Chapter 16 - Chapter 16: Dew and Dust

Morning arrived with a chill on its tongue. Grass wore a million bright needles; boots came away wet; the breath of Novaterra made little clouds that pretended to be important. The forge coughed and then sang; Thorn tested her limbs with a smug little creak; Founders' Way stretched into hammers. 🙂

— Morning Brief — Novaterra• Wall Corner I: 45% → 49% (outer course + rubble set)• Forge: Shield bosses #4; Javelin heads #6; Pavise frames (3)• Primer v1.3: Adopted (feint rear / swat vanguard)• Battlefield: Riversong Flats — dew heavy at dawn; wind W→E• Smile Rock: Watch (Ras/Hale)• Morale: Steady-bright 🙂

Aiden stepped out into the glittering field and grinned despite the cold. "Dew drill," he said, rubbing his hands. "If we mean to stand at dawn, we should learn how wet feet lie."

Elara's breath fogged around her helm. "And how wet hands hold spears. Move."

They took Cadre Alpha to Riversong Flats before the sun shook the frost from the grass. Dew soaked trousers to the knee; shields felt heavier; quiet was louder here, under the Oak that scowled down like an unimpressed teacher. Hale chose his horn perch on the low ridge; Jory climbed it and held the horn like a promise.

"Center," Elara called, cutting the chill cleanly. "Line on the crown. Seven steady." Jory gave seven steady; the stake crews convinced ash into earth in a whispering beat. The wall settled into the ridge like a truth.

"Skirmishers—hands," Elara said, and Bryn slid the first sling-stone from a pouch with dew making her fingerprints shine. The river had been generous with smooth pebbles, but that generosity had a weight.

Aiden looked down at the glinting grass and found an idea. "Riversong has clay," he said out loud, more to the morning than his people. "Bake clay glandes—ovals—light enough to fly, cheap enough to lose by the dozen."

"Elara's law," Elara murmured. "If it flies and doesn't bankrupt you, make many." Her mouth tilted. "Tell Hadrik to fire mud."

"Hadrik will be insufferably delighted," Venn muttered behind him, already sketching numbers.

They ran the dew drill twice: once to plant stakes at speed (70 seconds → 63), once to pull and reset (67). The wall learned where the ground pretended to be firm and wasn't; the cavalry learned where hooves slipped; don't chase earned a fresh underline when two riders almost forgot and were shamed back by a chorus of eight falling from Jory's horn and the giggles of three Riversong children who had snuck out to watch. 😅

— Unit Gains• Center: Stake plant time –7s (dew conditions)• Skirmish: "Wet sling" cadence learned• Cavalry: Hoof placement +1 (slick ground)

They warmed their bones with Calder's bark at the sun-dot station. "More bitter when it's cold," he warned. Everyone drank anyway. 😬

By midmorning the dew burned off; dust began to think about being a problem. Dew and dust in one day—Novaterra's new normal.

Back in town, Hadrik eyed Aiden's clay glandes request with the religious fervor of a man offered a new form of stubborn.

"We'll make two molds," he declared. "Small and smaller. Stamp a groove so they don't roll back into our shins. Fire 'em hard. Slingers—bring river clay and the patience of saints."

Bryn's almost-smile surfaced. "Saints gossip," she said. "Clay listens." She showed the younger slingers how to shape an oval that wouldn't split, hands finding the rhythm the river had placed in her bones. Jory labeled a crate NOT FOR SOUP. Mara approved. 🍲

— Forge Queue Update• Clay glandes molds (2) → fired• Firing pit schedule → set (night)• Javelin heads #6 delivered

Elara moved through the oval like a metronome learned courtesy. "Primer v1.3," she called. "Feint rear, swat vanguard. Show me your tempted faces—then put them away."

They ran the pattern slow, then fast:

One long: wall formed.

Seven steady: stakes in.

Four broken: skirmishers snapped at a pretend drum.

Five rising + green flag (right): cavalry dusted, then peeled away.

Vanguard dummies—sacks on sticks—rushed out.

Thorn thwacked once—punctuation.

Eight falling: no chase, wall holding like a low wall of weathered stone.

Rinna reined in Tam with a glance when he leaned toward a second shot that wasn't needed. "Don't get greedy," she said. "Greed misses."

"Yes, Rinna," Tam said, chastened and a little in love with the idea of discipline. 😌

— Thorn Crew• Reload cadence stabilized• "No greedy shot" doctrine adopted

At midday, Smile Rock smiled with a new envelope. Ras didn't need telling; Hale hooked it; Venn glowered at it until it behaved. No perfume. Moth soot, precise as always.

To the Lord Who Writes Primers,

A courtesy: today, a decoy will try to sell beads inside your line—on Founders' Way—claiming to be from you. Men who sell fear sell uniforms next.

If you want to keep your bridge from becoming a market stall, make an example without blood.

(P.S. "Thorn Was Here" amused my boys. Thank you for teaching them letters.)

— Grey Moth

Mara's mouth flattened in a way that made stew nervous. "Inside my street?"

"Inside our name," Venn corrected, offended algebra in his tone.

Elara's voice went cool. "Ras. Show me where you would stand if you wanted to be seen and not caught."

Ras walked Founders' Way with halting authority—new habits beating old—and tapped a corner near the pump, where people must pass and think about thirst. "Here. Noon. Shade."

Calder set a table there with a kettle and a sign in Jory's careful hand: FREE TEA. NO LUCK SOLD HERE. Jory added a smiley. Calder didn't erase it. 🙂

Not long after, a man in a neat vest and unremarkable face drifted into the shade. He had a tray with charming little triangles of wood, a patter so soft it could be mistaken for care, and a line ready: "Approved charms—Novaterra-issue, to keep wolves from—"

"—our chickens?" Mara said, appearing directly in front of him with a ladle like a law. "We keep wolves out with fences and spears and work." She gestured to the sign. "Have tea."

He blinked, weighed his script against her stare, and tried again. "You misunderstand; I'm with—"

"You're with a moth," Ras said, stepping out of the crowd with scarless guilt and a rope coil. His voice shook once. "I was, too."

The man smiled, small and professional. "You're braver with a crowd," he murmured. His hand dipped toward his vest.

Elara's gauntlet closed on his wrist with a sound like sentence. "Don't pull a bead in my street," she said. Her tone could have frozen a forge.

Calder leaned in with politeness sharpened to a point. "Tea," he said. "Sit. We do not trade blood for theater."

The man sat. Tea happened to his insides. Elara lifted the tray and turned to the gathered faces.

"Primer of Founders' Way," Aiden said, voice steady, carrying. "We do not pay for fear. We do not wear luck. We burn beads. We buy rope. Anyone telling you otherwise is lying." He lifted the tray, marched it to the Forge, and set the charms on Hadrik's anvil.

Hadrik didn't miss a beat. Ring—ring—ring. Triangles bent. Beads cracked into three obedient teardrops. The crowd breathed out as one. Someone laughed. Someone cried. Someone took the broken wood to start a cookfire.

No blood. Lesson learned. Bridge defended.

— City Event — Founders' Way• Decoy seller neutralized (no casualties)• Public doctrine affirmed: "No luck; burn beads; buy rope"• Fear market –30% (local)

Clove drifted through the edge of the crowd later with clerk-calm and pond eyes. "Elegant," he said softly. "You will be expensive for my employer."

"Tell him rope costs less than funerals," Mara said. "And tea costs more than luck." 🍵

Clove's mouth quirked. "He will admire and hate you. This is progress."

Afternoon thinned into dust. Time to meet the other half of the day.

They hauled standards back to Riversong Flats for a dust drill: wind at their backs, sun in the enemy's eyes, small brown storms at the flanks where Bryn and the riders wove serpents in the light. The wall planted stakes in 62 seconds (dry speed), then repacked into the trench wagon in under two minutes. Skirmishers practiced priority on shamans—Jory's four broken slicing the air like a thread through cloth; slings and arrows answering where the sound lived.

Aiden stood at Oak Rise and let the plan live in his bones. Feint rear. Swat vanguard. Turn center. Do not chase. When he closed his eyes, he could see the flags. When he opened them, he could see the people who would carry them and felt his stomach behave less poorly.

— Field Rehearsal — Riversong Flats (dust)• Center stake plant: 62s (dry)• Wagons: stake repack 1m52s• Cavalry: Serpentine feint stable• Skirmishers: Shaman priority +15% (signal discipline)

On the way back, a runner from Silverbrook pelted toward them, dust in his eyebrows and triumph in his teeth.

— Field Note — Silverbrook• Pike confessed two drop points (Gatepost Three Slashes; Willow Two Knots). Snares placed.• Mothers adopted 8 falling as marital law.• Children painted their own flags (stars, fish, something that might be Thorn).• Market attack: none. Broom doctrine holding.— Dace / Sera / Lia

Aiden laughed out loud at marital law. Elara pretended not to smile and failed. Rinna smuggled a glance at Tam when she saw the child's Thorn drawing and allowed herself one (1) unit of pride. 😌

Toward dusk, Smile Rock offered up one more letter—thin, neat, reluctant to be dramatic.

To the Lord With Stakes,

I cannot stop those who come. I can only tell you how they march.

Ten days is a polite lie. Eight.

They carry two masks and four drums. One mask is cracked.

You can make a wound there.

— Grey Moth

Elara's eyes sharpened. "Two masks. One cracked."

"Right-hand shaman, weaker," Aiden translated to himself. "Or a decoy that breaks nicely."

"Either way," Elara said, "four broken early and often."

They walked back under a sky tasting like iron filings and river wind. The wall at Corner I took another bite; Ansel declared an angle soupsafe, and Mara poured gravy on it just to make him swear and grin.

— Evening Summary — Novaterra• Dew & Dust drills: complete (plant 63s dew / 62s dry)• Founders' Way: decoy seller neutralized; public doctrine strengthened• Forge: clay glandes molds fired; first batch drying• Smile Rock: letter (T–8; two masks / one cracked)• Riversong Flats: horn perches mapped; rally posts staked• Wall Corner I: 49% → 52%• Morale: Steady-bright → Keen 🙂

Aiden stood at the half-gate-that-wanted-to-be with Elara, listening to the town hum like a whetstone. "Eight," he said quietly.

"Then we will be ready in seven," she answered, which was the kind of arithmetic he'd learned to love.

He looked toward Riversong Flats and saw dew needles and dust veils, standards snapping, stakes going in like teeth, Thorn breathing once, punctuation perfect. He felt the phantom of a cracked mask between his fingers and decided he would prefer to crack it with work.

"Novaterra," he told the air that remembered him now, "we learned wet feet and dry dust. We burned beads without blood. We sharpened paper where it pretends to be teeth. No heroics. Just work." 🙂

The wind agreed, west to east, tidy as a ledger line. The Oak listened and pretended not to. Thorn settled like a period.