The Chronicle of the Worthy Son

The Smoke Clears

Over the next few hours, the fort finally burned out.

The enforcers had commandeered the settlement and were using three of the houses as medical operations for the injured, which included nearly half of the force, though most not critically so. Most of those had taken blows to the head or been trampled by horses, so the medics definitely had their hands full with men screaming about broken bones. But only one was in danger of dying, or so Able had learned when he had gone in to offer help only to be escorted out.

Those that had come out of the fray uninjured, or uninjured enough, were sent to salvage supplies from the fort. They later banded together in a large group to round up any horses they could find in the clearing. Able was sitting with a group of bruised-up men around a campfire who didn't seem to mind his presence. They spoke little, tired as they were with their spirits low in defeat.

Able wasn't talking either. He opened his notebook again to try to write down details that he might forget, but his hand kept shaking. His eyes strayed again to the bodies of the two rebels who had been killed in the mess of the wedge. They lay side by side, a single blanket stretched over the both of them as best it could. What was so distressing about them? In his time spent at the docks as a boy, Able'd seen maybe a dozen men killed in working accidents and even a drowned child. Why did this seem worse?

Sheriff Reeve had walked by where he was sitting many times while conferring with his officers. Able had only caught bits and pieces of these conversations but enough to surmise the sheriff was making plans for the morning and keeping his men focused on moving forward. He was walking by again with Senior Deputy Tanner when he suddenly noticed Able.

"You're still here." He sounded displeased.

"Sir." Able hastily stood.

Reeve strode up to him and scowled down at him. "The Southern Shores university, was it?"

"Yes, sir. Well, the Fourwind Heights one. There are two other—"

"Let me make myself perfectly clear," he broke in. "You are free to go as a man of Larbantry, as I have no evidence to detain you over. However, I am going to contact your superiors to ensure you are who you claim to be. If you clear my vetting, I will contact you to let you know so. Until then, I suggest you do not show your face in Adeptsby. And if your story is in any way untrue, I suggest you either explain yourself now or take care that we never lay eyes on one another again."

"I understand, sir." Able held his chin a bit higher. "And I have nothing to confess, because my story is true."

"Very good," Reeve replied tersely with a single nod. "That is all."

"I-if I may, sir... What happened here this afternoon?"

Reeve had been turning to go but now whipped back with a scowl. "You didn't see for yourself?" So he wasn't finding Able's audacity as intriguing as he had before.

"I saw a great many things, sir," Able replied urgently. "But I'm afraid I don't have the experience to fully understand it all. For example, how many rebels were there? It looked like a lot, but I couldn't very well count them. Did they outnumber you?"

Reeve actually seemed mollified. "Our best count was that there were a hundred twenty of them. To our ninety-four, that is an advantage. Not one I would typically consider significant, but it became a significant enough factor in combination with their tactics."

"How did they—what was that they did to the wall? And did you ever clear up how they got inside in the first place?" Able had started to feel more at ease, but Tanner's frown had yet to lift and now he advanced a step. Tanner wasn't tall like Reeve but had the posture of a man ready and willing to make up for it.