Over the next few days, life in Melinfield mostly returned to normal. The levy and the prospect of going to war had seemingly been pushed deep to the back of everyone’s minds as they focused on the upcoming harvest.

“It’s running as sweetly as I’ve ever seen,” Leonard remarked as he and Philip watched the millstone spin.

“It would have been nice if David could have gotten a new stone,” Philip sighed, “but I suppose this will do.”

“I’d say we’re done,” Leonard beamed, “and we have a week before the first of the harvest comes in to boot.”

“You wouldn’t mind if I helped around the fields if time permits, would you?” Philip ventured.

Philip was looking forward to replenishing some of his savings. He’d spent most of what he’d earned during the last harvest over the past few months. Millers only got paid when they were milling after all.

“Of course not,” Leonard replied, “as long as you can keep up with things here.”

“What on earth is that?” Leonard asked as the sound of hooves could be heard in the distance.

“Sounds like someone’s in an awful big hurry,” Philip remarked.

They both stopped what they were doing and made their way out into the late afternoon sun. Michael and Albert were also outside, looking up the road as the unmistakable sound of hooves grew louder.

Soon, a group of five horsemen riding single file came into view. Philip’s heart sank as he saw that the lead rider was riding under a pair of banners; on one was an eagle in flight over a crown flanked by a lion and a bull, both of which were stood on their hind legs, the seal of the royal house, House Soumair. This meant that they were on royal business. On the other banner was a white rock on a field of green. He did not recognize the second banner, but if the men were travelling under the king’s banner, it meant they were on royal business.

“Oh my,” Leonard said, as the men approached, “five horsemen, they must be on important business.”

One of the horsemen spotted them and brought his horse to a halt while his companions continued charging towards town.

“You there!” the horseman cried, pointing at Albert, “all men over the age of sixteen are to report to the town square at once, by order of the king!”

He did not wait for a response before charging off after his companions who had slowed their pace and were now shouting the same message at the curious townspeople who now lined the streets.

“What do you suppose this is about?” Leonard asked as Bert and Michael walked over.

“I suspect it’s the levy,” Philip breathed.

“Oh,” Leonard said, turning white, “he said every man is to go…”

“They’ll get everyone there and start excluding men until they get the number they want,” Philip said, trying to calm his boss down.

“How many will they want?” Michael asked.

Philip shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”

The four of them joined the trickle of men heading to the town square. The women watched anxiously, and a few began to weep.

“Say, do you think the mayor’s registered you yet?” Michael whispered, “you could just hide if he hasn’t.”

“Knowing him, he registered me the day I started working at the mill,” Philip replied as the thought occurred to him for the first time.

“He takes his job seriously, that Abraham,” Albert remarked, “you boys could learn a thing or two from him.”

The Melinfield town square was a rectangular grass field in the heart of the town. On one end stood the town hall, a modest two storey stone building, and on the other, the church, the tallest building in Melinfield. The square hosted weekend markets and fairs on special days but today, it hosted a growing crowd of nervous looking men. Leonard and Albert split off to speak to their friends in the crowd, leaving Philip and Michael on their own.

“That wasn’t there yesterday,” Michael remarked, looking at the small stage had been erected in front of the town hall, on the edge of the square.

Standing next to the stage was a thin, bespectacled man. His name was Abraham, the town’s mayor, and the most meticulous man Philip had ever met. He had a distant, aloof air about him most of the times, and when he spoke, he did so carefully at a pace that could not quite be described as slow.

What impressed him was Abraham’s memory. He knew the name, residence, and occupation of every single person in the town from the oldest crone to the youngest babe. His town registry was the stuff of legends throughout the province. Every birth, change of occupation or residence was noted therein within a week of the fact, and committed to his memory which he could retrieve in the time it took to blink.

Clutched in Abraham’s thin arms was the town registry. It was a massive tome which contained the details of every person who had ever lived in Melinfield for the past twenty years. He was speaking to one of the horsemen who was holding a banner in each hand. Philip also noted that he had a sword at his hip.

“Ah, there you lads are,” Peter said, pushing his way through the growing crowd, “do you think this is about the levy?”

“I don’t see what else it could be,” Philip replied.

“Maybe they’re going to announce that our army has turned the tables on the Morovians, eh?” Peter offered nervously.

“I doubt they’d bother to send five horsemen if that were the case,” Philip remarked, “in fact, I don’t think they’d bother telling us at all. They didn’t tell us about the invasion, or the defeat.”

“Oh,” Peter said, hanging his head.

“What’s the matter, getting scared already?” they turned to see David smiling cockily.

“We should get closer to the stage so that we can hear what they’re saying,” Philip suggested as the others gave David sour looks.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Lewis?” Michael asked. He stood on tiptoes to try and spot the missing member of their group amongst the crowd.

“I reckon he’ll be late,” David remarked, “he has to walk all the way from his farm.”

The boys pushed their way through the small but growing crowd until they were standing close enough to listen in on the mayor’s conversation.

“Some of the farms are fairly remote as you well know,” they heard the mayor say, “I think it will be another twenty minutes before everyone gets here.”

The bannerman looked at the crowd and scowled. “How many men of fighting age do you have?”

Abraham held up the large tome he was carrying and thumbed through it awkwardly. “We have five hundred and forty seven registered residents here in Melinfield,” he began.

“Oh sorry, five hundred and forty nine, there were two births last month,” Abraham muttered half to himself as he made a quick amendment to the tome with a quill, “how careless of me not to update that.”

The bannerman clucked his tongue irritably as Abraham thumbed through a few more pages.

“Two hundred and sixty six men,” he continued, running his finger down lines of numbers, “one hundred and eighty one of whom are able bodied and aged between sixteen and sixty.”

The bannerman scrunched up his face and looked around. “I heard this was a small town but still…”

Abraham looked at the man through his wire rimmed spectacles, waiting for him to ask the next question.

“How many have fought?” the bannerman asked.

“None,” Abraham replied at once.

“None?” the bannerman echoed incredulously.

“None,” Abraham repeated, “the only fighting close to us was during the first invasion twenty…”

Abraham’s voice trailed off and he looked off into the distance thoughtfully, “five… yes, twenty five years ago… and that was a royal army raised from all corners of the kingdom.”

He turned his gaze back to the bannerman. “They did not need to levy our town back then. They needed our food more than our men.”

The bannerman grunted. “Well, things are a bit more desperate this time. Now we are the ones being invaded.”

“Gods watch over us,” Abraham said, turning pale.

The bannerman nodded curtly and stalked off in the direction of the Melinfield Inn. Abraham watched him leave until he was called over by a group of concerned looking townspeople.

The boys waited in a nervous silence, scarcely noticing the withering summer heat as each was wrapped up in his own thoughts. As young men, they would be the first to be levied.

After about half an hour, a large crowd had gathered, and it looked like every man in Melinfield was indeed present. At least half the town’s women were watching from the road that ringed the square, and it seemed like the rest were watching from the windows of the buildings that overlooked it. Lewis had joined the boys ten minutes ago, and the crowd was beginning to murmur irritably as they sweltered under the summer sun. Abraham climbed onto the stage and gestured for everyone to sit down. Once everyone had complied, he adjusted his spectacles before counting them. Philip gave Peter an incredulous look and received a shrug and a tired smile in response.

Eventually, he nodded with satisfaction and whispered in a boy’s ear. The boy, in turn, ran over to the Melinfield Inn and returned with the five horsemen, and an additional dozen men. The newcomers caused a stir among the townspeople. They were all wearing steel armour and armed with swords.

They approached the square with an arrogant swagger. One of the armoured men climbed the stage and exchanged a few words with Abraham while the others spread themselves out along the perimeter of the square. The man stepped forward to face the gathered crowd and a hush fell over the square. He was a greying man in his forties and stood with his back ramrod straight.

“My name is Johnathan Barwick, and I am the bailiff in charge of this area,” his voice boomed across the square, and everyone present heard him easily, “a few days ago, a Morovian army crossed into our borders and are presently ravaging our lands as they march on to Gelt’s Pass, the last line of defence between them and these lands.”

He paused to let his words sink in before continuing, “if Gelt’s Pass falls, the Morovians will be free to do as they please in our fair province. Nowhere, from White Stone to Melinfield will be safe!”

There were a few gasps from the crowd and an uproar began but Jonathan’s voice overrode them, “an army is being raised as we speak and will arrive at Gelt’s Pass in three weeks.”

“However, despite our army’s best efforts to delay them, the Morovians will be at Gelt’s Pass in less than a week. It falls to us to defend it until help arrives,” Jonathan continued, “we are conducting an emergency levy so that you may defend your homes, your livelihoods and your families!”

“But what about the harvest?” someone asked, “who will bring in the harvest?”

There were shouts of support. “Yes, we still need to eat, and our taxes still need to be paid!” someone else yelled.

“The lords are raising their armies throughout the kingdom,” Jonathan replied, “the levies will only have to fight until they get to Gelt’s Pass in three weeks. After that, they will take over and drive the Morovians out of our lands.”

The mood lightened at this last piece of news, and Jonathan let them talk among themselves for a while before continuing, “we will now begin choosing the exemptions.”

The crowd fell silent, and all eyes were on him. Jonathan nodded to Abraham who stepped up and cleared his throat. “First of all, would everyone aged under sixteen and over sixty to please stand up.”

It took a moment for all of the elderly to stand up. A few had to be assisted by their neighbours. Abraham studied them for a moment before continuing, “thank you. You may leave the square.”

The fifty three people, mostly young boys left, many joining their relieved looking mothers and sisters on the periphery of the square.

“Those remaining with injuries or are ill, please stand,” Abraham said once the first batch of exemptions had left.

Twelve men stood. Some had their legs wrapped in bandages, a few had lame arms and one man was blind.

“If you’ll direct yourself to,” Abraham paused and turned towards Jonathan who pointed out one of his men standing on the far end of the square.

“That man,” Abraham said, pointing as one of the bailiff's men standing on the edge of the square raised his hand.

The injured shuffled their way to him and he checked each of their injuries carefully to see if they were legitimate. Once he was done, he nodded at Abraham to continue.

“Next, members of the merchant’s guild,” Abraham said.

There was an audible collective sigh of relief from a corner of the square as the merchants got to their feet, all smiles, while there was a murmur of discontent from the other onlookers. The merchant’s guild had argued that they played a vital role in keeping the kingdom and any war campaign running and that it would be a waste to have them on the front lines. There was some truth to that argument, however, the larger reason behind their exemption was the large contribution in gold they made to any war effort and their yearly gifts to the king and their local lords.

“Well good luck to you, lads,” David said, springing to his feet.

He had gone three paces when Abraham spoke, “David, didn’t you fail your guild exam last spring?”

“Eh?” David asked, looking back blankly.

Abraham flipped through his tome before looking back at him. “Yes, it says here you failed the exam are not yet a part of the merchant’s guild. Please sit down.”

“But…” David protested.

“Sit down!” Jonathan roared, and David practically fell on his arse in his rush to comply.

David gave his father a desperate look and the older man could only shake his head in exasperation as he and the other merchants left the square.

“Now, the following professions are also exempted from this levy,” Abraham said and the tension in the air grew, “please stand when your profession is mentioned.”

“Smith, smith’s assistant, miller, weaver” Abraham began, checking each person who stood as he listed off the professions.

“Looks like you’re safe, eh, Mikey?” Peter whispered.

Michael stood up, in a daze. He was sure he’d be marching to battle with the rest of his friends, but now that it seemed he was spared, he wasn’t quite sure how to feel.

“How about miller’s assistants?” Leonard asked as he got to his feet.

“If we were exempting miller’s assistants, we’d have said so!” Jonathan said tersely.

Leonard went white and cowered in place.

“Next,” Abraham continued, once the latest round of exemptions left the square, “the only men of their household.”

Eighteen men stood, and Abraham looked at each. “Not you, Jason,” he said, addressing the tanner, “your son was born last month, wasn’t he?”

“But…” the man began to protest, but he was silenced by a look from Jonathan. His wife wailed from the edge of the square as she clutched a new-born baby. Reluctantly, Jason sat down once again.

“Or you, Tom,” Abraham said, “your son is two.”

By now, the square was thinning out, and many who remained were fervently praying that they would qualify for the next exemption. Philip was under no such presumptions that he would qualify for one and resigned himself to his fate.

“There’s not many left,” they heard Jonathan remark to Abraham.

Abraham looked back at him and protested, “but for a household to be left without men, families would fall apart and be forced to rely on our lord’s charity.”

Jonathan looked at the crowd and sighed. “Fine, have them stand and I’ll decide if we can afford it.”

Abraham cleared his throat nervously. “Now, all fathers with sons still in the square, please stand.”

Awkwardly, nineteen men stood. Abraham looked them over and turned to Jonathan hopefully.

“Fine,” Jonathan decided at length, “but we can’t exempt a single one more.”

“That’s it for exemptions,” Abraham declared and there were wails of protest from those still sitting in the square and from the women on the edge.

“What about paid exemptions?” David’s father demanded from the edge of the square. Others added their protests to the growing din, demanding exemptions for their sons or husbands who were still sitting in the square.

“The only way anyone is getting exempted from this point forward is if someone takes their place,” Jonathan bellowed.

The protests grew louder, and Jonathan stepped forward menacingly with his hand on his sword. “That is final!” his voice boomed over the square.

The crowd fell silent, and Jonathan removed his hand from his sword. “Now,” he said, gently, “your people will be fighting a defensive battle behind one of the kingdom’s most formidable fortifications.”

“Not only that,” he added quickly, “but they will be fighting side by side with battle hardened veterans from the regular army.”

Jonathan paused as he surveyed the remaining men, counting them quickly. “You seventy six will be tasked with defending your homes. You will do your duty and return heroes,” he said, “you may now return to spend a night with your families and come back here tomorrow. We will leave for Gelt’s Pass at dawn. You are to bring your own blankets, clothes and enough food and water for five days.”

As Jonathan spoke, Abraham looked at each man in turn as he scribbled in a piece of paper.

“However, know this,” he said, his voice low and menacing, “this is a royal levy, and if any of you seventy six are not present for any reason by dawn tomorrow.”

Jonathan paused for effect before continuing, “you and your family will be made outlaws and forfeit all rights and properties. You will be branded as traitors to the kingdom and hunted down with every resource and as much prejudice as this kingdom can muster.”

David turned pale next to Philip and Peter let out a low whistle.

“Good, I had no intention of running,” Lewis muttered softly.

“Now,” Jonathan said, “when the mayor calls your name, please step forward and place your thumbprint next to your name on the notice of levy.”

And so Philip waited under the late afternoon sun for his name to be called. David did not react when his was called. He was simply staring off into the distance, numb. He had to be called three times before he came to his senses and trudged off towards Abraham, who was seated at a desk by the stage. Once he was done there, he joined his family. His mother was distraught, wailing all the way, while his father’s face showed a mixture of concern and fury.

Soon after that, Philip’s name was called. He walked over to Abraham who pointed to his name on a list, next to his address. He raised his eyebrow at the guarantor; Leonard and shot the elderly mayor a quizzical look.

“You can’t be on the town registrar without a guarantor,” Abraham explained, “Leonard agreed to take responsibility if you did anything untoward.”

“He never told me,” Philip remarked.

“It was a kind gesture,” Abraham said and added without malice, “but please keep in mind that if you decide to flee, he will be punished in your stead.”

“I won’t run,” Philip promised.

“Your thumbprint, please,” Abraham said, gesturing to an inkpad he had prepared.

Philip pressed his thumb into it and placed his thumbprint next to his name.

“Thank you,” Abraham said, offering him a well stained rag to wipe off any excess ink.

Philip looked around for David but couldn’t find him. He then looked to the square at Lewis and Peter who were still waiting for their names to be called, but they hardly noticed him. Peter had moved over to the edge of the square where he consoled his mother under the watchful eye of the bailiff’s men. Lewis, on the other hand, was giving his family a triumphant look.

Knowing that his friends would want to spend the night with their families, Philip decided to head back to the mill where he hoped to find Leonard and thank him for sticking his neck out for him.

Dusk was setting in when Philip approached the mill, and he was surprised to see a light on in the smithy. It wasn’t like them to be working this late, and it wasn’t like the day’s interruption would have caused a backlog.

As he got closer, he noticed Leonard standing in the door of the smithy, chatting with someone inside. It surprised him that Michael was given an exemption while none of the other apprentices to essential professions were, though he certainly didn’t begrudge his friend for it.

“Good evening, Leonard,” Philip called out, “I heard that you’re my guarantor.”

“Ah, that,” Leonard smiled sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his head, “well, Abraham said I needed to be your guarantor if you were going to be living in my house on the record and you seemed like a good enough good lad.”

“Thank you,” Philip said sincerely.

“For what it’s worth, you’ve been well worth the risk,” Leonard said, “just don’t run off tonight, or it’ll be my head on the block, eh?”

“I won’t, don’t worry,” Philip replied and looked into the smithy.

There were piles of scrap metal by the forge which was going full blast. Bert and Michael were hard at work melting down the scrap metal into uniformly sized ingots.

“You two are working late,” Philip shouted into the smithy.

The two smiths looked up at Philip, and Bert beamed broadly. “The bailiff said he’d buy every bit of iron I could sell him over the next month at three silver pennies a pound.”

Philip raised his eyebrows. “that’s a handsome amount.”

“We’ll have our work cut out for us,” Bert said, glancing at Michael, “we’re going to get our hands on every last ounce of metal the province has to offer.”

“Mind if I take a break, Bert?” Michael asked.

Bert looked at Philip, then back to Michael before nodding. “Make it quick, we have a lot of work to do.”

“I’ll leave the two of you to it,” Leonard smiled.

“I’ll come by your place in the morning before I go,” Philip promised.

“If I’m not awake, knock on the door until I am,” Leonard said.

“Sure thing,” Philip replied as the miller walked off towards his house.

Jason, one of the farmers whose son had been levied, walked up to the smithy and started chatting with Bert about Michael’s exemption. On an unspoken agreement, the two boys walked over to the stream that ran behind the mill. The

“I’d meant to go along with everyone, you know,” blurted Michael.

Philip drew a deep breath to dispel his melancholy and turned to his friend. “You shouldn’t feel guilty about being exempted.”

He smiled broadly before adding, “just act the way David would have… which is not something I ever thought I’d say.”

“He did look like it was the end of the world,” Michael grinned as he recalled the look on their cocky friend’s face.

“He’s worried for nothing,” Philip said, “as the bailiff said, we’ll be behind fortifications, and we only need to hold out for a month.”

“If you say so,” Michael said dubiously.

“We’ll all go off on a grand adventure,” Philip said, looking at the mountains to the south, “shoot a few arrows and come back safe with great, though embellished tales that you won’t be a part of.”

Michael smiled despite knowing that Philip was just trying to cheer him up. “When you all come back, the first round of drinks will be on me.”

Philip looked over his shoulder at the smithy before turning back to Michael. “With the business you’ll be doing, the first week of drinks ought to be on you.”

“Come on, Michael, back to work!” Albert called out before Michael could think up a retort.

“You’re dreaming if you think he’s splitting his profits with me,” Michael said, shaking his head, “Gods watch over you… all of you.”

“And you,” Philip replied, as Michael returned to the smithy.

Philip turned his attention back to the mountains to the south. Everything will be fine, the logical part of his brain repeated, it’s a defensive battle behind strong fortifications. Remember what the Academy taught you about the Morovian army; that it was relatively small and thus used sparingly. Their tactics revolved around minimizing losses. They wouldn’t mount something as costly as an all-out siege on fortifications as strong as Gelt’s Pass. They would rattle their sabres and burn a few farms as a warning not to invade them again in future.

He could find no fault in the argument but still couldn’t shake the fear and dread of going into battle. He then wondered if Frederick would be called from the Eastern Marches to deal with this siege. He was sure the Galataens would have pushed one of their legions close to the border once they’d heard of the Celethir attack so perhaps his master wouldn’t be able to come after all. Would he want to see him as part of a militia? Would any of his friends or teachers from the Academy be at Gelt’s Pass? Did he want to see them?

In his heart, Philip knew he did not wish to see any of them. Partly because he was ashamed. Anyone from the Academy who stood on the battlefield would stand as part of the elite, while his ranking would be as low as they came. Philip heaved a great sigh. He wanted nothing more than for this to be over so he could return to his carefree provincial life.

It was still dark when Philip knocked on Leonard’s door. It opened almost at once to reveal a thin middle aged woman who had to crane her neck to look up at him.

“Good morning, Ruth,” Philip said.

“Oh Philip, I hardly slept a wink last night,” Leonard’s wife said with tears in her eyes, “it’s just awful what’s happening, isn’t it?”

“It’s not so bad,” Philip said, “we just have to sit safely behind castle walls for a month. We’ll be back before you know it.”

“Do you think so?” Ruth asked hopefully, “Jenny’s boy is being forced to go and she’s beside herself at the moment.”

“I do,” Philip replied with conviction he did not feel. He peered past Ruth into the darkened house, “is Leonard up? I promised to say goodbye.”

“Leonard,” Ruth called over her shoulder, “Philip is here to see you!”

They both heard a familiar grunt from the bedroom and shared knowing smiles.

“I’m sorry dearie,” Ruth said, “and you came all this way too.”

“It’s fine,” Philip said, he looked over his shoulder and saw a trickle of men making their way from the farms to the square.

“I had better get going, it’ll be Leonard’s head if I’m late,” Philip said, “tell him I came by and not to worry. I’ll be back in time to help him with the harvest.”

“I will,” Ruth promised, “do look after yourself.”

Philip’s heart pounded as he made his way towards the town square, and his legs felt weak. He felt strangely ambivalent about being made to kill, however. He had been trained not to concern himself with such things at the Academy. What they hadn’t been able to train out of him was his fear of fire. If he had gotten over that, would he have been part of the invasion force? Perhaps, and perhaps he would have been killed in that ambush… or turned the tide.

“Hey, Phil!”

Philip looked up, happy to be distracted from such pointless thoughts and saw Lewis waving at him. The diminutive man was already standing in the town square under the watchful eye of the bailiff’s men. His knees went weak as he caught a glimpse of the flares in their hands, and he quickly forced himself to focus on his friend who was grinning from ear to ear. Knowing him, he had probably been the first one to arrive. He was surprised to see David standing next to him. He’d half expected him to have run off, or at the very least be one of the last to arrive.

“Good morning lads,” Philip said, as he shook Lewis’ hand.

“Didn’t expect to see you here this early,” he remarked, shaking David’s hand.

David scowled and looked over in the direction of his family who were standing on the edge of the square. “I’ve been getting an earful since yesterday, I thought I might as well get here early and have some peace.”

Philip smiled and was pleasantly surprised that all his trepidation had gone after exchanging just a few words with his friends.

“You know Phil, I was just telling Lewis here that the most important thing is that we all stick together,” David said, glancing around the square, “we’re friends and we go back a long way.”

“We only met last autumn,” Philip pointed out, greatly amused.

“Well it’s about the quality of time spent together,” David continued without missing a beat, “and our quality makes the time worth a hundred years… more even.”

“We’ll look out for one another, don’t you worry,” Philip said and eyed David’s bulging backpack, “what’s say we start looking out for one another by pooling our resources over the march south?”

“What do you mean?” David asked.

Philip shot Lewis a mischievous look before patting David’s backpack. “I mean let’s share our food. All I have is a couple loaves of bread and a skin of water.”

David’s jaw dropped and he was about to refuse but thought better of it. “Fine,” he said at length, “but I expect you to never be more than two paces away from me when the battle starts.”

“Done,” Philip said, shaking David’s hand, “but that does depend on them.”

David followed Philip’s gaze to the bailiff and grunted before turning to Lewis. “Are you in?”

“Sure, but if you drag me down, I’ll leave you behind,” Lewis warned and looked over at the bailiff’s men, “do you think they’ll give us swords and armour?”

“I doubt we’ll get swords,” Philip remarked, “you wouldn’t know how to use one anyway.”

“I’ve done plenty of training,” Lewis protested.

“Here comes Peter,” David said, as Philip was about to say something insulting, “they say his father offered to take his place in the levy, but they refused.”

“I can believe that,” Philip remarked as he followed David’s gaze.

Spotting Peter was easy enough. He towered over the people around him. He was flanked by his who mother stood half a head shorter than he and his father who stood a full head shorter. His mother was weeping openly, while his father tried to hide that he was brushing a tear from his eye periodically.

“Must be nice to be so loved,” David remarked dryly.

“You know your parents were upset at you for your sake,” Lewis pointed out.

“I don’t want to hear that coming from you, mama’s boy,” David shot back.

Lewis turned red and Philip placed himself between them quickly, fearing that they would soon come to blows.

“Say, what’s going on between you and Janet?” Philip asked, placing a hand on Lewis’ chest.

“Janet?” Lewis echoed.

“You had that matchmaking chat planned the other day,” Philip reminded him.

“Oh her,” Lewis said, letting his anger subside, “we’ve put it off.”

“How’d you manage that?” Philip ventured, “your mother seemed quite adamant.”

Lewis shrugged. “I convinced my da that there was no point in matchmaking when we’re about to march to war. He saw the wisdom in that and convinced my ma.”

There was a commotion in the square as Jonathan approached with Abraham two steps behind. In the corner of his eye, Philip spotted Peter hug his parents before entering the square. Abraham’s finger jabbed at people as he counted the people in the square. When he was done, he nodded to Jonathan who stepped up to the stage.

“Good people of Melinfield,” he began, “you have done well to assemble here in such a timely fashion. We must now proceed to Gelt’s Pass with all haste. If all goes well, we should be there in four days.”

Abruptly, he spun on his heel and descended from the stage. His men began shouting orders at the levies, having them assemble into a column three men wide. Once they were organized, they marched out of town with Jonathan and his five horsemen in the lead. The bailiff’s remaining twelve men brought up the rear to make sure no one fell behind.