Chapter 304: The Line at the Well

A pair of guards riding tigers walked around the crowd, slowly, their enormous paws sinking into the square’s mud. The tigers did not growl. There was no need. They passed and the people moved out of the way on their own.

"I said it and I stand by it," said Kellar. "No one lives free in this valley."

The eleven bound men still lay on the ground, in a row, ropes on their wrists and faces in the dirt.

"From today, any man of serving age who is not in the army serves ten years at guest pay," said Kellar. "Ten copper coins a day. No land, no standing, nothing the kingdom gives."

A mutter ran along the back and died by itself.

"A member of the kingdom earns one silver coin a day," said Kellar. "A guest earns ten copper. Ten to one. Whoever wants to close that gap knows what he has to do."

A woman covered her mouth with both hands. Beside her, her husband stared at the ground with a red face.

"And women without husbands," Kellar went on, "come in as guests with every benefit of a member. With one condition. A year to bear a child. The child gives them standing."

Some of the girls looked at one another. One laughed, short and nervous, and shut up at once.

"The police oversee it," said Kellar. "I want no black markets and no false fathers."

Kellar paced along the front of the eleven.

"I already know what you are thinking," said Kellar. "That it is unfair. That you work all day and the man with the spear walks the wall."

He stopped.

"The man with the spear walks the wall so that you can work all day. And when that thing in the ash valley comes down the slope, it will not come looking for the smith. It will come for the first thing that moves. And the first thing that moves will be the men on the wall, with a spear shorter than the beast’s teeth."

No one answered.

"The men on the wall are buying time," said Kellar. "Time is the one thing that cannot be replaced. That is why they earn more. And that is why the man who is not on the wall either joins the army tomorrow, or earns ten copper."

Silence fell.

"And there is another reason," said Kellar, and his voice dropped. "The man who does not fight, nor serve, nor breed, is loose sand. The day the wall comes down, the one with nothing set there will run. And he will run over the ones who did."

An old man at the back nodded, and the gesture spread.

Kellar read the faces. There was anger. There was grief. There were men whose jaws worked and who said nothing, and women already counting on their fingers.

But no one raised their voice.

After all, eleven men were still tied in the mud, and the tigers were still making their round.

"Now," said Kellar, "it is not all bad news."

He climbed the step of the platform and turned to face the whole square.

"Every member of the kingdom will have land."

The mutter that rose this time was a different one.

"Fertile land," said Kellar. "Land to work, with water close and good soil. Not a patch of stone. Real land, the kind that gives two harvests if a man breaks his back on it."

He pointed at Garik in the crowd, and then at Lennis.

"The smith and the founder already have the promise. Everyone will have it. In the army, serving ten years, or bearing children for the kingdom. Any of the three roads arrives at the same place."

Kellar lowered his voice.

"And that land will be theirs. Not lent. Not the kingdom’s. Theirs, for their sons and their sons’ sons, for every generation to come. With paper and with seal, and whoever wants to take it out of their hands will have to talk to me."

The whole square shifted.

Someone shouted something no one caught. Another began to clap and the clapping built on its own, ragged, and grew until it drowned the shouts.

A man knelt in the mud and put both hands on his head.

Kellar let it run a while.

Then he raised one hand and the square fell silent at once.

"Tomorrow at dawn, the eleven begin training," said Kellar. "Today they go home and explain to their families what was decided for them."

He came down off the step.

"And from this afternoon, whoever wants to sign for his land presents himself at the well. The scribes will be there until dark."

Kellar closed the assembly with a gesture and the square came apart.

No one went home. The arguments started right there, out loud, in front of everyone.

"And now?" a woman shouted at her husband. "Now what are we supposed to do?"

"I work," said the man. "I work twelve hours."

"You work twelve hours sitting on the same bench as always!"

Further along, another planted herself in front of a big man and put a finger in his chest.

"If you will not go, I will," she told him. "And maybe among all those men I will find a real one."

"A real one?" asked the husband.

"One who does not hide." said the woman. "I should never have married you!"

"Bitch! How dare you talk to me like that!"

"With me you feel very fierce!" she shouted. "But to fight for us you are a coward!"

The fights were the same in every family with an unenlisted man.

And not all of them were guests. There were many of the original tribe, the sort who had felt entitled to everything for having been born there, for being of the same tribe as Kellar and as the generals. People who until that morning had looked down on the refugees.

Now their standing had hit the floor.

From the next day they would be less than any outsider who joined the army. Less than a freed Black Skull slave in a torn shirt.

They looked at one another, man to man, with the women still shouting at their backs.

And there was nothing left but to laugh sourly, turn around, and walk straight off to enlist.

At the well, the line already curled around the square. Several hundred. All middle-aged men, and some of them quite old.

Kellar passed along the edge of the line and one of them turned.

He was a thin old man, hands weathered, beard patchy. He lowered his head before speaking.

"I thought these old bones would not be accepted in my lord’s army," said the man. "And I doubted. I regret deeply not having enlisted on the first day."

The words fell straight into the others.

No one answered. No one looked at him badly. A couple lowered their eyes, as though he had said something of theirs.

There was not a single old man in the army. Not one. Everyone who had fought until then was young, and those who were not young were the ones who had been there from the start and had never been spared.

Kellar, watching from a few meters off, could not help lowering his head.

Part of this was his fault. He had never said it. He had taken for granted that people would want to fight, and people had taken for granted that the shaman picked who he wanted. No one had dared ask whether there was room left for a old man.

At least now he had corrected the road.