On the afternoon of Day 114, Adra Pike rang the heavy iron bell above the common hall porch, summoning the household representatives of Alderfast to review their escape choices.
The air in the hall was fully transformed from the desperate, fearful assembly of Day 94. The storehouse bins were overflowing with Joric Thane’s dried beans, salt beef, and flour. Thirty feet of solid granite castle wall blocked the northern road against royal pikes. And the seven-day Quarter lock was more than half expired, with only three days leftover before Kezra’s notebook unlocked.
Adra stood before the large slate blackboard at the front of the hall, upon which the names of all one hundred and twenty-six residents were chalked under two main headings: Those Who Choose to Leave (originally eighty-three names) and Those Who Choose to Stay (originally forty-three names).
Beside her sat Kezra Venn, Davren. Fellis Dain, with the master demographic roll spread out across the table.
“When we took our first vote ten days ago,” Adra addressed the crowded room, her voice calm, respectful, and authoritative, “we swore an oath that no person’s choice would be carved in stone. A choice made in fear during a siege isn’t a binding contract. It’s merely an honest statement of what a family needs on that day. Now the facts of our valley have changed.”
