Chương 306: Chapter 101: More Iron Than Sense

"Two hundred Iron bars," Pell said, reading from the first wagon's inventory as though the number belonged to a town large enough to spend it.

"Twenty Copper bars. Thirty-one southern fox pelts in saleable condition, nine damaged but recoverable. Eleven frost-deer hides, fifteen frost-boar hides, six sealed tubs of rendered fat, four crates of smoked meat, antler, tendon, tusk, bone stock, three crates of field-made weapons, assorted foxkin tools, one preserved Deep Ironback sensory organ, one mineralised plate, and one contracted hauler." Mörk looked down at him from beside the wagon.

"Labourer." Pell moved his quill towards the margin.

"The contract specifies haul labour?"

"It specifies opportunity."

"That remains unsuitable for the occupation column." Lysa stood behind the inventory table with both hands against its edge. One leg had been replaced by two stacked bricks, while wire held the split centre together. She allowed Pell to continue recording, although her attention had already placed every object elsewhere: Iron towards the old work yard, pelts towards the healer rooms, fat towards kitchens and lamps, and weapons towards whatever remained of Talvek's guard stores.

We had entered Dunmere without passing through a gate because there was no gate to pass. The western palisade line had been torn down almost completely, leaving scattered posts and blackened foundations where the strongest defence had once stood. The southern road entered through open ground, and the few eastern fences remaining would not have slowed anything larger than a hungry goat. Roofs had failed across most of the town.

Families occupied the habitable buildings in layers, sleeping above stores, beneath tables, and in rooms whose earlier use mattered less than keeping rain outside. The market yard held more Iron bars than adults capable of lifting one, and the comparison worsened whenever I counted the people visible among the ruins. Lysa pointed towards the wagon with Pell's quill.

"Metal stays under guard until Halden identifies which failure kills us first. Copper remains separately counted and locked. Half the fat goes to kitchens, while the other half is reserved for lamps, leather, and waterproofing. Pelts go to the healer room, then children, night patrols, and bedding. Meat is counted against mouths before sale value." Pell turned the inventory sheet.

"The field weapons require quality inspection."

"Talvek receives them after you count them."

"I was going to say that."

"Write it before improving your memory." Mörk removed the outer chain. The wagon rose by almost nothing because eleven hundred kilograms remained distributed across the reinforced axles. Lysa examined his contract, then the town around him.

"You were hired for bridge labour?" she asked.

"Among other opportunities."

"We have no bridge. We also have no western wall, two blocked wells, half the roofs required, damaged drains, a broken ferry cradle, and more Iron than hands." Mörk studied the ruined market and missing palisade.

"The contract appears broader than described." Talvek entered the yard before Lysa could amend it. I recognised the armour before the man. His breastplate carried fresh scoring along the left side, the shoulder strap had been replaced with plain hide, and the lower edge no longer fitted because he had lost enough weight for the metal to remember a larger body. Grey had spread through his beard and into the hair above both temples. The old certainty remained in his posture only where habit continued carrying it.

Talia saw him from beside the second wagon. Talvek's gaze moved over the road mud on her coat, the dried blood at one sleeve, and the sword across her back. Talia examined his damaged armour, the stiffness of his left arm, and the grey that had not been there when we travelled north. Talvek inclined his head. Talia returned less than half the movement.

"You made good time," Talvek said. Halden checked the wagon's rear runner.

"Talia limited discussion."

"She usually does." Talia looked Talvek over again.

"You look terrible."

"Several people have said so." If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"Anyone credible?"

"Not until now." The exchange lacked the old edge. Neither of them had enough spare strength to sharpen it, and the town around them offered more urgent enemies. Talvek placed one hand against the upper row of bars.

"How much metal?"

"Two hundred donated Iron bars and twenty Copper," Pell said.

"One hundred Iron and ten Copper from Cael Vey, matched by Halden Strath. Registered provisionally as the Bridge Building Fund." Talvek looked towards the open southern approach.

"We have no bridge." Halden stood.

"The name describes long-term infrastructure capacity."

"We also have no long term." Lysa stepped between the statement and the argument behind it.

"We have the bars today. That is longer than we had yesterday." Talvek accepted the correction. His gaze shifted to the hides, marked horn, and crates of bone weapons.

"The road supplied those?"

"The Deep South did," Talia said.

"Three foxkin drove a mixed ranked herd north. They crossed Dunmere's southern approaches before reaching us." Talvek became still.

"How many?"

"Enough that we left opened carcasses beside the road."

"They should not have reached you."

"No," Talia said.

"They should not." The accusation remained unnecessary. Talvek had already repeated it to himself often enough for both of them. Lysa sent Pell towards the roofless storehouse with Fen and the first unloading crew. Pelts left for the healer room, fat moved towards the surviving stoves, and the field weapons attracted enough hands that Talvek ordered the crates placed beside the guard post until each weapon and prospective user had been counted. Halden crossed the market ruins towards the old work yard.

I followed because the direction had governed most of my life before Copper, mines, and relics widened the account. The yard had lost its roof. One wall remained beside the broken saw frame, while most of the tool rack had been burned for fuel or moved into other work lines. The ironwood I had cut before leaving Dunmere sat against the far fence beneath rain-dark ash. Several beams still carried my old cut marks.

The work looked rougher than anything I would now accept from myself, but the lengths remained straight beneath the surface damage. They had survived the first attack, the later herd, the weather, and the failure of almost everything built nearby. None had been used. Halden walked around the stack and tested the end grain.

"Dry beneath the surface. Two lengths are scorched but serviceable. Three need trimming."

"Why are they still here?" I asked. Fen stopped beside a split shovel he had been repairing with hide. His bandaged ear had healed, but the old limp remained.

"No fittings. Wade assigned a lifting crew, then the southern line broke and every spare hand went to roofs or wounded." The explanation arranged each shortage after the one that had created it. Strong timber without Iron fittings. Iron impossible without transport. Labour diverted to defence, then defence lost while roofs failed. Nothing had been deliberately wasted, but every useful thing had arrived in the wrong order. I had once turned down twenty Iron pieces a day in this yard.

At the time, it had been the safest future I understood, paid for work repeated beneath a shift bell by people whose expectations ended before dark. One Iron bar on the wagon was worth more than weeks of those wages, and two hundred stood within sight of a yard that no longer possessed enough workers to move them all. The comparison did not make the earlier choice feel small. Twenty Iron pieces had been the value of a day when Dunmere possessed a wall, roofs, a market, and enough people to argue over wages.

The bars could buy tools, fasteners, armour, and labour, but they could not purchase the days between then and now. Halden struck one beam with his knuckles.

"You had timber without Iron. Now you have Iron without enough people."

"Which is worse?" He looked across the survivors carrying pelts through broken doorways.

"People take longer to replace." Lysa found us with Talvek behind her. She saw the unused ironwood, the bars visible through the market ruins, and the workers already being divided among both.

"We use these beams first," she said.

"For the palisade?"

"For whichever structure keeps the most people alive before the next attack. Halden decides the load. Talvek decides where the remaining guards can hold. Pell counts what leaves the pile, and Mörk prevents the rest of us from pretending weight is negotiable." Halden looked towards Talvek.

"Where is the southern defensive line?" Talvek's attention moved past him towards the open approach.

"There is no southern line." He led us through what remained of Dunmere. The market had become a ration floor. The inn held wounded people and displaced families. Orven's old place had lost half its roof, while my former sleeping space had been torn apart rather than burned. Floorboards had been lifted, storage recesses opened, and the hearth wall broken down to the foundation. The same pattern crossed the town. Wade's stores had been opened, but grain remained scattered rather than taken.

The guard room had been searched beneath benches and inside walls. Buildings outside the path carried battle damage; those within it had been dismantled by something looking for a specific object or trace. Veinfinder responded to disturbed foundations before I deliberately called it. Broken stone held pressure differently from settled work, while dried blood retained faint warmth where enough life had left the body.

The creature's route ran through the town, from my former room and Orven's property towards the Cataract. The Heartwood Bird warmed as we approached the riverworks. My left ring finger began aching beneath the nail, and Talia moved closer when she saw the hand close. The Cataract had lost its upper frontage. Stone blocks filled the yard, the hoist frame had collapsed into the channel, and a reinforced lower door lay torn from its hinges.

Blood marked the threshold, brown where it had dried and pale where river spray continued washing it into the cracks. Talvek stopped at the opening.

"It went below."

"How far?" Halden asked.

"We do not know. The lower supports failed after it entered. Wade took three guards after it." Talia looked at him.

"And returned?"

"One guard came back." Behind us, Mörk organised the unloading while Pell objected to missing release marks. Dunmere had more Iron than hands, ironwood without fittings, and weapons without enough trained users. I placed one hand against the broken Cataract stone and let Veinfinder follow the disturbed pressure beneath the town. Something warm remained below.