"Captain, to tell you the truth... I'm an orphan too."
"Lightbringer, my parents are living, but my father says my grandsire was an orphan of the streets."
"Stop!" Aldric raised a hand, cutting off the wave of desperate hinting. "It is a surname, brothers. Are you truly going to steal it from the children?"
Morse shrugged. "It's not stealing if we all use it. We just want a name that means something."
Seeing the collective yearning in the room, Aldric sighed. "Fine. If you must. But I strongly advise against everyone taking 'Light' as a surname. You have long lives ahead of you; you will achieve your own deeds. Why not choose a name that reflects your own path? If you all become Jon Light and Ed Light, how am I to tell you apart in a skirmish?"
The logic of logistics won out. Names were for distinction, and the prospect of a squad where half the men shared a name was a headache no veteran wanted. The "Light" surname was officially reserved for the House of Rolf, marking the orphans as children of the Sun.
The third item on the agenda was the most pressing: grain.
The monastery now sheltered nearly six hundred souls. Aldric, raised in a world of supermarkets and global supply chains, knew his limits when it came to medieval survival. If they failed to feed the people, the credibility of the Solar Core would burn as fast as a dry field.
"The stores are hollow," John noted. "But if we look past the granaries, the land is still rich."
The Clee brothers, acolytes under John, spoke up. "The Riverlands are fertile. Even without the plow, there are wild roots in the forest. If we grind them into a mash and dry them, they make a coarse flour. It tastes of dirt, but it fills the belly."
Terick, Jon's deputy and a farmer's son, added, "Wild wheat too. The abandoned fields still sprout from old seeds. It's hard to tell from the weeds, and an acre might only give you twenty pounds, but without a Lord taking his half, it can keep a family alive."
Gale, a survivor of the Mummer massacre, leaned in. "The Gods Eye is full of fat trout. In lean years, when the previous Overseers spent our coin on wine, we lived off the water. We have three small boats now. If we build ten, we can pull enough meat from the lake to feed six hundred every day."
Aldric blinked. "Is the lake that bountiful?"
Gale nodded fervently. "The Gods Eye is vast, Lightbringer. Since the war started, the other fishermen have been killed or fled. The fish are waiting for us."
"Then we build more boats," Aldric decreed. "John, do we have the timber?"
"The woods are full of fallen oak," John replied. "And we have the craftsmen. We'll scavenge every rotted hull from the shore and patch what we can."
Eolia, the Freefolk scout, looked up. "And the woods. I see boar and deer every time I'm on watch. If I wasn't busy scouting, I'd have brought a dozen rabbits back by now."
"Those beasts belong to the local lords," Duncan Beck reminded them. "Poaching is a hanging offense. If we cross onto another man's land to hunt, our brothers will be taken as thieves."
Aldric's eyes sparked with a sudden, dangerous interest. "Oh? Truly?"
Duncan didn't notice the edge in Aldric's voice. "Aye. If we make it a habit, someone will notice."
"Let them," Aldric said dismissively. "The beasts belong to the wild. They are in one lord's woods today and another's tomorrow. They belong to no one. If a lord wants to argue over a deer, we will debate him with steel." He turned to Eolia. "Take the best hunters from the refugees. Hunt the old boars, leave the fawns. We need the meat, but we aren't locusts."
"I'll need White Ghost to help track," Eolia said, glancing at Jon.
"Ask him yourself," Jon replied. "If he's willing, I won't stop him."
"And take Little Bell," Aldric added, referring to the trained bear he'd brought from the North. "The poor beast has been cooped up in a wagon too long. She needs a run."
"These are stopgaps," Aldric continued, his voice turning serious. "For the long term, we must plow. John, can the monastery lands feed six hundred?"
"In a year of peace, this soil supported two thousand," John said. "But we had corn and winter wheat then. Now, we have nothing but pumpkins and potatoes. It's enough to survive, but it won't support the thousands more who are surely coming."
"Then we trade," Aldric said. He remembered the rumors from the Goldroad—the Reach was the granary of the Seven Kingdoms. "Can we buy from the Reach?"
Brother Gale, who had handled the monastery's ledgers, hesitated. "We could. The Reach has grain to spare and gold traders who will sell to anyone. But there are two problems. First, we have little coin left beyond the seven hundred dragons you gave John. If we spend it all on food, we have no reserve."
"And the second?"
"The roads. Trade between the Reach and the Riverlands is severed. Nothing moves. Merchants won't risk the Mummers or the Lions to bring us flour. If we want it, we must fetch it and guard it with our own steel."
Aldric nodded. He had gold cached in the North, but it was a moon's journey away. He needed a product—something to sell. He had ideas, but they weren't ready for the council.
"Gale, do you have contacts in the Reach?"
"None for grain," Gale admitted. "I dealt with vintners and wine-merchants. I don't know a single grain-lord."
The room fell into a heavy silence.
Then, Caden Storm—the hedge knight who had been sitting quietly in the corner—raised his hand. "I... I served as a caravan guard in the Reach for many years after I earned my spurs. I know the lords who have full silos, and I know the merchants who aren't afraid of a little mud. If you trust me, Lightbringer, I can lead a party to buy your grain."
Aldric's eyes lit up. "Is that the truth, Caden?"
"The absolute truth," Caden said firmly.
Aldric didn't ask for names or houses. He only needed to know the man was loyal. "We'll speak after this, Caden."
The meeting ended after the various prefects gave their reports. As the others filed out, only John, Jon Snow, and Aldric remained.
"Jon," Aldric said, leaning over the map. "Tell me of House Costa. How did we become 'neighbors'?"
Jon spent the next thirty minutes recounting the standoff at the riverbank, the build-up of the River-Hammer, and the skirmish with the Mummers.
"...Ser Charles's wound was a farce," Jon concluded with a smirk. "I think he stabbed himself in the thigh just to see if the Light worked. After I healed him, he sent five pigs and ten sheep as a peace offering. He wants an alliance, but I told him he'd have to wait for the Master."
Aldric nodded. "And their strength?"
"I could scatter his men with a single charge," Jon said, "but taking the manor itself would be a bloody business."
Aldric turned to John. "What do we know of Ser Charles? Is he a monster? Does he prey on his people?"
"I couldn't say," John replied. "I've been away too long. From what I hear, he's no better or worse than any other petty knight. He's greedy, but he's not a butcher."
Aldric smiled. "If we are to build a haven for the poor, we cannot hide in these walls forever. The Sun must shine on the whole shore. Ser Charles is close, so he's lucky—he gets to be the first."
John laughed. "I don't think Ser Charles will feel very lucky."
"Jon," Aldric commanded. "Write a letter to Ser Charles Costa. Tell him I depart tomorrow morning. I will visit his manor at midday to discuss the 'harmony of neighbors'."
"How many men, Master?"
"Ten," Aldric said. "Morse, Eolia, and eight Sunwalkers. You stay here, Jon. Help John settle the new arrivals. If any of the refugees cause trouble, be fair but firm. No one goes hungry, but no one breaks the peace. And John, check the health of the new villages. Teach them the Word. If we are to grow, we need the new arrivals to see themselves as part of the Dawn."
John nodded. "It will be done."
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