TKC 75
On the third day out of Porlese we sight the fort. Markedly,
on the journey, the amount of people has increased, and they are not only
fleeing slaves. We see families walking together, clearly from Alarn, given
their mode of dress, and many farmers and villagers from smaller towns and
settlements in the hinterland.
As we close in, there is a steady trickle west of us, those
heading directly south from Normur and the more northern towns.
I note a few Messengers also, as well as a fair showing of
nobility. Both these groups are invariably on horseback.
The fort will be crowded. I hope the supplies we sent south
over a period of four years will be enough to feed not only the hungry
arrivals, but sustain us on the march across the plains to Arc.
Closer in, we notice donkey trains coming in from the east, exiting
from the mountain passes. It appears others have harked to the supply situation
and have sent goods via the less travelled routes. Safer, especially with
raiders in the countryside. The sight fills me with relief.
A sprawling settlement surrounds the fort on three sides. There
is not enough space for everyone inside. Everything and everyone is wet, for
the rain found us again yesterday. As the entrance looms, the downpour
intensifies. It hides the presence in the sky, which is easier on us at this
point. I sense fear growing even among the men of Grenmassin. Until now they had
not seen it clearly, but at sunset on our first day of walking it was a bright
orb of manipulation above, with not an errant cloud to hide it. Terrible
silence then followed gasps of dismay.
There is no longer doubt.
“Damin!”
A holler draws my attention and, grinning, I hasten forward
to clasp the man’s hand. “Mirlin, you made it.”
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