Briar twisted to conform with the gnarled trunk of the stooped swamp tree, watching unseen as the Krasian scout made his way though the wetland. The kha’Sharum carried a heavy rucksack of supply, noting landmarks on oiled paper.
He was alone. Briar had made sure of it. He wasn’t attached to a hunting party, or otherwise likely to be missed. Just a lone scout sent to map the wetlands.
But he was heading right into the path of Thamos and his men. In an hour, he would hear them, or see sign of their passing. Soon after, he would be running to tell his superiors.
Briar clutched his spear. He hated this. Hated killing people. The Krasians looked so much like him that it felt like killing himself each time.
But there was nothing for it. When the scout passed under the tree, Briar fell upon him, spear punching down through his shoulder into heart and lungs. He was dead before they hit the ground.
Briar took his rucksack and papers, leaving the body to sink beneath the murky swamp water.
It was fifteen days before they reached the monastery, as Briar guided Thamos and his men past enemy scouts and dry land with grazing for the horses. Nine Wooden Soldiers were lost to boggies, and seven horses suffered broken ankles and had to be put down. One of the Mountain Spears took a slimy wad of bogspit in the face. Briar packed it with mud and poultices, but it looked like a melted candle when he finally took the bandage off.
The Monastery of New Dawn stood on a high bluff stretching out over the lake. Water on three sides, it was accessible only by a narrow road with a moat that cut clear across to link the waters of the lake. The wooden walls were thick and high, with a drawbridge to allow entry and egress. The docks to the north and south were low on the rocky bluffs—goods and livestock coming by ship had to be taken up a narrow stair cut zigzag into the rock face.
The drawbridge was lowered for them, and they rode inside.
“Creator,” Thamos said, seeing the refugee tent camps inside the walls. The folk were filthy and thin, used now to missing meals.
“I had no idea it was this bad,” Sament said. “The refugees in the Hollow …”
“Have the benefit of being safe in allied territory,” Thamos said. “These poor souls …”
He turned to one of his captains. “Find the quartermaster and deliver our supply. Learn if there is anything else we can do to provide comfort for these people.”
The man saluted and was off as Briar led Thamos and Sament to the monastery doors.
Tender Heath was waiting for them. The fat old Tender hugged Briar tightly. “Creator bless you, boy.”
He looked to the count, bowing deeply. “It is an honor, Your Highness. Welcome to the Monastery of New Dawn. I am Tender Heath. I will take you to the Shepherd.”
It wasn’t often Briar was allowed into Shepherd Alin’s private offices. The Shepherd wore plain brown robes like Tender Heath, but his inner chambers were richer than anything Briar had ever imagined. The carpeting was thick, soft, and colorful, woven with powerful church warding. Acolytes followed him with ready brooms, lest any mud slip from his sandals.
The seats and couches were great pillowed things—so soft. Heath said he was not allowed to sit lest he stain them with hogroot sap, but Briar walked close to a velvet sofa as they passed by, shivering with pleasure as he ran his fingertips along its length.
Great shelves of lacquered goldwood ran floor-to-ceiling along the walls, holding countless books. Heath had been trying to teach him to read, but Briar was more interested in the pictures.
The Shepherd was waiting for them in the back office with two other men.
Briar’s father, Relan, had taught him all about bowing. The Shepherd’s was deep and long enough to be respectful, without relinquishing dominance. The bow of an equal.
“An honor to meet you, Your Highness,” the Shepherd said. “We hoped Briar would bring back help, but hadn’t expected royalty.”
“Or so many Wooden Soldiers,” one of the other men said. He was midsized, with a fine coat. He stood with his feet spread like one more used to the rolling of a ship’s deck than dry land. “And cavalry, no less! It seems the Creator answers prayers, after all.”
“Dockmaster Isan,” Shepherd Alin advised, gesturing to the man, “and his brother, Captain Marlan.”
Thamos put his hands out in the way Laktonian captains favored, and they gripped arms just beneath the elbow. “Please accept my condolences, and those of the ivy throne, over the loss of your mother.”
Marlan spit, ignoring the irritated look Alin threw his way. “She wasn’t lost. She was murdered.”
“Of course.” Thamos turned to Sament. “May I introduce Lord Sament of Miln, who has brought fifty Mountain Spears.”
“It is good that you’ve come,” Alin said. “What happens here concerns all the Free Cities.”
“You don’t need to convince me of that,” Sament said. “Euchor may be another matter.”
“What he needs is a victory,” a new voice added. Briar looked up and smiled widely as Captain Dehlia entered the room with another richly dressed man in tow.
“Captain Dehlia of Sharum’s Lament,” Heath said. “She’s been a thorn in the Krasians’ side since they first came to Docktown.”
“Thanks to Briar,” Dehlia said, running her fingers through Briar’s tangled hair. “Boy’s been sneaking into town for us, spying on the enemy and telling us where to hit.”
She put an arm around him, hugging him close, heedless of the sticky hogroot stains on his clothes. Briar didn’t like to be touched, but when it was Captain Dehlia, he found he didn’t mind so much.
Shepherd Alin gestured to the new arrival. “Egar—”
“—third son of Duke Edon of Rizon,” Thamos finished, as the men embraced each other. “We feared you dead, my friend.”
Egar shook his head. “After the Krasians struck the capital, I gathered as many fighting men as I could and fled onto the plains. We strike where we can and melt away before the desert rats can catch us.”
“How many men do you have?” Thamos asked.
“I can call five thousand spears, given enough time,” Egar said.
Thamos squinted at him. “Why are you here, and not in Rizon with your men?”
“Because,” Isan cut in, “it’s time we retook Docktown.”
“It was Briar who made it all possible,” Shepherd Alin said. They were descending what seemed an endless spiral of stairs, past the foundations of the monastery and into the natural caverns of the bluff.
“He discovered the enemy force scouting the lakeshore,” Isan said, “giving us time to prepare an ambush. We captured or killed over two hundred men that day. Our greatest victory to date.”
They came to a great cavern, cold and damp, the air rank. Briar looked in horror at dozens of Krasian warriors chained to the walls, faces and limbs emaciated.
“Creator,” Thamos said. “Don’t you feed these men?”
Marlan spit. “When we feed them, they try to escape. And why should they eat when so many above go hungry?”
Briar felt sick. The men, looking so much like his own father and brothers, lay listless and skeletal, soiled with their own filth. He had led the Laktonians to them knowing many of the invaders would be killed, but this …