Chapter 36 (Patreon)

Dust rose under Hale’s boots with every step of the last stretch of the path. The fine powder clung to the sweat that had soaked through his shirt during the long run west. Salt stung in his eyes, and every breath tasted faintly of copper and grit as the dust thickened on his tongue. Spring was well into summer at this point. The air carried the dry smell of grass and distant cookfires as the ground finally leveled out ahead of him.

Dalens Hold sat beyond the rise. While the legion's camp was being constructed near it.

Hale slowed from the steady pace he had held since leaving the Landing and rolled his shoulders once as the tension worked its way out of his legs. The knights who had run with him spread slightly as they crested the rise together, each of them breathing hard but still steady on their feet.

A few legionaries looked up as the group approached, recognition alerting the camp. “Hail the Captain!”

Hale studied the layout while he approached. The center of the camp had been cleared and flattened into a rough square where a large campaign tent stood half-raised, its heavy canvas stretched across thick poles while men hauled ropes tight and drove stakes into the ground with the backs of axes.

Beside it sat the wagons and Tribune Tran, around whom various supply clerks and runners moved.

Eight wagons stood close together, covers pulled tight against the weather. One carried spare shields and spears, stacked along the sides. Another held grain and smoked meat. A third had become the smith wagon—its bed crowded with tools and half-repaired armor—where a large bearded man worked a traveling forge. The rest carried supplies, and one was reserved for the two alchemy students Harold sent for field experience. These two aimed to become battle alchemists.

Nearby, a small supply tent stood beside the wagons, the camp’s only other shelter.

Everything beyond the wagons lay open to the sky.

The centuries had not settled into rest. They worked.

Lines of men dug along marked stakes that ran around the outer edge of the camp, their shovels biting into the hard earth while others followed behind with picks to deepen the trench. The soil came up in a steady rhythm and was thrown outward to form the beginning of an earthen rampart.

Behind them, another crew drove sharpened timber into the ground.

Fresh-cut trunks were hauled from the woodline and trimmed down where they fell, bark still hanging in strips, while men carried them two at a time toward the ditch. The points were set into the earth and packed tight with soil and hammer blows, the beginnings of a rough palisade rising in uneven lines around the growing camp.

Legionaries from Dalens Hold worked alongside the new arrivals.

The settlers had brought tools and rope. They moved through the work with the easy rhythm of people who had gotten used to work. The difference between them was stark from the last time Hale had seen them. Orders passed back and forth across the ditch line. Dirt and timber shifted from one crew to the next.

Further along the ridge overlooking the river, the larger project had begun.

These were the foundations of Dalens Hold's future fort and barracks.

Stakes marked the outline of its walls across the cleared ground, and one of Dalen's centuries had already started digging the wide foundation trench where those walls would one day stand. Timber frames rose in sections where the first watch platforms would go, rough scaffolds that would let them observe the road and river approaches once the cohort marched away.

After observing the work, Hale watched the movement for a moment before shifting his attention inward again, surveying the heart of the camp.

The Prime Century claimed ground nearest the command area. They had sleeping rolls; the other legionaries did not.

Most looked like patched bundles of padded cloth that had been carried through years of travel, but they were there. The men of the Prime had laid them out beside their shields, with their gear neatly stacked nearby, while weapons were cleaned before being set aside.

The rest of the legionaries slept on cloaks or bare ground when the work allowed them rest at all. Packs served as pillows. Helmets doubled as bowls near the cookfires. One man had planted his shield upright beside him. He leaned against it while sharpening the edge of his spear between shifts at the ditch.

The scouts barely appeared in the camp.

Hale caught glimpses of a couple moving along the treeline. Most, however, were already out scouting their path. Nearby, Garrick was receiving reports from his scouts as they gathered information from the surroundings. He marked a large map that they had created. The scouts moved as if they belonged to the forest more than the camp, their cloaks covered in foliage.

Then Hale’s attention shifted toward the would-be knights.

The twenty men stood slightly apart near the wagons as they waited for him to arrive. They weren’t actual tier one knights yet, but they had the most mana and control. They would likely reach tier one during this campaign. The only actual knights he had were the ones he arrived with.

The knights who accompanied him carried large weapons.

A heavy warhammer rested across one man’s shoulders. Another leaned on a broad two-handed sword whose edge flashed in the sunlight when he shifted his stance. One knight carried a long spear that stood nearly a head taller than he did. The leather-wrapped shaft was worn smooth where his hands gripped it during a strike.

Another had a bundle of throwing spears strapped across his back.

Hale’s gaze settled on the largest weapon among them.

A thick-shouldered man rested the haft of a double-bladed axe against the ground beside him, the wide heads nearly the size of a shield. Several smaller throwing axes hung across the man’s chest in leather loops, their edges catching the light whenever he moved.

The weapons were deliberately not uniform.

Knights fought monsters and elite threats more often than shield walls. Larger weapons allowed them to push more mana through the steel, turning a single strike into something capable of breaking bone or splitting armor outright.

The legionaries formed the wall. The knights became the hammer.

Hale stepped fully into the camp as the first of the century began to notice him.

A shout rose from the ditch line.

“Captain!”

Men straightened where they worked while others stood from the earth they had been digging, recognition spreading through the camp in widening circles.

Hale lifted a hand in acknowledgment but kept walking.

Outside, as Hale walked, the command tent stood fully raised, its heavy canvas pulled tight over thick support poles, while ropes stretched outward to iron stakes driven deep into the ground.

He pushed the flap aside and stepped inside.

The shade cooled the air immediately.

A map table stood in the center with weights holding down the edges of parchment where the basin had been carefully drawn.

Dalen already stood there.

The younger, but not young, man leaned over the table, one broad hand resting on the wood and the other tracing the road leading toward Haven. Beside him stood Centurion Parker, while Centurion Toman, arms folded across his chest, studied the map.

The men looked up as Hale entered.

Dalen straightened with a grin that creased the corners of his eyes.

"About time you arrived,” he said." Your army’s been digging half the land up while we waited for you."”

Crossing into the quiet of the tent, dust still clinging to the hem of his cloak, Hale’s eyes went first to the man standing beside the table.

“Centurion Toman.”

Toman straightened, motion crisp despite long field hours. He stepped forward and offered his forearm.

“Captain,” he said. “Thank you for the promotion. I won’t give you reason to regret it.”

Hale clasped his arm and pulled him into a quick embrace, thumping him once on the back before stepping away.

“This campaign will be your opportunity,” Hale said. “Make the most of it.”

Toman nodded once, serious.

Hale turned then as Parker stepped forward with a grin already spreading across his face.

The two men met halfway and clasped each other in a rough hug, shoulders colliding as they laughed quietly and pounded each other on the back.

“Good to see you still alive,” Parker said.

“You look like you’ve been busy,” Hale replied.

Parker gestured toward the camp outside.

“Dalens Hold hasn’t exactly been quiet.”

Hale glanced toward the opening of the tent, where the sounds of digging and hammering carried inside.

“I saw your would-be knights.”

Parker grimaced immediately.

“They’re young,” Hale continued.

“They are,” Parker admitted. “But they’re the best of the group that made the run with me when we pulled the refugees out. The older ones ended up getting pulled into the Lord’s guard.”

He shrugged slightly.

“I’ll vouch for them, especially after that run we made.”

Parker tilted his head toward the camp.

“They’re armed, nothing like the few you brought with you, though.”

His eyes drifted briefly toward the wagon line where the ten knights had gathered with their oversized weapons resting against the wood. “I didn’t realize we could even make weapons like what they’re carrying now.”

Hale gave a low grunt.

“The smithy’s improving,” he said. “The smiths are finally starting to understand how their perks interact with the metal.”

Parker nodded slowly at that.

“Good.”

Hale stepped to the map table then, resting both hands on the wood as he studied the basin spread across the parchment.

“Enough catching up.”

He straightened and looked toward the entrance of the tent.

“Runner.”

A young legionary stepped in immediately.

“Collect the Tribunes and the Centurions,” Hale said. “Tell them I want them here in five minutes.”

The runner snapped a quick nod and turned back out into the camp at a sprint.

Hale looked back down at the map as the noise of the digging continued outside.

Hale leaned over the map again while Parker and Toman shifted positions around the table, the canvas of the tent snapping softly in the wind.

The flap pushed open again before the runner had even made his circuit.

Garrick ducked inside.

He carried a rolled map under one arm, the edges darkened from travel and use. His cloak hung loose around his shoulders, still carrying bits of leaf and burr from the woods.

His eyes found Hale immediately.

“Captain.”

Hale straightened with a small smile.

“Garrick.”

The greeting carried the same quiet familiarity Parker had shown earlier. Garrick stepped forward and clasped Hale’s forearm before pulling him into a quick shoulder bump.

“You look like hell,” Garrick said.

“You smell worse,” Hale replied.

Garrick snorted softly and turned his head toward Parker.

“Well, look at that,” he said. “They let you out of the Landing.”

Parker stepped forward, and the two of them met in a rough embrace that ended with a hard slap across Garrick’s back.

“Still sneaking around in the trees?” Parker asked.

“Someone has to,” Garrick said. “You lot are too fat to go sneaking.”

The three of them shared a brief look—something unspoken passing between them, the quiet recognition of men who had known each other long before the Landing. Old friends from another world and life.

Garrick dropped the rolled map onto the table and unbound the leather tie, letting the parchment spread out beside the larger basin map.

“My boys have been busy,” Garrick said.

Before Hale could answer, the tent flap lifted and the first of the officers arrived.

Two men stepped inside together.

A tribune entered first, the centurion of his century close behind. Their ranks are clear from the insignia on their shoulders. Both men brushed road dust from their cloaks before stepping up to the table. They nodded once to Hale, then settled along the edge of the map without speaking.

Another pair followed soon after.

Then another.

The pattern held.

Each tribune arrived with the centurion who together commanded the century beneath him, the pairs forming naturally along the table as they came in from the camp. Dirt still clung to their boots from the ditch lines and timber works outside.

The tent slowly filled with the men who would actually move the cohort.

Parker stepped forward once the last pair had arrived. He didn’t take a place along the edge.

Instead, he moved to Hale’s side, mirroring the other centurions' positions in the cohort.

He was the Senior Centurion of the cohort.

The role placed him between Hale and the centuries, the man responsible for turning Hale’s intent into something the soldiers could actually execute.

Garrick remained opposite them, his rolled map now spread across the wood. He was using his knife to pick dirt out of his nails and looked bored at this whole proceeding. He was still rankled by his promotion to Scout Tribune.

His people moved through the forests and hills instead of marching in centuries, but he held an important place within the cohort.

The last murmur of conversation died away as the officers settled.

Hale rested both hands on the table and looked around the circle of faces.

“It’s good to see us assembled like this,” he said.

His voice carried easily in the canvas space without rising.

“For the moment, we represent the most powerful block of force in the basin. Lord Harold judged it necessary to deploy us here because the situation around the basin cannot remain fragmented any longer.”

His finger moved across the map.

“Our objective remains simple.”

He tapped the parchment once.

“Control of the basin.”

Several of the officers leaned closer to the table.

“We will march northwest first,” Hale continued, tracing the road with his finger. “There’s a destroyed village here.”

His hand stopped on the mark.

“We will establish ourselves there and use the area to work out any weaknesses in our formations and command structure. The centuries will clear the dens one by one while we tighten communication between maniples. We will remove any threat left in that area.”

He glanced toward Garrick.

“During that time, Tribune Garrick will push his scouts farther out and locate the lizardmen den that destroyed the village.”

Garrick nodded once.

“If survivors from that village were taken,” Hale continued, “we will recover them and eliminate any lizardmen presence.”

His gaze lifted again to the officers.

“We avenge the raid that destroyed the settlement and ensure nothing remains there that can threaten the basin again.”

He paused briefly before moving his hand down the map.

“We have three weeks to complete those tasks.”

His finger slid farther south.

“After that, we move here.”

Three small marks had been drawn along the river valley.

“Three villages sit in this area of the basin.”

The officers studied the marks.

“Those settlements belong to Lords Henri and Arjun. While the third belongs to an unknown Lord.”

The canvas walls creaked as the wind shifted outside.

Hale continued without changing his tone.

“There is a misinformation operation being conducted, designed to draw their forces toward Haven. Centurion Ayen is digging in and expecting an assault.”

A few glances passed between the officers at that.

“If that operation succeeds, their troops will be away from these villages when we arrive.”

His finger tapped the marks again.

“Our job will be to move quickly and secure them. Each village holds a Stele.”

The importance of that did not need explaining.

“With those Steles under our control,” Hale said, “we gain leverage over the Lords who claim them. Lord Harold hopes to force the Lords to surrender with their steles under our control and swear fealty to him. We are expected to preserve the steles unless it’s impossible, as he wants the recruitment portals active.”

He let that sit for a moment before continuing.

“For this operation, the cohort will include one century from Dalens Hold. Their command team will operate alongside ours and hold seniority over one of the centuries from the Landing while we integrate them.”

A few nods passed around the table.

“We are also reinforced by an additional section of knights and Tribune Garrick’s scouts. For this, we will be operating without adventurer support, as they are needed to secure the villages. The garrisons will be below strength for a few weeks while they recover the manpower that was sent here.”

Hale then turned toward the older man beside the map.

“Lord Dalen. How long until the bridge is ready, and how are we looking on resupply when needed?”

Dalen cleared his throat and rested both hands on the table.

“We are close,” he said. “We will test it tomorrow morning.”

He glanced once at the map before continuing.

“Lord Harold gave us an interesting problem with that bridge order. The river runs too wide for anything we could build with the materials available here. Without concrete or large amounts of stone, we cannot anchor a permanent structure.”

A faint smile crept onto his face.

“One of my craftsmen had an idea. Captain Hale, I believe you met him. Ellis.”

Hale nodded once.

“He proposed something different,” Dalen continued. “Instead of anchoring a bridge across the river, we built one that moves with it.”

Several officers leaned closer with interest.

“We linked reinforced log sections together and laid heavy planks across them to carry wagons and men. The structure is assembled along the north bank right now.”

Dalen traced the river with his finger.

“When we deploy it, one end remains anchored heavily to this shore while the other end drifts with the current. The river carries the bridge outward until it swings across the channel and reaches the far bank.”

He tapped the opposite side.

“At that point, ropes and anchors secure it in place while we drop anchors along various sections of the bridge. It won't last forever, but it will be plenty sturdy enough to get your people and wagons across.”

“We tested the concept on a much smaller scale,” he continued. “It worked well enough to justify building the full span.”

The officers exchanged glances, a couple looking nervous.

“We selected the slowest stretch of the river we could find,” Dalen said. “The current there moves wide and lazy. Once deployed, I believe your force will be able to cross as quickly as they can march.”

He paused before adding the final concern.

“The Thresher King appears along the river roughly once a week. If he is spotted upriver, the safest window to deploy the bridge will begin roughly twelve hours later.”

Dalen looked back at Hale.

“That should give you enough time to cross before the creature drifts back through this stretch again. For resupply, I have a century ready to move behind you to construct a supply depot, with Tatanka convoys prepared to deploy supplies as needed. My granary is ready to supply you. My Hold has all come together for this operation. We’re ready to support you however needed.”