The Master Warden groaned, seeing the distant Birch Forest nestled into the northwest corner of the settlement and the camp that had sprung up around it. A sense of longing filled him, for these were the last trees in all of Mordeina; the maples, elms, chestnuts, oaks, and willows, whose wood was much sturdier than birch, had been cut down to help build shelters and weapons. Wood was so scarce now, such a valuable commodity, that it was prohibited from being used for fires. The people needed to use hay and dried blocks of dung instead, which created an ever-present pungent smell.
A few people moved within the camp, which now included four large, white-topped shacks that housed the majority of the two thousand who lived there. Ahaesarus sighed. Patrick was down there somewhere, probably twisting and writhing in his bed. Ever since the brave and disfigured DuTaureau had seemingly lost his mind, his presence had become scarce in the southern portion of the settlement, where Mordeina’s defense was being prepared. The Turncloaks kept a watchful eye on him, and they’d told Ahaesarus that the poor man was in a horrific state of mind after the death of his sister. Ahaesarus found that strange, as Patrick had learned of Nessa’s death months ago. Everyone processes grief in their own way. This is Patrick’s. He needs time to heal. Though truth be told, he wished the man would get on with that healing already. In his absence, Ahaesarus had taken on many of his duties, including his shift atop the wall at dusk. The combined efforts were rapidly eating away at him. He hadn’t slept more than two hours on any given night in over a week.
If I go on like this much longer, I will drop dead from exhaustion.
Beside the forest was the enormous camp of those who had accompanied Ashhur on his long journey from the Rigon River to Mordeina. The white landscape was dotted with many heavy tents and rude hovels, positioned in square grid patterns following Warden Leviticus’s design. This part of the settlement stretched out lengthwise for nearly a full two miles, butting up against the wall and reaching all the way to a hundred feet below Manse DuTaureau’s high hill. By rough count, there were over a hundred and fifty thousand people residing in this quarter of the settlement, as Ahaesarus was always painfully aware due to the rancid odor of human waste constantly wafting from it.
Finally, Ahaesarus’s eyes fell on the settlement’s darkest segment, one that no one wished to acknowledge. Positioned thirty yards west of the inner gate and a hundred yards from the end of the populated area, this section was relatively small, cordoned off by a short stone wall that Preston Ender had ordered built. Within that cordoned space lay the corpses of all those who had died within Mordeina’s walls. By last count there were almost six thousand bodies in there, from the soldiers of Karak-those whose lives Patrick and the Drake spellcasters had ended in the causeway-to citizens of Paradise who had perished due to battle, disease, or boulders falling from the sky. Ahaesarus had demanded they be burned to prevent their stench and sickness from spreading, but Ashhur denied him.
“The dead will serve their purpose,” Ashhur had said, refusing to elaborate further.
Ahaesarus finished his revolution around the manse and found Howard Baedan standing in front of the building’s front stoop, with King Benjamin by his side, both bundled in furs. The youth appeared frazzled, gazing with trepidation out into the quiet night. The steward’s hand was firmly on the boy’s shoulder, and whenever the young king shivered, Howard squeezed and shot him a disapproving look.
“Stand tall,” the steward said. “Stand strong.”
“But it’s cold.”
“It’ll be colder when you’re dead,” Howard said. “You need to display strength, not whine like a child.”
“But there’s no one here to see me but you.”
“Does my opinion mean nothing to you?”
“Should it mean something to me, servant?”
Ahaesarus couldn’t believe the haughtiness in Benjamin’s voice, couldn’t believe the nerve of the child to speak to the Master Steward that way. Those were words that would have come from Isabel DuTaureau’s mouth, not from a plump youth prone to bouts of whimpering. Even though the matriarch of House DuTaureau had been confined to her quarters within the manse, her sway over the boy king remained.
“You would be wise to listen to him, boy,” Ahaesarus said, unable to keep his mouth shut. “You’ve experienced nothing of life, yet dismiss those with wisdom who seek to help you. Ashhur would not be pleased.”
The boy’s head snapped around, his eyes widening as he lifted them to Ahaesarus’s approaching form. Howard Baedan, on the other hand, seemed unsurprised. He chuckled under his breath and offered the Master Warden an appreciative nod.
“Has it begun?” Ahaesarus asked.
“It has,” said Howard, gesturing to the huts that rested where the storehouses once were.
Down below, people were exiting their crude shelters and trembling against the night’s cold. Three men worked their way around each chalet, alerting those inside that their grim duties were about to begin. He also spotted a group of Wardens, including Judarius, marching across the frozen land, heading for the darkened area of festering death. Confusion abounded among them; what Ashhur had ordered them to do this night was unusual to say the least.
“Did you get what you needed inside?” Howard asked.
“I did.” Reaching beneath his cloak, Ahaesarus removed a clay jar filled with a salve Azariah had made for him. “Smear it on your hands. It should protect you from any sickness you touch. A little bit beneath your nose will also help with the odor.”
Howard cocked his head. “You wish me to join you?”
“Of course. We all must do our part,” Ahaesarus said, and he pointedly stared at King Benjamin when he spoke.
Howard turned to Benjamin. “Go to bed, boy.” And Benjamin did, casting a nervous glance in Ahaesarus’s direction on his way out. Once he was gone, Howard relaxed.
“I’m tired of playing nursemaid to such a brat,” he said. “Thank you for the invite. Getting my hands dirty will alleviate my frustrations.”
“I thought you enjoyed being his mentor now that Isabel is no longer. . a viable option.”
To that, Howard let out a humorless laugh. “Isabel had her claws in him for over a year. Making the boy unlearn what she taught him will take time and energy, and I doubt I will have enough of either before entering my grave.”
Hearing Howard speak so surprised Ahaesarus to no end. The man had been the house steward for more than twenty years. He assumed if any would be on her side, it would be Howard.
“Sir Howard, what of Isabel?” he asked, hoping to draw more out of the man. “I have not seen her since Ashhur banished her to her room.”
He shrugged. “Who cares? The bitch and her husband can rot in their bed, for all I care.” His gaze shifted up, staring into Ahaesarus’s eyes. “And please, never call me ‘Sir.’ I loathe that title.”
Ahaesarus was taken aback. “I thought it was what you wished to be called?”
Again Howard laughed. “Absolutely not. That was Isabel’s doing. She was the one obsessed with the Wardens’ stories of knights and honor and centuries of glory. I asked her once if we should perhaps take up jousting, for entertainment. In my youth, my friends and I would pretend to be the knights from those stories.” His lips bent into a frown. “When she heard that, she laughed. ‘Does Howard think he’s a knight?’ she asked. I’m a steward, as my father was before me. A servant in her eyes, and obviously those of our brat king as well. Servants aren’t warriors. She made sure to remind me of that daily.”
Ahaesarus placed his hand on the man’s arm. “I am sorry, Howard. I never knew.”
“You never asked,” Howard said, shrugging off the hand.
The Master Warden and Howard descended the high hill, falling in behind the ninety-six men who had been awakened. By the time they arrived at the corpse pit, Judarius and his fellow Wardens had removed the long boards that formed a ramp leading up to the top. Within, bodies were stacked atop bodies, some fully intact, some missing an arm, a leg, even a head. The men lined up as Ahaesarus placed a glob of Azariah’s salve in each of their hands. Their collective misting breath formed a cloud above them.