Chapter 24 – Terms on the Table
The day after the high hall opened, the host field woke early. Drums sounded once at the palace, then stopped. That kind of quiet meant people were waiting.
Aric kept the same routine. He checked the rope, counted shields, and walked the line. Wren had a list in his hand and another in his head. Malrec had ink on his fingers and a page already half full.
A runner in blue arrived before breakfast. "The Master of Coin requests your presence after first bell," he said. "Side court. Bring your tallies."
"We have them," Malrec said.
They went with ten Hawks. The side court was plain stone and clean benches. The Master of Coin stood with the minister of roads—a narrow man with careful shoes. A clerk waited with a fresh ledger.
The Master spoke first. "Yesterday the crown announced a review of river security. Today we take steps. Your mid-bank posts and drills are noted. We want a plan other houses can use."
Malrec set the joint tallies down. "We can share forms and schedules. We can't share trust. That has to be built house by house."
"Then build it," the road minister said. "On paper."
Aric didn't rush. "We'll train mixed squads—ten men from each house on rotation. One month at Hawk, one at Valeor. No toll increase without a signed palace order. Monthly ledgers signed with two marks. Any house that sends men brings its own food and boots. We give drills and a place to sleep."
"Who commands?" the Master asked.
"At the mid-bank, Hawk and Valeor together," Aric said. "On other rivers, the local house—after it sends men to learn."
"And if a house refuses," the minister said, "but still wants clear water?"
"They can keep their river as it is," Aric said. "If they want our drills, they follow our schedule."
The Master rolled a bead under his thumb, then nodded. "Write it," he told the clerk. "Call it the Mid-River Compact. Delsar and Valeor host the first rotation. The crown pays for chalk, rope, and ink. The rest is on the houses."
He looked to Aric. "We'll watch your numbers. If they stay true, you keep this. If they slip, we give it to someone else. Do you accept?"
"I accept," Aric said.
They left with paper that mattered and a start date three weeks out. Outside, the field looked the same, but Aric knew it wasn't.
Before noon, Lord Fenrel's steward walked past their ropes with a grin he didn't bother to hide. He didn't speak. Men who smile like that think the ground is tilting their way.
Wren watched him go. "He'll try something small that can be made to look big."
"Then we keep small things in order," Aric said.
The first "big" thing was small. A tollkeeper stormed into minor petitions and claimed a Hawk had pushed a cart through without paying. The clerk looked bored until Malrec set the token book on the table—cart number, coin, time, and the tollkeeper's own mark.
"Perhaps you forgot to write it in your copy," Malrec said, easy.
The man stared at the ink, swallowed, and left. Thin tricks, early in the day.
Dusk brought the real test. A storage shed near the field caught fire. Wind pushed smoke at the tents. Someone shouted that the fodder would go. Panic started to build.
Aric didn't shout. "Wren, two files. Buckets from the east well," he said. "You—" he pointed at a hill-house sergeant who'd watched their drills for a week—"cut a lane here. Pull these tents back. No one moves the wagons. Malrec, send to the palace for a cart of sand. Say it's for the host field and for order."
Orders landed. A bucket line formed. Two tents slid back. Wren threw dirt to break the wind. Aric shouldered a beam to free a pinned groom, then set it aside like a log. No pose. The chain did its work. The fire died.
A captain in a half-cape stood at the edge, eyes on the men who had moved first. He didn't clap. He nodded once and walked away.
The sand cart arrived after, the driver saluting. "Order kept the field. Chamberlain says his table isn't moving tonight." He turned the cart and left with the same quiet he used to arrive.
They ate bread and stew that hadn't burned. Smoke clung to coats. The field talked about how fast the bucket line had started and how no wagon had shifted. It didn't talk about who lifted what. That was fine.
A letter came from Nyra with Valeor blue on the seal. Two patrol boats built. Crews in training. Don't run races you didn't set. Fresh linen sent when the first rotation begins. Wren grunted. That meant good.
By morning, a clerk from the chamberlain's office brought the Compact draft and a schedule. "First intake in twenty-one days," he said. "Ten men from each of four houses. Hawk and Valeor split hosting. Report weekly."
"We will," Aric said.
"They'll test you," the clerk added. "Some to learn. Some to watch you fail."
"Both are fine," Aric said. "We'll teach one and show the other how a line holds."
The stones started rolling again by noon. A market singer wandered close with a new verse about "the hawk counting other men's grain." Wren flipped him a coin and told him to sing that somewhere else. The singer smiled and drifted away; men who work for rumor like keeping their teeth.
An outer-road guard brought a man to the rope at second bell. His hands were bound. His clothes smelled of resin. In his pouch: two wax lumps and a folded scrap—four lines: a time, the lane behind the Valeor wagon, a mark for a bucket rack, and one word: Wave.
"We caught him smearing pitch on tent ropes," the guard said. "Claims he's drunk. He isn't."
Malrec checked the scrap. "Tonight. After last light."
Aric looked toward the Valeor area. There was nothing to see. That was the point. "No noise," he said. "Send word to Nyra. Move the bucket rack now and say nothing. Put a second one by the palace side and say nothing. Two shields in the dark. Say nothing."
"'Say nothing' is most men's best skill," the guard said, and grinned.
By evening, Lady Merine's steward returned with a different tone. "My lady invites you to supper," she said. "No terms. No proposals. Food."
Aric accepted. They ate simply—bread, fish, onions. The lady spoke of cookpots and river days. When they left, she sent a bolt of coarse cloth. "Practice shirts," she said. "Men sweat when they learn."
"Thank you," Aric said. Three ropes away, Malrec murmured, "That's how a house says it wants a place without throwing a hook."
At last bell, the field was quieter than usual. Not sleeping—waiting. Aric stood where he could see the Valeor wagons without being obvious. Wren melted into the dark with two shields and a coil of rope.
Trouble came, but not exactly as written. A figure moved to the old bucket rack, found nothing, hesitated, then turned for the new rack near the palace side. Wren met him halfway, silent. The man ran. A shield stuck a foot out; the runner went down. He came up with a small blade—one flash, then nothing. Aric had his wrist before anyone saw a swing. The man tried to bite at something in his cheek. Wren's thumb was faster. No poison tonight.
They bound him and brought him into the lamp light. His eyes were calm in the way of men who have already chosen silence. A loose thread on his cuff was green and white.
"Do you want a list of names to go with that color?" Malrec asked, soft.
"No," Aric said. "I want a cart to the palace and a witness who smelled the resin. The rest can be chairs and ink."
The guard captain came quick. He looked at the moved bucket rack, then at Aric. "You read the field before it changed."
"We tried," Aric said.
"Good," the captain said. "There'll be questions in the morning. Answer with the words you used tonight."
"We will," Aric said.
They slept an hour later than usual—still early for a city. Questions came, as promised. A crown clerk wrote what mattered. The guard captain spoke. Malrec set the times. Aric added nothing that wasn't asked.
By noon, the story on the lanes had changed. It wasn't "a tent burned." It was "a fire didn't spread." It was "the rack moved." It was "a man had a pouch." It was "men who drill acted the way they drill."
The Master of Coin sent for Aric again. The road minister stood with him. "Your Compact draft is sound," the Master said. "Two additions. One: no house may use training to claim tolls outside its land. Two: bribery claims in tallies are tried in this court, not solved in the field."
"Yes," Aric said. "We agree."
"We also want four names for the second rotation," the minister said.
"Valeor names two," Aric said. "We name two. Sable for one. The duke sent a man who can teach without breaking hands."
"Sable first," the Master said, faintly surprised. "Not common."
"He watched," Aric said. "He didn't clap. He offered forms. That's enough."
"Write the list," the Master told the clerk. "Post it at the host board after last bell."
Back at the rope, a boy waited with a bundle wrapped in blue: a patrolman's kerchief and a note in Nyra's hand. Train them, then send them home.
"Good sign," Wren said.
Malrec found Aric at the water cart near sunset. "There's a whisper you lifted a beam alone," he said.
"I had help," Aric said.
"I know," Malrec said. "Let the whisper argue with itself."
They ate early. Lamps came on. The list went up at the host board—Hawk, Valeor, Sable, and a river house that had sent a clean-boot captain to watch drills without boasting. Men read the names, then read them again to make sure.
A crown messenger brought a short line in neat ink: When the progress concludes, the king will visit the training yard. Keep it ready.
"We keep it ready every day," Wren said.
"Then nothing changes," Aric said.
Night laid over the field clean and steady. Somewhere beyond the walls, a ship horn sounded on the river. In three weeks, strangers would stand where the Hawks stood and learn to hold a line the same way. Some houses would try to game the rules. Some would learn. Some would do both.
Aric checked the rope, counted the buckets, and read the ledger once more. Small things done right, again and again. It wasn't loud. It worked.