I continued to walk the lower hall with the kings at my sides, the stones still carrying the faint scent of blood and herbs.
The wounded lay on low cots along the walls, their breathing ragged or steady depending on how deep the blades had gone.
I stopped at the first cot and knelt beside a woman whose arm was wrapped in clean linen. She had taken a cut meant for her sister during the last raid. Her eyes met mine and held.
"You brought us back something real," she said. "The supplies from that camp will feed my family through the next winter."
I rested my hand on her uninjured shoulder. "You stood when they came for the barns. The keep remembers that and will forever be indebted to you."
She nodded once, her grip tight on my wrist for a moment before she let go. I moved to the next cot, then the next, speaking to every man and woman who had bled for us. Some reached for my hand. Others simply watched with steady eyes.
