Chapter 316: The Source

The Church’s scout crawled all the way up to the canal source’s sluice gate on the third night, lay in the reed bush for over an hour, sketching with graphite onto a piece of tanned leather then crawled back.

He did it very carefully, clearly recording two guards, a solid ironwood sluice gate, an iron crank handle and a grass-roofed watchtower.

The night guard that day saw him since he was still wading on the other bank, because on the watchtower roof there was a lantern covering three sides, whoever walked into the lit area then looking out from inside the watchtower was as clear as daylight, while the person outside saw completely nothing besides a fire speck.

He did not shout raising alarm, only reached his hand pressing twice onto the bronze knob attached to the pole, and all the way inside the city, inside the on-duty room of the Department of Military Affairs, the bronze bell that old Durk forged since the time there were no broadcasting speakers rang two crisp rings.

Two rings meant there were strangers, no need to fight yet.

Godfrey went up to the source early the next morning, finishing hearing the report then sat silently for a moment before dispatching people running back asking for instructions. Kaelen’s answer only had exactly three sentences, that just let him sketch, finishing sketching then let him return peacefully, because a map sketched correctly today then arriving at next week it would only be a piece of tanned leather.

During two days and three nights after that, forty workers of old Borin along with one hundred daily hired laborers dismantled the ironwood sluice gate off its hinges.

Replacing its place was a steel sluice gate, one decimeter thick, cast-in-place hinges, heavy to the point of having to use a three-tier pulley to be able to hang it up. The grass watchtower was lowered, the old foundation spot built a limestone mixed with mortar blockhouse, on the blockhouse body leaving three rows of narrow and long loopholes. Above the sluice gate edge, the spot the canal branched, old Borin ordered carving an additional auxiliary discharge gate with a separate crank handle, taking one day’s work.

As for the flat land strip about three hundred footsteps wide located right before the sluice gate door, the spot that the scout guy had recorded into the sketch as an empty field having nothing shielding, then people only ordered ox carts carrying dirt arriving building up the ridges at the two edges, then raked for the field surface to be slightly depressed toward the middle.

No one could see where it was different, because grass was still grass.

One thousand two hundred Holy Knights left the camp at the fourth watch, no trumpets, no torches, following the trail along the forest edge. Leading the way was exactly that very scout who sketched the map, and he led very correctly, to the point the sky just dawned then the entire delegation had come out to the spot the canal turned into the hill foot, half an hour earlier than estimated. The Holy Knight commander rode his horse going up the mound, raised his binoculars up, then lowered them, then raised them again.

On the blockhouse roof there was a wooden pole.

On the pole peak planted a gray cloth flag, below the flag was a bronze speaker.

"Good morning Sirs." The voice inside the bronze speaker echoed down the field, calm and slightly hoarse: "I am Godfrey, Director of the Department of Military Affairs of Lyra city. You are standing on Lyra city’s land, twenty-three miles away from the stone marker. Please kindly turn back."

The commander did not answer, only waved his hand for the front row to spread out.

"Before you decide then I ask permission to do one thing saving each other’s time." Godfrey continued: "Please look at the wooden stake on the right hand for me."

About four hundred footsteps away from the knight delegation’s spot, on a wooden stake planted in the middle of the field, there were hung upside down four chest armor plates stacked back to back into each other, each plate separated by a hand span. A heavy ’thud’ sounded from behind the blockhouse, then all four armor plates bounced shakingly up simultaneously, dragging even the stake falling backward.

Two Department of Military Affairs people ran out erecting the stake up, removing the armor stack, raising it high for the other side to see. The steel-tipped crossbow bolt had pierced through four plates, embedded deeply into the wooden body, while the tail part was still vibrating.

"I have fourteen such ballistas." Godfrey said: "And one thousand four hundred and twelve hand-crank crossbows. This number was issued to me by the Accounting division, because the iron making them all must be entered into the ledger. If you want to verify then I will dispatch people bringing the ledger out."

The Holy Knight commander ultimately also could not hold back, shouting asking how a minor merchant city like Lyra could get one thousand four hundred crossbows from anywhere.

"My place has a workshop." Godfrey answered: "And workshops make crossbows according to measurements, every single one is exactly identical to any other one. My side’s workers can replace a broken trigger in the time you draw your sword out of the scabbard. You try asking your side’s people seeing if your sword breaks then how long before having a second one exactly identical."

The other side of the field fell silent for quite a long period.

After that then the Holy Knight commander lowered his lance, shouting charge.

Later, when sitting writing the report for the City Hall, Godfrey noted that he understood why that person had to shout. A Holy Knight commander of four major parishes, leading one thousand two hundred people traveling throughout an entire night, yet being told to return by a guy standing on a blockhouse, then even being held out ledgers for verification, then even having the intention of turning his head he could not return anymore.

The front row went down the field with a long cheering sound, dashed passing about eighty footsteps then the ground began to sink under the horses’ feet.

Inside the blockhouse, a short stocky Dwarf turned the crank handle of the auxiliary discharge gate exactly twelve laps. The water from the canal poured slanted over to the new branch, flowing out onto the depressed field surface, spreading horizontally then rising up, and because the field surface had been raked depressed toward the middle so the water could not flow anywhere. The field soil was loam mixed with mud dug up from the canal bed, poured down less than three days ago, not yet having time to compact. It absorbed water so fast to the point only after ten breaths’ time, the smooth green grass spot just now had become a mushy mud area flooded up to the horses’ knees.

The front row stopped when the horses could not lift their feet up anymore.

The second row crashed into the back of the front row, the third row crashed into the back of the second row. Some horses buckled their two front legs down, dumping the people on their backs down into the mud, and a Holy Knight wearing full plate armor falling into the mud then personally sitting up was also difficult. The clanking metal clashing sounds, the horses’ screaming sounds, the people calling each other sounds, all packed into a wide area less than two hundred footsteps.

On the blockhouse, Godfrey looked down for a moment, then finally issued orders.

Three hundred Department of Military Affairs recruits and nine hundred people of the Maritime Fleet stood spreading into two vertical rows along both field edges, every person holding one hand-crank crossbow, yet the entire thousand two people no one shot into the field.

The first volley shot forming a straight line planting down onto the mud edge before the front row’s nose, about ten footsteps away, every single bolt planted tilted at the identical angle, standing vibrating like a newly planted bamboo fence. The second volley planted forming another line, retreating to the back of the knight delegation, blocking the way out.

After that Godfrey lifted the bronze speaker up the third time.

"Please Sirs drop your weapons down then sit still on the spot. My people will go down leading horses first, leading people later. Whichever Sir sees himself sinking deep then raise your hand up, do not try to struggle."

Mud spares no one, therefore there were several spots having to wade all the way out to the middle of the field.

The Maritime Fleet people went down the field with ropes, with planks, with even several carrying poles, walking barefoot, rolling pant legs up to the groin. They led the horses out first, led more than a thousand heads, whichever one being trapped its feet then tied rope onto its belly then five six people pulled together. Old Wick of the Badger clan in group seventeen dragged a Holy Knight out of the waist-deep puddle, finishing dragging then sat flat down onto the bank edge breathing, looking at that guy for a moment then spat a wad of spit down into the mud.

"Fourteen years." He said: "I mined for your people fourteen years. Today I fish you up. Do not think that I am decent."

That Holy Knight lay on his back on the grass, his face and nose smudged entirely, completely unable to answer a single sound.

The cleanup work lasted until past noon. The final statistics recorded by an Accounting division staff member dispatched up since the day before, that the Church side had no dead people, nineteen people with broken bones, over two hundred people dislocated joints or bruised, four horses injured their legs requiring splinting, two horses could not be saved. The Lyra side had no one injured, there were two recruits getting cramps because of wading in mud too long, and a Dwarf whose shin was hit by the crank handle because of turning too strongly excessively.

All confiscated weapons were attached with wooden tags writing numbers, whichever owner then writing the name of that owner, whoever did not declare name then recorded following the armor serial number. Two staff members sat writing receipts from noon to night, finishing writing four paper stacks, arriving at night then someone had to gallop a horse returning to the city asking for more paper.

When the bedraggled human delegation dragged returning arriving at the stone marker in the afternoon of the next day, both camps outside all poured out watching.

One thousand two hundred Holy Knights walking, armors carried on shoulders and not worn on bodies, dry mud caked forming scabs from head to toe. Horses were led separately forming a delegation behind, every ten heads one person leading. Walking on both sides were Lyra soldiers, walking sparsely, exactly every twenty footsteps there was one person, and completely no one raised a crossbow at all.

Godfrey stopped at the inner edge of the marker, waiting for Cardinal Marcellus coming out, then handed over a piece of paper.

"We return people and horses to you, fully complete, excluding the two dead horses then having the healer’s examination paper." He said: "Weapons then Lyra Court retains until having a verdict, you just feel free dispatching people over comparing receipts at any time. And this is the expense statement."

Marcellus did not reach his hand out receiving, therefore the paper was received on his behalf by the Holy Knight commander standing beside.

The statement recorded money replacing the field surface, money hiring one hundred and twenty people wading in mud throughout two days, medicine money and labor money of sixteen healers, porridge money and water money for one thousand two hundred people throughout one day and one night, paper and pen money of four receipt stacks. At the very bottom was a line recording that the City Hall did not calculate grass money for horses, because the field’s grass the horses also had eaten completely already.

"Do you still want to say anything more?" Marcellus asked, his voice dry.

"There is only exactly one sentence." Godfrey answered: "That sluice gate is now made of steel. Next time you Sirs arriving then it also will not break. But I received orders speaking with you that next time then water stops flowing for the entire camp, and stopping from which spot then we do not say."

On the mercenary camp side no one could maintain a serious appearance anymore.

They stood along both road sides, initially still quiet, arriving when the Holy Knight delegation passed by then some guy burst out laughing, then the whole crowd laughed following, laughing to the point there were people having to sit down onto the ground to laugh. Several familiar guys at the selling area even called out names asking inquiringly, asking that Sirs soaking in mud these past few days do you need washing clothes, on the other side of the marker there are two women accepting hired washing, three copper coins one carrying pole, dried completely returned in the day.

That afternoon Hauk went over to the other side of the marker, not bringing buckets, also not buying water. The guy stood before the wooden table for a long while then bluntly asked seeing if here accepted people or not.

"Yes we do." Brian answered: "The Department of Labor accepts registrations all year round. However must declare identity, must have two people inside the city acting as witnesses, and people currently having contracts with another side then our side does not accept, because like that is breaking other people’s contracts."

Hauk nodded, asking adding his contract expiring on which day then calculating from the day receiving military funds or from the departure day, hearing finishing the answer then turned returning to camp, completely not saying another sentence more.

Thirty footsteps away, on the earth mound of the Royal Family’s camp, General Oswin stood watching from beginning to end.

He watched the prisoner of war delegation passing by, watched the horse delegation passing by, watched the two Lyra soldiers walking last both walking and sharing with each other a handful of roasted seeds. He had been a general for twenty-something years, fighting four campaigns, and the thing he was trying to calculate in his head was if his six thousand people went down that field then would it be any different.

Lucien stood beside, his two hands clasped behind his back, saying nothing.

"Your Highness." Ultimately Oswin asked, his voice very low: "I ask a stupid question. If they want to take the Royal Capital then how long does it take?"

Lucien remained silent for a really long time.

"I think they do not even need to take it." He answered: "You just look at those two soldiers. Those two guys just went fishing over a thousand people up from the mud, not a single one dead, returning arriving here even sharing a handful of roasted seeds with each other like going to a festival. People do not teach them to hate anyone, so they also completely do not need anyone having to kneel. And whatever completely not needing anyone kneeling then sooner or later people will automatically walk over."

Oswin hearing finishing then did not ask another sentence more.

That night, inside the Church’s camp, Cardinal Marcellus sat alone with a candle burned past halfway, before his face was the expense statement, the weapon temporary confiscation receipt paper, and the transit tax notification paper the second copy that the other side had sent again very properly according to etiquette.

He read all those three papers entirely once, then sat up straight, reaching for a pen writing a letter sending back to the Royal Capital. On the envelope, he wrote the name Count Aldric Thorne.