Huge Ajax's Arc

Chapter 330 of 619

The stone carver finished his last cut at dawn. Ajax stood at the bathhouse and ran a hand over the wall. Vines and leaves wound through the stone, deep and clean. The bar had them. The baths had them. The rooms upstairs had them. Only the dining hall waited, its walls still bare and gray. The carver wiped his chisel and looked at Ajax. "The hall next," Ajax said. "Same work." The carver nodded and carried his tools inside. Ajax watched him mark the first line on the hall wall. Chisel struck stone. A leaf began to take shape. This was the last room. When it was done, every wall a trader saw would carry the same fine mark, and no other port could match it. Ajax knew what drew silver now. Not blades. Beauty a man remembered and paid to return to. Grayson came from the gate at midmorning. He stopped beside Ajax and looked at the carver's work. "Good," he said. Nothing more. He turned to go back to his post. A sound came from the yard. Ajax turned. The Leafgift Dryad stood at the hall door, bark skin catching the light, her dress of broad green leaves stirring though no wind moved. She carried a bundle of flowers and a woven basket. Ajax had hunted her beasts and closed her doors. She had come to pay. Rowan came fast from the pens. He knew her before Ajax spoke. He raised a hand to her, palm open, the greeting the dryads had taught him. She returned it. "You closed the last door," the dryad said. "You killed the bound thing before it broke free. I owe you." She set the basket at Ajax's feet. Rowan knelt and looked. He lifted a small clay jar. "Grove sap," he said. "Seals wood against rot. Worth more than silver to a shipwright." He set it down and drew out a coil of pale root. "This holds an enchantment without bleeding it. Better than yew." His voice stayed flat, but his hands moved with care. Tucker had come to the door, chains bright. He crouched over the basket and lifted a folded cloth of woven green leaf. It did not tear when he pulled it. "A master would pay for this," he said. "No loom makes it." Aldric arrived last, chalk on his tunic. He studied each gift and named it. "Grove sap. Bleed-root. Leafcloth." He looked at Ajax. "Each rare. Together, a season's trade." The dryad pressed the flowers into Ajax's hand. "For your oath," she said. "You feed my kin if the grove burns. These bloom in cold. Plant them by your wall." Then she stepped back through the door and was gone. Ajax held the flowers and looked at his full basket. The hall would soon be carved. His stock had been three hides. Now it was three hides and a grove's gift. His house would hold until the ships came.