(Stanislaus Antar, in his makeshift court in Dunnefold, hears out his advisors. He considers the threat of the Xonos to be great but also wishes to seize the Ditch for his own fortress; he announces plans to march north but does not say whom he will or won't attack)

(Keldon Thell holds a general court, aided by Shandra; she deftly maneuvers him to send the fleet to secretly attack the Kleisardathan supply fleet anchored off of Redtimber Watch and as well as send the army north towards Dunnefold and the Ditch, two separate groups)

(Matt and Erich talk about Delphos, and how difficult it will be considering the area may be overrun with undead, and most likely primitive bandit Stone Dogs who run wild within the city. But they agree that they must cross at Milltown and go as quickly as possible)

(Kleiner receives the Illyushech survivors at Milltown, about three dozen of them, and quickly incorporates them into his defenses)

The date was September 1st.

Many people might have thought that Stanislaus Antar was a phantom. He rarely showed himself beyond his temporary headquarters in Dunnefold, where his mighty army was sitting, waiting to strike. As fearful as his perceived image might be, he was hardly a terrifying man; in fact, he was the one who felt frightened. If not frightened, at least anxious.

Standing around the makeshift topographical map of Connaughtsshire and eastern Reinhardt, Antar and his advisors puzzled over the latest developments of the war. The Ditch, out of their grasp for months, had been relatively silent after the betrayal and slaughter in Thellden; many of the independent fiefdoms of the Green Rush and southern coast had fallen into disrepair, their lords either stockpiling and hunkering down for winter or slaughtered in the Thellden betrayal. Those east of the Delphos River had been counted as "abandoned" for months and Crestan had only recently fallen to the rogue Kleisardathan Xonos Mallistron, who had been labeled as "extremely dangerous" by Antar's advisors. It felt as though Connaughtsshire was conquering itself, but Stanislaus Antar was a cautious man. He was not about to race out to destroy what remained of his enemies when there was so much he did not yet know about them.

"The rumors of undead are still unconfirmed," one of the advisors spoke. They stood all around him, on all sides of the map.

"We need to worry about physical threats, not supernatural rumors," young, haughty Commander Kellas said, frowning at the very mention of any undead. Kellas had been leading the pacification campaign that had subdued and protected most of the local villages and towns in the region. The entire operation had been based on a program of supporting and aiding small villages, so that they would see Antar as less of a conqueror and more of a liberator. So far it was uncertain whether the program was working or not.

"The Xonos Mallistron still has nearly 80,000 fighting men loyal to him, if our reports can be believed," someone else piped up. "He will be threatening Dunnefold within two months if he continues his march."

"I agree," Kellas said. "Mallistron is a competent general, and ruthless too. He is here only to pillage and destroy, the exact opposite of our goal."

"My Lord, we need a plan for winter. It's September, and summer's end is near at hand," the first advisor said, turning to Antar. The latter was hunched over the map, mouth set in a thin line as he puzzled over the western edge of the Green Rush. He was glancing between the Ditch and Thellden, back and forth...both of them could pose a serious threat if he did not bring them to a heel.

"I know this," he said.

"The pacification plan is going well. Most village quartermasters and mayors have sworn fealty to us and the people celebrate your name, as many of their villages did not have stockpiles of supplies for winter. Your hand feeds them, my lord, and they will love you for it," Kellas said.

"I know this too," Antar replied, monotonically. He placed his finger on the southern coast and dragged it all the way to Moon's Eye.

"What news from the south?"

"A Kleisardathan supply fleet was attacked by galleys from an unknown force, reported by Redtimber Watch," an advisor said. "Valiant Watch has reported nothing, and no messengers from Lunar Watch have reported activity in the city. It's relatively quiet otherwise."

"Anything from the north?"

"The Rolf brothers are believed to be slain so North Driftmist is without a leader," Kellas stepped in, giving his own reports. "My scouts say that Bennington is relatively unaffected by the way and that there's little activity in Surrey. I've sent someone to Dwergard to gather information from farther north but I don't expect them to return soon."

"This matters little. I want to focus on the river, and the road. What's the latest position of the Xonos?" Antar asked. Kellas laid a thick finger on a spot about 70 miles west of Crestan, and 200 miles east of the Ditch.

"Roughly here," Kellas reported. "As of three days ago. He may be moving faster."

"With such a large army it would be difficult to go more than fifteen miles a day, even on the road. He will stop to pillage, too," Antar said.

"Thellden will also be preparing to march. If they struck out at the Kleisardathan fleet they will not hold their army back. I will get information on their movements as well," Kellas promised.

"The Xonos has more soldiers, and is a more dangerous opponent. He is my primary enemy." Antar traced his finger up to the Green Rush Road leading west, but then traced it farther west to the Ditch.

"My lord?"

"The fortress, though. It is invaluable, something we need back. I cannot let it remain neutral. They're either with me or against me, there will be no middle ground here," Antar declared.

"The Ditch is weakly defended, they have suffered heavy losses," an advisor pointed out.

"Lord Walker is also missing and presumed dead. That is a blow they cannot easily recover from," Kellas said. "I would treat with them first. If they stand with us, so be it. If they stand against us, we will crush them easily."

"Not quite so easy. It is still a fortress, and a veritable maze to fight within," Antar disclaimed. "I want them to be my allies before they become my enemies."

"Then what is your plan of action?" Commander Kellas asked, gritting his teeth out of frustration.

"I will march north. I want half of my forces mustered and readied to move up by the end of the week," Antar ordered, pointing to a vague, empty area north of Dunnefold on the map.

"North where?"

"I will decide when we march," Antar said, declining to answer specifically. "I want to see what my opponents do first. But north we march."

Commander Kellas grimaced but did not argue. He bowed his head and accepted the command, quickly dashing out of the room as soon as he was dismissed; he had one week, after all. There was no time to waste.

VVVVV

The date was August 25th.

Keldon Thell fit comfortably in his father's old chair, which had been larger than most in order to accompany extra girth. Shandra Thell sat beside him, watching each man, whether they be an officer, merchant, or councilman enter and take their seat. No Alliance men left. Here and there blood still stained the floor where the lime had failed to remove the taint.

The court came to order only when the chamberlain pounded his gavel onto the dais table and everyone in the assembly fell silent. Keldon Thell rose on unsteady feet and stood to face them all.

"Good...ah, morning," he began, stuttering slightly. He was definitely not used to speaking to a crowd. He had staunchly refused to appear at the assembly the previous day, but Shandra had constantly prodded him until he had begrudgingly agreed to appear the next day. They had argued over what he was to say, but eventually she had won out and he agreed to work along her agenda.

"My mother and I wish to move past the bloody events of the past week and, ah...look to the future of our...city," he continued, hesitating every few moments. Nobody spoke as they waited for him to finish, but he did not. He turned his eyes to the floor and stood in place, silent, all eyes watching him. Shandra decided that it was an opportune time to rise and take over.

"I thank all of you, nobles and prominent men of Thellden, for your immediate support of our new High Lord Thell, who carries on the noble memory of his fallen father," Shandra spoke, projecting her voice throughout the hall. There was a sound round of applause following this, and Keldon sat back down, looking visibly relieved.

"Late High Lord Arstas Thell considered it his highest duty to bring about security and prosperity to our city and take his sword to our enemies," Shandra continued. "With his memory omnipresent, our new High Lord intends to carry on his crusade to bring peace and wealth to Thellden and destroy those who oppose us."

Another round of applause followed that. Keldon was not a public speaker, that was certain; he had already relaxed in his seat once more, allowing his mother to take the stand. She glanced over at him, her eyes flaming with disapproval, but either he did not notice or he did not care. It was most likely the latter, but Shandra was not about to give up.

"Our enemies continue to beset us even though we've dealt them a blow. We cannot rest on our laurels, even with such a resounding success. Our new High Lord will take his sword to them, I am certain. He will declare his intentions momentarily," Shandra said, nudging Keldon's shin roughly with her foot. He rose shakily, wincing as she forced him to stand.

Keldon stood in the spotlight briefly before speaking. Shandra knew that she would have to prod him into more action soon, but she remained seated as he spoke to the assembly.

"My...father wanted me to pursue peace instead of war. He always said...that peace was more prosperous," Keldon began. "And I am pursuing prosperity in his memory."

There was another round of resounding applause. Shandra knew better than to smirk, but it was difficult to prevent herself from doing so; the boy was starting off on the right foot. Maybe she had finally gotten to him; at least, she had been pretty convincing before.

"The ultimate goal for our city is happiness and wealth," Shandra added, standing up herself. "And it is that quest that my son takes up."

"I do," Keldon said, but his tone was more menacing now. "I am dedicated, as my father was. But times have changed quickly. Mother believes we only have one enemy, to hear her talk. She wants me to focus on the Alliance, or so she says. But I believe differently."

Shandra felt taken aback suddenly. Her words turned to ash in her mouth and she felt her blood run cold. That was exactly what she hadn't been expecting. And he was sounding so much more confident now that he was acting apart from her. Shandra did not dare try to overtake him, but she grimaced at him furiously as he continued.

"We are beset by enemies on all sides, and before they strike us we must strike them. All of them."

He was met with applause, but this time it was tenuous. Some of the members of the assembly were far less certain this time. They did not like the tone he struck; he sounded like a crusader, not a pragmatist, and now he was fully comfortable with his words, speaking from his own pulpit. Shandra glared at him and tried to catch his attention but he willfully ignored her and continued speaking.

"I wish for the navy to set sail down the coast and strike at my enemies upon the sea. Two armies shall depart north to strike at my enemies upon the land. Another army will be raised to defend the city and all of her glory, and every man available for duty will be pressed into it!" Keldon declared, raising his fists as he shouted. The assembly clapped, and some of them cheered, but the atmosphere in the room was tangible. There was fear and doubt, she could sense it.

Shandra sat in her seat and glumly listened to his advisors speak about domestic and internal affairs. Keldon had little to say about these things; his point had already been made. Nobody was going to oppose him, unless Shandra could work out a miracle. She would have to think about that later; right now, the boy had his pulpit. Let him enjoy it a bit longer.

In truth, Shandra Thell was just as eager as he was to destroy Thellden's enemies and bring prosperity and glory to the city, but she was far more patient, far more cunning than him. He was a boy raised on Arstas Thell's boastful, headstrong, implacable nature, a boy who would charge into a line of spears if there was a single chance at victory. He was separating all of Thellden's forces and sending them after nearly every enemy the city had; it would be easy for each of them to be overwhelmed if they stayed separate. She had to repair the damage he had done in a few sentences; his word was law, and if carried out it could turn the war in the favor of others.

She glared at him again, and knew he had seen her, but she did not say anything to him. She knew any conversation would be short and pointless. She even tried, after she adjourned the assembly and they furiously applauded his crusading zeal and energetic responses. She tried to catch him in the hallway as he made his way back to his "royal quarters", but it was to little avail.

"Keldon-"

"You address me as lord now. There won't be any of that," he rebuked her, turning around to face her.

"My lord," she said begrudgingly, gritting her teeth. "Do you not think you are overstepping your abilities here? I mean...have you come up with a strategy for all of these campaigns you suggest? Met with your generals?"

"I know what I'm doing, mother. You'd be wise to let me do it," he had scoffed, before storming off. And that was that. One couldn't say that Keldon Thell was not stubborn.

VVVVV

The date was August 27th.

They had turned south from Crestan, heeding the words of the outriders who had saved their lives. At one of the refugee camps they had stopped, only for a night, and settled into one of the many shabby, filthy, stinking hostels that had sprung up to accommodate travelers and refugees. The latter seemed to outnumber the former now.

Sora and Walid had stayed at one of the massive hostels in the center of the camp, paying local workers who passed for stablehands to feed and rope the horses and keeping their supplies and weapons safe while Matt and Erich went out into the camp not only to purchase or barter for new supplies but also to hear any tidbit of news they could pick up. Rumors were common, but genuine information was rare.

They found a renovated map in what was passing for a tavern. This map had been revamped to show the last known positions of most major armed forces, as well as who held control of what city. Currently Milltown was blank, with no recent news coming from there, and Crestan had been marked red for Kleisardathan forces. Erich muttered something under his breath about the outrider being correct, and then departed to barter for food and emergency supplies.

Matt observed every slice of human life imaginable in that camp. At the makeshift market, where they had taken extra whetstones, clothing, beef jerky, firewood and corn grindings to barter for other supplies, every type of dishonest man could be found, residing in some dark, smoky, smelly corner of the massive tent. Any sort of good could be bought here, he knew.

In one corner, two grungy, withered, battle-scarred old men were sharpening blades and spearheads on a grindstone, grumbling amongst themselves and cursing from time to time. Here were bakers bartering away hard, stale loaves of bread or pitifully small, lumpy biscuits; there was a one-eyed, hunched old woman, working at her loom and mumbling a song to herself. Here were people who had managed to snag drinks and were filling themselves with alcoholic poison, celebrating nothing but their own survival; there were a couple of vagabonds, sleeping upon their packs, their walking sticks in hand.

Matt and Erich managed to exchange their spare clothing and firewood for some relatively good bread and several hunks of dry pork sausage, but they could find very little in terms of weapons or tools that weren't going for improbable prices. A chipped, rusted old sword had an asking price of a healthy horse or ox; a wagon could only be traded for several pounds of food or useful supplies like oil or medicine. Money was almost worthless; only fools or optimists would take gold anymore. They tried to barter their spare clothing for butter and padfoot herb ointment, but the seller would not accept their deal and they were forced to head back to the hostel with only bread and sausage. It was, at least, better than nothing.

On the way back to the hostel, Matt could smell a strong stench of feces and death, something he hadn't noticed earlier. Erich noticed it too, sniffing the air.

"Cholera's here," he said quietly.

"I could've guessed," Matt said glumly.

"The water is terrible. Don't drink it," Erich warned him, even though it was already clear.

"Do we have enough to drink?"

"Enough to last us until we get to the next wellspring. We can refill out in the country, where the water is cleaner. Not here, not around any encampment," Erich said.

Walid was asleep when they returned, but Sora was awake, fiddling with a loose string on her shirt. The clothes she was wearing were old and worn now, having been through a rough journey in the wilds of the Green Rush, but they didn't really have anything to spare. Nice clothes were a luxury, not a necessity.

"Did you pick up anything?" she asked quietly.

"Some extra food. We're going to refill on water once we leave," Matt said.

"Heading south again. Tomorrow, I should think. I'd rather not stay here for too long," Erich told them. "Too many people. Disease, too."

"What are our plans now? Keep heading south?" Matt asked, sitting on the makeshift bedroll next to Sora.

"Crestan's a no go, Walid agrees," Erich said. "Remember that map? I think our best bet is farther south. Milltown, or maybe even the Brackwood."

"We can cross at Milltown, right?" Matt asked. "There's bridges-"

"Bridges everywhere, but most of them are dangerous or destroyed. Milltown, if the city still stands, will have one. If we can cross, I'd do it there," Erich suggested.

"Are...we actually going to cross?" Sora asked, uncertain. "I'm-"

"That's the entire reason we came this way," Erich said. "You're?"

"Nervous...about going over. It's...dangerous?" She didn't sound certain about the significance of any threat on the other side of the river.

"It is, yes," Erich confirmed. "I won't lie, it's wild territory over there now."

"That's where the undead are?"

"On the other side of the river, yes. A few have crossed over presumably, either by bridge or in the south in between the river and the coast, but most will be on this side. Everyone says they're amassing over there."

"Rumors," Matt scoffed.

"Aye, rumors. You're right," Erich said. "They're just rumors."

"But we'll have to tread carefully," Matt said, and Erich agreed with him.

"Delphos is to the north, right?" Sora asked. "Do we have a map?"

"There's one in a..tavern...back that way. I don't want to go back out, though, it's getting dark," Erich said. "We don't have a map, but I know it's up north and close to the river. We'll cross at Milltown, most likely, and then hug the river up north until we reach a crossing for Delphos."

"And what if there isn't a crossing?" Sora asked.

"Well...we'll figure that out when we get there, I guess," Erich admitted, chuckling nervously. Sora did not seem pleased but she contented herself to rolling her eyes in frustration and playing with the loose string on her shirt again.

"What do we expect once we reach Delphos?" Matt asked, struggling to lift his shirt up over his head as he undressed for bed.

"I don't know, honestly," Erich said. "The city won't be empty, for sure."

"What makes you say that?"

"It's a gut feeling. Even if it's an ancient wasteland, somebody is going to be there. Trust me," Erich warned, and Matt had the feeling that he was right. Somebody would be there.

He tried not to think about the road ahead as he lay his body down next to Sora and pulled the moth-eaten wool cover over them. Erich blew out the dim lamp as he wrapped his arms around her warm hips and they fell asleep together.

VVVVV

Kleiner had to prepare Milltown for a defense. He had to.

The city was about to come under a siege the likes of which no defender in the world had ever seen before. A siege by the walking dead: ancient skeletons bedecked in a fouler mold of iron, howling porcine monstrosities from the depths of the earth and vicious shades whose forms appeared poured from liquid tenebrae, a siege which few of them, if any, would survive. He had to try to prepare them, as best as he could.

He had fought them before, he could fight them again...right?

He knew that he was missing a critical component of his defense: the Illyushech, as far as he knew, had all been slain when the Kleisardathans had sacked Crestan. They had been the keystone of Alaf Rolf's army, the one force that had been able to push the undead back. Without them, Kleiner's forces were seriously underpowered, and would not be able to hold the city for long.

He broke fast on crispy black sausage and hard rye bread slathered in greasy butter, then drowned it with thick brown ale before proceeding to go over the day's proceeds. His main duty was to revitalize the guard force of Milltown, and transform it into a military force if possible; he needed an army, no matter how small. A militia force would simply not do.

Shen provided him reports from the city and countryside and Mikal outlined recruitment reports for him, all before daybreak. With the sky consistently slate gray due to the volcanic eruption, there was no sunlight; the world was lit in a dim, lifeless mockery of sepia, day after day. By now Kleiner had become used to it, but he remembered waking up to the bleached gray world around him and feeling it almost physically drain his health and energy. Very little had improved since then.

"We've got about a hundred or so new recruits as of last night, but I can't say how many will show up this morning," Mikal said as they went over the lists. "Oh, and Councillor Parsons passed away last night. You might want to at least pass by his coffin."

Parsons had been one of the more decent councilmen, aged but hardly senile. Once a constable of law from a remote area of Australia, Parsons had retired to the simulation after some accident back home, and had been one of the more lucid and thoughtful of the council members, many of whom were now on their deathbeds. It was a shame to lose him, the most reliable of any of the members.

"Parsons, Parsons," one of the councillors mourned as he stood in front of the coffin, looking about ready to collapse. "Oh, it's a shame. I think I'll die today, too. Yes, that would be nice."

Kleiner did not stay any longer than he had to, and proceeded to the assembly of the new recruits quite hastily.

There were only about fifty men in the training yard, all of them grasping firm wooden poles in lieu of actual spears. They were a motley crew, wearing tunics or tabards or boiled leather if they could afford it, none of them provided with even the meanest of felt caps or pot helms. Several of them looked like they could hardly stand, they were so old; a few appeared frightened by the very premise of combat training.

Kleiner walked down the row once, examining them all briefly. One of them, a youth whose hand was shaking, leapt out at Kleiner the moment he passed.

"I can't do this, I can't! Please, don't make me!" he began to bawl, dropping his stave and grasping Kleiner's arm. The latter shook him off forcefully, stepping back in surprise.

"I'm not a fighter, you can't make me go to war! My friend is famous, yes, famous and rich, he'll get me out of here, he's famous on Youtube, just ask for Mitch-"

The young man was unable to finish the name before the flat of Shen's sword struck him on the temple and he collapsed into the dirt. He lost his words and began crying then, and had to be dragged away by two trainers. Shen muttered something about "a pathetic baby" and then barked formation orders to the rest, who were quick to obey.

While there was no lack of enthusiasm amongst the new trainees, there was certainly a lack of form and discipline. Kleiner had been used to lockstep precision with his troops before, who had all been experienced regular soldiers, paid and provided by their respective feudal lords. These were peasants, either forcibly drafted or had volunteered out of fear, stupidity or optimism. They marched, but they were ragged and sloppy and unskilled, and Kleiner feared for the safety of the city as he watched them maneuver. During break, Mikal took over and Kleiner briefly departed to speak with Shen, who had been dealing with the demonstrator.

"He keeps begging us to talk to his friend. Says that he's famous on Youtube and can force us to let him go," Shen reported.

"Famous on Youtube? Is that supposed to mean anything to me?" Kleiner asked, befuddled.

"Apparently so. I can't answer for him, though I doubt he's worth talking to. Should be prosecuted as refusing orders, if you ask me."

"Too harsh," Kleiner refuted him. "That would be a blow to general morale. I will let him slide."

"I wouldn't suggest that, my lord," Shen said, a hint of danger in his voice.

"It'll be fine. Don't worry about it," Kleiner shrugged him off, eager to return to the training at hand.

Mikal and Badger, along with another Milltown sergeant, had taken over and were forming the men up. Badger was a rougher kind of leader, a discipline-focused sergeant who would knife-hand a recruit at the slightest offense. He roared and bellowed at the trainees as they jumped into line and marched with their faux polearms; Kleiner was hoping that this would come to some good.

"Make sure their grips are correct. On the spears," Kleiner whispered as he pulled Mikal aside. "I need them to be soldiers, and quick."

"I'm working on it, my lord," Mikal said, but it wasn't enough for Kleiner.

"Work harder," Kleiner hissed, watching Badger berate one of the recruits for sloppy footwork. "We don't have time to spare-"

A low horn sounded above the city, and silenced the entire training yard, if only briefly. Kleiner turned towards the sound as it floated over the barracks buildings, one low blow that died with a long echo. It was a warning horn, from…
"The gatehouse," Mikal said, identifying the location.

"Which one?" Kleiner turned on him, as a few of the soldiers began to whisper amongst each other. Badger hushed them with a gruff shout.

"Northern, I think. Yes, northern," Mikal said, turning in that general direction. That was a relief...no enemies were coming from the north. Right?

The alarum bell was now sounding from the city center, and the frail professional defense force of Milltown, consisting of Kleiner's few hardened soldiers and some levy retainers from the city, began rushing for the north gate. Kleiner, Mikal and Shen, along with their retainers, rushed for the northern gate, rejecting horses as taking too long to dress and prepare. They were at the northern entrance within three minutes, arriving just in time to greet the new arrivals.

The column stumbled through the gates, watched carefully by the crossbowmen on the parapets above. There were a few soldiers in the group; they were dirty, ragged men who dragged their feet as they walked. They bore chipped swords and dented shields, rusted old mail and rotting leather tunics. A few bore insignias; most of them were Rolf troops, a few were Kastner or Crestan, and Kleiner saw one of his own in the mix. But these stragglers were hardly interesting compared to their comrades.

About thirty-two Illyushechka walked with them, dirty and filthy but bearing themselves with a sort of dignity that was absent in the common soldiers who were straggling behind them. They were dressed in their gray robes, robes stained with mud and filth but still retaining a hint of their color. Kleiner watched as the small group streamed through the gate, followed by the stragglers. They assembled in a tight circle between the gate and the massive crowd of guards and spearmen blocking the street ahead of them.

"The fight continues. We have heard, and so we have come," one of the pasty-faced, white-haired Illyushech said, stepping forward. His dark grey eyes, seemingly lifeless and yet full of energy, were scanning the entire assembly of soldiers at the gate, as if trying to pick out any potential threat.

"You come from Crestan?" Kleiner ventured. He knew the arrival of the foreigners would most certainly unnerve some of the men, especially those who had never laid eyes on the tall, pale-skinned northerners.

"We are of the survivors. Too many were purged. There is nothing left up there but ash and bitterness. There is hope, blood, pain and potential here," the one continued. Kleiner consciously marked him as the group's leader, and allowed him to continue, while pondering what he meant. Hope, blood, pain, potential? Positive and negative, mixed emotions. He would have to return to that mix later.

"We are the first, but we will not be the last. We come to return to the fight that we have been apart from so long," he spoke, approaching ever closer. "Alaf Rolf is dead. But you, you live. Do you continue the fight?"

He considered asking what fight the creature was speaking of, but that would have been folly. He knew.

"It is what we have been preparing for," Kleiner answered, his throat suddenly dry.

"That is good." The Illyushech had suddenly become laconic, and turned to the other soldiers, those who blocked the road.

"I come bearing no harm. I come bearing my strength and arms for your fight. You fight, yes?" Most of the men nodded, although Kleiner knew that a decent portion of them were contrarily confused.

"I still do," Kleiner told him.

"We come to face our enemies again. The enemy cannot stand before the light, and we are the lightmen, risen from the ash of defeat to retrieve victory."

"You do me an honor by returning," Kleiner said, his throat suddenly dry and scratchy. It's more than just an honor. It's the turning point I needed, he thought.

"As long as there is adequate space and supply for my followers we are glad to join your side and take to the fight once more," the Illyushech declared. There probably wasn't enough space or supply, but who was he to deny his saving grace? Kleiner nodded and directed Mikal to set them up with housing and food, and then the group dispersed, the new arrivals being escorted to the barracks for registration and dispersal. Kleiner, for what it was worth, felt as though he had been given a second chance.