By the fifth day after Wynmere's levy, the roads froze hard under the snow. The wind cut like a knife off the hills, howling through the gaps in Thornholt's walls. Even the crows kept low.
The men worked through the cold. Repairing ramparts, felling trees from the east wood, hauling stone to shore up the inner yard. Garran made them drill, even with bellies half-empty and fingers numbed by frost. A man who forgot how to hold a shield in winter would die come spring.
That morning, as the pale sun broke through thinning cloud, one of Aldric's men rode in from the north track, his mount lathered and panting.
Garran met him by the gate.
"Company on the road," the rider said between gulps of air. "Twenty men, maybe more. Marching slow. No banners raised."
"Armed?" Garran asked.
"Aye. Some. Few in mail. The rest… peasants, traders, smallfolk."
Jorik appeared beside them, the haft of his axe resting across his shoulders. "Could be deserters. Or worse."
Garran nodded. "Gather the captains. Bring them inside."
He ordered the gates barred but left a scout in the watchtower to track the column's progress. The approach from the north was a narrow path between two wooded ridges. No force of size could move unnoticed.
By midmorning, the company reached the clearing.
Garran, Mera, Jorik, and Aldric stood atop the wall, peering down.
A ragged-looking band made its slow way toward Thornholt. Some on foot, a few horses dragging carts. Men in battered leather, an old knight in a rusted helm, a priest, and a pair of women huddled in heavy cloaks. None flew colors, though one cart bore a faded scrap of blue and white — a sigil half-worn by wind and weather.
Mera squinted. "Those aren't deserters."
"Looks like a house guard," Aldric said, "or what's left of one."
Jorik spat over the wall. "Ruined men. Beggars with swords."
"Ruined men can still bleed," Garran muttered. "Open the gate. Keep the men ready."
They let the company through, twenty-three in all.
The leader was a tall, dark-bearded man with a thick scar down his cheek. His mail was torn at the shoulder. Beside him, the knight pulled off his helm, revealing a thin face, hollow-eyed and pale.
Garran met them in the yard.
"Name yourselves," he called.
The bearded man stepped forward. "Ser Bram Ulric, of House Grellan. These are my remaining men, and the Lady Eira Grellan, daughter of Lord Grellan of Durnfeld."
The name meant little to Garran. Durnfeld lay leagues to the west, across the river valleys, a modest holding in better times.
"Durnfeld fell last month," Bram went on. "Raiders under Ser Lorent Crenn. The hall burned. The lord slain. We fled east, seeking shelter. Word reached us of a hold that stood against Harrowmont's men."
Jorik grunted. "They heard true, but what makes you think we'll keep you fed?"
Bram glanced at the carts. "We have coin, though little. Arms, some grain. And our swords. Lady Eira has claim to the lands of Durnfeld, if a man could hold them."
Aldric muttered something dark under his breath. Garran caught it.
Another claim, another broken line. In a land like this, those were as common as stones. But a lady of blood, even of a ruined house, carried weight. Men rallied to names when their stomachs turned and their gods fell silent.
Garran studied the young woman. She stood stiff-backed despite the cold, face smudged with dirt, eyes clear and cold as the hills. She wore a heavy gray cloak with the remnants of a house badge pinned at the throat.
"You've no safe road left, Lady," Garran said. "No coin can buy new lands in Eldralore now."
"I know," she said. "But Thornholt stands. And we'll stand with it."
Mera leaned in close, speaking low. "More mouths to feed, but fighting men too. And no one else will take them this side of the river."
Garran weighed it. Every hand counted. Every sword mattered. And coin was coin.
"Very well," he said. "You'll have a place within Thornholt's walls. Food, fire, and steel at your side. You'll owe service, tribute when asked, and your swords when called. Break oath, and you'll swing from the walls."
Bram bowed his head. "We'll serve true."
Garran pointed to the eastern yard. "See to your wounded. We'll find room enough."
As the company moved off, Mera gave him a sidelong glance.
"You just bought yourself a whole new set of troubles."
Garran sighed. "In this land, that's as good as coin."