Morning laid a clean line along the edge of Novaterra. The forge cleared its throat and began to sing; the watchtower stretched; Thorn flexed in her shed like a cat promising to be well-behaved for at least five minutes. Founders' Way breathed into hammers and rope and voices that knew their jobs. š
ā Morning Brief ā Novaterraā¢ Wall Corner I: 38% ā 42% (outer course + rubble)ā¢ Forge: Shield bosses #3; Javelin heads #5; Stake-drivers (4)ā¢ Primer v1.2: Adopted (open-field prep)ā¢ Battlefield: Riversong Flats (Oak Rise) ā surveys ongoingā¢ Smile Rock: Watch (Ras/Bryn/Hale)ā¢ Morale: Focused š
Aiden closed the pane and found Elara already crossing the oval, spear shouldered, patience sharp. "Ten days," he said.
"Nine and a bit," she corrected, mouth quirking. "We spend all of them."
"Ledger agrees," he said, and got the almost-smile that meant he was learning.
They started with stakes.
Hadrik rolled out four new stake-driversāstout mauls with iron capsāand a cart of shaved ash poles hardened in the forge throat. "You don't hammer a stake," he lectured. "You convince it the earth has room." His apprentices nodded the grave nod of people who had just met poetry in a blacksmith's mouth.
Ansel set chalk lines on a practice field and made the crews plant and pull, plant and pull, until blisters learned the alphabet. "On signal," Elara called, and Jory gave seven steady across the air. The line moved like a spine agreeing with itself; stakes bit, ropes sang, boards thumped the dirt in time.
"Again," Elara said, which had become everyone's favorite swear.
Mara posted a new sign over the water barrels: NO HEROICS BEFORE WATER. A chorus of "Yes, Mara," followed, some sincere, some terrified. š
ā Unit Gainsā¢ Center: Stake drill +1 (speed)ā¢ Crews: Plant/Pull rhythm learnedā¢ Signal Net: 7 steady adopted (stakes set)
Then standards.
"People need a piece of sky to find," Elara said. "Flags you can see in dust. A color per cohort. Simple."
Venn grimaced theatrically at the idea of paint leaving his inventory and then produced pigments like a magician scolding his hat. Sera's earlier parcel had included a shy handful of bright powders; Mara bulged the supply with boiled onion skins and beet vats and a triumphantly ugly blue she called River-Not-Falling-In. šØ
Children from Riversong arrived with Liaācheeks wind-pink, fingers eager. They painted bars and circles on stout cloth while Jory demonstrated horn calls with deadly seriousness. (A small boy blew two short at his father for trying to sneak a bread heel; a mother applauded; the father accepted the judgment with grace and a grin. š)
"Standards," Aiden said, holding one up to the light. A white circle on green for Center. Red bar on black for Right Wing. Blue chevron on gray for Left Wing. Yellow sun-dot for Reserve. Simple. Loud. True at a glance.
ā Morale Noteā¢ Standards raised: Rally speed +5% under dust; Children's enthusiasm contagious šÆš
They walked Riversong Flats at noon: Aiden, Elara, Bryn, Hale, Garran, Venn, and Ras.
The Oak on the rise scowled at the sky. Grasses lay in long combed waves; a shallow runnel cut the field like a half-remembered moat.
"Wind," Elara said.
Hale wetted a finger, tested with priestly gravity. "Prevails west-to-east mornings, curls south by late day. If we form at dawn, we get wind at back, sun in their eyes."
"Dawn, then," Aiden said, skin prickling at the way the word sat in the chest.
Bryn crouched, listening to dirt. "Sod's firm," she said. "Good for stakes. Bad for goblin ankles if we seed caltrops under thin thatch."
"Ras?" Elara prompted.
Ras pointed to a low dip. "If I were beads, I'd hide there," he said, then flushed. "If I were rope, I'd lay a trip just here."
"Lay both," Elara answered. "And burn one."
Aiden stood at Oak Rise and looked outward the way a wall looks outward. He saw Center planted on the crown, Thorn thirty meters back, flags at the rally posts, caltrop belts staggered, cavalry dusting the flanks. He saw don't chase stamped under every heel like a charm that did what charms pretended to.
He breathed once, slow, and the field seemed to say ready when you are.
ā Battlefield Prep ā Riversong Flatsā¢ Oak Rise: Center sit (stakes wagon route set)ā¢ Caltrop belts: planned (staggered double)ā¢ Trip-lines: ras-predicted perches mappedā¢ Rally posts: marked (standards)
Back in Novaterra, the day turned itself into kits.
Calder led the aid plan with soft authority: bandage rolls, honey pots, splints, stretchers, spare water skins, a chalkboard with triage symbols (ā¼ for "sit, you'll live," ā for "now," and a gentle "āæ" for panic needs tea). "We station two teams at the rear left under the sun-dot standard," he said. "One runner per squad. If you can shout, you can live while you wait." š
Mara commandeered the food train: hard bread, soup bricks, a scandalous quantity of salted fish. "Hot broth at the line after," she decreed. "Cold water before."
Hadrik turned out buckles and bosses and an experimental pavise (a big belly-shield on a leg) that Ansel immediately loved and declared "soupsafe" by pouring stew on it. It shed gravy like a duck. Approval.
Venn bullied the ledger into a march plan: wagons with stakes and water and spare bolt crate (painted gaudily THORN WAS HERE because morale matters). He penciled in margins: no chasing; no clever; pay rope.
ā Logistics Readyā¢ Aid stations: 2 (sun-dot)ā¢ Water: 8 wagons (barrels)ā¢ Stakes: 3 wagons (ash)ā¢ Bolt crate: staged (painted)ā¢ Food: soup bricks + salted fish š
By late afternoon, the Smile Rock offered a new envelope with the moth burned smaller in the corner, like a wink that didn't dare be large.
Ras didn't touch; Hale hooked; Venn glowered. No perfume this timeājust neat hand, polite malice.
To the Lord Counting Stakes,
The column will split if pressed: three partsāa rash vanguard (they will chase), a sagging belly (they will panic), a careful rear with drums (they will pretend to plan).
If you prefer to prevent blood, break the rear and the rest becomes sheep. If you prefer trophies, take heads at the front. You will be tempted by both.
I admire your bridge. I will admire your broom more.
ā Grey Moth
"Useful," Venn admitted grudgingly. "Which means costly."
"Or obvious," Elara said. "Rear first has always been good arithmetic."
"Then he expects it," Aiden countered. "So we show rear and swat front if they overreach."
Elara's eyes warmed at the word swat. "Double false," she said. "I approve."
They drafted Primer v1.3 on the spotāno code panes, just ink and breath and the wind reading along.
ā Open-Field Muster ā Primer v1.3ā¢ Enemy Behavior (expected): Vanguard rash; Belly wobbly; Rear drum-steadyā¢ Feint: Threaten rear (flags + skirmisher pressure)ā¢ Strike: Swat vanguard WHEN it outruns drums; break with stakes + scorpion punctuationā¢ Then: Turn center on belly; press until drums cough (signal 4 broken), do not chase (8 falling)ā¢ Reserve: Counterpunch ONLY on green flag + 5 risingā¢ Doctrine note: Bridges over trophies; survivors eat soup, not stories
Jory sketched a stick-vanguard tripping over a stake and a very smug stick-Thorn adding a dot. Tam almost fainted from pride. š
Evening brought drills at the Flats.
They marched standards out under the Oak and set the rally posts. Jory's horn called one long; the wall formed. Seven steady; stakes planted. Four broken; skirmishers peeled to punish a pretend drum. Two short; polite retreat, clean as a line of ink. Eight falling; no chase, the wall standing still with contemptuous grace while a few chosen fools ran out and then back, panting, learning shame as a muscle.
The cavalry screened the flanks in dust ovalsāno crashes, only harass and leave. Bryn taught them a serpentine that looked like art and felt like common sense. Hale found a low ridge and declared it a horn perch; Jory tried it and made the field hum.
Calder walked the rear with his signs and his kettle. "You'll be bored," he told the aid teams kindly. "That means everyone is behaving."
Mara posted another plank at the sun-dot: SOUP AFTER. She underlined it three times. š²
ā Field Rehearsal ā Riversong Flatsā¢ Center: stakes timed 90 seconds ā 70 secondsā¢ Cavalry: feint learned (serpentine)ā¢ Skirmishers: drum-break focus (hit rate +10%)ā¢ Signal Net: horn perches mapped (Hale's ridge)
They returned under a sky that refused stars but did a decent job of not-dark. The west line hummed steady; the Smile Rock sat patient; West Hollow sulked like a small town's gossip finally ignored.
Clove slid out of the east at twilight with clerk-calm and pond eyes, empty palms opening. "Observation," he said mildly. "Your banners are visible from very far away. This is both strength andā¦ advertisement."
"Bridges," Aiden said. "And brooms. We're done hiding."
Clove's mouth twitched. "You're going to be exhausting."
Mara handed him a cup. "Drink bark and be grateful."
He did, made a face, and gave them a fractional bow that might have been respect. "If you intend to break a column, don't forget water. Thirst kills faster than knives."
"Eight wagons," Venn replied, offended that anyone thought he'd forget.
Clove glanced at Elara. "And remember: men who love trophies die of chasing."
Elara tipped her helm. "We know a man with a horn who will remind them." Jory saluted the horizon, very serious. š«”
Clove left. The dust he raised arranged itself like neat punctuation.
Night tested the west line with habit: three goblins, one drummer, a bead that died obediently into three, a rope that made a clever foot honest. Thorn did not speak; she didn't need to. Silence can be a period. š
ā Evening Summary ā Novaterraā¢ Stakes & Standards: Field rehearsal complete (70s plant)ā¢ Primer v1.3: Published (feint rear / swat vanguard)ā¢ Smile Rock: Letter (split column) interceptedā¢ Logistics: Aid, water, food trains ready; bolt crate paintedā¢ Wall Corner I: 42% ā 45%ā¢ Morale: Focused ā Steady-bright š
Aiden stood with Elara at the half-gate-that-wanted-to-be and looked toward Riversong Flats. He pictured the flags lifting in the mild dawn wind, the Oak looking unimpressed, the stakes going in quick as breath. He pictured no chase stamped under every heel, loud as a law.
"We'll need the ground's small truths," he said quietly. "Dew, mud, sun angle, wind curl. If it's morning, we want the light in their eyes. If it's dusk, we want their shadows long and nervous."
Elara nodded, eyes on the dark that wasn't. "We'll ask the field what it wants, then persuade it gently."
He exhaled and let the town's hum settle around his ribs. "Soon," he said to the airāand to the reader who had become part of his counsel. "Tell me the specifics when you're ready, and we'll write them into our feet."
She didn't ask who he meant. She didn't need to.
"Novaterra," Aiden told the fence that had learned to hum in key, "we set our stakes, we raise our standards, we drill until boredom becomes courage. No heroics. Just work." š
The wind ran its fingers along the flags drying on the line and found it liked the sound. The Oak pretended not to approve and approved anyway. And Thorn, smug and oiled and patient, settled her limbs like a dot at the end of a line that would soon become a paragraph.