“They are from all over Paradise,” said Judarius, as if reading his thoughts. “Every village, alcove, and settlement from here to Ashhur’s Bridge, and some from as far north as Durham.”
“So many,” said Patrick.
“There are. Warden Leviticus estimates that there are more than two hundred thousand humans in Mordeina. And Leviticus is rarely wrong about these things. He has a nose for mathematics.”
Patrick whistled. “Is the whole enclosure as packed as this?”
“No,” replied Judarius, shaking his head. “Most have chosen to make their homes in the eastern quarter, close to the granaries. The forested areas are still vacant, and only a few thousand chose to settle on the other side of the hill.” He looked down at Patrick. “In fact, that is where some of those who arrived with Ashhur now reside.”
“Huh. Why there and not close to the others?”
“You will have to ask them, I think,” the Warden said.
Preston shoved his way forward, still dragging his steed along behind him. “Tell me, Warden, how were these walls built? Patrick told us they didn’t exist a year ago, but now there is not one wall but two, encircling miles of land. How did you accomplish this?”
Judarius chuckled, though there was very little humor in the sound.
“Teams of men and women, sweating from sunup to sundown, along with four spellcasters from the north.”
“Ah, my brother-in-law’s students. They have talent, I take it?” asked Patrick.
The Warden nodded. “Indeed. Escheton taught them well. With their assistance, we were able to raise three quarters of the outer wall in only eight months.”
“Three quarters? But what of the rest? And what of the inner wall?” Preston asked.
“For that, we required godly assistance,” Judarius replied. “When Ashhur arrived, he not only completed the outer wall but decided it was not enough and raised the second wall as well.” Again, the Warden chuckled. “What took us months to complete took him only three days.”
Patrick grinned. “I bet you wished you hadn’t worked so hard.”
Judarius didn’t reply to that, but he had no need. The look on his face said it all. Instead, he turned to Preston and his gang of youths and said, “Patrick has assured me that you mean to help us, and I will trust his word.” He lifted his hand and snapped, summoning five other Wardens from a nearby group of people. “However, whatever help you have to offer will need to wait. You all look exhausted, filthy, and injured. I ask you all to follow Corrineth to the bathhouse we have built in the valley where the granaries reside. Our healers will help you mend. My only regret is that with so many mouths to feed, we are a bit short on food at the moment. The most we can offer is rutabaga and beet soup and a few scraps of bacon.”
“I don’t care what we eat,” muttered Little Flick. “We’ve had nothing but roots and leaves for weeks.”
“Very well.” A human approached then, a young lad still in his teens, his hair as flaming red as Patrick’s and his face covered with freckles. A team of similar-looking youths gathered behind him. “Paddy and his brothers here will care for your horses,” Judarius said. “Please understand, however, that we will have to strip them of their decorations, as well as those adorning your armor. For obvious reasons.”
“We understand,” said Preston, with a bow, as the gang of youths began to lead their horses away.
“No need to bow.”
“My apologies.”
Patrick punched Preston in the arm, then worked his way down the line, roughhousing the rest of his new friends. “Get going,” he said. “Get tended, and get washed. You all smell like shit.”
“Well, at least we don’t look like shit,” he heard Ryann say.
Patrick gave the young man a swift boot in the rear. “Get out of here before I do worse.”
The Wardens led the eight deserters away, leaving Patrick alone with Judarius…or at least however alone anyone could be in the midst of two hundred thousand people.
“You are not leaving with them?” the Warden asked.
Patrick shook his head. “I can’t. I need to speak with Ashhur.”
“I apologize, but that is impossible,” Judarius said with a frown.
“Why?”
“Our Lord is resting now. Has been since he raised the wall. It weakened him far more than I might have expected. Ashhur requested that he not be disturbed while he revitalizes. He wishes to have as much strength as he can when Karak arrives at our gates.” Judarius gave Patrick a queer look. “The eastern god is coming, is he not?”
“He is. In fact, he was mighty close behind us. Had to fight a few of them to get across the bridge. Given how many soldiers there were, I imagine it will take them quite some time to get here. Five days, perhaps six.”
“So you had a confrontation with the God of Order. That explains your…condition.”
“Oh, you mean the fact that we’re all splattered with blood? Yes, we had a run-in…but not with Karak. I don’t think we’d be here otherwise.”
“Very true.”
Patrick gnawed on the inside of his lip. “Listen, Judarius,” he finally said, feeling nervous even to ask, “I need you to tell me something.”
“Of course.”
“Is Nessa here?”
“Nessa, your sister?”
“Yes.”
The Warden shook his head. “Last I knew, she was with you, and your mother has not mentioned her name once in all the time I have been here. Perhaps you might ask her?”
Patrick shook his head, his heart sinking in his chest.
“Trust me, Judarius, my mother knows nothing. If she did, everyone else would as well. She was with the son of Clovis Crestwell when she fled into Paradise. If they were here, the great Isabel DuTaureau would not keep it secret.”
The Warden’s green-gold eyes brightened.
“In that case, perhaps she did and is hidden among the crowds? There have been massive clusters arriving nearly every day. She might have slipped in with them.”
Patrick felt a glimmer of hope. That sounded exactly like something Nessa would do.
“I’ll do some searching, then. See what I can find.”
“Very well, Patrick, and I wish you luck. If there is anything I can do to help you, please feel free to ask.”
“I will. In the meantime, I think you need a bath yourself. You smell like a grayhorn shit you out.”
The Warden shook his head. “Good day, Patrick, and good luck.”
He turned, walking back toward the blockaded path that led to the gate.
“Wait, Judarius,” he said.
“What is it?” the Warden asked, turning slightly.
“My mother…my father…please don’t tell them I’ve returned. I’d rather do that myself, in my own time.”
Judarius bowed and continued on his way. Patrick hoped the Warden would remain true to his word as he always had in the past. He had absolutely no desire to speak with his parents yet.
He made his way through the throng of people. For the first time in a very long while, he actually felt the weight of his armor, of Winterbone as it bounced on his back. He realized then that he was wincing and scowling, which could have been why many of the people he saw cringed and ducked away from him. Not that he wished otherwise. He found himself feeling irritated by the carefree smiles that painted most every face he laid eyes on, the dismissiveness the people seemed to feel about the danger they would soon be facing. He felt completely alone in the throng.