apprentices behind him, his eyes moving over the loaded wagons, the wounded and the unfamiliar people.

"You brought back more than you left with."

"Nine rescued captives," Christopher said. "They’re free."

Ivo counted the unfamiliar faces and understood that none of the captured bandits had returned.

Inside the courtyard, settlers gathered around the wagons. Bennet immediately began asking which supplies had been checked. Mabel threatened anyone who came too close to Ellis. Joan led the rescued women and the boy toward the warm barracks.

Aldwin stood inside the gate and studied Dragonwatch’s walls.

"You truly mean to stay at Dragonwatch after what happened?" he asked.

"Yes, my lord. I have nowhere safer to return to."

The hunter looked toward the forest, then at the loaded grain and hides.

"Then you will need someone who knows what lives in that valley."

Christopher offered his hand. "Are you volunteering?"

Aldwin studied it before taking it.

"I will stay until the first harvest," Aldwin said. "After that, I decide whether Dragonwatch suits me."

"Agreed. We speak again after the harvest."

Across the courtyard, two guards brought the six Dragonwatch prisoners out to help unload under watch, their hands tied in front of them. They stared at the returning wagons and searched the column for the seven men who had surrendered at Black Hollow.

They found none.

Christopher saw the moment they understood, and he walked over.

"You six are still alive," he said. "Whether you remain that way depends on what you do from now on."

The wounded Black Iron fighter met his eyes. "What do you want?"

Christopher took in the timber, stone, damaged roofs and temporary gate.

"You will work under guard. Earn my trust, and your treatment will improve."

"Will you put slave collars on us?"

"No. Guards will watch you during work, and you will be locked up at night. Work well and cause no trouble, and you may earn your freedom."

The man glanced at the other prisoners.

"And what happens if one of us tries to run?"

"Then hope my Knights do not catch you."

Christopher woke to hammering.

For several breaths he lay beneath the borrowed blankets and listened. The sound came again, three uneven strikes followed by a pause. Someone cursed outside. Another man laughed.

The room was still cold, but the wind no longer came through the shutters, because Wat Cooper and two carpenters had covered the worst gap with fitted boards while Christopher was away. It was a small repair, but he noticed it anyway.

He dressed and stepped outside.

Dragonwatch had already filled with work, the kitchen chimney sending up its first smoke of the day. Families carried the supplies taken from Black Hollow into the storehouse while Bennet stood at the door with his board. The six prisoners unloaded timber under the eyes of two apprentices, their ankles free but short lengths of rope joining them in pairs.

The fifteen slaves worked nearby. Three carried stone from a collapsed shed; the others separated sound roof beams from rotten wood. Their iron collars showed above their rough clothing.

Walter assured Christopher that the guards had counted both groups before dawn, then gave him a cup of bitter hot water.

"Where did Godfrey go this morning?"

Walter pointed toward the wall. "Making Ivo angry."

Ivo stood on the damaged walkway above the gate, arguing with Godfrey and Owen Wren. Godfrey was not raising his voice; he rarely needed to. Christopher climbed the stone steps and caught the end of Ivo’s complaint.

"—can have it closed before noon."

"You can have something in the opening before noon," Owen said. "That’s not the same as a gate."

The mason crouched beside a cracked socket where one of the old hinges had been torn from the wall. The stone around it had split. He pushed two fingers into the gap and pulled out gray grit.

"Can the old gate be repaired instead of replaced?" Christopher asked.

Owen stood and bowed. "Yes, my lord. Not with the hinges we have."

"Barlow can make new hinges once his forge is ready."

"When his forge is working," Godfrey said.

Master Barlow had found the old forge usable, but the chimney remained partly blocked and its bellows had rotted. Until both were repaired, he could mend small pieces over a charcoal fire and little more.

Christopher looked through the open arch. The road beyond it ran between abandoned houses before disappearing into the trees. The chained wagons and timber barrier would slow riders, but it would not stop determined men.

"Use the stone we brought back," he said. "Repair the hinge socket first. Then build new doors."

Owen rubbed his jaw. "We need seasoned timber for proper doors."

"There are old beams lying throughout the fortress."

"Most are wet, rotten or too short."

Christopher glanced across the courtyard. He had seen piles of wood and assumed that meant they had timber.

Owen could repair the socket, strengthen the inner barrier and begin drying fresh trunks; proper doors would come later.

Christopher left Owen in charge of the gate repair.

Bennet intercepted him at the bottom of the steps. "The farmers are waiting outside."

"You need all the Black Hollow stone for one gate?"

"The household heads and several older sons. If all forty-five families wait for you, nothing else will be done."

They passed through the gate with Walter, Simon and six apprentices. Aldwin joined them without being asked. His bandaged hands prevented him from holding a bow properly, but a knife hung from his belt and his eyes moved constantly between the trees.

The old settlement spread south of Dragonwatch’s walls. Stone foundations showed beneath collapsed houses. Gardens had become thickets. Farther downhill, long fields covered much of the valley floor.

From the road, the largest field looked promising: broad, mostly clear of young trees and close to the stream.

Christopher pointed toward it. "Start there."

The prisoners remained still.

An older farmer removed his cap. "That ground is drowned, my lord."

Christopher looked again. The grass was brown and flattened, but he saw no standing water.

"The stream is still inside its banks."

The farmer walked several paces into the field and drove a spade into the earth. When he lifted it, dark mud clung to the blade, and water gathered in the cut.

"Put oxen in there and they’ll tear it to soup. Seed will rot."

"How long before the mortar dries enough to carry the hinges?"

"A week. Two, if the rain comes back."

They did not have two weeks to waste. Christopher studied the higher ground to the east, broken into smaller plots divided by old stone lines, where bushes and saplings had spread across most of them.

"You mean the abandoned fields outside the wall?" he asked.

The farmer nodded slowly. "Harder to clear. We can plough sooner."

Another man crouched and broke apart a handful of soil. Three others began talking among themselves. Christopher caught only pieces: drainage, stones, old roots, northern wind.

"How many of those fields can your families plant this season?" he asked.

The older farmer replaced his cap. "Depends what you take from us."

"How long will clearing the first plots take?"

"Men for timber. Men for roofs. Men for the wall. Animals for hauling. We have hands, my lord, but every job uses the same hands."

Bennet opened his board. "We also need firewood every day. The animals need shelters repaired. Two cattle are limping, and one ox has a split hoof."

Christopher looked back at the enormous stronghold. Reaching it had only changed the work before them.

"Choose the fields you can prepare first," he told the farmers. "Keep enough people for them. Bennet can divide the rest among the other work."

The older farmer looked toward Bennet rather than answering.

"He means tell me how many you need," Bennet said. "I won’t choose for you."

That settled it. The farmers walked toward the eastern plots, stopping to argue at every old boundary.

Christopher followed for a while. They chose three small fields on a gentle south-facing rise. One had been used recently enough that the brush reached only to his knees; the other two would require axes and mattocks before a plough touched them.

"Barley here," one farmer said. "Turnips in the smaller plot."

"What should we do with the northern rye?" Christopher asked.

"Keep it dry until autumn. Planting it now would waste good seed."

At least Bennet had been right about that.

They marked the first field with stakes. Ten farming families began cutting brush while others led two teams of oxen from the stronghold. Children gathered loose branches behind them, the smallest carrying armfuls hardly larger than kindling, watched by two grandmothers who did more shouting than lifting.

Christopher tried the soil himself. The borrowed spade struck a buried root and stopped hard enough to jar his arms.

The farmer beside him said nothing.

Christopher moved the blade and tried again. This time it sank.

"The roots will slow the plows," he said.

"There will be many, my lord."

He returned the spade before proving how little practice he had.

On the way back, Aldwin stopped near a line of low brush and pointed to a narrow print in the mud.

"Deer passed before dawn. Two, maybe three."

"Can you hunt with your hands like that?" Christopher asked.

"Not today. Perrin can set snares. Your archer can come with us tomorrow."

"Adam Fletcher should go with them."

Aldwin nodded, tucking the name away for later. "One Knight too, until I know how close the beasts come to the walls."

Christopher almost said that a Knight was needed for construction, then remembered the claw marks on the road from Black Hollow.

"Walter or Ivo will assign another apprentice to the work party."

Back inside Dragonwatch, the first dispute had already begun.

One of the prisoners refused to enter a roofless house with a slave carrying a pry bar. The wounded Black Iron fighter stood in the courtyard while Martin Pike kept a spear pointed at his chest.

"The floor is rotten," the prisoner said. "Send him in and it drops."

The slave holding the bar glanced at Christopher but remained silent.

Owen pushed past both men, tested the doorway, then struck the floor twice with a mallet. The second blow broke through.

"He’s right," Owen said. "Nobody enters until we brace it."

Martin lowered his spear a little.

Christopher turned to the prisoner. "You worked here before?"

"I slept in that house for six nights. The back room is worse."

"Then you warn Owen about anything else you know."

The man gave a short nod.

He put Owen and Wat in charge of the house crews. The three Green-potential slaves took the harder lifting; for the moment, they worked beside the other twelve.

The prisoners worked separately whenever possible. Two apprentices watched them, and their ropes remained on whenever they moved between buildings. Walter kept the slaves’ control seal, using it only once, when one man carrying tiles stepped toward an open side passage instead of following the crew.

The collar flashed before the man reached it. He dropped the tiles and fell to one knee with both hands at his throat.

"Wrong way," Walter said.

The slave returned without argument after he could stand. Christopher disliked how ordinary the moment seemed to everyone else, but he said nothing, since he had bought the collars with the people wearing them.

By midday, Owen had condemned five houses and approved two for repair. Their roofs leaked and their doors were gone, but the walls were sound. If the weather held, six families could leave the crowded barracks within several days.

The gate socket took longer. When the cracked stones came free, Owen found damage deeper in the wall. Christopher expected another delay. Instead, the mason sent his brother for smaller blocks and changed the shape of the repair.

Barlow and his sons cleared the forge chimney while Robert Miller inspected the old channel that once carried water toward the stronghold. The miller returned wet to the knees and announced that the channel was blocked in at least four places.

"Does the stream carry enough water to turn a mill wheel?" Christopher asked.

"There’s no wheel left, my lord, only the channel and part of the foundation."

"I mean if we build a new wheel after the urgent repairs are finished."

Robert considered the stream. "Ask me after I see where the water goes."

Christopher sent two men with him to clear brush from the banks.

The afternoon brought a brief rain. The farmers stayed in the eastern field until the soil began clinging to their boots, then moved inside to help repair animal shelters. No seed entered the ground, and Christopher wanted to be angry at the lost hours, but there was nobody sensible to blame.

Near sunset, he walked the stronghold with Bennet.

The raised inner barrier now had firing gaps between its crossed beams. Workers stripped useful tiles from one condemned house and braced the floor of another. Barlow tested the repaired forge bellows beneath a clear chimney.

Outside the walls, three dark plots showed where the farmers had begun cutting back years of neglect.

"How much work did we actually finish today?" Christopher asked.

Bennet studied his board. "Nothing."

Christopher turned toward him.

"Nothing is finished," Bennet continued. "The gate needs doors. The houses need roofs. The forge needs charcoal. The fields need clearing."

"You could have said that differently."

"Martha says I should not soften numbers for you."

Christopher looked across the courtyard. The six prisoners were being returned to their locked room. The slaves ate near the kitchen under Walter’s watch. Children carried the last branches from the gate while Joan shouted for Meg to bring Elsie inside before the rain began again.

Men were still carrying tiles as the light faded, and smoke continued to curl from Barlow’s chimney.

"What work begins again tomorrow morning?" Christopher asked.

Bennet turned to a clean page.

"The same work, my lord. We continue until something is finished."