CH801 · Rewrite
☕ Support

Chapter 801: Endless City

“Is this… really necessary?”

Through the window of the command post, Echo watched the Sand Nation civilians stumble under the whip and fall to the ground. She could not keep the pity from her face.

“They have never known discipline,” Iron Axe replied. His voice was measured, respectful. “They live by the rule that the weak are prey to the strong. If we are to put these people to any use, short of sending them to war, this is the only way.” He paused a moment, then continued with rare hesitation. “I think your discomfort comes from something else. His Majesty is, at times, too generous.”

“Completely agreed.” Andrea, draped lazily over the windowsill, shrugged. “There is a saying among the nobles: carrots combined with sticks make the best way of ruling subjects. The bigger the carrots, the more benevolent the lord appears.”

“What are carrots?” Hummingbird asked, curious.

“A kind of food, similar to His Majesty’s corn — a specialty of the Kingdom of Dawn,” Andrea said. “But no matter how large the carrots, they must always be smaller than the sticks. Punishment must outweigh reward, or subjects learn nothing. A lord like Roland would be considered a black sheep in the City of Glow.”

“Rare as it is,” Ashes said, pouting, “I actually agree with you.”

Hummingbird rested her chin in her hands. “His Majesty is especially persuasive? The words he taught Thuram to say sound very reasonable — that collective power is stronger than any individual’s.”

“But Thuram only repeated what Roland told him to say.” Iron Axe shook his head, smiling. “Without seeing Neverwinter with your own eyes, you cannot imagine what kind of order His Majesty has built. I believe that one day all of Graycastle will become another Neverwinter — but that day is not today. To make these people remember the rules of the Southern Territory, whips speak more plainly than words.”

Echo sighed softly and said nothing.

“Commander.” A soldier stepped into the post. “There is a riot at the Fallingstone Clan and the Spring Clan. Some are confronting the Defending Army.”

“Over boarding the ship?” Iron Axe asked, his face going still.

“Yes. Those pushed into the water called for their families. They demanded the same food and reward, arguing that they were not the ones who refused to come to the Blackwater Valley — the Osha clan turned them away.”

“Who is guarding the camp?”

“Second Battalion of Flintlock.”

“Call up two squads and the young Osha men who wished to join the First Army. Tell them to assemble at the riot. I will be there immediately.”

“Yes, sir!”

As Iron Axe turned for the door, Echo stopped him. “Please don’t be too harsh on them.”

He stood in the doorway a moment, very still, then bowed. “I understand, Miss Silvermoon. I will do it in moderation.”

After he left, Echo returned to the desk, a heaviness settling in her chest. The relocation of the Sand Nation had not gone as smoothly as she had hoped. Though a decent life awaited anyone who followed Roland’s instructions, many had taken his message as a lie. Even those who had already received fertile land did not fully trust her, nor him.

She missed Neverwinter.

She had not expected to miss it, but she did — not the title, not the weight of leading a clan, but the particular hours she had stood at the top of the castle with the wind pulling at her hair and the whole mountain city spread below her, and she had opened her mouth and let Roland’s songs pour out. Melodies she had never heard before. Melodies that sounded like something she had always known and only now remembered. In those moments, she had felt untethered from everything she was supposed to be.

She had not sung for a long time since coming here. She wondered whether Roland had written anything new.

When can I sing out loud again?


“Oh—”

Simbady felt as though everything inside him had been turned upside down. With the rise and fall of the concrete boat, another surge of acid welled in his throat. He bent over the rail and heaved, heedless of the others doing the same along the side of the hull.

“Hey, are you all right?” Molly patted his back. His face was the color of old tallow. The concrete boat, steady as pavement in the harbor, had become a rocking leaf upon the open sea. It bobbed and swayed in the waves, its horizontal pitch unceasing — a special torture for the Sand Nation civilians who had never seen salt water before.

“Almost.” He let himself sag against the rail. “How long have we been out?”

“Five days.”

“That isn’t right.” Simbady forced himself to think through the nausea, his voice dropping to a murmur. “The Clearspring Clan lives in the oasis by the sea. We passed Iron Sand City at first dusk — which means this boat moves quickly. And yet we haven’t arrived at the Blackwater Valley.”

Molly stared at him. “You mean—”

“The destination was never the Blackwater Valley. Thuram lied. Wherever he is taking us, it is further south than the Choke Swamp.”

“Further south?” Worry crossed her face. “There is nothing there. Could they be lost?”

“The boat has been following the coastline the entire time. You don’t get lost on a coastline.” He pressed his fingers to his temple. “If we are heading somewhere closer to the southern point than the Choke Swamp, it can only be—”

“Everyone, pay attention!” Thuram’s voice cut across the deck before Simbady could finish. The man had materialized at the center of the ship as though summoned. “Good news — we are arriving at our destination. Pack your things, line up, and prepare to disembark. And be careful not to fall in the water this time. No one will fish you out.”

Simbady pushed himself upright and looked toward shore.

It was barren. No oasis. No green. On the horizon, rolling vapors and columns of smoke rose from the sea in the distance — a sight no amount of explaining could have prepared him for.

There was only one place that could produce such a view.

The Endless Cape. The exile ground of the Mojins.

Restless murmurs spread through the deck as more people noticed.

“This is not the Blackwater Valley! You lied to us!”

“Why have you brought us to the Endless Cape? Do you mean to abandon us here?”

“Let us go back! Please, I want to go back!”

“Silence!” Thuram’s voice cracked over the crowd. His need to conceal anything had clearly passed. “Did I ever say we were going to the middle of the Blackwater Valley? The valley’s tributaries run through the entire southern region — of course that includes the cape. Any underground Styx’s River extends from the valley. Am I wrong?”

Sophistry, Simbady thought, anger tightening his chest. If they had been told from the start that they were being sent to the exile ground, very few would have applied.

“No one is being abandoned.” Thuram raised his arm, his voice carrying over the complaints. “People from Osha and Graycastle alike will settle here with you. From this day forward, the Endless Cape is no longer an exile ground. It will be a newly born town. This is the order of the chief!”

Discussion

Suggest a change