Eoan pressed his palms against the packed earth. The soil felt cold. He pushed a thin thread of mana into the roots above his head. The vines tightened around the bunker's roof. They held the dirt in place.
Brennoc shifted his weight in the trench. Loose pebbles rattled down the slope.
"They are late," Brennoc said.
Eoan did not answer. He wiped dirt from his knuckles. He kept his eyes fixed on the tree line. The sun had disappeared behind the ridge an hour ago. Below them stood the distant walls of Caerbrin.
"Still no changes?" Brennoc asked.
"Aside from the unending smoke that happened a few days ago? Nothing much." Eoan shook his head. He didn't know why Brennoc even asked that. The Varqun knew better. The stronger ones, at least—that is what Eoan knew.
A branch snapped in the dark.
Eoan raised his hands, ready to chant his spells. He dropped to one knee. Brennoc drew his blade and did the same. They waited.
The brush parted. A wolf stepped through the ferns with a rabbit in its jaws. Its breathing came heavy. Dried blood matted the fur along its flank. A man walked beside the beast. He kept one hand resting on the animal's thick neck. He wore the heavy leathers of the Varqun.
The man clicked his tongue. The wolf placed the rabbit at his feet and left.
Three more figures emerged from the shadows.
Eoan exhaled. He eased his hands. It was the raiding party.
The four men slid down the slope into the hidden camp. They smelled of sweat and pine needles. One man was Ibin, marked by the tattoos on his bare arm. Another wore wolven furs. The final man leaned lightly on a wooden staff. He wore coarse spun wool, and green sap stained his fingers.
He was Vorn, an old Vine Weaver of the Coppirs. Despite his white hair, mana reinforcement made him as swift and agile as any youth. The third was a young Varqun. He shivered in the cold mountain air, missing his heavy cloak, his leather armor streaked with black soot. The fourth was the senior Whisperer who led them.
Eoan climbed out of the trench. He walked toward the old weaver.
Vorn dropped onto a severed stump. He laid his staff across his knees, his chest heaving with uneven breaths.
Eoan grabbed a leather waterskin from a supply crate. He pulled the cork with his teeth and held the skin out.
Vorn took it. He drank deep. Water spilled down his chin and soaked his collar. He lowered the skin and wiped his mouth with a scarred wrist.
"Thank you, boy," Vorn rasped.
Eoan squatted in the dirt beside him. "You were gone a long time. How did it go?"
The old weaver looked at his sap-stained hands. "We found the merchant train. We struck them in the dark."
"Are the Impernon as strong as the stories say?" Eoan asked.
Vorn snorted. He handed the waterskin back to Eoan. "Not that much. They bleed like any man. They panic when the wolves charge."
Eoan looked at the four men gathering near the center of the camp. He counted them again. "You left with five."
"We lost one," Vorn said and nodded. "Q'ambo. He went for the heavy wagons in the back. The Impernon had guards."
"A guard killed him?"
"Aye," Vorn corrected. He leaned back against the dirt wall. "Impernon with a massive hammer. He cast magic. He struck Q'ambo down with his flame."
The young Whisperer snorted. "He was lucky. I sent hawks to blind him, but he cast a fire right into the canopy. It caught my cloak. I had to drop it just to escape."
Eoan frowned. He looked toward the lone Ibin standing by the trees. "Q'ambo died?"
"He died honorably," Vorn said. He closed his eyes. "Devoured by flame at the wagons. The fire burned hot enough to light the woods. Listen, boy. Listen. I just told you fire killed him."
Eoan processed the words, his head shaking. He stood up.
K'sal stepped out from the shade of a pine tree. He made no sound. The light seemed to curve around his shoulders. He stopped in front of the leading whisperer.
The whisperer stood tall. He wore bone charms woven into his braided hair. He carried the markings of a senior officer among the Varqun.
"Variss," K'sal said.
"We return," Variss said. His voice rumbled in his chest. "But we still have the troop there, as per your instructions."
"I received your message. Yes." K'sal said sternly. "Where is Q'ambo?"
"Dead," Variss answered. "Caught by fire. The Impernon guarded their cargo well. They held a shield wall."
K'sal did not react. He just gave a single nod. "The metal contraptions?"
"I had a mountain lion delivered Vorn's seeds, and the briars broke the main cart," Variss said. "Q'ambo fell to the flames, but the distraction held. We secured a piece of the cargo before we retreated."
Variss clicked his tongue. A sturdy mountain mule stepped out from the shadows of the pines, guided by the whisperer's will. A heavy wooden chest sat strapped tightly across its pack-saddle.
The surviving Ibin stepped forward. He unlatched the heavy iron clasps of the chest and pushed the lid back. Inside, the machined metal edge of a stencil punch bed glinted in the low light.
Brennoc walked up beside Eoan. He crossed his arms, looking at the metal block. "You lost a man for a piece of iron. You failed to break their convoy."
Variss glanced at the chest, then back to Brennoc. His expression remained entirely flat, completely indifferent to the insult.
"The Ibin took his own risk," Variss said evenly. "Our orders were to secure the patron's prize. We were paid for the metal, not to slaughter their guards. The contract is met."
"He speaks the truth," K'sal nodded. The shadows around the Ibin band-leader seemed to darken as he turned his gaze on Brennoc. "My tribesman knew the cost. Hold your tongue. Honor his light, for he is now with the shade."
K'sal turned his attention back to the chest and the senior whisperer. "The ambush served its purpose. We secured the prize. And we pulled their eyes toward the northern roads. We kept their guards busy."
Variss rested his hand on his wolf's head. "For what?"
"We cleared the way," K'sal said. "The allies of our patron can move now. They march on the southern paths."
Eoan listened. He looked down the ridge toward Caerbrin. The stone walls sat heavy on the earth. Three hundred thousand people lived behind those gates. The Unmoored were just a handful of men hiding in the dirt.
"He will send us aid," K'sal continued. "We are to aid in the attack of Caerbrin."
Silence fell over the camp. The wind stopped rattling the branches. Vorn opened his eyes and gripped his staff.
"We cannot break those walls," Variss said. "Not with a hundred raiding parties."
"We do not need to break the walls," K'sal said. He pointed a finger at Variss. "You are here now. We watched Caerbrin from the top. We learned their habits. We counted their shifts."
K'sal took a step closer to the senior whisperer.
"But we only see the surface," K'sal said. "We could not look deeper. Now you will show us. Yes?"
Variss followed K'sal's gaze down the mountain. He crouched, his fingers gently scratching the thick fur behind his bond's ears. The small animal leaned into his touch. "You want to see the paths?"
"Yes," K'sal said. "Give us aid with your bond. Let him scour the paths."
Variss hesitated, his hand sheltering his bond. "As long as my bond is secure," Variss warned. His voice carried a sudden, fierce edge that hadn't been there when discussing the dead Ibin or his bleeding felwolves. "He has run for days. I will not send him blindly behind Impernon walls to be burned. His life is mine."
"We need to know our routes," K'sal shook his head, ignoring the threat. "When our patron's aid arrives, we will give them the gates. We cannot see Caerbrin burn. We can only open its maws."
Variss nodded slowly. He closed his eyes. His breathing slowed, perfectly matching the rapid heartbeat of his bond under his hand. He gave a single, silent command. His bond slipped away from his side, scurrying over the dirt and vanishing down the slope toward the fortress.
Eoan touched the dirt wall of the trench. He felt the roots twisting through the soil. Caerbrin was a dagger aimed at their lands. But even a dagger could rust from the inside out.
"Eoan," Vorn said.
Eoan looked back.
"Take firm root," the old man said. He pulled his woolen cloak tight. "We see that Caerbrin is shaken in a storm."
Eoan nodded. He sat down in the dirt and waited for the dawn.
The breakfast tray sat between them, holding only apple cores and the empty mugs of spiced milk. Aerwyna stood, smoothing the silk of her morning gown.
"I need to go dress up now, little Ez," she said, her voice warm but shifting back toward the brisk cadence of her daily routine. She needed to return to her own quarters, where her maids would help her put on her proper attire for the day. "Be good to your playmates, okay?"
"I always am, Mama," Ezra said, adjusting the satchel over his shoulder.
Three knocks sounded at the oak doors.
"Enter," Aerwyna called out.
The doors pushed open. Dynham stepped inside first. Two castle maids hurried in behind him, keeping their heads bowed respectfully as they moved straight to the table to clear the breakfast tray.
Dynham offered a fluid, respectful bow. "My Lady. My Lord."
"Dynham," Aerwyna acknowledged, her tone adopting its usual crisp command. She gestured toward Ezra. "Keep him out of trouble today. The castle staff is still... adjusting to the presence of the outer-ring children."
"Aye, my Lady. I'll keep him in the clear channels," Dynham said with an accompanying reassuring grin. "No rough waters for the little lord today. You have my word."
Aerwyna gave a curt nod. She crouched slightly, pressing a warm kiss to the crown of Ezra's head, then swept out of the room, the maids hurrying after her with the silver tray.
Dynham watched the door close, then looked down at Ezra, his thumbs hooked casually into his sword belt.
"Galwell fetched the children, my lord. They are already on their way."
Ezra nodded.
They navigated the bright, polished corridors toward the west wing, climbing the stone staircase to the second story. The castle's walls and moldings gleamed in the morning light, reflecting the marble.
The space Ezra had chosen was located at the far end of the wing. It was an auxiliary meeting room that, for the better part of a decade, had served as a glorified storage closet, choked with canvas-draped furniture.
Ezra had ordered the hall cleaned as soon as the children were allowed in the castle.
Dynham pushed the double doors open. Ezra stepped inside. He breathed in the scent of cut pine and chalk. He walked down the center aisle, looking at the layout.
Ezra ran his fingers over the nearest desk. The carpenters had followed his instructions. Wooden tables filled the space, aligned in rows. He tested the carved groove at the top to ensure a quill rested securely.
He moved toward the front. A slate board sat mounted inside a wooden frame. Ezra pushed the structure to test the wheels beneath it. It rolled smoothly across the floor. He grabbed a piece of chalk from the ledge and wrote on the dark stone.
Ezra turned to the shelves against the wall. He adjusted a stack of paper beside the ink pots. He reached down and grabbed a book from the bottom row. He flipped the pages, checking the glued binding.
Dynham leaned against the doorframe. He watched Ezra inspect the room.
"Looks like a proper workshop now," Dynham said.
"Classroom," Ezra corrected him.
Dynham just shrugged.
They waited for several minutes, but the children did not arrive.
"What's taking so long?" Ezra finally asked Dynham.
"I think we need to see what the river holds, my lord," Dynham said as he finally stood up as well.
"Yes, let's look. They should be entering the main doors of the castle by now."
Ezra and Dynham walked to the main doors of the Great Hall. To their surprise, the entryway was empty.
"Where could they possibly be?" Ezra scrunched his brows.
"I think we need to look at the main gates."
When Ezra arrived, he found Galwell in a shouting match with four robed figures.
"What do you mean, you're taking 'em away?" Galwell roared.
"My lord, we are just concerned for our children," a woman in a slate-gray cloak said. "We are but nullborn, and if... if our children mingle with the tenement children, they might catch their ailments. We cannot risk it."
"The children in the outer ring are just as clean as you lot! The only difference is that you use your quills and they use their backs!"
"Mom, I... I want to go to the castle and learn," a young child said weakly.
The woman stared at him with a sharp look.
The child immediately looked at the ground in shame.
"You can learn with us. Rencer, haven't our families been taught how to read and do arithmetic in our line for generations? I know you are not missing out. We have been a family that has served the Castle ever since it was a keep."
Rencer didn't say anything but he looked like he wanted to retort. His eyes bore a fervor but he just bowed his head.
"This is for your own good," his mother said, kneeling.
"Lord Ezra says that they be taught in the castle!" Galwell shouted. "And by my oath as a knight, I shall do as I have sworn!"
"My lord, we are but nullborn. We cannot hope to match your martial prowess. We are your humble servants, but please spare our children. Spare them from the ailments that the others bring," another man bowed humbly.
His posture was so low it exposed the bare nape of his neck.
"Spare 'em from what? Learnin' to count faster than a quintil runs at a gallop?" Galwell bellowed. "You better get out of my way, or I'll smash you through."
"We will, my lord. We will. We just want our children to come with us first."
"Now see here. You very well know 'bout castle duties, right? Well, I also have mine, and mine is to escort 'em to the castle safely. And if you block me, I might start takin' your lot as a threat. And you don't want to know how I respond to threats."
"What's going on?" Ezra asked, his mind fully focused on the squabble.
"Looks to me some of the Kanzlei parents are taking their children home," Dynham whispered.
When the parents saw Ezra, they bowed low again.
"My lord. We are your humble servants. We come to implore your lordship for mercy. We just want to take our children home. We just fear for our children. We are not like your highborn lordship." Their heads lowered almost to the ground. "Our bodies break easily, and we request that our children be withdrawn from the classes from now on. We fear the illnesses they might catch from the tenements."
The man in the middle's forehead almost touched the ground. "Please, Lord Ezra, do not let your knight seek our lives just because we want to protect our children."
Ezra didn't know what to say. He looked at the faces of the children. Some of the Kanzlei children met his gaze; some gazed away. Others looked with longing eyes.
Galwell had stopped shouting the moment Ezra came into view.
A silence persisted.
"My lord... please," the man in the middle said meekly.
"Wait, don't bother me," Ezra said. "I'm thinking."
The man in the middle couldn't help but glance up at the child he was bowing to, who stood entirely lost in thought.