Chương 14: Mysterious mages

When the deep winter sets in, the moisture in the ground freezes completely, turning the earth into a solid block that is closer to stone than dirt. To dig a trench through it, a human must first build a fire over the ground to thaw the top layer, dig an inch or two with an iron pickaxe, and then start another fire. It is a miserably slow process. But Jack's Night Shift did not need fire, as they were stronger than an average man and they did not need to rest.

From the window of his room, Jack looked down at the inner courtyard. It was the dead of night, and the snow was falling softly. Down in the darkness, the skeletons had already started working. Ten skeletons were swinging their iron pickaxes in a careful way to avoid making too much noise. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. The iron struck the frozen earth with brutal force. Shards of ice and hard dirt flew into the air.

When a pickaxe bounced off a particularly hard rock, the skeleton simply raised the tool and brought it down again, swinging with the exact same power every single time. Jack was sitting in his chair closing his eyes, managing the mental load. Having twenty-one active links was a heavy burden. Through the links, he directed a second squad of skeletons to gather large stones from the ruined sections of the castle walls.

They carried the heavy stones to the newly dug trenches, lining the bottom and sides to create the hypocaust—the underground heating tunnels. It took six hours of non-stop labor. By the time the eastern sky began to turn a pale orange, the foundation of the greenhouse was completely finished.

"Stop," Jack commanded mentally.

"Night Shift, return to the crypts." The skeletons immediately dropped their tools. They marched back toward the cellar doors, vanishing into the shadows just as the sun began to rise. A few hours later, the castle courtyard was bustling with human activity. Giles and the village carpenters arrived, their breath pluming in the cold morning air. They carried their saws, hammers, and measuring ropes, eager to earn their daily porridge and coal.

But when Giles walked into the inner courtyard to inspect the site, he stopped dead in his tracks. His wooden toolbox slipped from his hand, hitting the snow with a dull thud. Before him lay a network of perfectly straight trenches dug directly into the frozen earth. The trenches were lined with flat stones, creating a flawless maze of underground tunnels that connected to a large, empty fire-pit at the edge of the site. Beside the trenches, the displaced dirt was piled neatly into high, organized mounds.

"By the gods," Giles whispered, his eyes wide. The other carpenters crowded behind him, staring in utter disbelief. They walked up to the edge of the trenches, looking down at the stonework.

"How?" Old Miller gasped, taking off his wool cap and scratching his head.

"The ground is solid ice. It would take twenty strong men two full days to dig all this. And who moved these stones? Some of these blocks weigh over a hundred pounds!"

"Good morning, Giles," Jack's voice called out calmly. The men turned. Jack was walking toward them, leaning on his cane. Karen walked closely beside him, carrying a wooden tray loaded with steaming bowls of hot porridge for the workers. She kept her face completely straight, though she knew exactly what had moved those stones.

"Lord Jack," Giles stammered, pointing at the massive trenches.

"Who... who did this? The courtyard was flat yesterday afternoon."

"Help has finally arrived," Jack explained smoothly, looking out over the trenches with an expression of mild satisfaction.

"A small group of trustworthy mages arrived at the castle late last evening." Giles stared at Jack, his jaw dropping slightly.

"Mages? Here? But how?"

"Before my father passed away, he wrote a letter to a distant side branch of the Frost-Grip family, asking for aid," Jack lied, his voice carrying the perfect tone of quiet relief.

"It took two years for the message to reach them and for them to cross the continent, but they are finally here." Giles and the men looked at each other in sheer amazement. A side branch of mages returning to aid the main house made perfect sense to them, explaining how such an impossible task was finished overnight.

"But My Lord," Old Miller asked, frowning slightly.

"If they arrived last night, why did they immediately start digging in the freezing dark? Why not wait for the sun?"

"It is part of their training," Jack answered without missing a beat.

"They condition their bodies by working in the extreme cold. Furthermore, they are very private individuals. They have personal reasons for keeping their faces hidden and their voices unheard. You will meet them soon enough, but they are currently resting inside from the heavy labor." To the villagers, this explanation made sense. Mages and their arts had always been a mystery to common people. They were known for bizarre rituals, strict rules, and eccentric habits.

If anything, the idea of reclusive, silent men digging trenches in the freezing dark only made them seem more like real, powerful mages. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

"I see," Giles said, shaking his head in awe.

"Well, whoever these mages are, they work like absolute beasts. But Lord Jack... if you have mages to do the work, why do you need us to build the wooden frames?"

"Because we still don't have enough resources," Jack said, offering a small smile.

"These mages are here out of family obligation, doing us a massive favor. They will handle the impossible tasks, like digging frozen earth and lifting boulders. But I cannot ask them to do everything for free. The village must still pull its own weight, which is why your work is just as vital. The coal and porridge deal stands." The prospect of still earning their coal filled the men with renewed energy. They didn't feel replaced.

"We'll have the frame up and the glass set by nightfall, My Lord. You have my word," Giles grinned, picking his toolbox back up. The men grabbed their bowls of hot porridge, eating quickly before rushing to the piles of salvaged timber. Karen stepped close to Jack, lowering her voice so the carpenters wouldn't hear.

"A side branch of the family, My Lord?" she whispered, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"They have very strong bones," Jack replied dryly, tapping his cane on the stone. Karen let out a soft snort of amusement, shaking her head as she walked back toward the kitchens. By evening, the frame of the greenhouse was complete. It was a sturdy, long, rectangular building made of timber. The roof was pitched to allow the snow to slide off, and the large panes of glass were carefully set into the wood, sealed with thick pine tar to keep the cold drafts out.

The carpenters packed up their tools, exhausted but in incredibly high spirits. Jack made sure each man received their promised basket of coal. They left the castle praising his name, their loyalty firmly cemented by the warmth they were bringing home to their families. As the sun dipped below the mountains, casting the valley in deep shadows, a wooden sled was dragged up to the castle gates. It was Barnaby's apprentice. On the back of the sled was a massive, iron-banded wooden crate.

"From the forge, Lord Jack," the young apprentice said, chattering his teeth in the cold.

"Master Barnaby says he finished all three sets, exactly to your measurements."

"Thank you," Jack said, handing the boy an extra, small pouch of coal for his trouble. Once the boy and the mule were gone, Jack had the courtyard cleared. He unlocked the doors to the Great Hall and commanded Bones, Rusty, and Dusty to come up from the crypts. The three skeletons marched silently into the hall. Jack dragged the heavy wooden crate inside and pried the lid open with the edge of an iron fire-poker. Inside were three sets of steel armor. Jack pulled out the chainmail hauberks first.

They were incredibly dense, made of heavy iron rings that clinked loudly against the stone floor. It was so heavy that Jack could barely lift a single shirt with both hands.

"Put these on," Jack commanded the trio. The skeletons stepped forward. They easily grabbed the heavy chainmail and pulled it over their skulls. The mail cascaded down, covering their ribs, pelvises, and arms, hanging all the way down to their knees. Thick leather gloves were attached to the ends of the sleeves, slipping perfectly over their bony fingers. Next came thick, black wool tabards, which Jack draped over the chainmail to hide the shape of the rings and add bulk to the skeletons' frames.

Finally, Jack reached into the crate and pulled out the helmets. They were massive iron bucket-helms, completely enclosed. There were no visors to lift, no breathing holes punched into the mouth area, and no decorative crests. The skeletons lowered the iron helms over their skulls. The helmets rested perfectly on their chainmail shoulders. Jack took a step back, looking at his creations. Bones towered over the others, while Rusty and Dusty stood rigidly at his sides. The transformation was absolute.

There was not a single inch of white bone visible on any of them. The chainmail and the wool tabards gave the skeletons the appearance of heavily muscled, imposing warriors. The dark eye-slits of the bucket-helms revealed nothing but impenetrable blackness.

"Perfect," Jack whispered, a thrill of excitement running through him.

"You are no longer Bones, Rusty, and Dusty. To the outside world, you are the mages of the Frost-Grip side branch." This was the final piece of the puzzle. With this disguise, they could walk the castle grounds in broad daylight. If a villager saw them carrying a massive stone block or hauling a heavy cart, they wouldn't see horrifying undead monsters. They would simply see the reclusive, fiercely private mages who had come to save the valley. BANG. BANG. BANG.

The sudden pounding on the doors of the Great Hall made Jack jump.

"Lord Jack!" It was Karen's voice, who had gone outside for some reasons, muffled through the door. She sounded breathless and deeply panicked.

"Lord Jack, open the door! Please! I brought Giles and the hunters!" Jack's eyes narrowed. He motioned for his three armored mages to stand in the shadows near the back of the hall, acting as a silent guard. Jack hobbled over to the doors and pulled the iron bolt back. Karen stumbled into the room, followed closely by Giles and two of the village hunters. As the maid, Karen had been checking the outer courtyard gates when the men arrived. The men were pale, their chests heaving as they gasped for air.

They gripped their hunting bows tightly, looking over their shoulders toward the dark courtyard as if expecting something to jump out of the shadows.

"What is it, Giles?" Jack demanded, his voice sharp.

"What has happened?"

"The woods, My Lord," Giles gasped, pulling off his cap with a trembling hand.

"The hunters went out to check the rabbit snares near the timber edge. They... they found something." One of the hunters stepped forward, his eyes wide with fear.

"It was a deer carcass, Lord Jack. But it wasn't taken by wolves. It was slaughtered with iron knives. Stripped entirely to the bone. And all around the carcass..."

"Boot prints," Giles finished grimly.

"Dozens of them. And the remnants of a large campfire." Jack's grip tightened on his cane. Old Martha's warning had come true.

"Bandits," Jack said quietly.

"Yes, My Lord," Giles nodded.

"The Outlaws. They are a gang that usually preys on the southern trade routes, but the blizzard must have trapped them on this side of the mountain pass. They are moving north."

"Toward the village," Jack stated.

"Yes, My Lord," Giles looked directly at Jack.

"Merchant Gary's loud mouth must have reached them. They know this castle is holding imperial wheat. They won't stop at the village, My Lord. They are coming for the castle." Jack looked past Giles, out into the dark, snow-choked night. Now he had coal for the winter, food, and the foundation of his greenhouse. But none of that would matter if a gang of desperate, starving murderers burned his castle to the ground and slaughtered his people.

Jack turned his head slightly, looking toward the shadows of the Great Hall. There, standing still in their heavy chainmail and iron bucket-helms, his three silent mages waited in absolute readiness.

"Gather the men," Jack said, his voice dropping to a cold register that sent a shiver down Giles's spine.

"Tell them to bring their wood-axes and their hunting bows. We are locking the castle gates."