Chapter 26 (Patreon)

The Ebook and paperback was released today! I'd appreciate any reviews y'all can leave on it.I've been working on a new map showing the regions on the Blackjaw peninsula and working on some revisions from the first 20 chapters. Heads up I'm gonna be pausing any charges for this in march because I'll be gone for a month for some training. I'll still be writing some but wont be able to guarantee any releases. Hopefully ill have a fat set of chapters to release when I get back around late march.

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The quill moved without catching.

The new paper took the ink in a clean line and held it, no feathering along the grain, no need to slow his hand to keep the numbers legible. Harold craved order and efficiency—he hungered for it in a world where so little could be controlled. When he lifted the nib, the column stayed sharp. He dusted the sand across the wet strokes and tilted the sheet, watching the excess slide off into the tray. Caldwell had talked for days about screens and settling vats and longer time in the press, and for once the result sat plain under Harold’s fingers: less drag, faster work, fewer ruined tallies, and he was insufferable about it. Endlessly polite but very smug.

The smell from the kitchens had been building while Harold finished the page. Hot grain, onions in fat, something roasted until the edges cracked. His stomach pulled tight. The mornings in the yard had done that to him. The new knight from the last portal had no interest in who Harold was and every interest in where Harold's feet were and how long his guard held. Long bouts with the wooden sword, resets that came too fast, corrections that landed across his forearms when his movements got lazy. Harold was hungry before the drills ended and starving again by midmorning.

He left the ledger open and stepped into the corridor.

Heat rolled up from below with the sound of ladles striking pots and someone laughing at a piece of gossip. Harold’s guard fell in behind him, the spacing between them even without a glance, hands clear of their belts now that they, too, spent half their off-hours in the ring. Harold was cultivating a very dangerous group of mana users.

The mushroom burned in the main hall, steady and pale. The four legionaries around it held the same distance they always did, shields grounded, spearpoints angled just enough that no one drifted too close by accident. These legionaries were armed with an additional short sword, and unknown to anyone else. Above them, a cut in the stone hid the shadow that watched the room through a narrow slot.

Two of the new arrivals to the keep slowed to stare at the brightly glowing mushroom and were turned away with a quiet word before they crossed the line. Everyone who worked in the keep took an additional oath, and Margaret personally vetted each person.

Outside, the ground no longer tried to take his boots. The rains had come in earnest.

The cobble ran from the keep steps down to the base of the hill in a hard, even sweep. Two weeks ago, the wagons had sunk to their axles there. Men were knee-deep in the pull, mud sucking at every step. He could still feel the drag in his thighs when he looked at the slope. Hale had been cruel enough to make them drill in the mud. Every thought of it made him gag. Now, a loaded cart came off the quarry road and crossed the stone without a shout from the driver. The tatanka leaned into the harness in a smooth, steady push.

The change had started in the mine. Miners stood in the dark with mana running through their picks. They split seams clean instead of shattering them, sending up blocks that were already mostly shaped. The masons had been idle after the potion hall went up. Now they worked in two kneeling lines at the edge of the finished section. Mallets tapped in a fast, even rhythm. The next stretch of road grew outward as quickly as the stone arrived. Josh’s project had expanded. Now, almost all the crafters had spent time there, with varying results, but productivity in every section had increased.

Harold walked the center of it without looking down and picking his steps.

Down at the creek, the grain mill had climbed another level. Fresh beams locked into place. The wheel housing was framed where the current bent hardest. A crew stood thigh-deep in the water, driving the last piles. Shirts off, shoulders slick, the rise and fall of their mallets carried across the square. Something their wives loved as they washed their new clothes that were now being made.

The forge building had expanded again. Harold was thinking about building them a new compound. Smoke lifted through the vents in dark columns. The hammering never settled into silence. Racks of spearheads and short blades stood along the open side. Adventurers crowded the planks with coins in their fists, arguing over balance, grip, and which edge would hold through a second run in the northern dungeon. One woman bent a blade against the table, nodded at the flex, and shoved her silver forward without a word.

Past them, Beth’s stakes cut the ground into measured lots. Twine marked the lanes. Frames stood at chest height. Families moved inside them, armloads of planks in hand. The talk there was low and practical—where the door would face, how far to set the hearth from the wall. People were ready to begin moving out of the large halls that had been built. They wanted privacy again.

At the road, the column waiting to depart for the mountain village assembled.

The Tatanka teams stood matched and quiet. The new herd they had captured already took the yoke as if born to it. The tamers moved among them with a touch and a breath. Their perks allowed them to settle the animals when they spoke. The wagons carried larger loads than the basin runs had—beams for the first hall, crates of nails, tools, and seed.

The mayor stood with Josh over a slate at the head of the column. They had finished the last of it in the office the night before—rations, palisade line, and what to plant first—and there was nothing left for him to add.

Harold stepped off the road and let the first wagon come past.

Margaret watched from farther back with her aides, her board of tallies already shifting as the teams moved. Beth walked the length of the lumber crews, hand to a shoulder here, and tied a knot there. The escort century formed along the flank, shields slung for the walk, spacing tight enough that they moved as a single piece when the horn sounded.

The teams leaned into the harness together, and the wagons took off without a jolt.

He watched them go. The wheels did well on the cobble, the dust rising only when they met the packed earth beyond.

At the tail of the column, Hale came to the shadow of the fort's tower and stopped beside him, helm under his arm.

In the yard of the fort, a century drilled in the new formation, Sub Tribunes were walking the line without glancing toward their captain. They left corrections to the NCOs. Harold watched as they wheeled smoothly into a testudo, locking their shields overhead in a tortoise shell, happy with the result.

“Watchtower reports the path clear down to Haven,” Hale said. “The adventurers are clearing the way for them.” He turned to watch the same Century Harold was watching. “Are you sure sending 50 of them is the right move?”

Harold nodded. “Yes, they’ll be needed for phase 2 now that we are ramping up phase 1. It’ll take them almost three weeks to get there anyway. I’d send more if we weren’t spread so thin. And they can clear that dungeon while they are there. We need that as well.”

“Tran’s section is in place,” he said after a moment. “We’re one century short of a full cohort. The juniors are ready for promotion. I’ll implement the training plans for the specialist tracks once you approve them.”

The last cart crested the rise and vanished into the trees, the red crests of the escort marking the final mark.

Behind them, another stone train turned in from the mine road, and the masons dropped to their knees at the edge of the finished cobble, setting the next run before the mud could take it back.

Hale watched the dust settle where the last wagon had vanished, then shifted his weight and hooked his thumbs into his belt.

Harold didn’t look at him when he spoke.

“How are your date nights going?”

Hale’s mouth twitched. “I regret calling them that now that it’s gotten around,” he said. “They’re going well, though, and it has been…nice to spend time with her.”

“I assume you bring her flowers,” Harold said.

Hale looked at him sideways, “Margaret isn’t exactly a flowers kind of woman.”

Harold turned his head to hide his smile.

“Garrick is doing exactly what you asked for,” Hale said. “Every exercise forces a decision that costs something. If they move fast, they leave someone exposed. If they slow down to pull everyone through clean, the objective gets away. He isn’t allowing clean solutions.”

The sound of mallets from the masons carried up the slope between them.

“They have minimal potion support,” Hale went on. “Only one per team, held by whoever they decide, then when someone gets hurt, they have to decide who is worth spending it on.”

Harold’s jaw shifted slightly.

“At first they tried to game it,” Hale said. “They used the potion early, then tried to brute force the rest of the scenario. He let them because they didnt know there were two more after that. By the third scenario, Sarah was dragging a man with a broken leg through the forest because they’d used their only heal on a sprained wrist. The random groups help.”

“What happened with that?” Harold asked.

“Oh, she finished,” Hale said. “But the objective failed. Garrick made them sit through the review while the injured were still screaming.” Hale snorted, “The stories are already traveling through the Legion, the people that volunteer for the course after this are either going to be smart or stupid.”

Harold exhaled slowly through his nose.

“He doesn’t raise his voice,” Hale added. “He just walks them back through every choice. Who stepped where? Who didn’t speak up? Who assumed someone else had eyes on the flank. It’s actually infuriating.”

The wind shifted, bringing the smell of the forges up the hill.

“What about Sarah?” Harold asked. Hale took a moment before answering.

“He separates her without making it look like he’s separating her. Or he tries to, but I don’t think she’s picked up on it,” he said. “He gives the tasks that force her to choose between being the hero and being the leader. Then, when she tries to pick the obvious solution, she gets punished for it.”

“She’s taken two bad hits,” Hale said. “A couple of broken ribs on the ravine run from some kind of nasty bird. Then Garrick put an arrow through her calf in the night withdrawal. She didn’t have a potion, and she had to finish the 10k on it.”

Harold’s hand tightened once on the strap of his glove, then loosened. Hale pretended not to notice the obvious distress Harold was in.

“She’s still moving at the front,” Hale finished. “Still trying to carry the team on her back. But she’s starting to think before committing to action. I don’t think you made any favors with her by making her go through it, but it’s been good for her.”

They stood in silence long enough to hear the escort century in the yard below shift formations.

“And the others?” Harold asked.

“Theo has made the largest improvement, and Jace is becoming damn hard to track,” Hale said. “They discuss options with each other, then Garrick forces them to pick and walks away. If they don’t choose, his instructors start ambushing them.”

“The culmination run is tomorrow,” Hale said. “A mission into the mountains east of here and there are real stakes for them. Garrick spent last week gathering a group of crafters to pose as captured Havenites. He’s intending to stage a den rescue for the scouts.”

Harold sighed, suddenly feeling very tired. He had partly been drilling so hard to keep his mind off Sarah, and it was catching up to him. Seemed like he hadn’t had a moment to himself in years. The best moments were meal time and when he could get away to the bathhouse.

Hale continued, “There’s been broken bones and some deep cuts. One lung puncture last week when a rope bridge went early, and they fell into the gulch.” Hale said. “That guy barely lived, and now they know to check where they tie off their lines. They had to decide whether to carry him or make the time window. They decided to carry him and missed it, then Garrick spent the time berating them for not getting the valuable information back in time.”

Harold’s gaze drifted back to the road, remembering his experiment.

“What about Robert?” he asked. That brought the hint of the earlier smile back.

“Different problem,” Hale said. “In the field, he’s ahead of the curve. He reads ground well and somehow picked up some kind of stealth perk. Though I think Margaret taught him her version of it. Garrick has started using him as the example for pathing and positioning.”

“But has he fit into Sarah's team?” Harold asked.

Hale shrugged, “Seems fine to me.” Hale said. “He’s popular with the soldiers; a crafter training with them is a novelty. They had a contest to see who could cut through objects quicker, and he’s better than half of them.”

Harold huffed quietly.

“Fish in water,” Hale said. “Just hasn’t figured out he’s allowed to swim when people are watching.”

“And Sarah?” Harold asked.

“She’s cautious, I think, miffed you included him in their meld thingy without asking her,” Hale said. “But I think he’s growing on her, he’s a good kid. Helps he’s competent and honest.”

Harold’s eyes narrowed slightly in thought.

“He’s good for them,” Hale added. “He doesn’t compete for the front and has insightful comments. Gets along with Theo very well.”

Behind them, a wagon was taking a log to the sawmill.

“They step off at dawn,” Hale said. “If they solve what Garrick’s set for them in the mountains, they’ll come back stronger.”

Harold watched the work in the square for a long moment before speaking.

“I just hope it’s enough,” he said.

Hale glanced at him. “You’re not going to ask what the final problem is?”

“No, I don't want to know beyond what you told me, knowing Garrick, he’s gonna throw curve balls,” Harold said. “I told him to make it real.”

Hale nodded once, satisfied with that, and for a while they stood without speaking as the Landing kept building itself behind them.

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