Revival [ Kingdom-building]

The mood throughout Levy Point had changed before the conclave even reconvened.

The news spread through Levy Point with astonishing speed. Avalon was no longer discussing contracts or promising future payments; it was actively spending silver. Laborers were being hired, merchants were receiving payment, supplies were being purchased, and agreements were being honored before the ink on the larger accords had fully dried. The fact that much of the payment was being made in silver only fueled the excitement, turning rumor into certainty throughout the camp.

And most shocking of all, the payments were being made in true dwarven silver.

The effect upon the camp was immediate.

The Hedgeward knights stared in disbelief. More than one had spent years watching nobles negotiate contracts only to delay payment for months afterward. Seeing a great house honor its obligations before the final agreements were even signed felt almost unnatural.

The merchants reacted differently.

Those who had secured contracts could scarcely stop smiling.

Those who had missed the opportunity cursed their own caution.

Many immediately began seeking out Avalon stewards, convinced that if one opportunity had appeared, another would surely follow.

Among the southern houses, the reaction was far simpler and far less dramatic. This was Avalon, a house known for paying its debts, honoring its agreements, and keeping its word regardless of inconvenience. Few among their neighbors found the behavior surprising.

The middle lords reacted differently. At first, many viewed the payments as little more than an impressive display meant to gain attention. That opinion began to change as reports of the actual amounts being spent circulated through the camp. With each conversation, the numbers seemed to grow larger, forcing even experienced nobles to stop and perform their own quiet calculations. Before long, many realized that the silver Avalon was committing to this project exceeded the yearly revenues of respectable estates. More than one representative left Levy Point wondering not only where Avalon had acquired such wealth, but how much more remained behind it.

The realization created excitement throughout the camp.

For the first time, people were no longer discussing possibilities.

The work had already begun.

By the time the conclave reconvened, the atmosphere felt entirely different.

The great pavilion stood open to the day.

Every flap had been thrown wide, allowing sunlight and fresh air to flood the interior. Servants moved constantly through the aisles carrying water, tea, ink, sand, and replacement decanters.

The ministers looked tired; after days of debating, the stewards were firm, and the scribes seemed daunted by the task remaining. Twenty-six copies of the Conclave Foundation Agreement rested on large tables, all in need of signing, witnessing, sealing and confirmation. The task lasted for hours. Lords, ladies, ministers and stewards moved in a constant procession, passing from table to table to sign agreements, act as witnesses and check that the record was correct. Wax was melted, poured onto parchment, signet rings were pressed into hot seals, and the wet ink was lightly covered in sand before the entire process began once more on the next document.

By midday, someone jokingly suggested they had consumed fifty pounds of sealing wax.

By the end of the afternoon, nobody was entirely certain the statement was a joke.

Yet eventually the final signature was completed.

The final seal was pressed.

The final copy was dusted with sand and set aside to dry.

A wave of applause swept through the pavilion.

Not because the work was complete.

Because it was finally official.

The levy point was now much more than just a word talked in council and drawn on maps. It was much more than just an intention, a scheme drawn on paper. It was a matter of law known to the King, the ministers and all the lords who were there present. It was a notion put in practice through contracts, sealed with promises and enacted through oaths.

The applause had barely faded when Ser Garrick Valemont rose.

“As many of you are aware,” he announced, “I shall be departing immediately, to fulfill the first duty of this place and to collect Avalon’s levy shipment and escort it toward the capital.”

That statement should have taken only a moment.

Unfortunately, the young knight representing the Crown Prince’s son had a very different opinion on the matter. What should have been a brief announcement quickly turned into an increasingly heated discussion as he questioned the arrangement, demanded clarification of his role, and attempted to explain why he should accompany the expedition to collect Avalon’s levy shipment.

This debate ran on far longer than most thought was reasonable, and many could tell the ministers wished they hadn’t accepted an invitation to the pavilion. Lady Anastara had the face of a woman who was wishing that something, anything, would stop this conversation from going on forever. Lord Maldric seemed highly amused. Ser Garrick Valemont remained perfectly stoic throughout, though he was becoming more and more annoyed with each argument raised.

And so, in the end, everything ended up as nearly everyone else in the room had assumed from the start. The King’s agent would play the part of the King, and the younger knight would stay back. When Ser Garrick finally did leave the place, it had already been sorted out; he had asserted his authority, and his seemingly pre-acquired patience with the Levy Point seemed to have been depleted to nothing.

The afternoon moved quickly after that.

Within two hours of the midday meal, the representatives of the middle houses began leaving.

Cassivar of Prosperterra departed first, eager to return north with his reports and opinions. The lead representatives from Northvale, Stonecross, Valley Run, Norfields, and the March of Norwyn followed throughout the afternoon as their business at Levy Point finally came to an end.

Wagons jolted on the northern tracks through dust while barges struggled upstream against the river. Retinues struck their masters' tents, servants repacked belongings, and stewards painstakingly loaded their records, contracts, and correspondence gathered at the council. After each outgoing train, the settlement felt slightly smaller.

The decision was not a symbol of failure. It was a manifestation of success. The groundwork had been laid, the contracts signed, and the duties assigned. From then on, it would not be a matter of debate under a pavilion but rather a daily effort by the stewards, the builders and laborers, the merchants and the craftsmen working and roaming throughout the area. However, not all would depart. Certain parties had matters still left to attend to, and others had tasks to undertake; a few, however, simply could not afford to miss the moment which would eventually, if only they knew, change the southern lands irrevocably.

The noble ladies had gathered around Lady Elena Avalon for a private special meeting that occupied much of the afternoon.

Officially, the gathering concerned matters affecting noblewomen throughout the realm.

Unofficially, nobody seemed entirely certain what was discussed; no ministers or stewards were in attendance.

What everyone knew was that the meeting consumed extraordinary quantities of tea, cakes, preserves, and sugar.

At one point, Aldric reviewed the kitchen reports and shook his head.

“Three days’ worth of sugar.”

Lord Varlen of Eastwatch looked up when he processed that cost.

“What?”

The heir of Avalon pointed toward the tent hosting the gathering.

“They commissioned food that consumed three days’ worth of sugar for a meal that is planned shorter than a noonday.”

Lord Varlen laughed.

“That seems excessive.”

“Fear for your coin purse, my lord; I fear the women of those houses are only getting started.”

The kitchen staff privately agreed.

As the afternoon continued, another announcement spread through camp.

The Avalon delegation would also be departing at sunset.

Many had expected them to remain for weeks.

Instead, the project leadership was being handed over.

Madame Mirelle would remain Avalon’s chief architect and construction representative.

Tiberan would remain as Avalon’s military authority and senior representative.

No one questioned either choice.

By now, most of the camp had heard the story of Tiberan’s morning lesson.

As preparations for departure began, an unusual feeling settled over Levy Point. The atmosphere was filled with excitement, opportunity, and anticipation as people began to understand that the discussions of the past week were already becoming reality.

The roads did not yet exist, the keeps remained unfinished, and the town itself was still little more than foundations, survey markers, and ambitious plans drawn upon parchment. Yet everywhere people looked, there were visible signs of progress. Workers measured future streets, merchants finalized contracts, laborers unloaded supplies, craftsmen inspected materials, and stewards carefully counted silver before issuing new payments. What had begun as a gathering of nobles and ministers was rapidly transforming into a place of work, investment, and purpose.

For many present, that was the most remarkable change of all. The future was no longer something being debated inside a pavilion. It was already being built outside its walls.

For the first time, the future felt real.

And as the sun slowly drifted toward the western horizon, the people of Levy Point began preparing not for another meeting, but for the work that would follow.

…

The Riverbank

The farewells began at the river.

The great conclave was over. The agreements had been signed, the arguments settled, and the first silver had already begun flowing into the foundations of Levy Point. Now the nobles of the south gathered one final time along the docks as Avalon prepared to depart.

Under the constant sing-song of the dock board and the movement of water, the servants loaded the last trunks and chests onto the barge. Guards secured the cargo. Sailors checked ropes and lines while the slow current of the river tugged patiently against the hull.

Lady Elena stood near the gangplank, receiving well-wishers.

For a woman absent from the South for nearly a decade, the reception had been remarkable.

Lord Varlen of Eastwatch bowed first.

“My lady, it has been too many years. The South has missed your presence.”

Lady Elena smiled warmly.

“You are kind enough to say so.”

“No,” Varlen replied. “I am merely old enough to remember what the South was like when you attended these gatherings regularly.”

That earned laughter.

Lady Seryn of Windwatch stepped forward next.

“My lady, I look forward to speaking with you again at greater length. Too much has happened in too short a time.”

Lady Elena nodded.

“I am beginning to discover that.”

“You have no idea,” Lady Seryn replied.

That generated another round of laughter.

Lady Eryndel of Culterrax approached next.

“My husband is going to be furious.”

The statement startled several people.

Lady Elena raised an eyebrow.

“Furious?”

Lady Eryndel smiled.

“He missed your return. He missed the conclave. He missed this agreement. Most importantly, he missed an opportunity to claim he had something to do with it.”

The nobles laughed.

“I assure you,” Elena said, “he will survive.”

“Perhaps.”

Lady Eryndel smiled.

“Though I would not wager heavily upon it.”

Lady Maerise of Galeden Vale stepped forward.

“My husband will react much the same way.”

That surprised no one.

“He has spent years complaining that nothing interesting ever happens during the meetings he misses.”

“Then this should provide you with material for another decade,” Lord Varlen observed.

The laughter grew louder.

Lady Maerise smiled.

“Regardless, my lady, my family looks forward to future meetings.”

“As does mine,” Lady Eryndel added.

Lady Elena found herself genuinely touched by the warmth of the farewell. A great deal had changed during her years away, and much of what she had witnessed at Levy Point still left her with questions. Even so, the friendships between the southern houses had endured, and that realization brought her a measure of comfort.

Naturally, the conversation shifted to the impending season of the caravan. Each of the southern houses would be coming south soon to haggle over and finalize this year's Southern Caravan Agreement; still the premier event for southern houses each year.

Lord Varlen shook his head and looked toward Aldric.

“I hear you will once again command the scouts.”

A collective groan rose from several of the nobles.

Aldric merely smiled.

Lady Eryndel immediately pointed at him.

“That expression is precisely why nobody enjoys hearing that announcement.”

The young heir laughed openly. “The arrangement worked quite well last year.”

“It worked far too well,” Lord Varlen replied as he folded his arms. “We are all pleased that you will be leading the scouts because you are exceptionally capable at it.”

Lady Seryn nodded in agreement.

“Unfortunately, we are equally disappointed because it means you will not be in Avalon for Lady Lisette’s birthday celebration.”

Several heads nodded around the gathering, as the sentiment was clearly shared by everyone present.

Aldric’s smile softened. “The caravan still needs to move. But trust me, Lisette’s parties conceal more dangers, for me, than The Wilds.”

“That may be so,” Lady Eryndel laughed. “But that does not mean the rest of us must be pleased about the timing.”

That earned a round of laughter and agreement from the assembled nobles, many of whom were already looking forward to the celebrations awaiting them in Avalon.

The final preparations continued.

Eventually, Aldric stepped away to speak privately with Mirelle and Tiberan.

The conversation was brief.

The architect received a collection of instructions, several ledgers, and what appeared to be a warning regarding wild ideas from his brother.

Tiberan received fewer words.

He nodded once.

That seemed sufficient.

A few moments later, the final rope was cast free and the gangplank withdrawn. The barge eased away from the dock with deliberate slowness as sailors guided her into the current. Lady Elena raised a hand in farewell, and the gathered nobles returned the gesture while servants, guards, and retainers called out their final good wishes.

The vessel drifted steadily into the river before turning fully downstream toward Avalon. For several minutes, nobody seemed eager to leave. The nobles remained along the waterfront, watching the barge grow smaller against the afternoon light while the banners of Avalon fluttered above the deck. Only when the vessel had become a distant shape upon the river, little more than a dark silhouette against the water, did the remaining lords and ladies finally begin turning away toward their own duties and journeys in the morning.

That was when Lady Maerise of Galeden Vale began to laugh quietly to herself.

The sound was not loud, nor was it intended for anyone else to hear, yet it was enough to draw the attention of both Lady Eryndel and Lord Varlen.

The Lord of Eastwatch slowed his pace and glanced toward her.

“What is amusing you, my lady?”

Lady Maerise shook her head as a smile spread across her face.

“It is not amusement.”

The smile widened.

“It is tragic.”

That explanation clarified nothing.

Lady Eryndel folded her arms while Lord Varlen looked openly suspicious.

Neither spoke.

Both waited.

Lady Maerise looked downriver toward the distant Avalon barge, now little more than a dark shape against the water.

Then she sighed.

“Every noble house in the kingdom is about to begin searching every corner of its estates for daughters.”

The realization struck Lady Eryndel immediately.

She covered her mouth, though the effort to suppress her laughter failed almost at once.

Lord Varlen frowned.

Then he looked thoughtful.

Then concerned.

Lady Maerise continued before he could ask the obvious question.

“Avalon does not yet understand what flock of ambitious noblewomen, determined matrons, and opportunistic vultures they have just invited into their own homestead.”

Lady Eryndel surrendered completely and began laughing.

Lord Varlen groaned.

“My lady, you are being excessively harsh.”

Lady Maerise looked at him with genuine disbelief.

“No, my lord. I am being realistic.”

Lady Eryndel nodded her agreement.

“The Matron’s Council alone will bring half the kingdom.”

“The other half will arrive shortly afterward.”

That earned another laugh.

Lord Varlen still appeared unconvinced.

Seeing this, Lady Eryndel decided to help him.

“My lord, I would suggest you begin searching your own very large wild garden.”

Lord Varlen blinked.

“For what exactly?”

Lady Eryndel smiled sweetly.

“For a flower.”

The Eastwatch lord looked even more confused.

Lady Maerise took pity on him.

“If you wait much longer, every suitable young woman in your household will already be headed toward Avalon with or without your approval.”

The meaning finally arrived.

Lord Varlen stopped walking entirely.

The look that crossed his face was magnificent.

Both ladies burst into laughter.

“My daughters are all married.”

“Then search your cousins.”

“I do not have enough cousins.”

“That,” Lady Maerise replied, “is a problem many noble houses are currently discovering.”

The three continued toward their waiting retinues, though neither lady appeared particularly sympathetic to Lord Varlen’s sudden distress.

But there was also a simple reality underlying the mirth that no one was willing to acknowledge. The Hollow, the new mansion, the impending Matron's Council, Lady Lisette's coming birthday celebration, the expanding fortunes of Avalon, and everything else were becoming impossible to ignore. The eyes of the nobility throughout the entire realm were turning towards them.

What made the situation even more dangerous was that Avalon itself did not yet seem to understand what it possessed fully.

Most houses would have been concerned enough with Aldric alone. He was honorable, capable, well-connected, and increasingly respected by nobles far older than himself. Yet Aldric was only one of Avalon's sons.

There was also Caelen.

The younger boy remained something of a mystery to much of the realm, but rumors already followed him wherever Avalonian merchants, nobles, and craftsmen traveled. New ideas, new industries, strange opportunities, and unexpected changes seemed to appear around him with alarming regularity.

Sooner or later, the rest of the kingdom would begin asking questions.

For the first time in many years, the future seemed filled with opportunity, and every noble house in the south intended to ensure that opportunity favored them. The truly ambitious houses, however, were already beginning to realize that Avalon did not possess one promising heir.

It possessed two.

…

Broken lands near Litus Solis

The ravine looked as if the mountain had once tried to crawl into the sea and died halfway there.

Broken stone lay everywhere. Scrub grass clung to cracks between slabs, thorn bushes grew in crooked lines, and old landslide scars cut deep grooves down the slope toward the distant water. Above it all rose a heavy granite face, dark, broad, and nearly vertical, with enough strength in its bones to make even human eyes understand why dwarves had stopped there.

There were forty-three dwarves among the stones. They were not a war throng, precisely. They were a collection of the old smiths, children, stoneworkers, women, and still-burdened youngsters. They looked wearied by their march, but not unsure. They were scanning the ravine with the familiar gaze a farmer might bring to a new field, or a soldier to a wall.

A Knot of the White Company held the perimeter in a disciplined guard of arms. Nonetheless, every angle of approach was covered, every man held himself in that silent, expectation-ready quiet.

Caelen walked beside the elder dwarf who had answered him in the unfinished manor.

The dwarf’s name was Hadrik Stone-Voice.

He was so old his beard was steel gray all the way from chin to belt and so wide that the hammer strapped to his side could not be seen from his front. He bent over many times as they walked, picked up rocks, rubbed them in his thick fingers, and would often bring them near his nose as though the stone held a smell.

“This land is ugly,” Caelen said.

Hadrik gave a low grunt. “Ugly land often tells the truth.”

Caelen smiled faintly. “Then this place speaks loudly.”

“It shouts,” Hadrik replied with passion.

Inside, Dathran couldn't help but laugh. It was as if the old Dwarf was word-playing with Caelen, while out walking on land and picking up rocks. Their jabs were even worded the same. He still couldn't believe how much Caelen knew people and even dwarves, seeing that he told all of them not to speak any praise of the land or even tell what it held. The Dwarves need to touch and see it.

Further on, Ivar the Drinker began to turn in a circle very slowly, the rings on his beard tinkling like tiny bells. He stared at the granite wall. Next to him was the surveyor, Dagna Lothand, the dwarven woman-short, square-bodied-whose fingers still bore the old blue stains of chalk, ink and the long measuring cord.

Dagna had already driven three stakes into the ground.

She was not waiting for permission to understand the land.

Hadrik crouched near a shelf of broken rock and pried loose a dark, heavy piece no larger than his thumb. He studied it for several breaths, then passed it to Caelen.

“Lead trace,” he said.

Caelen examined it and handed it back.

“Useful?”

“Useful enough.”

Hadrik stepped farther along the ravine wall and tapped at a seam with the back of his knife.

“Copper stain here. Not deep, perhaps, but near the skin. Tin may be higher. The slide broke the mountain open.”

Ivar’s eyes sharpened.

“That saves us years.”

“It gives you a beginning,” Caelen agreed.

Hadrik looked toward him.

“That is often the difference between hunger and a hall.”

The old dwarf walked to the granite face and placed one palm against it. For a moment, he did not speak. The other dwarves watched him with the silence of people waiting for judgment.

Finally, Hadrik sighed.

"This wall will hold."

Dagna raised her eyes to the rock.

"Deep enough for chambers?"

"Deep enough for roots," said Hadrik. "The chambers will come later."

Caelen watched them measure, observe, and murmur to each other for a moment, then he spoke again. He had heard enough about dwarves to know that that silence was not stalling. It was effort.

When Hadrik finally turned back, Caelen gestured toward the northern border.

“From here, at the edge of Lady Alessa’s lands, three miles north.”

Dagna’s head turned immediately.

Caelen continued.

“From the high visible ridgeline down to the sea.”

The dwarves grew still.

Even Ivar stopped touching the granite.

Caelen faced them all.

“That land will be yours to hold, farm, quarry, cut, tunnel, build, and defend under Avalon’s protection. You will govern your own people within it, so long as your laws do not violate Avalon’s peace.”

Hadrik scrutinized him. "And for how much?"

"Avalon will feed you for two years," said Caelen. "We will supply you with grain, cured meats, beans, oil, seeds where appropriate, and simple tools until your supply lines are established."

A younger dwarf inhaled sharply.

Dagna did not.

She only watched Caelen more carefully as she waited for the cost.

“In return,” Caelen continued, “your people will support Avalon’s levy obligations and any special works Avalon requires. Stone, metalwork, road goods, bridgework, fittings, tools, pipe, and skilled labor will be negotiated at fair rates, but Avalon will have first call when the need is urgent.”

Ivar folded his arms.

"And a first call can grow into a command"

"It can," replied Caelen. "And that is why we will define it"

Then Dagna came forward. Her measuring cord was slung around one wrist.

"My Lord," she asked not impudently but with the calm practicality of a person who found politeness only helpful if it didn't get in the way of the facts, "will it be recorded?"

Caelen turned toward her fully.

“Yes.”

"Boundaries, sustenance, first call, rate, rights, and the law that we are still our people?"

"Yes."

"And sealed?"

Caelen's grin stretched a little.

"I've sealed it, and Lord Branric has on behalf of the southern government, and the Avalon House will when the copy arrives at my father, and each of you who have the power to speak on behalf of their people."

Dagna nodded once.

“Good.”

Hadrik’s mouth twitched beneath his beard.

“She trusts ink and stone more than tongues.”

“I trust ink more than memory,” Dagna corrected. “Stone best of all.”

Caelen looked toward the granite wall.

“Then we will give you both.”

That answer settled the ravine more than any speech could have done.

One by one, the dwarves began to move.

Packs were lowered. Children were gathered away from loose stones. Two smiths began clearing a flat place for a fire. Dagna marked the first boundary line with stakes while Ivar argued cheerfully with a younger dwarf about where the first storehouse should stand. Hadrik remained beside the granite wall, one hand still resting against it.

Caelen walked to him.

“You have doubts,” Caelen said.

“I have forty-three lives standing on broken land,” Hadrik replied. “Doubt is not fear. It is counting properly.”

Caelen accepted that.

“The White Company will hold the outer ridges tonight. More supplies arrive tomorrow. Within ten days, you will have grain enough for the first season. Within thirty, the first road cut should reach this ravine.”

Hadrik looked at him sidelong.

“You move fast for a human, boy.”

Caelen smiled without looking away from the granite.

“I have been told that before.”

“And do you always answer with more work?”

“Usually.”

The old dwarf gave a rough sound that might have been laughter.

Below them, the sea struck the ruined foot of the mountain, slow and steady, as if measuring what had fallen and what might rise again.

Hadrik lifted the dark stone he had found earlier.

“Broken land,” he murmured. “Exposed ore. Strong wall. Sea below and even good roads coming.”

He closed his fist around the stone.

“This will do.”

Caelen looked across the ravine, watching the dwarves begin to claim the place not with banners or speeches, but with fire pits, survey stakes, stacked packs, and decisions.

For the first time, the ravine no longer looked abandoned.

It looked chosen.