Kenny watched Ressa shield a shaking teenage runner from loaded crossbows, fifteen workers standing with their hands bound above belts. None belonged to yesterday's rescued crew, but Dreth called them the same rebels after his patrol dragged them in overnight.
The patrol took them beside the unfinished culvert south of the orchard.
A guard kicked Ressa's shield facedown into the mud, and Kenny stared at its bent rim instead of at her. Across the breach, fortress banners stirred above the road their column could no longer use, and he avoided her eyes.
Dreth paced the prisoner line, tapping his baton against each bound shoulder, "You dug escape routes for a bastard, and your fathers swore to the Duke, that's treason."
Ressa lifted her bruised chin while the runner tried to vanish behind her shoulder.
"We dug roads for our families," she snapped, twisting her bound fingers, "if you want an oath, stop bringing swords to people holding shovels."
