From the lower shaft courtyard, Kezra Venn and Paxa Sel moved systematically through the citadel’s outer service district. The narrow, soot-stained alley of timber-and-rubble apartments built against the eastern curtain wall.
Here lived the civilian workforce that kept the castle functional through harsh mountain winters. The flour-sifters from the guard post mill, the back kitchen maids from the Great Keep, the laundresses from the steaming washhouse, the farrier’s helpers, the harness-menders, and the chimney sweeps. For eighteen months, these people had lived under the shadow of martial law, their movements restricted by brass sentry tokens and their wages paid in depreciated copper script that bought less flour each passing month.
Now, under the watchful eyes of Captain Hest Vale’s escort guards, those apartments were being emptied into the open air. The afternoon sun cast sharp, angular shadows across the narrow lane, lighting up the peeling whitewash and sagging timber rafters of the service lodgings. The smell of burning pine needles and animal fat grease hung heavy in the alleys as families packed their belongings onto hand-barrows and hand-drawn sleds.
Paxa walked the cobblestone lane with her bone metal pen and cedar tally slate, calling each household by name. Beside her, Fellis Dain held the master census scroll, checking off families as they dragged their two-wheeled barrows toward the southern gatehouse.
