Dawn put a clean edge on everything. The forge coughed, then sang; the watchtower stretched; Thorn sat under her shade cloth like a cat pretending she hadn't been purring all night. Founders' Way filled with the sound of work—rakes, ropes, ribbing. 🙂
The [System] arrived with its tidy tray:
[Morning Brief — Novaterra] • Wall Corner I: 33% → 36% (outer course trued; rubble tamped) • Forge: Shield bosses #2; Javelin heads #4; Buckle lot #1 • West Hollow: Dormant (low); totems destroyed (2) • Primer v1.1: Adopted (all) • Operation: "Red Awning" — T–0 (Dace; support Bryn/Hale) • Smile Rock: Watch set (Ras/Hale tonight) • Morale: Resolute 🙂
Aiden closed it and watched Novaterra turn numbers into people. Hadrik tuned the anvil with a practiced grumble; Ansel measured stone with a soup ladle (Mara's law); Calder made bark taste like courage. Elara crossed the oval spear-in-hand, posture spelling work.
"Today we sweep," Aiden said.
Elara's mouth tilted. "Broom, not spear."
"Broom," he agreed. "And don't chase."
Jory tooted a bright two short—polite retreat—then raised the horn as if to apologize to it. "Practice," he said. "Not a signal."
"Keep it that way," Elara said, dry.
They sent Bryn and Hale ahead at dawn—horse-gossip to teach Silverbrook's riders how to screen without becoming stories. Two hours later, Dace's runner arrived at a breath-saving trot with a crisp panel:
[Form Up — Silverbrook] • Route "Red Awning" confirmed. • Caltrops staged (hidden). • Rope lines set (flags marked our side). • Civilians cleared to market green. Children with horns posted (Sera). • Time-on-target: mid-morning. — Dace
Aiden exhaled. "Good ground. Good timing."
Elara nodded. "Now we wait and refuse to be clever." She cut him a sideways look. "Can you manage."
"I have a ledger," he said, and got a small, undeserved smile for it. 😌
They built quiet in the meantime. Hadrik's furious apprentice produced shield bosses polished enough to impress a cloud. Ansel declared a wall course "soupsafe," poured stew, and nodded when it didn't run. Mara wrote NO HEROICS BEFORE LUNCH on a new plank and posted it where men queued for bread.
Ras stumped in with rope dust and a grin he tried to hide. "We moved three likely perches," he reported. "Found one bead in a thistle—burned it."
"Three pieces?" Aiden asked, already knowing.
"Three pieces," Ras said, and rolled his eyes as if the world were a bad joke it kept telling.
The message hit at mid-morning like a horn carried on paper. Dace's second runner—short, fast, fierce—slid to a stop and pushed the [System] pane up where Aiden's sight could drink it:
[Action Report — Red Awning (Live)] • Red Hal present (11 + hangers-on). Cousin "Pike" leading flankers (6). • Two charm vendors in lane; crowd nervous. • Drummer present (no shaman). • Execution: — Skirmishers forward (sling), drum suppressed. — Shield wall formed across lane (3 ranks). — Caltrops triggered; Pike tried brush → rope lines held. — Cavalry screen (Bryn/Hale) dusted flanks; riders baited, did NOT chase 🙂 — "Don't Chase" enforced (twice). • Outcome: — Hal disengaged (bruised pride). — Pike snared (alive). — Charms burned (5); moth soot on 2 notes. — Civilians unhurt; basket losses: 3 carrots, 1 pride. • Request: Calder's tea (post-panic). — Dace
Aiden whooped before he remembered he was supposed to be composed. Elara let herself grin with her eyes. "Good broom," she murmured. "Better not-chasing."
Mara peered over his shoulder, snorted at basket losses, and ladled tea into a traveling tin. "Send bark," she ordered. "And a note that pride grows back."
Aiden scrawled: Proud. Primer held. Don't chase again tomorrow for practice. Tea en route. He added Jory's stick figure of a person heroically not chasing and a tiny broom. 🧹
They didn't have long to bask. A second pane snapped into place, edges sharp:
[Prisoner — Pike] • Statement: "I hang rope if paid. I hang beads if told. Letters come with the moth stamp." • Route: Smile Rock (south), Gatepost Three Slashes (east), Willow Two Knots (river). • Threat: "Moth will send greenies if coin stops." (No shaman mentioned.) • Condition: Mouthy; wrists sore; alive. — Dace
Elara made a thoughtful noise. "He knows too many dead drops for a mere elbow."
"Clove said elbows," Aiden reminded, squinting toward the east where ink liked to walk. "Letters love elbows."
"We'll close them," she said. "One at a time. Polite, relentless."
Calder's bark-tea courier trotted out with a satchel and instructions to guilt anyone who refused a cup. Jory stuck a THORN WAS HERE stamp on the pouch. Rinna pretended not to be pleased. Tam was so pleased he forgot to breathe for a second. 😅
By noon, Silverbrook's after report read like a hymn in Venn's ledger.
[After Action — Red Awning] • Casualties: 0 (ours); 2 (bandit—non-fatal); bruises: many (ego). • Pike transferred (escorted) for questioning; no mob justice allowed (Sera glared). • Charm vendors ran; one left moth-stamped note (copied). • Children executed horn drills with unjustified glee. 📯 • "Don't Chase" adopted by market mothers (weaponized). — Dace
"Good," Elara said. Then, quieter: "This buys time. Moth will spend it if we don't."
"Then we spend it first," Aiden replied. "On walls and oaths and soup."
"Soup," Mara agreed, decisive. 🍲
He checked the Wall: Corner I climbed another course; Corner II's trench pegs appeared like teeth planning to arrive. Hadrik rolled out buckle straps because belts are morale. Venn sketched a little moth in his margin and then cross-hatched it to death.
The Smile Rock got its own watch ring by afternoon—Ras and Hale rigging snares that wouldn't snap calves, Bryn weaving brush so neatly even rabbits applauded. Aiden added a little plank, lettered by Jory: BRIDGES ONLY. It made him feel better. It would annoy exactly one man. Good.
Toward late day, Clove arrived in that clerkly way—too calm, boots that never licked mud. He held up hands, then a packet.
"Letter," he said. "Not perfumed."
"Progress," Mara muttered.
Venn hooked it with a stick. No sweet. No itch. Grey soot moth, neat.
To the Lord Who Sweeps,
My compliments. Pike was a blunt instrument; your rope deserves better tools.
We will not fight over small markets. Let boys sell baskets and women scold husbands. We will find new routes.
Since you enjoy maps: a courtesy. A column of green will peel west from the south road within a fortnight, no more than eight hundred—not a horde, not nothing. They march sloppy when drums stop; they run when their shamans cough.
Sweep them in the open if you must. Your wall will not be ready; your field will have to be.
— Grey Moth (who likes outcomes)
Aiden read it twice. His heart performed that new unpleasant trick where it tried to write faster than his ribcage. Elara's eyes went flinty and bright.
"Eight hundred," she said. "Not a horde."
"Not nothing," Aiden echoed.
Venn tapped the margin where fortnight appeared. "He is either helpful or arranging his profit margin."
"Both," Elara said. "Always both."
Aiden didn't pretend not to hear the drum behind the words: open field. The Primer sat in his head like a clean blade that still needed whetstone. He looked west where West Hollow sulked. He looked south where roads carried news with feet. He looked at Elara and saw the formation draw itself in her shoulders.
"Do we trust the number?" he asked.
"No," she said. "We prepare for a thousand and make eight hundred feel like too many."
"Time?" Aiden asked.
"Fortnight," Venn said. "Call it ten days. He wants us to move fast. We will move prepared."
Aiden inhaled and felt the town lean, just a little, toward dust and flags.
"Primer v1.2," he said.
The [System] opened obediently.
[Open-Field Muster — Primer v1.2] Updates: • Expected Enemy: Goblin column (600–1,000), 1–2 shamans, drums, no siege. • Field: Choose slight rise; wind at back if possible; sun in their eyes. • Center: Shield Wall (bossed), stakes pre-driven in wagons; plant on signal. • Rear: Thorn (primary), Bolt Crate (painted "Thorn Was Here" for morale); do NOT advance. • Wings: Light Cav screen; javelins to harass, cut off flanks, chase ONLY on "5 rising + flag green." • Skirmishers: Sling/archery focus fire on **shamans** (4 broken signal). • Traps: Caltrop belts staggered; rope trip-lines; banner poles = rally posts. • Reserve: 10 veterans (NCOs) + 40 best Guards (if available) as counterpunch. Signals: • 1 long — form wall • 2 short — polite retreat • 3 sharp — impolite retreat • 4 broken — shaman/drum • 5 rising — cavalry screen left/right (color flag for side) • 6 low — snare sprung New: • 7 steady — plant stakes (center sit) • 8 falling — **NO CHASE** (absolute)
Jory hovered. "Can I—"
"Yes," Aiden said, already resigned. "Add stakes picture and no chase angry face." 😑
Elara scanned, then nodded once. "We need a field with a name. People fight better when the dirt has a word."
Aiden looked at the map and the land and the way the wind behaved at certain hours. A long, shallow swell north of Riversong caught his eye—a rise of ground with a stubborn old oak scowling at the sky and a runoff cut that could be read as a moat if you squinted.
"Riversong Flats," he said. "The Oak Rise for the center. Dust lanes here and here."
Elara's mouth curved. "Good eye."
Mara arrived with stew and a frown. "You look like men naming places where they intend to bleed," she said. "Eat."
They ate. It helped. 🍲
The day tightened as if deciding to behave. Bryn and Hale returned from Silverbrook at dusk with dust to eyebrows and tired grins.
"Riders learned not to be brave," Bryn reported, which was a Bryn way of saying she was proud. "Children learned to shame fathers with horns."
"Pike?" Elara asked.
"In a shed," Hale said. "Sera's glare on him like a wall. He will not become a lesson he didn't choose."
"Good," Aiden said, and meant it.
They walked the west line together. The caltrops glinted invisibly. Thorn dozed, smug. The Smile Rock sat, patient. Ras pointed to a perch that would have fooled him last week; today he frowned at it until it admitted guilt.
Night arrived wearing its cleanest shoes. The test was a token—three goblins testing, one drummer hoping. The wall in the field lived in muscle now; the small line stepped, pushed, didn't chase. The drum popped like a mistake and rolled into grass. Calder's lantern in the clinic glowed like a small moon.
The [System] tucked them in:
[Evening Summary — Novaterra] • Red Awning: Secured (bandit presence dispersed); Pike captured. • Grey Moth letter: Intercepted; column warning noted (10d est.). • Primer v1.2: Published (open-field prep). • Battlefield Selected: Riversong Flats (Oak Rise). • Wall Corner I: 36% → 38% • Forge: Bosses, javelin heads; Bolt Crate painted "Thorn Was Here" • Morale: Confident → Focused 🙂
Aiden stood at the half-gate-that-would-be and felt the town angle itself toward the Flats. He saw the posts with flags—simple colors, easy to find. He saw stakes carried on wagons like teeth in a pocket. He saw Thorn behind, steady, punctuation ready. He saw dust on the wings and no chase burned on boots.
Elara leaned a shoulder to the rail, helm under her arm. "Ask the sky where you want the wind," she said, not quite joking.
"Behind us," Aiden said. "In their eyes. With the sun." He looked a little to the side, where his reader lived. "When I ask for the ground's specifics, I'll mean it."
She didn't ask who he meant. She never did.
"We have ten days," she said. "We will use all of them. We will not become clever when tired."
"Ledger agrees," he said.
"Good," she replied. "Ledger is new. I approve."
They looked west. Somewhere beyond the line, a drummer tried to convince his hands that eight hundred was a number that mattered. Somewhere east, a man who liked moths tallied probabilities and forgot that brooms had opinions.
"Novaterra," Aiden told the not-quite-dark, "we picked a field and wrote a plan. Tomorrow, we thicken it with blisters. No heroics. Just work." 🙂
The wind stroked the grass the right way. The oak on the rise pretended not to listen and listened anyway. And Thorn—smug, oiled, patient—settled like a period at the end of a sentence that was only beginning.