Three days after Weylan's arrival in the city

Dorm stretched and tried to get the cramp out of his back. The weight of the basket he was carrying on his back pulled him backwards. He swayed and then bent down again to balance the load. His knees ached under the strain. He hadn't felt the soles of his feet for a long time.

He looked up. For the last hour, he had been shuffling along a path with a noticeable incline. His eyes on the feet of the boy in front of him. The mountains rose higher and higher on either side of him. Dozens of refugees surrounded him. Each one heavily packed with everything he could carry. Because that was all they had now.

Many things had been left behind on the long journey. A trail of beloved mementos and household items marked the refugees' trail.

Dorm saw a movement out of the corner of his eye and quickly reached out to catch the stumbling old weaver: "Holla, watch out! We're not there yet. You can't lie down for a nap yet."

"Don't be so cheeky." The old woman took her arm from him, but not until she was safely back on her feet. She looked back. The slope gave them a good view through the valley back to the plain. The queue wound its way to the entrance of the valley. With different ages, luggage and therefore speed, the group had spread far apart. A few volunteers stayed at the end and made sure that no one was left behind unnoticed. Dorm frowned. They were far too spread out. Impossible to defend. Even a few mountain wolves would have no trouble grabbing a victim and taking it with them.

The weaver made a dissatisfied noise that Dorm thought could only be properly imitated with a significantly reduced number of teeth. "Why aren't we being followed?"

Dorm shrugged, "Are you going to complain about that?"

"There were hundreds of fighters. More than enough to raze the village to the ground and still send half an army after us. We could still see them from the forest as the ring closed around the village. But nobody came after us. I don't understand it."

Dorm just nodded. The Krigesti had moved stubbornly up through the border forest in a single large group. The army had taken over the forest and then marched on along the trade route towards Mulnirsheim. The villagers had been warned by the few surviving defenders. Hunters from the village had then been sent out as scouts. They found no enemy patrols. No scouts from the other side, as far as they could see.

The old woman continued: "It's lucky that the revenant girl has taken over the village. Nothing against the good Helming, but he couldn't have conjured up a moat around the village, defensive towers and a palisade out of a hat."

"I know. I was there"

"We were all there."

"No, I mean I saw Federova the First storming into the House of the Shrines of All Gods as if she wanted to strangle someone. I went right after her and peeked through the door. She went straight to Peituwin's shrine and spread out her hands. Then a veritable cloud of green, translucent pieces of paper just appeared in front of her out of nowhere and was sucked into the symbol of Peituwin. I couldn't understand what she said after that, but then it crunched all around the village and the palisade just grew out of the ground."

"Are you still mad that she sent you off with us?"

Dorm hesitated, then shook his head: "Elven warriors, rangers and revenants have been slaughtered in the border forest. I'm still too young to even have a class. Sending women, non-combatants and the elderly to safety was the only right decision. I have no illusions that I would be of any use in a battle. I used to want to be a hunter, but I can't see blood."

The old woman put her hand on his shoulder as they walked: "Not everyone can be a fighter. A village can hardly afford fighters. Our guardsman did a lot of errands when he wasn't needed."

"At least Weylan's not here. He'd probably make fun of me." He sighed: "He'd even be right. With the big mouth I've always had, about wanting to be a knight. Or at least a hunter."

The crone seemed to revel in memories: “Little Weylan. I’ve always knew he’d get into trouble someday. Born trickster if I've ever seen one. But I’d never have expected what really happened. His father, murdered by a revenant. He himself fleeing from a vindictive orange haired revenant warrior.”

Dorm’s voice became almost reverend: “Did you hear him claim Weylan killed him once? I mean, come on! Weylan? Killing a revenant?”

The old woman nodded: “I sure believe it. Did you talk to Jorge, the village chief when we stopped by his village? He told me Weylan somehow got to be a judge or something in a witch trial. I'm still not sure what that was about. Then he got teleported away by an exploding tree, together with a tavern wench and the witch. If he’s still alive, we’ll see him again in the city. Mark my words.”

Dorm chuckled: “If there’s a Thieves Guild, he's probably already a member and trying to steal from them. Not for the money, just to see if he can. If there isn't, he'll have invented one by now and is chasing around revenants on fake membership quests.”

He looked up and froze. After a final bend, the valley revealed a view of Mulnirsheim. Or rather, the wall fortress. A wall thirty paces high that completely blocked the pass at its narrowest point, 300 paces wide. Copper runes, set deep into the seamless stone, gleamed in the sun. Countless embrasures closed with steel flaps showed that it was not just a wall. There was a complete fortress inside the wall. Recreation rooms, barracks, magazines, stores, everything a fortress needed. The fortification extended into the mountains on both sides. There were rows of embrasures that could fire directly along the wall.

The top of the wall was roofed over and protruded above the wall with so-called machicolations, so defenders could shoot directly down from there. Nowhere near the walls was safe for attackers.

In front of the wall was a six-step-wide trench filled with a thick silver mist. There were countless theories as to what it consisted of, but everyone agreed that nothing had ever come back up from it.

The only way across was the drawbridge in the middle. It was wide enough for two Troll carriages to pass each other comfortably.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Two hours later they arrived at the foot of the ramparts. The light of the setting sun glittered over the top of the wall, while the pass valley was lit up by countless illuminated crystals on steel stands. The refugees staggered exhausted over the drawbridge and through the long tunnel. Surrounded by even more embrasures. Under countless holes for hot oil, burning gel and heavy spears. And past three raised portcullis.

On the other side, the refugees stopped in front of Dorm. He pushed forward curiously. In the middle of the wide path of the main road, soldiers stood in three rows across the entire width. Swordsmen with shields, behind them soldiers with halberds and in the last row soldiers with pikes. The weapons were all in the haft-eight position, but in one breath they could take up an impenetrable formation.

A mounted officer let his horse stride forward and raised his voice: "Welcome to Mulnirsheim! I am Captain Garandur, of the city guard. You are tired and exhausted, so I will be brief. Before we let you into the city, we will question each and every one of you and use truth spells and skills to determine whether there are any Krigesti spies among you. All those who pass the test will go straight through the gate into the city. We've cleared two of the barracks, so you can stay there for a week. After that, we'll need the rooms again for the guardsmen. The capital has already sent reinforcements. I strongly recommend that you look for a job. They'll show you the way to the work allocation. If you can't find anything here, you'll have to leave the city to the north. But fear not, the population of Mulnirsheim will soon quadruple due to revenants and the Imperial Guard. There will be plenty for you all to do."

The fugitives gathered themselves for a round of weary applause. Then they marched past the city guard and into the city. The interrogations were uneventful. None of the artifacts or skills of the gatekeepers even struck once.

* * *

Dorm shuffled with slumped shoulders into the room in the barracks that he shared with five other villagers. His roommate Kendir, two years his senior, was packing his things into a bag. Dorm put his hand on his shoulder: "Hey, did you find anything suitable?"

"One of the centaurs needs a blacksmith's apprentice. I was able to score really well by being apprenticed to Gendur the blacksmith for two years. I have to start again in the first year because he doesn't really trust the training of a human, but still."

"Great for you."

"How are things with you? We've been in the city for a week now and you've been out and about every day. Surely, you've already found a job?"

Dorm shook his head: "I haven't started an apprenticeship yet. I can't do anything; I don't have any skills worth mentioning and the guy thought my attributes were badly balanced in the work distribution."

"That they really ask you for the exact attributes..."

"Yes, really a cheek. My grandmother got really red in the face the first time and slapped him."

"I would have liked to have seen that. But wait, have you tried the Brotherhood yet?"

"Brotherhood?"

"They have a recruitment center in an old warehouse. I can give you directions."

"Doesn't sound particularly trustworthy..."

"It is a brotherhood that has set itself the goal of helping the people who need it most. They don't have gold to spare for a magnificent building like the Adventurers' Guild or the merchants."

Dorm thought for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders: "No harm in having a look."

* * *

A long queue had already formed in front of the warehouse entrance. Dorm recognized a few refugees from his own and the neighboring villages. But there were also people whose clothing did not fit in with the village communities of the plain. What they all had in common was simple clothing, a downcast look on their faces... and a hint of hope in their eyes. It took him almost an hour to get through the gate. Numerous rickety tables had been set up in the large hall. Some were just planks between two barrels. At the tables sat, or in some cases stood, refugees and men and women wearing the black and orange striped armbands of the Brotherhood. Dorm had already seen the discussions and negotiations from outside, then the villager signed a piece of paper and went to the other end of the hall, where small groups were formed and led away.

At a much better desk behind the negotiating tables sat a young scribe whose hand flew over pages of paper with a quill pen. Page after page was written, sealed, signed and placed in a pile that was regularly picked up by messengers and distributed around the room.

Dorm stepped up to a vacant table and was greeted by a young elf: "Hello! Welcome to the Brotherhood. Would you like to work for us?"

"That depends. What do you pay and what should I do for it?"

She asked him a few general questions about his abilities without asking for exact attribute values or anything similar. He thawed quickly and made an effort to make a good impression. After a short time, she nodded: "That's fine. You can help us make simple leather goods. A clever young man like you can learn the skills in two or three days. We pay three silver a day plus free food and accommodation. The details are in the contract."

"Wait a minute, leather goods? Tanning leather is a foul-smelling craft..."

She interrupted him: "Only without magic. We have magical tools and a tanner who will soon reach the rank of master. All you have to do is scrape the dried meat and fat from the hides. Alchemical candles absorb the smell. When you have reached higher skill levels, you can go into cutting. Or sewing. That pays better, of course."

"And I'm learning the skills for a decent trade." Dorm sighed. It was better than nothing. At least for a start. His lips moved as he skimmed the contract the elf had shoved at him. The payment was explained in detail, and the food in the canteen assigned to him was free, as was the accommodation in the Brotherhood's common room. He paused: "Tell me, it says here only that my duties are general support activities in accordance with my superior within the Brotherhood. Shouldn't you be more specific about that?"

The elf shook her head with a laugh: "Do you think we have all day to draw up a contract for everyone? Our scribe can barely keep up as it is."

Dorm had to smile as well. Of course, they couldn't do that with the amount of people who wanted to work for the Brotherhood. He signed.

The elf took the contract and tapped the seal. The paper lit up and then two identical pages lay on top of each other: "One copy for you, one for us. This makes the contract legally binding before the system and will be enforced by the Voice of the World if necessary."

A cold shiver went down Dorm's spine. An oath or contract enforced by the voice of the world. This was no joke. He picked up the contract again. So much verbiage. He had trouble with longer sentences. But really, all that mattered was that he could get out of it. The legends were full of careless people who had gotten themselves into inescapable problems with careless oaths or contracts. He only breathed a sigh of relief when he found the termination clause. All you had to do was settle any outstanding debts to your employer and then you could resign at any time with a week's notice. The elf nodded to him and sent him to a group at the back. A motley group of a dozen men and women were already waiting there, along with a Brotherhood member holding a board with a piece of paper attached to it. He made a note of Dorm's name and then nodded: "Okay, that's all of us. We'll head off to the northern quarter in a minute. We've rented a barn next to the leather makers, that's where you'll be working. If anyone needs free accommodation..."

He looked around expectantly and grinned as everyone raised their hands. "We have set up a few dormitories in the warehouses next door. Bunk beds, five beds on top of each other, all close together. Not a luxury hostel by any stretch of the imagination, but free of charge. There's also a canteen right next door."

Dorm tilted his head: "What's a canteen?"

"A... well, a room where there's food for lots of people. Long tables, chairs and a counter where you can pick up your food. Usually dishes that are easy to cook in large quantities. Stews, soups, pasta with sauce..."

"Still sounds better than what my mother cooks..."

After no further questions, they were let out through a door at the back. Whistling happily, Dorm went back to his accommodation to pack.