Yhal knew he didn’t have to worry about overseeing how the camp was being set up. While they were all retired from the militia now, habits were hard to break and even if one was inclined to be a little sloppy, that wasn’t the sort of thing that survived a tour in the militia. The tents had been set up in neat lines, although the spacing had been a bit irregular because of the ground and trees. If they’d been planning to stay longer they’d have cleared the latter and leveled the former, but they would only be staying in this camp for a couple of days. Still, he did a cursory check after their guests had left, because old habits died hard and the familiar task gave him time to think.

  Yllian and the others from River’s Fork had left a little past the midafternoon, which had been a great disappointment because he hadn’t really been able to do more than exchange a few words with Avigayr. However, Yllian had assured them that more people would be visiting them tomorrow and would be able to stay for longer.

  He had also warned them that the local beasts still hadn’t fully learned they shouldn’t cross the border of the demesne, and suggested they raise up some sort of barrier to discourage them. Strangely, the suggestion he had given was to use either snow or ice.

  “It’s not actually a bad idea,” Otin had said when it was mentioned. “We have a river right there, the binding is fairly simple, and the physical barrier just needs to make the beasts think they can’t come straight at us. Makes me wonder what they’ve been doing in that demesne of theirs to consider those viable building materials.”

  “This did say they made a full-sized ice boat,” Xiasam had commented. He’d given Yllian a list of who was with part of the expedition, his writing neat and tidy, with little flourishes to some of the letters that made them look fancy.

  “I still don’t believe it,” had been Yhal’s reply. “If the idea really worked, someone would have done it by now.”

  As he walked, noting with satisfaction how orderly everything was—even with all the children running around—Yhal realized he hadn’t been able to ask Yllian for details about Grem. The reunion and subsequent discussion had set the pace of their conversation, and the matter had slipped his mind as a result. He knew he would have to bring it up next time they met. The part of the letter that had accused the man of attempted murder had been undersigned by several people, with those who had witnessed the event writing similar accounts of how he had attacked Lasponin to…. well, to let someone else try and kill Shanalorre. His reasoning had been discussed and immediately dismissed out of hand, as no one in the Company was willing to do that.

  It was why Yhal found the news that some Dungeon Binder from another demesne had somehow tricked Shanalorre into ceding authority of the demesne to them so… annoying. The Company had decided they would not be so immoral as to replace Shanalorre, and the price of blood already paid for the demesne compelled them to honor the dead by seeing that River’s Fork would flourish.

  And then they arrived here and found that the demesne had essentially been traded away.

  From what Yllian had said, it had been a necessary trade. While it was possible to simply barricade a cave or cellar or basement and try to ride out a dragon’s passing—there were always people caught out beyond the edge or simply locked out of the dragon shelters for one reason or another—it was more than likely to result in a rather messy death. With River’s Fork managing to win that gamble twice in a row… well, he could understand not wanting to risk it a third time.

  But still…

  They hadn’t really discussed if something like this might happen. At worst, there had been the possibility that the demesne had been abandoned because there weren’t enough people to farm and keep them fed, but something like this…

  Yhal sighed, shaking his head. Well, what was done was done. And in a way, situations like this were exactly why the militia officers and enlisted who had formed the Golden Sweetwood Company had decided to make their own way. In the end, the people of River’s Fork had been the ones in a difficult situation and had made their choices as the ones on the spot. He—and the rest of the company—would be hypocrites if they didn’t concede the ones in River’s Fork had been the ones with the most right to make the decision as the ones facing immediate consequences.

  …

  Still, did their decision have to be ‘surrender to the Dungeon Binder of another demesne’? He’d need to find out more about that how exactly that came about. There was clearly more to the matter than Yllian had said, so he’d have to get more details from him when they next met.

  They’d also have to do something about Shanalorre, one way or another. Before they could have Tsad teaching her, they needed to make sure she wouldn’t try anything ill-advised, like trying to bring her parents back to life or using Deadspeaking to kill herself. The first was impossible, despite what stories would have children believe, and the second was far too easy to do by accident, never mind on purpose. At least, so every wizard he’d ever spoken to had said.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  He debated whether or not to have Xiasam speak to the girl. The man had strange notions about people’s minds, thinking things besides drinking, bellringing and good company could help with getting through the nightmares of blood and mud, but… well, Yhal remembered exactly how old Koshay’s daughter was, so all those ways to get your head right wasn’t something they could offer her. At the very least, it probably wasn’t going to do any harm to have the Mentalist try.

  Despite everything, Yllian seemed to have no problems living under this woman’s rule. He seemed quite happy, in fact, and what did it say about Lomabuyar Demesne’s nobles and officers that a sensible man was much happier under the rule of a madwoman?

  …

  Actually, put that way, perhaps agreeing to her terms and conditions wouldn’t be so bad?

  However, this wasn’t the militia. They were, in fact, retired. That meant something like this couldn’t just be ordered. At least, not for everyone.

  He’d need to talk to the wizards.

  The camp spent what was left of the afternoon making deterrents against beasts. That meant digging moats just wide enough to force beasts to step into it, having the Whisperers seal them so they retained water, and filling them. It was the most commonly used way of keeping beasts back outside of a demesne, and while they hadn’t expected to need to keep making them now that they were inside one, if the beasts really did sometimes still enter the demesne’s boundary…

  Well, it looked like they were still going to need to set up a night watch.

  Yhal helped, of course. They had plenty of shovels, and by comparison it was a pleasant reprieve from having to go over the things that he still had to ask Yllian about. Besides, if he didn’t get his hands dirty at least once a day, he might become the kind of officer he hated: the kind that didn’t understand what they were actually facing in the field.

  Digging out the moat was a familiar task, and there were many hands to do it, although there were also a lot of jokes about how people thought they had left this behind in the militia. The dirt they displaced was heaped on the camp-side of the moat, a subtle wall to further discourage any beasts who might think to approach. It was almost a shame to have the Whisperers pack down the moat so they could fill it with water. It seemed like good soil

  The moat was a loop that followed the edge of the demesne in front of where they had made their camp and a little beyond before doubling back on itself to double the number of barriers presented to beasts. Filled with water, the Whisperers—or if you didn’t have Whisperers, either a Mentalist or a Horotract—would use their magic to get the water to flow. Back in the militia, if they hadn’t had enough wizards… well, there were always those who needed to be assigned to something repetitive to keep them in one spot and out of trouble as they swept the moat into motion manually and refilled the water.

  The motion was important. A beast stepping into standing water would cause the colors on its skin to wash away, but the colors buried deeper in would remain, vanishing slowly. It was painful, yes, but in the way raw and reddened skin was painful. With flowing water, somehow the colors deep in the skin would wash away faster, and the pain would become as thorns. The latter was much more effective at driving away beasts.

  Despite the need to build up the moat, morale was high in the camp between the early stop and the fresh fruits that they’d been given. A few of a the more conscientious were gathering up the seeds of the so-called happyfruit and the hairy blueballs—Koshay’s name for them was spreading, despite some people’s attempts to prevent it—to try and plant them later. After eating, those without duties assigned had napped or at least rested their feet. Still, with sunset nearing, people were being roused to gather firewood and water, and one of the Whisperers had already started a fire so that people could get a light for their own cooking.

  There was an Yllian-sounding voice in his head he immediately kicked into silence and ignored before it could manage to say anything.

  Yhal looked down a little ruefully at the bowl of stew made from salted meat and grain. “No bread?” he asked hopefully.

  His darling wife Jhalem gave him a bright smile. “I made bread for lunch, but you were busy drinking with your friends,” she said. “Next time you see Yllian, thank him for the fruits for me, will you?”

  "Why didn't you send Firot or Sumerki to bring it to me?" he said. His children in question were sitting off to the side, eating their own stew. He and Sumerki had reconciled years ago, and his daughter had been willing to come with them to help establish a farm on the new demesne. Firot… well, despite everything his son still looked skinny, but what muscles he had managed to grow were wiry and strong, even if he'd spent most of his time in the militia procuring supplies and working with quartermasters.

  “I was going to, but Avigayr came with all those fruits, so I gave it to her instead for her trouble.”

  Ah. He couldn’t actually fault that, after all it was poor manners to accept a gift like that without giving something back unless you were completely destitute.

  “Oh, don’t pout. I’ll make it again tomorrow, you can have some then.” Jhalem hummed thoughtfully. “Actually, I might need to make a bit more. Avigayr said she’s coming by again, and you should invite Yllian so you can keep drinking through lunch.”

  “We weren’t just drinking, he was also informing me of the demesne’s circumstances,” Yhal said.

  “Drinking and gossiping, then,” Jhalem said with a smirk and a wink that made him chuckle. “So, how long before we can stop living in tents and finally have a real house?”

  Yhal sighed as he used his spoon to mix the stew to let some of the heat out. “It will probably be a while. We’ll still need to build the house, and… well, things have changed since Yllian sent his last letter.”

  “Do we need to start putting together more spears?” Jhalem asked.

  “I’m not picking up a spear,” Sumerki said immediately.

  “There won’t be any need for spears,” Yhal said.

  At least, he hoped not.