38
It was early dawn when the convoy arrived. The wyrdlights were snuffed out, having shrunk into nothingness overnight as the mana depleted. So, the town was cast with a dim glow of orange as the wagons rolled to a halt and Ignatius landed with a bonejuddering thud beside the lead wagon.
Nothing stirred. They had made it to the centre of the ruined town, the wheels rattling on the still-cobbled streets, overgrown though they were with the grasses that squeezed through the cracks in between. They were in a small square, a simple space that could just fit the wagons in if they crowded together.
The remains of decaying buildings shadowed them on all sides, their stone walls still standing after almost two decades of abandonment. The roofs had long fallen in with neglect, and the window spaces were nothing more than empty hollows. Everything was covered in a layer of green, from a coat of furry moss on the dew-damp stones, to tangled vines that flowed down the dwellings and along the streets like an iridescent waterfall. All was cast in the golden blush of sunrise, warming the night-cold air.
Fletcher dismounted, taking in the sounds of his new home. There was a constant chirr of insects, broken by the warbles and trills of birdsong, welcoming in the morning. These were the noises of the wild lands that they had come to conquer. The music of his homeland.
Sir Caulder stomped down the sides of the wagons, cajoling the exhausted soldiers out of them and into ranks. Fletcher pitied the poor recruits, many of them swaying on their feet, their heads nodding as the warmth of the morning took hold. The passengers emerged behind them, yawning and stretching in the dawn light.
‘Listen up for Lord Raleigh’s orders now,’ Sir Caulder barked.
The old knight raised his eyebrows at Fletcher and signalled with his eyes. It was time for Fletcher to take control. Only – he hadn’t planned on giving any orders.
‘I know it’s been a long night.’ Fletcher cursed the quaver in his voice as he began to speak. ‘You’ve done me proud, getting our people here. Now we’ve one last task before we can rest and settle in to our new home.’
The recruits stood silently, sullen-faced. Only the elven woman, the one who had glowered at Fletcher so vehemently back at the barracks, showed any sign of vigour. She managed a surly kick at a pebble, but said nothing.
Her face was angular and fierce, with light brown hair braided tightly on the sides, and a thick plume arching up along the centre and down her back. Most striking of all were her eyes, a deep amber that reminded Fletcher of a wildcat’s.
A polite cough from Sir Caulder brought Fletcher back to the task at hand; his first order. There were a thousand things to do. But if he knew anything about survival in the wilderness, it was that shelter was their first priority. At least, as long as the water barrels in the wagons lasted.
‘These homes have been abandoned for nearly two decades. The wooden floors will be rotten, if there are any at all. All manner of animals could have made their homes in the buildings – snakes, hyena, warthogs. I need two groups to scout and clear each building and find a suitable place that’s safe for us to camp in.’
He paused, contemplating who to choose. It would help if he knew more than one name.
‘Kobe, take fifteen recruits with you and search the east side of the town,’ Fletcher ordered, dividing the group into two with a motion of his arm. ‘If you find a likely spot, leave your men there to clear it out and return to make your report.’
Kobe grinned, clearly taking the responsibility as a compliment.
‘As for the rest of you … What’s your name?’ he asked, pointing at the surly elf.
‘Dalia,’ she replied, lifting her chin.
‘Dalia, take the remainder west,’ Fletcher said, pointing down the dilapidated street. ‘I want both team leaders back in twenty minutes.’
Dalia and Kobe stood uncertainly for a moment, unsure of the protocol.
‘Well, you heard him. Move out!’ Sir Caulder ordered.
The teams jumped to obey, but their faces still showed their discontentment as they stumbled down the overgrown streets. Fletcher wondered what they had expected when they signed up at the barracks. All he knew was that they would never have imagined they would be out here, starting a colony deep in the wilderness. Were they disappointed? Relieved? He didn’t know what to think, and suspected neither did they.
‘Good work, lad,’ Sir Caulder said, stomping up to him. ‘Now the colonists. You lead them too, you know.’
Fletcher turned to the gathering of villagers and dwarves. Many were wandering aimlessly, others standing with bewildered looks. Even Berdon had sidled up to one of the buildings and was peering through the rotten remains of a door. They needed direction, and as their lord, it was up to Fletcher to give it to them.
It was strange, looking around, to know that all of this was his, ruined though it was. And the land, as far as the eye could see, and further still. All his. It felt wrong to have so much.
‘I need everyone to stay by the convoy,’ Fletcher called. ‘Berdon, Thaissa, Janet, Millo, might I have a word?’
As the four hurried up to him, Fletcher tried to wrap his mind around the fact that it was not just the soldiers, but everyone in the convoy that answered to him now. Even his own father.
‘I’ve thirty-two soldiers, if we include Sir Caulder. Add fifty dwarves makes eighty-two. Janet, how many villagers?’ Fletcher asked.
‘Fifty-two,’ she said, after a moment’s thought.
‘So that’s one hundred and thirty-five souls all told,’ Fletcher said, amazed at the numbers of his colony. It was almost as large as Pelt’s population had been, before Didric had turned it into a prison.
‘So what’s the plan?’ Thaissa asked, smoothing her veil anxiously.
‘Let’s set up camp somewhere to rest, and get to work tomorrow,’ Fletcher said, watching a nearby villager yawn and resisting the urge to do the same. ‘But I’ll need a complete manifest of our rations, tools and supplies before the day is out. Thaissa, Millo – you’ll have a better understanding of what was packed, so I’ll leave you in charge of that. Janet, Berdon – I’d like you to assess the skills of our colonists. We know we have at least two blacksmiths but we’ll need carpenters, masons, farmers, lumberjacks, potters, to name but a few. Can you do that for me?’
‘Aye, we can do that,’ Berdon answered for them, smiling proudly at his son. The four set off to their tasks, waving over nearby colonists to help.
‘What about us?’ Sir Caulder asked.
‘Let’s explore a little,’ Fletcher said, beginning to enjoy himself. ‘You can show me where everything once was.’
The pair strolled along the street, towards the south of the town. Sir Caulder stared at the ruins he had once called home, and Fletcher wondered how it would feel to be back after all these years. To see the ruins of another life.
‘Blacksmith’s there,’ Sir Caulder said, pointing to a low building with a wide entrance, the double doors long rotted away. Within, Fletcher could see the block of an anvil, and rusty tools strewn about the floor. A pile of metal ingots was neatly stacked in the corner.
‘We’ll be able to clean off the rust on some of those, make ’em usable,’ Sir Caulder said, continuing on.
They walked deeper into the town, and Fletcher began to get a sense of its size. It was smaller than he had first thought – many of the buildings were two or three storeys high, making for a dense population in a space that could easily fit within the circle of Vocans’ moat. He could walk around the edge of the town in less than ten minutes.
‘Stables and kennels there,’ Sir Caulder said, pointing at another low structure, separated into stalls. ‘Carpenters, apothecary, bakery, town hall …’
He stopped suddenly in front of the town hall: a large, round-walled building with a gaping hole in its rotted roof. His eyes fell on a depression in the ground, in the centre of an empty space opposite the front entrance. Rubble surrounded it.
‘This is where they came from,’ he said, his eyes flinty as he crouched beside the hole and trailed his fingers through the dirt and loose stones within its centre.
‘The orcs?’ Fletcher asked.
‘Aye,’ Sir Caulder said, hurling a pebble down the overgrown street. ‘Used to be a statue of your grandfather here. The tunnel to the other side of the mountains was beneath. Look.’
They were almost at the border of the town, and the savannah could be seen between the buildings. And beyond were the mountains, reaching into the sky.
‘That range stretches from the river to the sea,’ Sir Caulder said, sweeping a finger across the plains. ‘It blocks off Raleighshire from the orc jungles, except for the pass, just a forty-minute walk away.’
But Fletcher was no longer looking at the mountains. He had just seen a structure a hundred feet beyond the town’s edge. The remains of a mansion that he recognised, even after seventeen years of neglect.
His family home.