Fortress of Hope

6

Chapter six.

Work is in full swing. Problems are multiplying.

Thanks to joint efforts, the place for the future fort was almost completely cleared: trees and shrubs were cut down, boulders and stone fragments were dumped into a huge pile. 

Now it is much easier to imagine the outlines and location of future buildings. Most of the people worked with their bare hands - from the tools there were about a dozen axes, heels of saws and the same number of hammers. But, despite this, the work was in full swing and subsided only with the onset of darkness. Now a dozen men, under the supervision of Drovin, were driving thick stakes into the ground, marking the contours of the protective wall. Only she could protect us from attack. That the attack would definitely happen, I had no doubt. 

After watching the work and exchanging a few words with Drovin, I went on. My leg buckled and, despite the protests of Ricard and Father Flatis, I got rid of the annoying crutch with great relief. He was still limping a little, but he expected that in a week the limp would disappear. I could save my leg and continue to use the crutch, but it was too much of a constraint on my freedom ... and made a bad impression on people. The leader must stand firmly on his feet and walk with the no less firm step of the leader. And not to hobble around somehow, convulsively clinging to a gnarled stick ... 

Glancing around, I went outside the camp, out of the corner of my eye noticing that two warriors were following me - Ricard ordered no other way. Runs around me like a hen with a chicken. Deciding not to pay attention, he examined the forest adjacent to the camp, or rather its miserable remains. At the distance of the arrow's flight, all the trees were felled, and now the men were cutting branches from the logs and dragging them to the camp. We need a lot of wood. 

After some thought, I assigned Drevin to the construction of a communal house. Heavy rains will soon begin, and a roof over your head will not hurt. Drevin quickly got down to business and literally in one day the dense grove disappeared without a trace. True, he grumbled a little when he heard my order to cut down the grove completely, to the last tree and stunted bush, but he did not dare to argue. What Drevin considered a waste of time was to me an important part of the defense of the fort - I was not going to give possible enemies a place to hide. Now all the space around the camp can be seen at a glance. And the mouse will not hide - there is simply nowhere. A wide strip of bare land separated the main part of the gorge from the future fort. 

The tree unsuitable for construction work was taken away by the business executive, and now a cheerful clatter of axes was heard from the cave. Koris made shelves for our few possessions and provisions. I expected to remedy the problem of lack of food with the help of six hunters all day long disappearing in the vicinity of the Horseshoe in search of game. They had already dragged several carcasses of deer and were not going to stop there. Unfortunately, only part of the meat was saved for smoking and drying, everything else was sent to the cooks' cauldrons and, after a short stay there, disappeared without a trace in the stomachs of hungry people. 

Lytas hinted that there are many more game outside the spurs of the Horseshoe and that the amount of prey will undoubtedly increase. I agreed, but forbade leaving the gorge. I couldn't get rid of Ricard's story of hunters who had disappeared without a trace, and it was a few days' journey from here, much closer to the relatively safe frontier lands. So let the result of the hunt be meager, but the hunters themselves will return safe and sound. 

But the problem with the harvesting of meat must be somehow solved. And decide quickly. The current volumes of daily accumulation of food did not suit me at all. Too slow. Too little. 

Watching the work of lumberjacks, I thought about the possibility of creating another group of hunters, but quickly threw this idea away - there were not enough workers. Most of the men were taken by Drovin to build the stone wall of the fort, the rest felled wood, dragged logs to the camp or stood guard. Only women and children remained relatively free. But you can't send them out hunting. 

Although… 

Turning to the guard standing nearby - strenuously pretending that he was admiring the beauty and grandeur of the spurs of the Horseshoe and generally happened to be here by chance - I grinned and ordered Ricard to be called. The guard nodded understandingly and ran to the camp. Watching his light movements and swift running, I sighed enviously. 

While waiting for Ricard, I took up the thought that came to mind. At this time of the year, in addition to game, berries, mushrooms, roots and other edible plants grow abundantly in the forests. I myself did not understand this at all, but I hoped that there would be several people in the camp who could distinguish a black grebe from an edible mushroom. A few tightly packed bags of dried roots and mushrooms make a great addition to a winter meat diet. A dozen women, accompanied by several guards, can easily cope with the collection of edible plants and mushrooms, and they will also be protected from predators. It's worth a try. And if you manage to collect a sufficient supply of food for a long winter, then this will be a real gift of fate. 

I outlined my considerations to Ricard, who arrived in time. The giant agreed and went to equip a group of collectors. 

- Don't skimp on the guards! - I shouted at his back, - At least three went.

Having already studied the character of Ricard, I had no doubt that the zealous big man would decide that even one warrior would be enough to protect his eyes. Or even think that if anything, then the fighting women themselves will cope with any enemy.  

To my delight, in the evening, the entire population of the camp was happy to eat mushroom soup seasoned with fragrant herbs and roots. The sortie turned out to be more than successful - evidence of this was the neat rows of drying mushrooms, roots and herbs laid out on the canvas. The namesake walked proudly with his shoulders squared, the women unanimously assured that all this was edible and satisfying, and there were still many walkers left in the grove. My mood skyrocketed. Plant foods keep much longer than meat. 

Then the mood dropped sharply, and pride in oneself evaporated without a trace - it turned out that people, even without my wise guess, knew perfectly well what riches nature keeps, where exactly to look for them and how to use them. And they didn’t make sorties for mushrooms, roots and other goodies for only one reason - I forbade them to leave the settlement. And as soon as he allowed it, there was immediately more food in the cauldrons. Damn... I'm pretending to be a wise leader, but I had to not pretend to be God knows what, but simply consult with knowledgeable people. Well, I won't make that mistake next time. 

Having eaten to satiety, I sincerely thanked the skilled cooks and stepped aside. I needed privacy to collect my thoughts. 

I am pleased with the progress of construction work, with the wall, however, a slight hitch, but I prudently did not rush the master. Let the work progress more slowly than you want, but everything will be done properly. Otherwise, at the first assault, everything will fall on our heads, making the work of the attackers easier. My only military strategy was based on the principle of a firmly locked door - no one is at home, come back in a year or two, or better not come at all. We do not expect or welcome guests. 

Provisions were slowly but surely increasing, and with a bit of luck we should be able to gather enough supplies to get through the winter without going hungry. Thanks to the stupidity of my past self, the community was left without pets, and now I was ready to sell my soul for a dozen chickens and a couple of cows. Alas, it all remained a pipe dream. The nearest border town was a month away from us. The biggest problem was the almost complete lack of salt, the meat had to be smoked and cured. A couple of months only on smoked meat and a lot of patients are provided. We could not even dream of fresh meat - we could not build a glacier due to the lack of ice or snow. Here next year - if we live to see it - we will definitely build a glacier until the snow melts. 

I intended to survive the winter and not lose a single man. Losing people... this is an unaffordable luxury in the Wild Lands, where there were practically no settlements not only of people, but of all intelligent races in general - in which case there is no way to restore the loss. Even the dwarves who lived underground avoided these places. The mountain people have always been distinguished by enviable prudence. 

Having closely studied the map of the Wildlands, I found on it seven marked human settlements at a sufficient distance from us. This isn't the first time the Royal Office (and I think the Church of the Creator) has sent out settler units in an attempt to gain a foothold in the Wildlands. Judging by the map, our detachment was the seventh in the last twenty years. I know nothing about the fate of the previous detachments, with the exception of multi-colored marks on the map. 

For a moment, the crazy thought crept into my head to equip a detachment of twenty of the best warriors and send it to the nearest settlement, but having considered all the pros and cons, I regretfully threw the idea away. Too dangerous. I could not leave the camp without protection. I will return to this plan when the protective wall is built. In the meantime, it's up to the throat. 

I gathered those responsible for the work and, after waiting for them to sit in front of me in a semicircle, asked about the progress of the work. Drevin took the floor, showing with all his appearance that he and his people do not sit idle and do not eat bread in vain:

- We have finished cutting down trees near the fort, cleared tree trunks from branches and branches, some of the logs have already been delivered to the camp. We'll move the rest of the logs in the morning and start laying the communal house, sir.

- How many people do you have? I asked.

- Twenty people, sir, - Drevin replied sedately, - Another ten people won't hurt, of course, but there's nothing to be done about it - he spread his hands. 

I nodded in confirmation - most of the people were involved in the construction of the wall, and added:

- We'll have to make do with what we have, Drevin. There are not enough workers for everyone. How are you? I turned to my namesake. Koris has only old men, women and children under his command, so I didn't expect much success. But he managed to surprise me:

'Today we were arranging the cave, sir,' Koris said. 'We filled up the gap in the floor with heavy debris, made enough shelves and boxes to store provisions. We smoked some meat for the winter. Almost a whole deer carcass. They wanted to accumulate more, but there was no meat - the namesake could not resist the sarcastic phrase, throwing an eloquent glance at Litas.  

He opened his mouth indignantly, intending to express everything he thinks, but Ricard's heavy hand that fell on his shoulder prevented him from doing so.

"Great," I smiled, delighted with the good news. Now you can not be afraid that bad weather will damage the provisions - Tell the people that I am pleased with their success. As for meat, there will be more. I'm sure Lythas and his hunting party are doing their best, aren't they?

Yes, sir! – Litas blurted out, scorching the grinning Koris with a furious look, – We brought four carcasses of deer and a whole bunch of hares! We can't take any more! Sir, - Litas turned to me, - More hunters are needed, then there will be much more prey. 

“I can’t give people, at least not now,” I drawled thoughtfully, figuring out how to strengthen the detachment of hunters without weakening the construction teams, “That’s what, as soon as the construction of the community house is completed, I promise to give four more people. For now, nothing. What's with the wall? I turned to the thoughtful Drovin. 

- Today we marked the outlines of the future wall with stakes, put together several construction platforms. Well, tomorrow, having prayed to the Creator, we will start digging a hole under the base of the wall - Drovin said with dignity. 

- So everything is in order - I tiredly summed up, - Do not forget: there is very little time left. Expect the worst and hope for the best. Everybody's Free.

After everyone left, I looked at the star-studded sky for a long time and thought about the future. With each passing day, tension grew in me. 

Soon. It will be hot in here very soon. It's as hot as hell can be.  

****

Glory to the Creator, the night passed without incident, and the next day the work began to boil with a vengeance. Most of all, the Horseshoe now resembled an anthill, seething with life, caught in the pouring rain. The entire space of the future fort is filled with the noise and hubbub of construction. I tried to help, but the ubiquitous Ricard stopped my fluttering in the bud. 

- Well, how will he press down with a stone? - He commented on his actions, - Or hit with a log? What shall we do then, sir? We can handle it ourselves - we have been accustomed to hard work since childhood. 

Realizing that the big man is an insurmountable obstacle, I gave up. I took the tube of papers from him and, sitting comfortably on the warm stone, plunged into reading. I was especially interested in papers that had not yet been read. Having chosen one, I glanced over it and chuckled in surprise, this document turned out to be very entertaining. The name alone was worth a lot - "Magical Examination". Yes, and the seals inspired respect: the red sealing wax of the royal office and the bold bright blue plaque of the Academy of Magicians. Despite the abundance of solid seals, there is very little text:

Magic Verification:

An examination carried out by three masters of the school of magicians revealed in Baron Koris Van Yser only a small rudimentary magic of the ninth degree Fortifier. No affinity for elemental magic was found. Education in the school of magicians is recognized as inappropriate. 

And that's all. It's even embarrassing. As far as I knew, the first degree was the best - to rise to which it is given only to very few. The last - the tenth degree meant the complete absence of magical abilities. Complete inability to touch the magical source. Most of these people are incapable of doing magic. 

I have the ninth degree, which meant almost the same thing, and what is most sad, the crumbs of talent showed up, perhaps, in the most useless direction of magic. Fortifier Magic. I am not destined to create a blazing fireball or call down torrential rain. All I could do was make any solid object even harder... and more... and more... and so on ad infinitum. Useless gift. Creator's mockery.

An old legend surfaced in my memory - although I did not remember exactly where I heard it (another strange trick of my bruised head) - about the powerful magician of the past, Illar the Recluse, who decided to retire from the world in his tower, rising not far from the wall of some old city. 

The reasons that made him do this are unknown - someone spoke of unrequited love, someone claimed that Illar was disappointed in the world around him - but one way or another, he fulfilled his decision. Once closed behind the magician, the doors of the tower never opened again. For many years, Illar's only connection to the world was only a basket tied to a rope, which once a week he lowered from the top floor for provisions and mail. 

This went on year after year, inexorable time ran forward, and one day the shopkeeper came and did not wait for the lowered basket. Not in a week, not in a month. Rumors spread around the city about the death of the old magician, which also reached the city government. The then burgomaster ordered the servants to enter the tower and find out what happened to the recluse, and if he died, then bury the mortal body with honors.

 Good intention. 

It's just that nothing came of it. No one was ever able to get inside the Illara tower. Illar did not waste the time spent alone, and day after day, year after year, he influenced the walls of the tower with his gift of the Fortifier. From the foundation to the tip of the peaked roof. Axes broke against wooden doors, pickaxes bounced with sparks from indestructible stone walls, stained glass windows easily withstood hits from crossbow bolts and stones, and even combat spells did not leave a single trace on them. The high tower of Illar became an impregnable tomb for him. And so much strength was invested by the old recluse in the stones of the tower that even after the lapse of centuries not a single soul could supposedly penetrate inside. Beautiful legend. Illar the Recluse is a mage with an exceptional gift in Fortifier magic. 

Judging by the laconic scroll, I have a similar magical talent, only many times weaker. Glancing at the date on the tattered document, I was convinced that the examination was carried out when I was ten years old. So, my father took me to the capital - I doubt very much that the magicians of the capital came to our family castle. It follows from this that my father was extremely interested in my magical gift. The Noble Mage is another completed rung up the rank ladder. But my father suffered another cruel disappointment. Here, too, the son turned out to be mediocre and worthless. 

However, it was only the first of a series of misfortunes that I delivered to him. Glory to the Creator, I do not remember my shameful past. A disgraceful offspring for my proud father. Neither a strong character, nor magical abilities, nor, at worst, the ability to manage affairs. What could be worse? 

Baron Resar Van Yiser did everything possible to rise to a high position in society, having spent his whole life on it, and expected that his only heir would multiply the glory of the Van Yiser family many times over ... and it took me a couple of years to destroy everything to the root and cover a disgrace to our name. It is good that the poor father did not live to see this terrible day.

So. Enough. It is necessary to get rid of whining thoughts and self-abasement. I can always cry to myself in a woolen vest, but now I need to try to conduct a small audit in my bruised head and understand what I generally know and can do. First, let's look at what little I know about magic.

The most important thing is that the magical gift manifested itself chaotically and heredity did not affect it in any way. In a family of powerful magicians, an offspring could appear who did not even have the rudiments of magical talent. And vice versa - magicians with an amazing gift sometimes appeared in an ordinary peasant family. And one more thing - the curse, and maybe the blessing of the human race, was that it was impossible to choose a gift, just as it was impossible to learn how to handle magic of a different kind. With what was born, it will be. He who knows how to command the fiery element will not be able to cause even a small rain. Never. 

The most powerful was elemental magic - the same four elements - air, fire, water and earth. Magicians who wielded the elements were highly valued. Battle mages. Capable of commanding the destructive power of the elements and with one wave of the hand, raining fire or an ice storm on enemies, opening the ground under an entire army, or incinerating with lightning. The elite of any army and the dream of any conqueror. 

In our kingdom, elemental mages served the crown and only her. It has been like this for a long time - despite the fact that a couple of centuries have already passed, the memories of the war of magicians were still fresh in the memory of people. Yes, and there is still plenty of evidence of that terrible war - what the same Wild Lands cost. 

The ruler was wise enough to understand how dangerous independent magicians were and was not going to let go of control over them. Either service in the academy of magicians, or ... there was no other choice, just as there were no protesters against such orders. And if there were dissatisfied, then very quickly they quietly and imperceptibly disappeared. On the other hand, the Emperor did not skimp on the maintenance of the Magic Academy and more than generously paid for its services. Carrot and stick. I repeat - the Emperor is undoubtedly wise. 

In addition to elemental magic, there were still quite a few directions, but I practically did not understand this. I only knew that they were enough. The most revered of them, of course, were the Healers. Although some behind their backs called them royal assassins. It is understandable. If you can push a frozen heart, then you can also stop it. 

A lot of dignitaries and nobles who disagreed with the policy of the king died safely for quite prosaic reasons - some from a sudden blow, some from some exotic disease, some had an old sore woke up or a wound opened. And here is a coincidence - all of them were treated by the Healers and, oddly enough, they could not cope and only shrugged their hands in dismay - they could not save them. The mob, of course, did not know about this, but in the circles of the nobility, bad rumors crept, crept. One is scarier than the other. It got to the point that another nobleman, fearing for his life, did not send for the Healers, even when he was on his deathbed, preferring their devout prayer to the Creator and healing herbs to their magic. Something I digress.  

My magical talent - the gift of the Fortifier, occupied, perhaps, the very last line in terms of need. Fair enough. Theoretically, I can increase the strength of a wooden board to the strength of granite, or even an iron plate, although this will take several months. So what? It is easier to order an iron plate to an ordinary blacksmith and not suffer. Yes, and several times cheaper. The only practical application of the gift of the Fortifier is in strengthening especially expensive things for wealthy families - old books, trinkets, ancient stained-glass windows in temples and family chapels. And of course, the strengthening of weapons and armor - the sword that has passed through the hands of the "Fixing" sword no longer needs to be sharpened and be afraid that the blade will shatter into pieces from a heavy blow with an axe. Thin armor can easily withstand a direct hit from a crossbow bolt. The stronger the magic talent of the Fortifier, the more durable the spells cast by him and the stronger they are. But in the past few decades, not a single child has been born with a strong enough talent for Fortifier magic. 

There is nothing to say about me - the ninth degree. A thin twig can enchant. But no more.

Scratching the back of my head, I chuckled in surprise and tossed the scroll aside. Weird. As soon as I read the scroll and thought about its meaning, I instantly got quite logically connected and meaningful memories. I even remembered an old legend. Various rumors and gossip. And no headache. And if I try to recall the face of my father or any passage from my childhood, my head begins to crack from pain, and so on until I switch to something else. And how to understand all this? Selected memory loss? The complete disappearance of the past personality with the preservation of all knowledge. Is that possible? 

Even now, as I thought about it, I felt a tight spring of pain begin to twist in the back of my head, ready to straighten out sharply, plunging me into yet another abyss of torment. Hastily jumping up, I looked around, trying to distract myself from thinking about the strange things going on in my head. 

I'll take care of business. Fortunately, things are unmeasured and there is something to do. 

There, for example, heart-rending screams and loud swearing are heard from behind a heap of damp earth. I hurried there, but as the voices became more and more familiar with each step I took, I slowed down more and more. And having distinguished the first words, he completely stopped:

- How many more times will I repeat common truths, my son ?! - I heard the angry voice of the priest - It's so simple! Just put your fingers into the bud of the sacred Raymena flower! What are you showing me? This is forgive the Creator, blasphemy! 

- Excuse me, Father Flatis - a voice no less familiar to me whined plaintively, - I'm trying. Already the fingers on the hand cramped. 

- You don't try too hard! the holy father bellowed. “I don’t see diligence and diligence in you!” Repeat after me. The thumb descends to the ring finger, like the petal of a Raymena flower bends in a gentle gust of wind ...

Carefully turning around, I, carefully placing my feet and trying not to betray my presence, hastily retreated. Interfering with the priest is more expensive. Still, that boy successfully turned up, what’s his name ... Stefiy. Now Father Flatis has somewhere to let off steam. Yes, Stefia was lucky. I have long understood that behind the external severity of Father Flatis lies a kind and compassionate heart. Priest from God. In general, my attitude towards the faith-obsessed priest became much better. Attitude... but not trust. 

“Um, Mr. Koris,” an unexpected call made me literally soar into the air and only then turn around. 

Turning to the source of the sound, I stumbled upon Ricard's eyes bulging in amazement - it's not every day that you see a gentleman sneaking in small steps, lifting his legs high, and then suddenly jumping up and trying to fly away. 

- Is everything all right, sir? - the big man asked cautiously, - Does your head hurt for an hour?

- Yes, everything is fine, - I grumbled annoyed, frantically looking around. - What do you want?

Convinced that I had not lost my mind, Ricard breathed a sigh of relief and began to tell:

- Your advice is needed, sir. Master Drovin is interested in the foundation for the wall. And what to do with the stream, he is also very interested. 

- With a stream? – I asked in bewilderment, - And what to do with it? Let it flow and let it flow. 

- Duc, - Ricard hesitated - the stream starts here, sir - it breaks out from under the rear rock and runs further slowly along the Horseshoe Gorge, and then maybe it flows into the river, who knows? Everything is the will of the Creator.

- Well? - I started to get angry. - Knocks out, flows, flows in, then what? 

- Duc, a stream runs along the gorge, sir, and we will put a wall across ... solid.

That's where I sat down. How could I forget? 

Although it is understandable - I have always seen my own inexhaustible source of drinking water at my side only as a virtue, and by no means a disadvantage of the Horseshoe. 

- Well, let's go and see, - I muttered, - We'll figure it out there on the spot. 

As soon as we managed to move a dozen steps away, from behind our backs came the angry cry of the priest:

- Blasphemer! And you dare to call this a pinch of the merciful Creator?! What are you putting your fingers in? BUT?! 

Without saying a word, the big man and I pulled our heads into our shoulders and quickened our pace, trying to get as far away as possible.

- It's a pity for the kid ... - Ricard muttered pityingly, - You are quite young. The druid is roaring. Can we…help him, Mr. Koris?

"Not a druid, but a priest," I corrected, glancing back. - Nothing will happen to him. You go, go go. Otherwise, he will inadvertently notice us, ... he will remember about the church, ... where is this stream? 

****

As we walked towards the current difficulty, I considered how to solve the problem with a brisk stream. Let it go under the wall? Or make a small hole in the wall to let the water out? 

I absolutely did not want to make a hole in the wall, even if it was very small. 

You can put a wall right on top of the channel - of course, first strengthening its walls with stones, but actually, what's the difference then? 

You will get a through hole in the wall, just located a little lower, and this is what I am trying to avoid. I do not want to see any holes, gates, loopholes, loopholes and other openings in the protective wall of the future fort. It should be like a monolith. An invincible obstacle to all sorts of enemies and reliable protection for us. The only way. And I was not going to leave any weak points in our only defense against creatures changed by dark magic. 

Immersed in thought, I did not notice how we got to the right place. The place of the future wall of the fort is noticeable from a distance, thanks to heaps of earth and high piles of stone. After asking Ricard to find Master Drovin, I meanwhile decided to look around. Having perched on the nearest pile of stone, I sat down with pleasure and began to examine the grandiose construction site. 

Grandiose, of course, it was only for us - if in someone else's eyes, then it is nothing more than swarming a handful of people in the mud, with a goal that is incomprehensible even to themselves. Whereas for us the construction of a protective wall was a matter of life and death. 

The fact that no one has visited us yet with “friendly intentions” can only be attributed to our incredible luck, or to the incommensurable mercy of the Creator who decided to give us a chance. 

Over the past days, people have completely cleared the space of the future fort, and nothing prevented me from taking a look at it with one glance. I can’t imagine how the master brothers succeeded, but even a few huge boulders disappeared, which over the past centuries have tightly grown into the ground. The relatively flat terrain of the settlement was shaped like a square with slightly sloping sides. Three sides of the square were the rocky spurs of the Horseshoe, on another side there would be a fort wall made of massive stones, completely cutting us off from the dangers of the Wild Lands. 

Finding at the foot of the back rock the place from which the stream began, I traced the path of the water to the point where it crossed the outlines of the wall marked with stakes and ran further along the bottom of a deep gorge. Although, in my opinion, to call it a stream was a great understatement - a ribbon of water, at least two steps wide, was rushing forward uncontrollably at a decent speed. This is a small river, but not a stream. How deep is it?

Turning my head from side to side, I quickly stumbled upon a guard looming nearby - Ricard, with the magnificent nonchalance of a true nobleman, ignored my demand to remove the guard - and waved his hand invitingly. 

- Yes, sir - the man who ran up bowed in a bow.

- Name? I asked, looking thoughtfully at his tall figure and colorful appearance - so red that his eyes began to water when looking at him. Red freckles, thick copper hair, a bulbous nose and wide, bright blue eyes. Didn't take me a little. The ways of the Creator are inscrutable.

- Leni, sir.

- All right, Leni. Take off your shoes. Yes, you have to take your pants off.

- What? – the guard bulged his eyes in astonishment and, after a moment, added, – Mister.

- Take off your shoes, I say - I growled irritably, - climb into the stream. 

The guard, finally understanding everything, quickly took off his shoes and clothes, remaining only in leather pants, put a belt with a weapon on top of a pile of clothes and jogged towards the stream. 

A little later, I, thoughtfully scratching my chin, looked at the trembling Leni, stoically getting wet in the icy water. Following my instructions, he randomly checked several places in the riverbed. The result was approximately the same - along the entire channel, the water level reached the chest of an adult. The current is so strong that Leni can hardly keep her balance. We definitely won’t die of thirst, but I don’t even know where to put such an abyss of water. With a gesture of letting the guard know that I was completely satisfied with the measurements, I got up and went to the wall, towards Ricard and Master Drovin hurrying towards me. 

On the way, the thought came to my mind that if it was impatient for me to measure the depth, then for this purpose you can use a simple pole. Strange that I didn't think of this before. Shrugging my shoulders, I immediately forgot about the methods of measuring the depth and about the red Leni. There were things more important than the wet pants of the guard. 

I immediately abandoned the idea of ​​running a stream under the wall - this is the same as an unlocked door - come in, whoever wants, take what you want. Kill whoever you want... 

I knew (but from where?) that in many fortifications such methods of getting rid of excess water and sewage were quite successfully practiced. But the difference between us is huge - the channel passing under the wall was blocked by at least two, or even three powerful iron bars. It's easier to climb over a wall than to try to get rid of the iron bars as thick as an adult's arm blocking the path. A good way to protect ... but it doesn’t suit us for a completely banal reason - the lack of iron and a forge. Suppose we can rebuild the forge, but nothing can be done about the iron. It just doesn't exist. We pray over every ax and knife as earnestly as no priest prays over the Creator's altar.

What to do? Where to put a cheeky stream? That's still a problem. A crazy idea was running through my head, but first I wanted to hear the thoughts of the person in charge of building the wall.

Having greeted master Drovin who came to the rescue, I immediately asked a question that worried me:

- What to do with the stream? Any suggestions?

- Yes, sir. I think we'll have to put it under the wall. Let's lay out the channel well with stones and narrow it - the stream will become so turbulent that you can't trample against the current, it will blow it away like a chip. Yes, and we will not yawn. Again, a wooden grate can be adjusted. From solid logs - you won’t break them right away. Yes, and it will not be possible to set fire to it - everything will be wet through and through. 

Shaking my head skeptically, I stared at the stream and fell into thought. I fundamentally disagreed with Master Drovin. Against wild creatures, his method is quite effective, but that's all. And intelligent enemies will undoubtedly be able to find this hole in our defenses and take advantage of it. Physical strength is not the main thing. Intelligence and cunning - that's what I feared the most. 

Seeing how the big man hesitated, obviously wanting to say something, I nodded encouragingly to him.

“Sir,” Ricard began embarrassedly, “I don’t know much about construction, of course, but if the Creator forbid an attack happens, or even worse, a siege, then we won’t say hello to this stream - during the siege, the first thing they will do is block the channel and in a couple of days we Let's start swimming like a fish. Water will not go into the ground plainly - the rock under us is solid. One thing is good: they definitely won’t be able to make a dig - the big man grinned gloomily.

Imagining the picture drawn by Ricard - the slowly but steadily rising level of muddy water, the inhabitants of the fort choking, trying to cling to at least something and keep the children afloat - I shuddered. If we don’t sink, then we definitely won’t be able to fight. Judging by Drovin's contorted face, he had an idea that was just as disappointing as mine. We were silent for a long time, deep in thought.  

Having considered all the pros and cons and considering all the possibilities, I was convinced that there was no other way out. Either let the stream bed under the wall, or ... 

It's worth a try. Even if my idea does not look reasonable, it still needs to be tested. 

Turning abruptly on the spot, I turned to Drovin:

- Master Drovin, the stream is my concern. Start digging a ditch under the wall foundation from the western wall. The faster the better. Don't waste time. Calculate the thickness of the wall as you did for my family castle. 

Drovin nodded understandingly and hurried to the people waiting for him, already on the way starting to shout out orders and instructions. 

- Ricard. I give you two days - make more torches and collect all the ropes that you have. If you can't find it, weave it from grass. Understood? 

- Yes, sir. Cave?

- Exactly. It's time to find out how deep that crack runs and how it can serve us.