The Elder Lands

Lucan walked among the bedraggled lot that populated the makeshift camp. Refugees, that was what they had turned out to be. After imploring Sir Wolfe to show them mercy, and successfully receiving it, an older man had come out to speak for all of them.

While they spoke, the knight had commanded his men to go into the camp and make certain that they weren’t hiding any of the more unsavory types, and also to ascertain that they were as impoverished as they pretended to be. So far, it seemed that they were. Lucan observed bony children herded out of his way by stalk-thin mothers, grown men with nary a muscle between skin and bone, and juveniles gnawing on bones of wild game here and there.

He glanced at Lee who walked a step behind him. “They don’t seem to have much.”

“Anything,” Lee said.

“Huh?” Lucan raised a brow and looked back at the old man-at-arms.

“They don’t seem to have anything,” Lee corrected.

“Ahh.” Lucan nodded. “Maybe so.” He continued, passing between two lean-tos which smelled even less pleasant than the collective camp did.

There seemed to be nearly as many males as females. So no great tragedy had struck these people on their way here. It was obvious that they had been subsisting on poaching and scavenging what they could from the forest. He’d seen remains of wild hares, deer, and boar. Here and there, he also saw children biting into nuts and berries. Old and young, they were dressed in what could pass as decent peasant clothing, but it hadn’t gotten much care recently. Some of the other refugees, though, might as well have been wearing rags. When Lucan pointed it out, Lee stated that some of them must have been in more of a hurry than others.

After a while, Sir Wolfe called for them to return to him.

Lucan, Lee, and his men-at-arms converged on him. Lucan noted that the knight was still conversing with the elder who represented these people.

The greying man was heavily built, even if he didn’t have much fat to adorn his thick bones. He was tall and broad-chested with a scar visible under the stubble on his chin.

“Edvin here,” Sir Wolfe gestured at the elder, “says that they come from several villages in Lord Maztef’s dominion. They’re fleeing war.”

Lucan sighed. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to participate in the obligation of herding them back to their lord. That honor would fall to Sir Wolfe. He didn’t recognize the name, but he didn’t know the names of many nobles from The Shattered Kingdom either.

“Where’s Lord Maztef’s fief, Sir Wolfe?” Lucan asked.

“However should I know?” The knight snorted. “Every man and his dog have a noble title on the other side of this forest.”

“Then…” Lucan said, gesturing at the large camp with an unspoken question. There must have been a few hundred of them crammed in there. The camp was actually made of several small camps neighboring each other. Even from here, the ripe smell reached Lucan’s nose. With their numbers, he doubted the refugees would’ve been able to survive very long without exposing themselves or losing a considerable portion of their number to starvation. A small strip of the forest could only support so many people.

“We’ll just show them to the border,” Sir Wolfe answered his silent question. “They can find their way back.”

The elder’s face showed distress. “My lord…the war. If we go back, we might be executed or–”

“Or levied to fight in your lord’s war, as is your duty,” Sir Wolfe interrupted him. “And I’m no lord. Flattery will do you no good.”

“That might as well be an execution too, Sire,” the elder said. “Gods know we’ve lost enough of our young and healthy. If we’re not fighting and dying in our lord’s wars, our villages are being pillaged, their people taken and forced to labor for those who’ve torn down their homes, and that’s the kinder of fates.”

Sir Wolfe shook his head. “And the gods haven’t raised me to be your savior.” He stepped forward into the elder’s guard, his threat clear. Even though the older man towered over him, the menacing presence oozing off the knight was not to be ignored. “Gather your people and prepare them to vacate my land.”

“Sire.” The elder’s voice took a more imploring tone. “We are hard-working people, men and women. We could do fair labor on your lands. We only need food and shelter.”

“You think I would turn away labor if I needed it for the sake of some man claiming nobility in a wasteland?” Sir Wolfe said. “No, I recognize no sellsword Lord in The Shattered Kingdom. I simply have no place for you.”

Lucan, watching the exchange, froze as if a lightning bolt had struck him. Labor. These people had been farmers and laborers, obviously. They were no townsmen, and they were no outlaws either. If he could take them back with him. He’d have his laborers before the harvest. And they only wanted–no–needed food. There was plenty of empty land for them to build shelter in his father’s land.

His father had also stored a decent bounty of grain and foodstuffs from last year, as he always did. This was cheap labor that wouldn’t drain what little coin they had. Before he could think more about it, he found himself hastily speaking.

“You’re willing to work?”

The elder’s eyes turned to him, looking him up and down, then he hunched his back to match his height and fixed his eyes on Lucan’s face, jumping at the opportunity like a drowning man reaching for debris. “Yes, my lord. We’re honest folk. We’ll work, day and night. I swear it.”

“It will be harsh work, not farming, but heavy labor that will take months,” Lucan warned. He might have imagined Sir Wolfe mouthing his name questioningly but he was focused on the wide-eyed old man who was wringing his hands together.

“We’re hardy folk, my lord,” the elder said. “We can bear with it, if you will only feed us.”

Lucan nodded. Then Sir Wolfe stepped closer to him, whispering. “Lucan, you cannot have consulted your father about this.” He shook his head as though to discourage the thought of taking them with him.

“We do need the Laborers,” Lucan whispered back. “Father would understand. And they don’t seem to be trouble.”

“It’s still no small chance to take,” the knight said.

“I could go back and consult with my father,” Lucan said. “Will you keep them here?”

The knight shook his head, stepping even closer and lowering his voice further. “They already dangerously outnumber me and my men. Giving them more time might also give them ideas. They must be moved out of my land now.”

Lucan had noted that men made up less than half of the refugees’ number, the majority being women and children, as was natural in any healthy community. Still, there were certainly enough men to mob them. He understood Sir Wolfe’s concern. But he also saw it from another perspective. Those men could be the hard labor for his dream.”

“Then I will take them right away,” Lucan said.

Sir Wolfe sighed, stepping back. “Very well, do with them as you wish. But they must gather themselves within the hour.”

Lucan nodded. The refugees certainly couldn’t gather up that fast, but it wasn’t like the knight had an hourglass handy. “Gather your people,” Lucan told the elder. “My father’s fief is”–he paused to look at the bedraggled population of the camp again–”a third of a day’s walk from here.” Or so he hoped it would be. Many among these people wouldn’t be able to walk very fast.

It ended up taking them a third of a day just to make it out of the forest with all the refugees. Sir Wolfe wasn’t very happy about the proceedings but Lucan apologized to him twice and promised that he would get all of them out of the knight’s lands promptly.

They ended up having to march through the evening to avoid any mishaps with locals. Sir Wolfe had also feared that some of the refugees would scatter in his lands under the veil of darkness.

So, mounted and riding alongside Lee, he led four hundred refugees towards their territory, hoping that his father would see matters as he did.

But one often hoped for things they couldn’t have.