Dawn broke over Fort Marrow with unforgiving clarity, stripping away the merciful shadows of night to reveal every crack in the walls, every patch of rust on the gates. Kael had risen before the sun, a habit fifteen years of military service had ingrained too deeply to break. He stood in the courtyard, watching as the first golden rays illuminated the barren landscape beyond the fort.
Three days had passed since his arrival. Three days of inspections, inventories, and increasingly grim discoveries. The grain stores would last perhaps two weeks if strictly rationed. The armory contained more broken weapons than functional ones. And the water, that precious resource that determined life or death in this sun-scorched land, came from a single well whose murky contents required boiling before consumption.
"The previous lords focused on defense," Sergeant Garek explained as he joined Kael in the courtyard. The older man's single arm gestured toward the crumbling walls. "Bandits were their primary concern."
"A fortress without water or food defends nothing but corpses," Kael replied, his eyes fixed on the well. He approached it, studying the crude stone structure. "How deep does it go?"
"Thirty feet, perhaps. It was dug when the fort was first established, generations ago. The water level drops each year."
Kael nodded, processing this information with the same methodical approach he'd applied to battlefield assessments. "And beyond the fort? Other water sources?"
"There was a stream that ran east of here, but it dried up five summers past. Some of the outlying farms have small wells, but most have gone brackish." Garek's weathered face creased with concern. "The people collect morning dew when they can. Some have tried digging deeper wells, but..."
"But?"
"The last attempt collapsed, killing two men. After that, Lord Harren forbade further digging."
Kael circled the well, his mind working through calculations of need versus resource. Two hundred souls scattered across the March. One failing well within the fort. The equation didn't balance.
"Show me where the stream used to run," he decided.
They rode out as the day's heat began to build, Kael and Garek accompanied by Corporal Tomas, a wiry man whose silent efficiency spoke of years in reconnaissance. The land beyond Fort Marrow stretched in undulating plains of cracked earth and withered scrub. Occasionally, they passed small clusters of dwellings where thin figures paused in their labors to watch the riders with wary eyes.
"Most try to grow hardier crops like millet, barley, some root vegetables," Garek explained as they passed a field where a family worked with crude hoes. "The soil's poor, but not dead. With enough water..."
"Water we don't have," Kael finished.
They reached the dried streambed by midmorning. What had once been a life-giving artery was now a shallow depression in the earth, its banks cracked and eroded. Kael dismounted, kneeling to examine the soil. He dug his fingers into the ground, feeling the texture, bringing a handful to his nose to smell.
"It doesn't smell completely dead," he observed. "There's still moisture somewhere beneath."
Tomas, who had been scouting ahead, returned with a grim expression. "Bandits passed through here recently. A small group, heading east."
"Sandblight?" Garek asked.
"The tracks match their pattern. Five, maybe six men."
Kael stood, brushing the dirt from his hands. "Sandblight?"
"The largest bandit faction in the region," Garek explained. "Former soldiers, mostly, who turned to raiding when the war ended. Their leader calls himself the Sandblight Chief. Claims everything from the fort to the Wastes as his territory."
"How many?"
"Reports vary. Fifty at their main camp, perhaps twice that scattered in smaller groups."
Kael absorbed this information, adding it to his mental map of challenges. Bandits were a threat, but a secondary one. Without water, the March would die regardless of who claimed it.
"We follow the streambed," he decided. "I want to see where it originated."
They tracked the dried waterway for miles, the sun climbing higher as they rode. The heat became oppressive, a physical weight pressing down on man and horse alike. Kael removed his armor piece by piece, storing it in his saddlebags until he wore only a light tunic over his padded gambeson.
"There," Tomas finally called, pointing to a rocky outcropping where the streambed appeared to emerge. "That's the spring that fed the stream. Dried up years ago."
They approached the rocks, dismounting to examine the area more closely. Kael climbed the outcropping, his eyes scanning the terrain with tactical precision. From this vantage point, he could see how the land sloped, how water would have naturally flowed from the spring down to the fort and beyond.
"The water didn't simply disappear," he said, half to himself. "It's still here, just deeper than before."
He descended and began walking the perimeter of the dried spring, studying the ground with intense focus. Something about the pattern of rocks and soil tugged at his memory not from this life, but from before. Knowledge from his first existence, when he had been a teacher with an interest in natural sciences.
"Sir Kael?" Garek called, concern in his voice.
"Aquifers," Kael murmured. "Underground water sources. When the surface water dries up, it doesn't vanish it retreats deeper."
He knelt suddenly, clearing away loose stones to reveal the harder ground beneath. With his dagger, he began to dig, working methodically until he had created a small hole about a foot deep. Then he sat back, waiting.
"What are we " Garek began, but Kael raised a hand for silence. Minutes passed. Then, slowly, water began to seep into the bottom of the hole. Not much barely enough to cover the tip of Kael's dagger but undeniably water.
"There," Kael said, satisfaction evident in his voice. "The water table has dropped, but it's still accessible."
Tomas stared in disbelief. "You found water where our own people couldn't?"
"I didn't find it. I just remembered how to look for it." Kael stood, his mind already racing ahead to implications and plans.
"We need to dig a proper well here, then create irrigation channels following the old streambed."
"Dig a well?" Garek's expression was skeptical. "Sir Kael, we barely have enough hands to maintain the fort, let alone dig a well miles from our walls. And the bandits "
"The bandits are a symptom, not the disease," Kael interrupted. "This land is dying of thirst. Address that, and half our problems solve themselves." They returned to Fort Marrow as the sun began its descent, the day's discoveries weighing on Kael's mind.
That night, he spread maps of the March across his table, marking the location of the dried spring and calculating distances to the scattered settlements.
A well at the spring could provide water for irrigation, but the labor required would be substantial. He would need to convince people already struggling to survive to commit to a project that might not yield immediate results.
Morning found Kael in the fort's courtyard, assembling what tools he could find shovels with worn edges, picks with loose handles, buckets with patched bottoms. As he worked, Garek approached with a troubled expression.
"The council wishes to speak with you," the sergeant said. "They've heard about your plan to dig at the spring."
"News travels quickly," Kael observed. "Small communities have little else to trade but information." The council gathered in what had once been the fort's great hall, now a shadow of its former grandeur. Sera, the farmer who had challenged Kael on his arrival, stood at the center of a group that included representatives from the scattered settlements of the March.
"You propose to dig a well miles from our protection," she began without preamble. "Using hands we cannot spare, for water we cannot be certain exists."
Kael met her gaze steadily. "I propose to address our most critical need. Without water, this March dies, regardless of bandits or taxes."
"And who will protect our homes while our strongest are digging your well?" an older man demanded. "The Sandblight raiders grow bolder each season."
"I will," Kael replied simply. "I didn't spend fifteen years in the Legion to hide behind walls while others work."
A murmur ran through the gathered representatives. Kael continued, his voice level but carrying the authority that had commanded men in battle.
"I need ten workers to start. Those with experience in well-digging or stonework. The rest continue their normal duties. Sergeant Garek and his men will maintain watch at the fort. I will personally guard the diggers."
"And when the bandits come in force?" Sera challenged. "One knight against fifty raiders?"
"One knight in a defensive position of my choosing," Kael corrected. "I've held worse odds."
The debate continued, voices rising and falling as concerns were raised and addressed. Kael listened more than he spoke, noting which representatives held sway, which concerns were genuine versus those raised as pretexts for inaction.
Finally, an elderly woman who had remained silent throughout raised her hand. The room quieted immediately. "I am Matron Elda," she introduced herself to Kael. "I have lived in the March for seventy years. I remember when the stream ran clear and crops grew tall." Her rheumy eyes fixed on Kael with surprising intensity. "You are not the first lord to speak of improvements. But you are the first to offer your own hands and blood as guarantee."
She turned to the others. "My grandson will dig. He has strong arms and knows stonework."
One by one, others stepped forward reluctantly at first, then with growing resolve. By the time the council dispersed, Kael had secured not ten but fifteen volunteers for the well project.
"They're testing you," Garek observed as they left the hall. "If you fail, or if you abandon the project when it grows difficult..."
"I won't," Kael stated, with the simple certainty of a man who had already died once and found himself reborn into a second chance.