Chapter 313: The Warlord’s Cargo, A Very Expensive Victory

The first person to complain after the battle wasn’t Sebastian.

It was a woman standing beside the ruined toll booth, holding a bleeding little boy against her chest.

"That was my husband’s roof!" she shouted, pointing at the smashed wooden building across the road. "He built that roof yesterday!"

Sebastian looked at the splintered boards, then at the woman. The shack had barely qualified as a building. But the boy’s face was pale, and a piece of wood had sliced his forehead open.

"Galleon," Sebastian called, "put a new roof on the border office. And keep the children away from the wreckage."

"With what timber?" the dwarf demanded. "Your grand entrance used half the lumber as kindling!"

"Take it out of the invasion budget."

"We don’t have an invasion budget!"

"Then start one."

Valerie pushed between them carrying a bundle of clean cloth. "Both of you, shut up. That boy needs stitches."

Her voice was enough to settle the argument. Aelion hurried over and guided the woman toward the town’s small clinic. His nineteen Elves were already helping the injured across the muddy shoreline. One carried a Sanctuary guard whose leg hung at a terrible angle. Another gave his own dry shirt to an Iron Coalition soldier with a deep cut in his stomach.

Sebastian noticed that last one.

"You’re treating them too?" he asked.

Aelion stiffened. "Lady Valerie instructed us to tend the wounded, Sovereign. She did not specify which army they belonged to."

"Good. Don’t make me ask twice."

The Elf blinked, then hurried after the stretcher.

More than three hundred scavengers had thrown down their weapons. They now sat in long rows on the dirt, stripped of their armor and watched by Sanctuary guards with spears. Some stared at Sebastian. Others stared at the dead men being carried away under canvas sheets. Their magnificent stolen buffs were gone, leaving swollen hands, shaking legs, and ordinary fear behind.

Wraith moved between the rows with a length of rope over one shoulder and his knives at his waist.

"Found eleven trying to crawl into the woods," he reported. "Caught ten."

"And the eleventh?"

"Still thinks he’s hiding. He picked a bush with no leaves."

Sebastian gave him a look. "Then go collect our genius before he freezes to death."

Wraith disappeared without another word.

Sebastian took one step toward the prisoners and nearly lost his balance. Pain shot from his left shoulder down to his fingertips. He clenched his jaw, but Valerie caught the small movement immediately.

"Sit down."

"I’m fine."

"Your sleeve is soaked in blood."

"It’s a fashion choice."

"Seattle."

That particular tone had defeated stronger men than Warlord Kael. Sebastian sat on an overturned crate while Valerie cut away his torn sleeve with a pocketknife. The skin beneath was purple and swollen. When she touched the bone, he sucked air through his teeth.

"You broke it," she said.

"Small fracture."

"You don’t know that. You don’t have a health bar anymore."

"I know what a broken arm feels like. I’ve had several."

"That’s not the comforting argument you think it is."

She wrapped his arm against his chest using a strip of cloth and a narrow wooden splint. He let her finish without protesting, which seemed to worry her more than the injury itself.

A heavy dragging noise interrupted them.

Galleon and two guards hauled Kael through the mud by the chain attached to his own breastplate. His helmet had been removed. Underneath was a broad, battered face with a broken nose, close-cropped gray hair, and a scar running from his ear to his jaw. Without the skull visor, he looked less like a nightmare and more like a very angry veteran with an expensive suit of armor.

"This one keeps demanding his sword," Galleon said.

"It’s a royal weapon," Kael spat. "It belongs to the Iron Coalition."

"It was lying in my lake," Sebastian replied. "Finders keepers."

Kael strained against the chain. His broken elbow was strapped awkwardly against his ribs, but he still managed to look offended. "You have no idea whose territory you’ve challenged."

"Funny. You said something similar right before I used your face to turn off your router."

A few prisoners lowered their heads to hide their smiles.

Valerie stepped forward with her ledger. "I have questions about your supplies, your ships, and the men under your command. Answer them, and your wounded get proper shelter. Refuse, and you can explain to them why they’re sleeping in the rain."

Kael glanced toward his soldiers. Several were barely old enough to grow beards. One was holding a bleeding hand against his stomach and watching their commander with desperate hope.

"They came voluntarily," Kael said.

"That wasn’t my question," Valerie replied.

The Warlord said nothing.

Behind them, the largest dropship gave a loud metallic groan. Galleon’s head snapped around.

"Nobody touch those engines!" he shouted at the scavengers unloading crates. "They’re still hot. Unless you fancy being roasted inside your own boots!"

A stocky prisoner in a greasy brown coat suddenly raised her hand. "The left engine’s coolant line is cracked. If you don’t drain the pressure, it’ll blow."

Galleon marched toward her. "And how would you know?"

"Because I built it, you bearded idiot."

The dwarf stopped. Then, slowly, he smiled.

"Well, that’s the first sensible thing anyone from this army has said. Name?"

"Merrit. Chief mechanic. And I’d like my hands untied before your town becomes a crater."

Sebastian looked at Valerie. She nodded once.

"Wraith," Sebastian called. "Bring her here. If she tries anything, give her back to Galleon."

"That’s cruel," Merrit muttered.

"You haven’t met him properly yet."

Twenty minutes later, the remaining pressure had been safely released from the ship. Merrit worked with Galleon on the exposed engine, arguing over every bolt. Sebastian watched from the dock while Valerie organized food for the prisoners. He had seen armies collapse after losing their leader. This one wasn’t collapsing. It was waiting, carefully, for somebody to tell it what happened next.

"They weren’t all soldiers," Valerie said quietly. "Merrit says half the crew were hired workers. Some were promised land on Earth. Others were threatened with losing their families’ food rations."

"Kael didn’t mention that."

"Of course he didn’t. Warlords rarely advertise the unpleasant parts."

Sebastian watched a young scavenger accept a bowl of stew from one of the Elves. The boy’s hands shook so badly he spilled half of it. Sebastian had fought enemies who could erase entire star systems. Somehow that sight annoyed him more.

"Keep the fighters separate from the crews," he said. "No weapons. Nobody leaves until we know where they came from. But feed them."

Valerie smiled faintly. "Look at you. Actual government policy."

"Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my reputation."

Galleon suddenly shouted from inside the dropship. "Boss! You need to see this!"

Sebastian climbed the loading ramp, one hand holding his injured arm in place. The cargo hold smelled of oil, wet leather, and burnt wiring. Crates of ammunition filled one wall. Spare armor and food barrels filled another. But the center of the hold was occupied by a tall brass cabinet bolted directly into the deck.

Merrit stood beside it, her face pale.

"That wasn’t on the cargo list," she said.

"What’s inside?" Sebastian asked.

Galleon had already forced open the front panel. Behind it sat a delicate circular instrument, its thin brass needles turning without any visible motor. A scrap of old parchment hung from one side. It bore a rough map of Earth, with a red mark directly over Sanctuary.

Underneath the map were three stamped words.

SURVEY. CLAIM. DELIVERY.

"An ordinary anchor changes local rules," Galleon explained. "This thing doesn’t. It listens to the anchors and records how much resistance they meet."

"Records for whom?" Valerie asked from the ramp.

Merrit swallowed. "The people Kael rented the equipment from."

Sebastian turned to her.

"Who?"

"The Charter Court," she said. "They sell invasion rights, passage routes, and whole worlds to whoever pays. Kael wasn’t supposed to win today. He was supposed to test the defenses."

Silence settled over the cargo hold.

"He sacrificed his men for a survey?" Valerie asked.

Merrit didn’t answer. She pointed at the spinning needles. One after another, they clicked into place beneath a small glass window. A red indicator lit up.

Galleon leaned closer and read the final line etched into the brass.

"Assessment complete. Defending sovereign confirmed."

Then a tiny metal hammer struck a bell inside the cabinet.

DING.

Merrit went white. "That means the report has been sent."

From outside came the scrape of chains and Kael’s sudden, furious shout.

"GET AWAY FROM THAT CABINET!"