The World Dragon's Heir

Chapter 488: Double Jinxed

While that group was getting settled in, word came from the northern patrols that there was a group coming from their side of the city.

That was unusual, as there were no cities in that direction, but they might have come from the east or west, and had simply missed the location at first. Clearly, they hadn’t been following the river, so it might be somewhere in northeastern Cygnia.

However, when Dominic went out to meet them, what he found was not a bunch of lost Noblemen, but a group of young Noble Ladies who knew full well that they were somewhere that they should not be.

Given that they were young ladies of Dagos.

If the trucks weren’t enough of a hint on their own, the Royal insignia on the side would have told anyone who cared to look that they had originated from within the Dagos borders.

They travelled with only two battered guards and one driver, while older women drove all but the first truck.

"Halt where you are. All travel from Dagos is subject to inspection." Dominic announced.

"Might you be the Duke of Wistover? Or are you one of the guests?" The middle aged woman driving the first truck yelled back out the window.

"I am Duke Dominic of Wistover."

"In that case, we would request asylum within your walls." The woman replied formally.

"Where did you come from, and what are you fleeing?"

There was a short pause and Dominic heard the truck being shifted into its parked setting.

"We left from Staptontave, fleeing the war, and the famine. Originally, we had an escort of guards, but we were attacked by wild monsters on the way." She explained.

"And just how many guards did you bring, before the attack."

The woman nodded and stepped down from the truck.

"All I ask is that you grant the ladies asylum." She began.

"We left Staptontave with a force of three thousand, headed directly here to Wistover. Things went wrong right away, as the mages were suddenly called away, and then there were attacks by wild monsters nearly every night, and sometimes during the day.

We were even attacked by a horde of trolls a day ago, and barely survived with our lives.

We’ve fewer than half of the young ladies that left Staptontave remaining, and three of three thousand soldiers. These few trucks are all that remains of an armoured regiment, and the ladies are in desperate need of safety."

Dominic frowned. "You do understand what the penalty is for bringing Dagos Soldiers to Wistover, right? Forget the fact that this is Cygnia, and bringing soldiers is a violation of the ceasefire. This is Wistover."

The woman nodded. "And I will pay the penalty on behalf of the ladies. They didn’t have any choice in the plan, and they can’t go back.

Every family that they come from has thrown in with Prince Kaizon, and the rebellion is all but lost.

Things are so bad that they sent their daughters here, and took their sons to war. Even the children, boys not yet ten years old are going to the final battle. Now, will you take in the refugees?"

Dominic sighed. "Are you and the other older women soldiers, or servants?"

The woman gave a hearty laugh. "Oh, neither of those things, Your Grace. We were all camp girls. When things got proper bad during the battle with the Trolls, we took up the order to flee with the noncombatants.

We managed to save most of the camp supplies. But none of the men left the battlefield, and the three we’ve got with us were already at the trucks, crippled and waiting out the battle as reserves."

Dominic looked at the trucks, and the woman paled.

"Do you really hate the people of Dagos that much?"

"The soldiers, yes. Every bit of what you’re thinking and more. Ever since I was a small child. And you have no idea how painful it is to even consider letting the people of Dagos walk free and breathing into the city after what was done to it with their support." He agreed.

The woman reached into her pocket and lit a cigarette.

"War is a nasty business. I know that the soldiers like to say that War is Hell, but we both know that isn’t true. War is war, and hell is hell. But of the two, war is much worse."

"Because there are no innocent bystanders in hell." Dominic agreed, then continued.

"Did you know what was going on here when you left? Or did you leave only expecting that the ladies would be enough to get your soldiers close to town, so they could launch the attack?"

The woman blew smoke at the sky as she reminisced about the past.

"The idea was that they would come here, take the city, move in, and claim those ladies as their wives. Now, that’s not quite how things worked out for them, but we’ve brought the ladies here alive and well, so I’m asking you for mercy."

Dominic nodded. "And I’m considering it. I probably shouldn’t be. I could take the whole convoy as war prisoners, and sell them to my men under a debt contract, stripped of their Noble standing.

But we both know how that ends for a Noble lady.

You know, I might actually be getting soft now that I’m a married man. It’s a bit disgusting, really.

Dave, what do you think?"

The troll rubbed his nose as he pondered the situation. He had followed the basics well enough, and he even understood the part where the trollish village on that side of town had been the ones who had killed off the last of the soldiers for them.

He would make sure that Dominic sent them presents for that.

But he was down wind of the ladies, and they smelled like soap and fear. Long term fear, like they had been terrified for weeks, not days. So, Dave’s estimation was that they weren’t part of any invasion force.

At least, not a useful part of it.

"I thinks we should bring them out and make sure they’re not hiding weapons and nasty stuff. Then they can join them other girls. At least the young ones don’t smell like they’ve been with the soldiers. This one needs an extra bath."

The driver looked a bit offended, then her face went pale as she realized that the Troll could actually tell that she had been with a few of the soldiers before the battle.

That sort of information was supposed to be an unspoken fact of life for camp followers, not public knowledge.