Chapter 39: Edge of Winter

Down in the deep trench that surrounded the wooden palisade, Giles and his men were finishing their work. They had taken hundreds of thick pine branches leftover from the wall’s construction, sharpened the ends into fine points, and buried the blunt ends deep into the earth at the bottom of the pit. Now, the entire trench was a lethal trap of wooden spikes pointing straight up at the sky.

Jack was standing near the wooden gatehouse, leaning heavily on his cane. He watched Barnaby walk up the main path from the forge. The blacksmith was pulling a small wooden cart loaded with several woven baskets.

“Is that the last of the scrap iron?” Jack asked.

Barnaby wiped his hands on his apron and nodded. “Every last rusted sword, cracked shield, and broken helmet we pulled off those bandits. I melted them down and hammered them out just like you asked.”

Barnaby reached into one of the baskets and pulled out a twisted piece of iron. It had four sharp points arranged in a pyramid shape. No matter how it was thrown or dropped, one sharp iron spike always pointed straight upward.

“Caltrops,” Jack noted, taking the iron spike and inspecting the rough, ugly forging. “They are not pretty, but they are really good for the job.”

“They don’t need to be pretty to pierce a paw,” Barnaby grunted. “I made over three hundred of them. It drained a lot of our coal, My Lord, but I figured saving our lives was worth the fuel.”

“You figured right,” Jack said. He turned to Giles, who was just climbing out of the spike pit. “Giles, take your men and grab these baskets. I want you to walk the entire perimeter of the village. Throw these iron caltrops directly into the snow, about thirty paces out from the edge of the trench.”

Giles weighed the spiked iron in his hand, a grim smile spreading across his face as he understood the tactic. “Smart,” he grunted. “The snow is deep enough out there, Lord Jack. Toss these in, and they’ll sink right below the crust. Give it an hour, and the wind will blow fresh powder over the holes. The beasts won’t know a thing until the iron is already through their paws.”

“Exactly,” Jack said smoothly. “A starving beast runs on instinct. They will charge blindly toward the smell of the village. We will break their legs before they even reach the trench. Just scatter them wide.”

The men quickly grabbed the baskets and hurried out to seed the snow with hidden iron spikes.

As they worked, Jack heard the clatter of iron kettles near the center of the village. He walked past the winter cabins and found a large group of women and older children gathered around several small campfires.

Karen was leading them. Her sleeves were rolled up, and her face was red from the heat of the fires.

“Keep stirring!” Karen directed a few of the older boys. “Do not let it burn to the bottom of the pot, or it will ruin the batch!”

Inside the large iron kettles dark pine sap was bubbling violently. When the men had chopped the massive pine trees to build the wall, large amounts of raw, sticky resin had bled from the wood. Jack had told the villagers to scrape it all into buckets.

“How is the consistency, Karen?” Jack asked as approach.

Karen quickly curtsied, though she didn’t stop stirring her kettle. “It is perfect, Lord Jack. It is boiling hot and incredibly sticky. If it gets on skin or fur, it will not wash off.”

“Good,” Jack nodded approvingly. It was important that everyone in the village, not just the men holding spears, had a role in the defense. It kept the panic away. “When the kettles are fully boiling, have the boys carefully carry them up the ladders to the flat roof of the gatehouse. Set them near the edge. If the beasts manage to cross the wooden ramp somehow and hit the iron gate, we will pour the boiling sap directly down onto their heads.”

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“We will melt the fur right off their bones,” Karen said fiercely, her protective instincts overriding her usual nervous demeanor.

Jack spent the rest of the afternoon inspecting every inch of the defenses. He checked the iron hinges on the gate, tested the locking bar, and made sure every militiaman had their spear ready. There was nothing left to build that he could think of. The physical preparations were completely finished.

Now, they just had to wait.

As the late afternoon sun began to sink behind the mountain peaks, the temperature in the valley plummeted.

Jack left the village and slowly climbed the mountain path back to the castle. He went straight to the upper balcony that overlooked the entire settlement. From this height, he had a perfect, unobstructed view of the wooden palisade, the gatehouse, and the dark edge of the forest.

He did not go out there alone.

Standing on the balcony were four figures. Bones, Rusty and Dusty, wearing their heavy iron armor, stood quietly by the railing. Behind them stood Grim. The massive, skeletal Wolf was a terrifying sight, its bone structure gleaming faintly in the twilight.

Jack walked down to the wooden ballista that had been moved to the castle. The massive siege weapon was pointed down at the wooden ramp that led into the village.