Chapter 64: The Road Back

Rauk put his finger on the map and covered most of the valley.

Mara moved his hand.

“Show me with this.”

She gave him a piece of charcoal. He held it awkwardly between finger and thumb, then drew a line above the eastern ridge.

“The caves are here. The lower path joins the quarry road.”

“And the upper?”

“Sheep use it.”

“Can your children?”

Rauk glanced toward his niece on the carrying frame.

“Some.”

Lexander crouched beside the boundary stone while the interpreter repeated two unfamiliar place names. Wind moved through the hollow, pressing the grass flat around their boots. On the opposite slope, one of Rauk’s waiting guards shifted his weight and looked east.

“How much food?” Lexander asked.

“Enough for three days. Four if we argue about it.”

“Water?”

“A spring in the rear chamber.”

Mara drew a mark beside the lower road. “Who knows you use those caves?”

Rauk’s silence answered before he did.

“Everyone who mustered with us.”

The injured woman pushed herself higher on the frame.

“Tell him about the wagons.”

Her uncle closed his eyes briefly.

“They’ll send wagons,” he said. “If they mean to punish us, they’ll want the children moved first.”

Lexander looked at the charcoal line.

“How soon?”

“I don’t know.”

It was the first answer Rauk had given that sounded entirely free of calculation.

Mara folded the edge of the map against the wind.

“Then we begin now.”

The four who had come to the meeting could not simply return as they had arrived.

Rauk’s niece was shivering. Her name was Yrsa, and the journey had reopened a wound beneath the bandages around her leg. The man who had helped carry her kept checking the cloth when he thought she would not notice.

She noticed every time.

Lexander sent her toward Concordia with that man, a healer from the waiting escort, and two Watch officers. The remaining witness would guide Mara’s scouts along the upper approach. Rauk would take Lexander to the caves.

Bruni objected when they tried to send him with Yrsa.

“Know the hills.”

“Your shoulder is injured,” Lexander said.

“Legs work.”

Mara looked from one to the other.

“He stays with the first relief party. They’ll need someone who can speak to the families without waiting for a translation.”

Bruni nodded at once, as though this had been his proposal all along.

Lexander wrote two messages. The first went to Atreyu: routes, numbers, wagons, blankets, medical help, and the need to bring Thor forward without leaving Concordia undefended. The second went to Io.

He began that one twice.

Finally he wrote what he knew and what he intended to do. Forty-three people remained in the caves. Four had attended the meeting. They needed beds for forty-seven, some large enough to make their carpenters unhappy.

At the bottom, he added that Yrsa was already coming.

The rider left before anyone could think of another detail.

Io read the message standing beneath the gate court awning.

Rain had begun again. It rattled against the roof while the Castellan confirmed which receiving buildings had empty floors and which roads could take reinforced wagons.

“None of the ordinary lodging halls will accommodate the largest adults,” it said.

“I know. The old cavalry sheds?”

“The western range is sound. The eastern roof requires repair.”

“Use the western range. Ask the quartermaster for the canvas partitions.”

Fulla stood beside her, already counting on her fingers.

“Blankets can be joined. Bedding is harder.”

“Straw mattresses first. Better ones when we know their sizes.”

Atreyu arrived with the first deployment orders. Thor followed him, fastening Jarngreipr at her wrists.

“He went to discuss terms,” she said.

“He found people who need help,” Io replied.

“That does sound like him.”

They divided the available forces. Baldr would remain in Concordia. Atreyu would coordinate the road and the city watch. Thor would travel with the mounted reserve as far as horses were useful, then go ahead with scouts who knew where Lexander had gone.

Io sent word through the transit gate. Greykeep could provide bedding, medical supplies, and a few additional hands without pulling its northern teams from their work. The gate wardens scheduled the deliveries around the stretchers they expected later.

Nothing about the preparations was grand. There were wet boots, disputed cart assignments, and a stablemaster who insisted that a wagon needed a sound axle regardless of what a king had promised.

Io agreed with him and gave him the authority to reject unsafe ones.

Then she went to meet Yrsa.

The caves smelled of damp wool, smoke, and frightened people who had been indoors too long.

Lexander ducked beneath the outer ledge and stepped into a chamber large enough to hold a small house. Daylight reached only the first few paces. Beyond it, cooking fires made patches of orange among bundles and sleeping places.

Conversations stopped when Rauk entered.

A woman stood so quickly that a child slid from her lap.

“Where is Yrsa?”

“With healers,” Rauk said. “On the road to Concordia.”

“You sent her away?”

“She needed—”

“You sent my daughter away without me?”

Lexander felt the whole chamber turn toward them.

He stepped forward and gave the woman the names of the people traveling with Yrsa, the place they were taking her, and the route they would follow.

“Her leg was bleeding again,” he said. “She was awake when they left. She asked for you.”

The woman stared at him.

“Then why am I still here?”

“You can leave with the first group.”

She bent at once to gather her things.

Rauk watched her turn away. There was a familiar obedience missing from the movement, and he seemed unsure what to do without it.

Lexander left him to discover the answer.

Counting took time.

Some families had crowded into the rear chamber. Three people were too weak to walk far, though none needed a carrying frame quite as large as Yrsa’s. Thirteen children ranged from an infant bundled against her father to a long-limbed boy who insisted he was old enough to help carry supplies.

He was assigned blankets and looked offended by the lightness of his burden.

Several adults carried axes. One wore an iron badge marked with Surtr’s sign.

Lexander saw it. So did Mara when she arrived from the upper path.

The man closed his coat over it.

“We’ll arrange weapons when we reach our lines,” she told him. “Until then, keep that axe on your back and follow instructions.”

He glanced at Rauk.

Rauk did not answer for him.

The man nodded.

Mara drew Lexander aside near the entrance.

“The upper route is passable. One narrow shelf. We can secure a handline, but the smaller children will need carrying.”

“The lower road?”

“Scouts heard wheels.”

Lexander looked out into the rain.

“How far?”

“Far enough that we can still leave. Close enough that we should.”

Behind them, someone began arguing about a chest.

It belonged to an old woman who had planted her feet beside it and refused to move.

Her son tried lifting one end. The wood groaned. Whatever lay inside had considerable weight.

“Mother.”

“I heard you.”

“We can’t take it up there.”

“You haven’t tried.”

Mara opened her mouth, then stopped as Lexander approached.

“What is in it?” he asked.

“Things I own.”

“Yes.” He crouched beside the clasp. “Which of them do you need us to carry?”

For a moment she looked ready to strike him with the stick beside her knee.

Then she opened the lid.

Stone bowls, folded cloth, a bronze lamp, a bundle of letters wrapped in oilskin. Beneath them lay a small pair of shoes.

The woman’s hand came down over the shoes before he could ask.

Lexander took an empty pack from a soldier.

“Show me.”

They filled the pack. Her son carried the lamp. The stone bowls stayed.

As she passed Lexander on her way out, she looked back once at the open chest.

He waited with her for that single moment.

Then Mara called from the path, and they followed the others into the rain.

The upper trail climbed through wet scrub before reaching the rock shelf.

Lexander went ahead with two scouts. Rauk followed at the rear, urging people upward until one woman told him that shouting did not make a child’s legs longer.

After that, he carried the child.

The shelf was wider than Mara’s first report had made it sound and less forgiving than Lexander had hoped. A fall would end among broken stone far below. Water ran across the footing in thin silver threads.

The scouts secured ropes around two outcrops. Lexander tested the first anchor himself, then stood at the narrowest point to guide people across.

The largest adults turned sideways. Children were passed from one pair of arms to another. Nobody moved quickly.

Halfway through, the boy carrying blankets stopped.

He stared past his feet into the drop.

“Look at me,” Lexander said.

The boy did not move.

His mother waited on the other side, unable to come back without blocking those behind her.

Lexander held out his hand.

“What’s your name?”

“Torven.”

“All right, Torven. Give me the blankets.”

The bundle changed hands.

“Now one step. Toward my boot.”

Torven took it.

The next came more easily. By the time he reached his mother, he was crying with anger at himself.

Lexander passed the blankets after him.

“Good carrying,” he said.

The boy took them without looking up, but he kept them.

The first horn sounded below while eight people remained on the near side.

Mara appeared at the turn, wet hair plastered to her face.

“They found the lower entrance.”

“Do they know we’re up here?”

“They will.”

Lexander looked down the line. Two of the frail adults still needed assistance. The man wearing Surtr’s badge stood beside them with both hands on the rope.

For a moment Lexander thought he meant to flee.

Instead, the man passed his axe to Rauk, bent, and lifted the older of the two onto his back.

“Tell me where to put my feet,” he said.

Lexander did.

A second horn answered the first from farther along the valley.

Mara sent a runner toward the relief party, then drew her sword and took position at the bend below the shelf.

Lexander watched the last families move. His own hands had grown numb around the rope. Every instinct that had once belonged to a king of gods urged him downhill, toward the noise, toward a battle he could see and answer.

Then an old man lost his footing beside him.

Lexander caught his coat.

The fabric tore, but the rope held. Together they recovered their balance, breathing hard enough that neither could speak.

He stayed where he was needed.

At the receiving sheds, Yrsa’s mother had not yet arrived when Io returned with dry clothes.

Lisbeth was washing her hands in a basin. She looked tired but no longer worried in quite the same way.

“The bleeding has stopped. She needs warmth and time.”

“Her mother is coming,” Io told Yrsa.

The young woman lay beneath blankets joined along their edges with hurried stitches.

“Uncle told her?”

“Lexander would have.”

Yrsa stared up at the roof beams.

“He always decides first.”

Io set the clothes within reach.

“Your uncle?”

“He decided Surtr would honor the bargain. He decided we would keep working after the food stopped coming. He decided breaking my collar meant the rest was over.”

Her voice thinned.

“He did break it.”

Io sat beside the bed.

“You can be glad of that and angry with him.”

Yrsa turned her face away. A little later, she reached for the cup on the table, and Io helped her hold it steady.

Outside, Fulla was measuring the shed doors for temporary protective cloths. The Castellan could watch the approaches reached by its existing wards, but this range lay beyond much of its influence. Guards and healers would be doing most of the watching tonight.

Io joined Fulla when Yrsa slept. Together they knotted the first ward into a strip of linen, a modest working meant to warn when someone crossed carrying hostile intent.

It would not turn the sheds into a fortress.

It might give the people inside time to call for help.

Thor reached the upper trail as the last family cleared the shelf.

She had come ahead of the relief wagons, following Mara’s runner. Rain shone on Mjölnir. Her expression suggested she had formed several opinions about the map.

“Which way?”

Lexander pointed downhill.

“Pursuit. We don’t know how many.”

“Then take these people to the wagons.”

“Mara is at the bend.”

“I can see her.”

He hesitated.

Thor looked at his torn sleeve, then the old man leaning against his arm.

“Lexander.”

He nodded and turned uphill.

Behind him, she walked down the path toward Mara, placing each foot with the deliberate care of someone whose strength could make the mountain as dangerous as the enemy.

The first soldiers appeared below the bend while Lexander was still close enough to hear them shouting.

A bowstring snapped.

Lightning lit the wet rock.

He did not turn around again until the old man was safely seated beside the trail.

Bruni waited at the upper hollow with the first relief party.

His shoulder remained in its sling. He had obeyed that instruction by organizing everyone within reach of his voice rather than lifting anything himself.

“Two there,” he told the wagon master. “More straw under back. She hurts.”

The wagon master moved the bedding.

Bruni saw Rauk emerge from the scrub carrying a child.

For a heartbeat, neither spoke.

Then Bruni pointed toward a waiting mother.

“Hers.”

Rauk carried the child to her and handed him over.

The witness who had guided Mara’s scouts began counting. Lexander counted with him, touching a mark on the list for each person who entered the hollow.

Forty-one.

Forty-two.

The last old woman came around the turn with her son carrying the bronze lamp.

Forty-three.

Rauk and the witness made forty-five here. Yrsa and her carrier were already on the road to Concordia.

Lexander checked the list again before allowing himself to sit.

No one was missing.

Thor and Mara returned after dark.

Mara had lost a boot heel. Thor’s left gauntlet was scorched. Neither had brought prisoners; the narrow approach had given them room to delay pursuit, not to hold captives while withdrawing.

“Do they still follow?” Lexander asked.

“Not closely,” Mara said. “They’ll need to find another way around the fallen ledge.”

Thor glanced at her.

“A small ledge.”

“An adequate ledge.”

Lexander looked from one to the other.

“Anyone hurt?”

“Bruises. One arrow caught a shield and stayed there.” Mara accepted the water a soldier offered. “They called for Rauk.”

The giant stood a short distance away, close enough to hear.

“What did they say?”

Mara looked toward the wagons, where children were settling beneath blankets.

“We’ll discuss it when we stop.”

Rauk did not press her.

They moved through the night in stages. The horses could not haul the largest adults over every rise, so those who could walk did. Rauk gave up his place whenever someone else slowed. That helped. It did not make the journey easy.

Lexander rode beside the rear wagon, listening to the wheels and counting the lanterns ahead.

At dawn, Concordia’s watch answered their signal.

Yrsa’s mother reached her before breakfast.

Io saw her cross the shed, saw the young woman rise on one elbow, and closed the curtain before anyone could turn their reunion into something to watch.

Outside, the other families found their assigned spaces. The partitions offered little soundproofing and considerable dignity. Hessa helped explain where water could be fetched and which bell belonged to the work yard.

There would be no work bell that morning.

Borrin carried clean cups along the tables. Nobody had asked him to, but he had found a task whose beginning and end he understood. Anja accompanied him, pointing out empty places with great authority.

Lexander stood beside Io under the awning while the final count was checked.

“Forty-seven,” she said.

“Forty-seven.”

His voice sounded strange to his own ears.

Io took the list from him before the rain could reach it.

“Go inside.”

“There are reports.”

“They will still be reports after you sit down.”

He obeyed, partly because his knees had begun to agree with her.

Rauk did not sleep.

After his family had eaten, he asked for Lexander and Mara. They met in the shed’s smaller storage bay, with the interpreter and a clerk present. Io sat beside the door.

Rauk placed the iron badge taken from the other man on the table.

“He gave you that?” Mara asked.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“He doesn’t want to wear it.”

“Neither would I. It doesn’t answer the rest.”

Rauk nodded.

He looked older in daylight. The journey had deepened every line beside his mouth.

“The men below the path,” he said. “Did they name Dunmere?”

Mara’s gaze sharpened.

“Yes.”

Lexander felt Io become still beside him.

“I carried the ram,” Rauk said.

For a moment, the only sound was a child calling to someone beyond the partition.

“At the north gate?” Mara asked.

“Yes.”

“Were you collared?”

“No.”

Lexander looked at the giant’s hands resting open on the table. He remembered Veylan’s piece of roof tile, wrapped so carefully in a handkerchief.

Rauk swallowed.

“They told us the garrison had emptied the streets. I saw people afterward. I knew then.”

“What did you do?”

The answer took a long time.

“I stayed.”

Lexander wanted a cleaner feeling than the one he had.

He had watched Rauk carry a frightened child over wet stone. He had seen him surrender his wagon place to an older woman. Now he imagined those same hands around a ram, driving it into the gate behind which Veylan’s brother had lived.

Neither image yielded to the other.

Mara began asking careful questions: when, who commanded, where Rauk stood after the gate broke. The clerk wrote without looking up.

At last Rauk asked whether his family would be sent away.

“No,” Lexander said.

The giant’s shoulders lowered.

“You will remain under guard while we investigate,” Lexander continued. “Your family may visit. You will have someone to advise you before further questioning. Councilor Veylan and the other families from Dunmere will be told what you’ve admitted.”

Rauk looked at Io.

She did not soften the words for him.

After a while he nodded.

When the guards came, he stood and went with them. His niece’s mother watched from the far end of the shed. She made no move to follow, but neither did she turn away.

Lexander remained at the table until the clerk finished sand-drying the page.

The children found him that afternoon.

He had washed, changed, and fallen asleep in a chair beside the nursery window. Ignatius woke him by placing a wooden horse on his chest. Seraphina stood beside the chair with one hand on his knee.

“Up,” she said.

He opened his eye.

“Apparently.”

Ignatius began explaining something about the horse’s damaged leg. Lexander listened until he understood that the toy was not broken; it was visiting a healer and required somewhere to lie down.

He offered his handkerchief.

Seraphina arranged it on the rug. Her brother laid the horse upon it with astonishing care.

Io watched from the doorway.

“Evelyn sent word,” she said quietly. “The extra bedding can stay. Uriah has the report about the families. Mary will compare the names when everyone is ready.”

“And the inn?”

“Still being watched. No reason for us to rush their people because we’ve had a difficult night.”

He nodded.

Below them, the receiving sheds were full. Farther north, people still waited behind the Hall of Accord’s altered doors. Rauk sat under guard, and Veylan would soon hear a name he might wish he had never learned.

On the rug, Ignatius tucked the horse’s wooden head beneath a corner of the cloth.

Seraphina patted the floor beside her.

“Sit, Papa.”

Lexander lowered himself from the chair.

For the next few minutes, he let them show him how their small infirmary worked.