Chapter 86: The Town That Keeps Him
The crowd behind the March Gate fractured into shouting.
Thorne stood near the iron portcullis, demanding the municipal guards lift the barricade. The mercenaries and laborers of the working lanes pushed forward, arguing over the five Silver Lance knights waiting on the other side of the bars.
Harkin, a heavy-set salvage runner with a cracked leather tabard, stepped into the center of the muddy street.
"Open the gate!" Harkin yelled, pointing a thick finger at Callis. "He’s a Capital lord. If we keep him, House Vale will send a battalion. They’ll burn the lower wards to the ground. Hand him over before they march on us!"
A few drifters and caravan guards muttered their agreement. They eyed the polished silver armor of the knights outside, measuring the threat of the Imperial Guard against a single runaway boy.
"He lied to us," another mercenary shouted. "He brought a war to our doorstep."
The muttering grew louder. Thorne smiled, stepping toward the gate winch.
"Step away from the iron, Thorne."
Sarah, the flour mill overseer, pushed her way to the front of the crowd. She wore her canvas work clothes and crossed her arms. "Callis cleared the southern timber route. He kept the grain wagons moving when the Guildmaster abandoned them. Are you volunteering to haul the winter wheat, Harkin?"
Harkin scowled. "That doesn't matter if the Imperial Guard slaughters us."
A heavy iron forging hammer slammed down onto a wooden crate. The loud, cracking impact silenced the immediate argument.
Yselle Harrow stood near the crates. She didn't yell. She simply looked at the mercenaries standing behind Harkin. She looked at the men wearing breastplates she had repaired, carrying spears she had tipped, and wearing boots the tanner's widow had sold them. She caught their eyes, one by one. The silent pressure of the working lanes locked into place. The men who owed the women of Hartsgate their survival suddenly stopped muttering and looked down at the mud.
Dalmir, the sugar merchant, stood shivering near the back of the crowd. Maeve stood beside him, resting her hand lightly on his arm. Dalmir sweated profusely. He looked at Thorne, then looked at his wife's calm, terrifying smile.
"The sugar merchants do not support handing over a vital town asset," Dalmir announced loudly, his voice cracking slightly.
The crowd parted as Braska Hale walked down the sloping street from Greenmarch Hall. The Quest Officer carried a heavy, brass-bound ledger under her arm. She stopped in the mud between Callis and the gate.
Braska opened the ledger.
"Callis Vale," Braska read, her voice carrying clearly over the wind. "Cleared the Birch Road blockade. Eliminated a Stalker kill-box in the Weeping Gorge. Held the left flank at Fort Blackmere during a Class-Four breach. Earned a Tier-Three Iron certification."
Braska slammed the ledger shut. She glared at Thorne. "He bled for the Guild. We do not sell our roster to the Capital."
"He is an aristocrat," Thorne argued.
"He is an outrider," Kaelen corrected.
The veteran squad leader stepped out of the crowd. He carried his massive, dented tower shield. Kaelen planted the heavy iron rim into the dirt right beside Callis. "He anchored my shield in the trench. He didn't run when the ward-stones cracked. You want to hand him over, you go through my squad."
Rhett Hollow walked up to Callis's other side. The tracker leaned casually against his steel-tipped spear. He looked through the iron bars at Captain Aris and the Silver Lance riders.
"Capital riders don't know the woods," Rhett stated flatly. "They don't know the mud. They show up in polished silver expecting us to fold." Rhett spat a piece of chewed root onto the ground. "Send them back to the city."
Callis tried to speak, but no sound came out.
He had spent weeks believing Hartsgate tolerated him because he was useful. Now the mud itself seemed to be closing ranks around his boots.
Thorne’s hand hovered near the winch. No one moved with him. Not one guard. Not one mercenary. Slowly, he lowered his arm, his opportunism crumbling against the absolute wall of the town's unified front.
The gate sergeant looked down from the wall. Behind him, crossbows appeared along the wall-walk. Not aimed yet. Present. He looked at the unified crowd, then at Thorne's defeated enforcers. Finally, the sergeant looked through the iron bars at Captain Aris.
"You heard the town, Captain," the gate sergeant called out. "Turn your horses around."
Aris gripped his reins. He looked at the mud-stained, heavily armed men and women surrounding the heir to House Vale. He looked up at the line of loaded crossbows resting on the timber palisade. The Captain realized he was not looking at a hostage, or even a crowd. He was looking at a fortress.
"The Duchess will not let this stand," Aris warned.
"Then let her march," Mara Vell said from the crowd.
Aris pulled his horse around. The five Silver Lance riders turned their backs on the portcullis and rode away from the timber walls, disappearing back into the freezing mist of the Green March.
Callis watched them go. He felt the heavy, immovable weight of the people standing beside him.
Cassia stepped up next to him. She watched the silver armor vanish into the fog.
"They won't take you back, Callis," Cassia murmured, a sharp, disbelieving smile touching her lips. "The mud is keeping you."