Chapter 45 (Patreon)

Light rain ticked softly against the rim of Hale’s helmet as he stood with it tucked under his arm and stared up into the gray. His hair was already soaked, and he could feel it run lightly down his face.The sky pressed low and endless, promising another day of damp misery. Fine drizzle drifted sideways on a wind unsure whether to become a storm. Men moved through the churned mud in slow, purposeful lines. They tightened straps, checked shield grips, and rubbed sleep from their eyes with knuckles still dark from yesterday’s fighting. Armor creaked as files began to form. Near the wagon line, a tatanka snorted and stamped, the sound hollow and irritated. Breakfast, dried rations, was a rough, pemmican-like mix. It tasted better after the Landings cooks made it with the right perks.Hale watched them without speaking. They were filthy. All of them.Mud had become a second skin. It packed into the seams of greaves and dried in thick ridges along shield rims. Beards carried the mud. Cloaks carried the sour smell of wet wool that never fully dried between marches. Even the veterans moved with a slight stiffness. They spent nights half-sleeping in armor to keep the rain off and because they were on campaign.Another day of marching. Another day of sudden horns and blurred violence at the edge of vision. Another day of goblins spilling from hill holes or slipping through reeds with knives meant for hamstrings and kidneys. He had planned this phase as pressure. It was measured contact. It was a proving ground. Here, officers could shake out their weaknesses, and his men could build confidence.Instead, it had turned into this.He shifted his weight, boot sinking deeper into the soaked ground, and felt irritation tighten behind his eyes. This weather favored light bodies and bare feet. It favored creatures that lived in the dirt and low to the ground.Hale exhaled slowly. If he let this continue, they would reach the fort tired, muddy, and worn thin in ways no speech or banner could fix. They had no shelter waiting for them when they arrived.He lifted the dented cup and took another drink. The coffee bit back hard, bitter and strong enough to make his jaw tighten. He had lifted a small sack from Harold’s stores before leaving. Then, Hale had felt only a flicker of guilt. Now, he felt gratitude and a small victory.Caldwell had worked miracles to keep them supplied this far. He had to contact Dalen and tell him not to send wagons. They had no way to secure the supply lines. Instead, a day’s march back, he asked him to set up a depot and start building a fort, in case they needed to fall back. Another century was being sent to man it and reinforce them.Warmth settled into his chest as he swallowed. He let it sit while he watched the lines forming again, measuring morale. He watched optios drift between ranks like shepherd dogs keeping a flock pointed in the right direction.A cluster of knights stood off to one side of the assembly area. Their silhouettes were sharp against the drifting smoke. They looked as miserable as the rest of the cohort — mud streaked high, cloaks dark with damp — but their formation was tight, hinting at deeper reserves. One of them tested the edge of a heavy axe against his thumb, then rolled his shoulders, eager for the coming work.Hale watched them for a long moment, and something began to take shape behind his eyes.Hale saw it in the way they carried their weight. He saw it in the way they still stood close, able to react to each other without speaking. Their mana discipline showed even in stillness — many legionaries flashed brief lights of mana to wake their stiff bodies.One of them caught his attention.The younger knight — now broad through the shoulders, where he’d been lean two months ago — rested his weapon’s spine against his thigh while he listened to an older knight, who explained something with two curt gestures. Mud had dried in thick plates on his boots. His eyes looked hollowed by lack of sleep. He had killed the troll yesterday.Hale remembered the moment clearly. The man had climbed that slope with the rest of the prime century and driven himself straight into something larger than fear. Later, after the fighting, he reported the perk he gained and was transferred to the knights.He was a tier one knight now. He would take the test when they got back, but Centurion Parker had tested him and approved it.The perk he gained gave him 8% more killing force against anything larger than himself. The extra mana had led him to cross the tier one barrier. Now he just stood there breathing rain.Hale felt the shape of his idea tighten another notch.The cohort needed the space to march. The goblins needed to be forced to react instead of dictate. His mouth moved before he realized he was speaking.“Ah shit,” he muttered softly. “Parker’s gonna hate this.”He straightened, took another sip of stolen coffee, and caught the eye of a runner hovering near the command knot like a dog waiting for a thrown bone.“You,” Hale said.The young man snapped upright.“Fetch Centurion Parker.”The runner did not waste time on a salute. He flared just enough mana into his legs to wake up and cut across the forming ranks at a sharp angle, boots kicking mud in his wake as he threaded between files already settling into marching order.Hale watched the runner go, focus shifting back to the cluster of knights as he assessed them for his developing plan.

Parker moved along the forming line with the loose, rolling gait of a man used to living on his feet.He stopped beside a legionary whose chinstrap hung loose. He flicked the leather with his baton.“You planning to donate that helmet to the first goblin who asks nicely?” Parker asked.The man blinked, then fumbled with wet fingers to tighten it.“Sorry, Primus.”“Good,” Parker said mildly. “I’d hate to have to write your mother and explain that you died because of that.”“My mother would understand, Primus.” A ripple of quiet laughter moved down the file. Shoulders loosened a fraction.At the next interval, he paused and planted his baton against a shield rim that wasn’t tightened correctly.“Close up,” he said.The legionary strapped it tighter without argument. Parker gave him a brief approving nod.He moved on, checking straps with quick, practiced tugs. He straightened a crooked shield boss here, nudged a man half a step forward there. Discipline lived in these small corrections. Morale did too. If they could laugh, they could march.He took two steps, then added without turning, “We all get tired. Some of us just do it where we don’t get caught.”The tension bled out of the file behind him.Light rain ran down Parker’s neck as he stood among the men. He could feel yesterday’s bruises waking up as the column settled into readiness. He looked up at the sky and sighed a little as the tiredness settled into him. “This sucks.”A runner skidded to a halt beside him, breath steaming.“Captain wants you.”Parker glanced once along the line. Optios were already echoing his corrections, voices steady. Files were tightened into proper intervals. He hooked the baton at his belt and clapped the nearest optio on the shoulder.“Form up clean,” Parker added, already turning away. “If I come back and this line looks like a drunken festival queue, I will personally ruin your week.”He followed the runner across the churned ground toward the command knot.Hale stood waiting with that expression.Hale stood waiting with that expression: relaxed shoulders, coffee cup in hand. The bastard was smiling, and that never meant good news. Parker slowed and approached cautiously. ”We’re almost ready to march, Captain.”Hale almost smiled wider at that. “I need you to take the knights,” he said.Parker’s expression did not change, but Hale saw the calculation start behind his eyes.“All of them?” Parker asked.“All of them,” Hale replied. “Plus a squad of our fastest legionaries. Men who can run and still fight.”Rain ticked softly against the rim of the cup.“And what exactly are we doing with this delightful group?” Parker said.“Running ahead,” Hale answered. “Break every goblin screen you find. Collapse ambush sites. Force them to react to you, rather than shape our march. I want a full day of clean movement for the cohort. March as far as you can clear, for as long as you can.”Parker’s gaze slid past him toward the forming lines. He did not answer immediately.“This isn’t like when we rescued those civis,” he said at last.Hale’s eyes narrowed slightly.“No, it is not. Drive them as hard as you can without losses.”“No neat objective. Just hours of sprinting into whatever they’ve dug for us. If they spring something heavier… we could get cut off.”Hale tilted the cup for another delightful sip and replied.“So take the scouts,” he said. “They can still keep pace. They’ll sniff out the worst of it. Really, Parker… this isn’t complicated. I expected more from an NCO of your caliber.”For a heartbeat, Parker just stared at him.Then he stepped forward in a blur of mana and took the cup straight out of Hale’s hand.Hale opened his mouth.Parker tipped the last swallow back, wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist, and thrust the cup back toward him.“Fine,” he said. “You owe me.”He turned as Hale tried to respond and bellowed across the rain-washed assembly ground.“Knights on me! Scouts too!”The Knghts picked themselves up and began to peel away from the forming column with the instinctive urgency of soldiers who knew when they had just been volunteered for something miserable.Parker broke into a jog, voice still carrying.“Roger, Captain! We’ll get it done!”Hale started to call after him.“Centurion—”Parker did not slow. “Hear you loud and clear!” he shouted over his shoulder. “We’ll get it done!”The strike element gathered around him like iron filings to a magnet. Knights slung heavier weapons into better carry positions. Scouts gathered around them, then sped off to gather a squad of legionaries.Within moments, they were already moving north at a ground-eating pace.Hale stood alone with the empty cup in his hand, looked at the devilishly empty metal, and grunted. “Guess, that’s fair.”

Harold left the shadow of the keep and stepped out into clean light.The sun had burned the morning haze away and now sat hard and bright above the Landing, warming the stone under his boots and drawing the smell of wet earth up into the air.He paused at the edge of the open ground and rolled his shoulders once, feeling the stiffness there from the morning workout. His eyes went automatically north, past the fields and the thin line of trees that marked the far rise. The sky in that direction looked the same as it did overhead — wide, pale, empty of cloud.He hoped Hale had been given the same mercy. Then started walking again. His guards fell in behind him, and he shook his head in annoyance as Jenkins stepped in front of him.The roost stood apart from the main cluster of halls; it was out past the fields towards where the small plateau they were on sloped down into the basin proper. From a distance, it already looked imposing despite the unfinished upper frame — a low circular wall of fresh-cut stone anchoring a skeleton of massive timber beams that climbed toward the sky like the ribs of some half-built ship.Voices carried from the structure before he reached it.Men shouted measurements to one another. A saw rasped through green wood with a long, complaining whine. Rope creaked under strain somewhere above as a pulley took weight. Chips of pale timber littered the ground around the foundation in thick drifts that smelled sharp and alive in the sun.Harold stepped over a coil of line and avoided a beam being carried past him by two sweating laborers who barely spared him a glance once they realized who he was. That suited him just fine.He slowed near the stone base and let his hand rest briefly against the rough surface.Above him, the second level was beginning to take shape. Harold drew a slow breath and let it out. A shadow passed across the upper beams as a worker shifted position in the rafters. Somewhere within the structure, something shrieked — high, sharp, impatient — and was answered by another voice deeper and more demanding.Harold’s mouth twitched.At least the birds sounded healthy.He stepped forward toward the opening in the stone wall, already scanning the interior out of habit. It was his first time in here, and there was more progress than he expected there to be.The eagle snapped at the strip of meat and nearly took Kess’s thumb with it.He jerked his hand back at the last instant, laughed under his breath, and gave the bird a shove on the chest that sent it hopping sideways along the beam in a flurry of gray feathers.“Greedy little bastard,” he muttered, voice rough as gravel. “You’ll eat yourself lame if I let you.”Sunlight poured through the open ribs of the half-built roost and turned drifting sawdust into gold haze. The stone base still held the night’s cool, but the upper beams already carried heat, sap scent thick in the air. Somewhere above, a hammer struck wood in patient rhythm while rope creaked under weight.Harold stepped in from the yard and paused long enough to take the place in.Six juveniles. Bigger than they had been a month ago when they had been born, though still all wing and leg and awkward hunger. The full-grown eagle stood tethered near the far wall, head turning in slow, deliberate arcs as it tracked every movement. These new fledglings would be much, much larger than their full-grown cousin Kess kept there.Max’s son knelt beside a bucket of meat he had gathered this morning. His sleeves sat unevenly where he had rolled them, forearms streaked with dust and something darker that had once been blood.He brightened when he saw Harold.“They’ve been loud all morning,” he said.“Aye,” Kess cut in before Harold could answer. He spat into the straw and wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. “Because they figured out there was enough food for all of them.”He jerked his chin toward the birds.“Don’t stand there admiring them like paintings, Lord. I need to know if there’s anything wrong with them. They’re more lively than I would expect from month-old fledglings.”Harold moved closer. “How are they handling the doses?” Harold asked.Kess snorted. “How do you think? They eat. They fight. They try to bite me. If there’s anything wrong with these birds, I’ll eat my shoe.” He crouched beside one of the smaller birds and ran thick fingers along the ridge of its breastbone with surprising care.“Watch this,” he said, nodding toward Max Jr without looking up. “If you want to care for the birds, you’ll need to learn how.”Harold crouched beside the boy.“Breathing first,” he said quietly. “Feel their lungs fill their bodies and listen for anything that doesn’t sound right.  Don’t just look at size; growth can be misleading. Breathing will tell you when something is wrong.”Max leaned forward until his nose nearly touched feathers.The eagle’s chest rose in quick, tight motions, air flowing smoothly in and out of its nares.Harold nodded, then eased a wing open so he could feel the vein along the length of it. Then hummed, pleased with what he found. He opened the cork to the potion he carried.The smell crawled up his throat — it was sweet and slightly minty as he had to add something inert to cover its normal smell. He measured carefully into the ladle that Max held.“Remember, only give him a couple of mouthfuls,” Harold said. “Too much of this is bad for people.”The boy nodded as if he were memorizing scripture.Together, they lifted the ladle. The eagle struck at the liquid with a quick nudge of its beak, scooped it up into its beak, and tilted its head back to drink the sweet liquid. Its small wings flared awkwardly, making Max endlessly giggle.Harold watched its back for several breaths. No tremor or hesitation. “They’re taking it well,” he said.Kess rose with a grunt and rolled his shoulders.“Told you they would,” he said. His accent thickened when he was pleased, words running together at the edges. “Gray cliff stock doesn’t quit easily. Smart too. Smarter than some men I’ve trained.”He scratched the juvenile under the jaw. The bird leaned into it with a low, vibrating croon.“You need riders,” Kess went on, tone turning practical again. “Soon. Bonding don’t start when you strap a saddle on. It starts when they’re still ugly and stupid and pecking your boots. And these ones are growing fast.”He nodded toward Max.“Like him. He’s got the patience.”Max froze, eyes going wide.Harold hummed.“What do you need in them?”“They must be light,” Kess said immediately. “And soft enough in the head to care about the bird more than glory. Strong help, but empathy will help care for them. They’re going to have a relationship with these birds.”Harold looked down.“How bout it, Max? You want to be an eagle rider?” he asked.Max met his gaze without flinching, then slowly looked down towards the ground as he answered softly.“Yes.”Harold cuffed him gently.“Your mother would murder me,” he said. “Come on. You tutor’s waiting.”Max scrambled to his feet, still staring at the birds over his shoulder as they started toward the exit.Behind them, Jenkins leaned against the stone ring with exaggerated longing.“I’ll do it,” he announced. “I volunteer first. You can write that down.”Kess looked him up and down as if he were pricing livestock.“You’d scare them stupid,” he said.Jenkins puffed up.“I have presence.”“You have weight,” Kess shot back. “Bird’d file a complaint.”Harold snorted and stepped out into the hard sunlight, the sound of wings shifting while Max scrambled after him.