The gates of Dunadd closed behind them with a sound like a decision.
The escort formed up around Team Zero — four soldiers, spears carried politely but carried — and the mounted officer led them up into the city, and James spent the climb reading everything.
Dunadd was not waiting for anyone.
The lower districts were packed with refugee families, sleeping in doorways, queueing at water barrels, while soldiers searched incoming wagons and controlled every movement through the gate arches. Wounded men went past on stretchers toward rows of treatment tents that had once been a market square.
Blacksmiths worked in the open street, forges dragged out of workshops because the workshops couldn't hold the demand. The ring of hammers never stopped, anywhere, the whole way up.
