Liana's sketches, laid out on the table in the gatehouse, transformed their vague fears into a stark, tactical reality. The bearded man's group, which they now dubbed "the Brutes," was the largest, camped in a lumber yard about five miles to the east. But it was the two smaller groups that concerned Rex more. One, a quieter, more organized band operating out of an abandoned farm, had a look of former military about them. The other was a desperate, nomadic cluster of survivors, but they were positioned dangerously close to Avalon's primary water source, the stream.
"The Brutes are a hammer," Rex said, tracing the annotated patrol routes Liana had drawn. "Loud and obvious. But this group," his finger tapped the farmhouse sketch, "they're a dagger. They're watching. They're patient."
Kaelen, her earlier skepticism entirely replaced by a fierce protectiveness over her scouting partner, pointed to the nomadic group. "And these ones are a sickness. They're fouling the water upstream. If they stay, or if they get pushed this way by the others, they bring disease with them."
The council was silent, the weight of the external world pressing in. They had names for their enemies now, and locations. Knowledge was power, but it was also a burden.
"We can't fight a war on three fronts," Jean stated flatly. "The walls are not yet ready."
"Then we don't fight," Rex said, his voice low and decisive. "We change the board." He looked at Liana. "The nomads. You saw them up close. What is their state?"
Liana, emboldened by the success of her mission, spoke without the previous night's rasp, though her voice was still soft. "They are… lost. Not evil. Just hungry. Many are sick. A child was coughing." She had sketched the child, a tiny, huddled form by a meager fire.
An idea, cold and pragmatic, began to form in Rex's mind. It was a risk, but all their choices were risks now.
"We offer them a choice," he announced.
The council looked at him, bewildered.
"We what?" Kaelen exclaimed. "After what they did to Liana's family? To her?"
"We offer the nomads a choice," Rex repeated, his gaze locking with Elara's. "They are a liability where they are. But they could be an asset within our walls. We have an empty stable block. We have food, for now. And we have a doctor."
Elara's eyes widened in understanding. "You want to bring the sickness inside?"
"I want to quarantine it, contain it, and cure it," Rex corrected. "If we can turn a threat into more hands, we grow stronger. If we leave them there, they either die and poison the water, or the Brutes absorb them, making our main enemy larger."
Jean Delahaye rubbed his jaw, thinking. "It is a dangerous gamble. But… it is a stonemason's thinking. You see a cracked stone. Do you throw it away, or do you use it to fill a different part of the wall?"
"They hurt me," Liana whispered, her voice so quiet they almost missed it. Everyone looked at her. She was staring at the drawing of the coughing child. "But… they are not all like the men who… who…" She couldn't finish, but she looked at Rex and gave a small, hesitant nod. "The child did nothing wrong."
It was settled. The next morning, Rex, Kaelen, and a visibly anxious Elara, laden with a basic medical kit, left through the postern gate. They moved with the stealth Liana had taught them, approaching the nomadic camp from downwind.
The scene was as pitiful as Liana's sketches had suggested. Twenty people, huddled around weak fires, their faces gaunt, their eyes hollow. The smell of unwashed bodies and sickness hung in the air. The child Liana had drawn was curled in its mother's lap, its breathing a ragged, wet sound.
When Rex stepped into the clearing, a gaunt man with a knife leapt up, his eyes wide with fear and aggression.
"We're not here to fight," Rex said, his hands open and away from his sword. "We're from the walled settlement. The castle."
Whispers rippled through the group. The castle was already a legend.
"We have food. Medicine. Shelter behind strong walls," Rex continued, his voice carrying across the clearing. "But there is a price."
"What price?" the man with the knife snarled.
"Your loyalty. Your labor. You come in, you are quarantined until our doctor clears you of sickness. You obey our laws without question. You work for the community. Your weapons are surrendered. Your old lives are over. You become part of something new."
He let the offer hang in the foul air. He saw the desperate hope warring with deep suspicion in their eyes.
Elara stepped forward, her gentle authority a stark contrast to Rex's imposing offer. "The child," she said, pointing to the coughing girl. "She has pneumonia. Without antibiotics, she will die. I can help her. But I need to get her to my infirmary. Now."
The mother looked from Elara's clean, determined face to her dying daughter. The choice was no choice at all. She broke down in ragged sobs and nodded.
It was the crack in the dam. One by one, the others surrendered. They were searched, their few pathetic weapons collected by Kaelen, and then led, a ragged, shuffling line of humanity, towards the walls of Avalon.
It was not a victory of arms, but a victory of will and calculated compassion. They had just added twenty new mouths to feed, and potential sickness to contain. But they had also secured their water, denied a resource to their enemy, and gained a chance to turn desperation into devotion. Rex had paid for a clearer strategic map with food and medicine. Only time would tell if the cost was worth it.