At the fork in the road leading to St. Maur's, Captain Aldebaran—commander of the outer perimeter—ordered his men to heave aside the spiked chevaux-de-frise.
He stepped up to the wagons, slapping a heavy grain sack with a grin. "Ser Caden! Is this the bounty of the Reach I see?"
Caden sat tall in his saddle, his chest puffed with pride. "Fresh harvest from last year, Captain. Once we mill this into flour and bake it into loaves—and perhaps ferment a few casks of bread-wine—we'll have a feast to remember!"
Aldebaran's grin faltered. He sighed, glancing over his shoulder before lowering his voice. "You've been away, Ser. The Lightbringer has issued a decree. No more brewing bread-wine or potato spirits. Every grain of starch is for the belly, not the bottle. If you want a drink now, it's sour grape-juice or nothing."
Lennar poked his head out from behind Caden's horse, laughing. "Aldebaran! You've been south this long and you still haven't acquired a taste for wine?"
"Lennar!" the Captain shouted in surprise. "You're back!" He looked behind the singer, eyes searching the road. "Where's Mu? Did he stay to count the grapes?"
"Mu has built his own pack in the Kingswood," Lennar replied. "He leads nearly a hundred men now. And he's a Sunwalker to boot. You needn't worry about that blockhead."
Aldebaran felt a sharp pang of both joy and envy. "Liar. That boy was as thick as a castle wall. He couldn't lead a horse to water, let alone a hundred men."
"Care to wager a Silver Moon on it?" Lennar teased.
Aldebaran shook his head quickly. "The Commander doesn't take kindly to Sunwalkers gambling. If Mu truly has that many souls under him, he'll be drowning in work. Lennar, will you ask the Master to send some help his way?"
"I intend to. Mu can't shepherd a hundred alone."
"Then you'd best move fast," Aldebaran warned. "Soldiers have been pouring in from the surrounding lands. Every Sunwalker who can lift a blade is being assigned to lead a squad. If you wait, the Master won't have a man left to spare."
Lennar frowned. "Soldiers from outside? I don't follow."
"You'll see once you reach the forge-village."
The barriers were cleared. Caden and Lennar bid the guards farewell and drove the train forward. Within half an hour, the ancient stones of St. Maur's loomed ahead.
Once Caden's identity was confirmed, the heavy gates groaned open. John, the Order's civil administrator, hurried out with a flock of clerks clutching ledgers and quills. They were prepared to count every bushel and tally every copper spent.
John froze when he saw Lennar. He shoved his ledgers into the hands of a bewildered Brother Clié and threw his arms around the singer. "My poet! You're alive! I thought the lions had made a meal of you!"
Lennar patted John's back. "It's good to see you still breathing, my friend. But don't thank the lions—thank Aldric. He slipped away to find you without sending me a single word. Where is he? I have a poem or two to recite about his memory."
John laughed. "He's at the camps, breaking the backs of the new recruits. I haven't seen him in days. Come, I'll take you to him. We'll drown his excuses in whatever wine we have left."
"I'll bring my brothers," Lennar said, gesturing to the ragged outlaws.
John looked at the armed men by the wagons. "I thought those were Caden's hired guards?"
"Traitors, the lot of them," Lennar said. "These men are the Kingswood Brotherhood. They saved our hides. I want to present them to Aldric—some of these lads have the fire of Anshe in them."
John surveyed the scarred, weary men. "A story for the ages, then. Tell it all once we reach the village."
They traveled to the nearby smithy-village, which had been transformed into a bustling military cantonment. What had once been a cluster of eight hovels was now a small town of forty buildings. The central threshing floor had been leveled and expanded into a massive muster field, nearly the size of a tourney ground.
Aldric was there, standing on a wooden platform overlooking the ranks. When he heard John's call, he turned, his face lighting up with genuine shock as he rushed to embrace Lennar. "Lennar! You found us!"
"I found you?" Lennar grumbled into his shoulder. "If I'd waited for your summons, I'd be a pile of sun-bleached bones on the Goldroad!"
Aldric knew he was at fault for leaving Mu and Lennar in the south for months without contact. He let out a sheepish laugh. "And Mu? Is he still watching the road?"
"He's doing well enough. I'll give you the details later. But first..." Lennar introduced the twenty outlaws. "Roland, Cliff... they are the brothers of the Kingswood. They are ours, Aldric. And some are ready for the Awakening."
Aldric studied them. A "Kingswood Brotherhood" was a name that carried weight, even if he didn't know the specifics. He sensed their discipline—rugged, but there.
"Jon!" Aldric called out.
Jon Snow, now the Order's Vice-Commander, stepped forward. He led a group of literate knights and squires—Aldric's "Staff of Shadows"—who handled the logistics of the camp.
"Settle our new friends," Aldric commanded. "Rations and bedding as per our veterans."
Once the crowds were settled, Aldric led John, Lennar, and Caden to his personal quarters—a spartan log cabin roofed with dried thatch. A ten-year-old boy named Bud, one of the new orderlies, brought in a pot of hot water and wooden cups. Aldric poured them each a steaming cup of amber liquid. "Drink up. I found some wild herbs in the forest. It's bitter, but it clears the head."
Lennar took a sip, winced at the bitterness, and looked around the cramped room. "You have three hundred men out there, Aldric. More than House Vance or House Darry can muster on short notice. Why are you living like a hermit?"
Aldric gave a tired smile. "Is now the time for silk and tapestries? Those men out there aren't all mine."
He explained the alliance with the former vassals of House Whent. "Of those three hundred, only sixty are my direct disciples. The rest are 'Allied Soldiers' sent by the Covenant for me to train. They pay us in grain for the privilege of our drills."
Aldric turned to Caden. "The grain mission? Tell me it wasn't for nothing."
Caden nodded. "Success, of a sort. We bought eighteen wagons of raw wheat from Tumbleton for thirty-five gold dragons. It's being tallied at the monastery now. Here is the remainder."
Aldric took the heavy purse, weighing it by hand. Roughly two hundred dragons remained. He didn't count it. He pulled out a single gold dragon and tossed it to Caden. "Divide this among the brothers who rode with you. We aren't wealthy yet, but I remember every mile you walked for us. There will be more when the harvest is in."
Caden pocketed the coin, thinking of the mortal soldiers who had bled in the woods. "Thank you, Lightbringer."
"And Gale?" Aldric asked. "Did he stay to watch the market?"
"Gale has stayed with the Brotherhood," Caden explained. "He's preaching the Word in the Kingswood. He asked for your forgiveness for acting without orders."
Aldric waved it off. "Gale did well. I am no tyrant; if the Light demands work in the south, he is right to answer it. But the sword... did you find a buyer?"
Caden looked down. "No. I am not high-born enough to move such steel without inviting a knife to the throat."
Aldric sighed. "A pity. If only we could reach Tyrion Lannister. Lord Tywin would pay a king's ransom for Serene-Steel, and the Imp wouldn't miss the chance for a bargain."
Thinking of the dwarf who had traveled with them from Winterfell to the Wall, Aldric felt a strange sense of loss. They were on opposite sides of a brewing storm now.
Lennar looked up from his cup. "I heard talk in the Goldroad taverns, Aldric. The Imp is the King's Hand now. They say he was the one who burned Stannis Baratheon's fleet on the Blackwater." He paused. "But they also say he died in the fire."
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