Chapter 24 - Chapter 24: Standards at the Knoll

Neutral Knoll dressed itself like a fair and a drill yard at the same time. Rope lanes chalked in white arcs; a green where flags could breathe; a soup line that behaved like law. Children learned to stand behind a painted rope and were very brave about obeying it. 🍲🙂

— Skirmish: Standards at the Knoll (Exhibition)• Sides: Novaterra vs. Dominion of the Fox (Lucien Duvall)• Size: 60 vs 60 (mixed foot/light cav)• Weapons: blunts, padded shafts, chalk-shot slings; no thrusts to face/throat• Scoring: flag touch (1), flag capture (2), clean withdrawal on 2 short (1 style), infraction (−1)• Forbidden: chase beyond boundary ropes; any live steel; drums (horns only)• Objective: doctrine exchange; respect; crowd education.

Duvall arrived like a sentence that knew about commas. The fox standard—silver head on claret—winked in a clean breeze. He dismounted with the shameless poise of a man who looked good getting off a horse and had practiced it. His captain—Renard—kept the fox light cavalry in a neat, amused crescent.

"Aiden," Lucien said, palm out.

"Lucien." They shook hands like men checking a bridge for creaks.

"Shall we make it interesting?" Lucien nodded toward Mara's donation jar: Widows' Rope Fund.

"Wager?" Aiden asked.

"Loser funds a week of rope and a day of free clinic in the other's square," Lucien proposed, elegant as a hinge. "Winner hosts cross-training and names the lesson."

Aiden glanced at Calder. He raised a brow that meant we can use the coin. Mara thumped the jar meaningfully. "Agreed," Aiden said. "And whoever loses serves soup for an hour personally."

Lucien's smile flickered—game accepted. "May my ladle be as just as yours."

Mara handed him a spare. "We'll see." 😏

Elara ran Novaterra's side like a loom: Center (24 shields in three ranks), Skirmishers (12 with chalk glandes), Light Cav (8 riders), Flank Pairs (8), Reserve (8) under Garran. Jory took the tower stand—not high, just honest—and tuned his horn. Lia's cousin clutched the child sun-dot and tried not to vibrate from duty. 🫡

Lucien's order looked like a river scheduling itself: fox-cav (12) under Renard; pike-lites (18) with soft tips and long reach; line (24) with light bucklers and good boots; skirmish (6) with paint-sacks instead of stones.

"Remind them," Aiden said to Elara.

She stepped where both crowds could hear without being yelled at. "This is not war," she said. "We do not chase. We do not bruise hearts for sport. We show how to stand, and how to step away when the horn says. If you put someone on the grass, help them up. If you get clever, Mara will make you pour soup."

There was respectful laughter that understood the threat. Mara lifted her ladle and the laughter obeyed. 🍲😑

Jory lifted the horn; Lucien's trumpeter—Baptiste, the binder moonlighting with a cornet—lifted his. The sound they made together was courtesy.

One long.

Flags rose: Novaterra's white circle on green, the fox's silver on claret. A hush like good paper settled over the Knoll.

Round One wanted to be an essay on feints.

Renard put his fox-cav in a canter that drew a curve delicious to the eye. Two riders dipped toward Novaterra's Right, a little too inviting, while his pike-lites angled to meet a wall that would never be there if the wall took the bait.

Elara did not blink. "Right—five rising, green," she called, and Novaterra's four riders answered with dust—across the tempting lane, not into it. Behind them, Center planted half-stakes—light ash rods with soft caps—like punctuation marks.

Renard's gambit looked for greed and found grammar. The fox dipped, laughed (you could hear the grin), and switched bites—Left now, shallow, testing for hinge slop.

Jory answered with two short so crisp the air blushed—polite retreat; the shield line slid back by two paces on Anchor Step, boards kissing again at the new mark. Chalk glandes pinged off bucklers like polite gossip—no harm, just point. A pair of Lucien's skirmishers painted white circles on a shield boss and bowed as if awarding points to themselves. 🙂

Renard's two foxes overcommitted for the first time that day—just a hair. Elara's hand twitched.

"Eight falling," Jory warned—NO chase—because even a skirmish has sweet teeth.

The crowd liked that—the refusal, the way discipline tasted better than applause.

Lucien raised a hand—acknowledgment. He wheeled his cav out and let his pike-lites show off: three spears bridged a gap in a way that said this is how you gate a board—a lesson Elara's left flank drank like soup.

Call it even: one clean fox flag touch, one polite retreat scored, no captures. The scoreboard—chalk on a plank—read 1–1. Mara nodded; soup remained unthrown. 🍲

— Round I (12 min)• Fox cav feint read; no overpursuit• Novaterra polite retreat scored (1); Fox flag touch scored (1)• Infraction: none.

Round Two wanted to be a poem about hinges.

Lucien put his pike-lites at a shallow diagonal and asked Elara's Left to admire their geometry. Renard threw a dust veer to make the diagonal prettier. In the center, Duvall's line did something French with their feet—small, neat, promising a wheel.

Elara took the compliments and gave back work.

"Center sit. Seven steady. Left—hinge. Reserve—half-pace shadow."

The stake crew flowed as if the word were a rope pulled by a kindly god. Bossed boards found shins; Anchor Step made knockback commit a policy error. Novaterra's hinge creaked exactly once and then learned; Garran's limp added a rude little truth to the angle; the wheel kissed the hinge and discovered it wasn't flattered.

Lucien gave a small, unbothered nod. He appreciated a door that knew how to be a door. Then he sent Renard on a fox hunt at the seam where Center and Right swap air.

Renard surged; Elara lifted two fingers; Right's dust crossed through the seam, not over it; chalk glandes nipped fox flanks; and then—because someone had to play fool for the crowd—Tam raised a foam-tipped bolt at Thorn (parked and unstrung for show) and made pew-pew palms. The Knoll laughed; Rinna rolled her eyes with affection so dry it could have started a campfire. 😌

Lucien's pike-lites earned a clever flag touch with a butt-end flick—2–1 Fox. Elara answered with a flank pair slipping a ribbon around the fox standard's tail and tugging it just low enough for Lia's cousin to tap with the sun-dot and squeak triumph—2–2. Jory's eight falling lived in everyone's feet when a pocket wanted to surge. It did not.

— Round II (14 min)• Pike-lites: flag touch (Fox +1)• Flank ribbon: sun-dot tap (Nova +1)• Score: 2–2; Style: both sides hold "no chase."

Lucien rode over in the pause and leaned in as if confiding to the day. "Your hinge manners are charming," he said. "I intend to steal them."

Elara inclined her helm. "Steal away. I'm going to adopt your pike courtesy and refuse to pay royalties."

"Excellent," Lucien said. "Our plagiarism will make the region safer."

They were both, absurdly, right.

Round Three decided to be a lesson for the crowd.

Aiden and Lucien called it together—captain's round—ten a side, flags only, no cavalry. The kind of fight farmers can make sense of when raiders test a fence.

Novaterra fielded Garran, Ras (because eyes are part of walls), two Riversong cousins, and six steady boards; Duvall sent Renard on foot (smiling like mischief under a helmet), two binders in padded vests (yes, really), and six bucklers.

"Remember," Aiden murmured toward Ras, "eyes first. Knives last."

Ras's mouth did that scarless thing grief had left behind: hard and honest. "Eyes," he said.

The two tens met in a shoving conversation. Renard played the clown—mock stumbles and grins—to coax a foul. Garran's board shoved comedy into grass and offered a hand up with affection and disrespect. The Riversong cousins wrapped a sash around a buckler and practiced the fine art of choose your next mistake. Baptiste, binder-cornet, put his shoulder under a board and proved that medicine knows leverage. The crowd saw—oh, so that's how you hold without hating.

Jory and Baptiste traded 2 short for space in the same breath. The ring widened with civility. Lia's cousin tapped a Fox ribbon; a Fox hand brushed the white circle and bowed. 3–3.

— Round III (10 min)• Captain's round: flags only; foot vs foot• Civilians learned "space by horn," "lift when shoved," "wrapper-sash"• Score: 3–3.

Lucien raised both palms. "Last pass. Winner hosts the other for cross-training first." He looked at Mara. "And the loser—"

"—serves soup," Mara confirmed, ladle already daring someone to be dramatic. 😑

Final Pass: both sides whole again, cav permitted, all blunts and chalk.

Renard rolled fox-cav wide, baiting a chase he was never going to get; his skirmishers tossed paint sacks that were actually less kind than chalk—their splats made the crowd laugh and the boards slippery. Elara pointed to sand and someone had it there because logistics is what love looks like when it grows up: a handful on the paint spots, grip returned.

Lucien's pike-lites went low this time, aiming to lift a board's foot with soft tips. Elara's Anchor Step and Jory's two short made the feet behave like they'd been given advice by grandmothers. The wall refused to waltz. The fox line tried a neat inside-out and met Garran at the hinge; Garran smiled like an apology delivered too late and very sincerely.

And then Renard tried one small piece of brilliance too far: a twist called the Fox's Tail—a last-moment curl meant to wrap around a standard's base without being rude. It needed a hair of greedy footwork from the other side to land.

He didn't get it.

Elara's chin made a half-degree adjustment. "Right—five rising, green. Flank pair—ribbon." The dust crossed. The ribbon slipped in. Lia's cousin held the sun-dot high like a sunrise and tapped the fox tassel with exactly the legal pressure and all the joy a person can hold without crying.

4–3 Novaterra.

Renard laughed honestly and raised both arms. "Caught," he called, cheerful, as chalk blooms on his greaves confessed the truth. He pivoted to the crowd and bowed in the stupidly graceful way men like him are born with. The crowd gave him affection they didn't mean to. 🙂

Lucien's trumpet gave a one long with a smile in it. Jory answered with the same. The flags dipped together, then rose together. That mattered more than the plank score.

Mara pointed at Lucien with the ladle. "Apron," she said. He took it with courtly solemnity and began to ladle Widows' Rope soup into bowls. The crowd adored him more for it, which is how Mara gets her way with terrible inevitability. 🍲😌

— Final Tally• Score: Novaterra 4 — 3 Dominion of the Fox• Wager: Duvall funds rope (1 week) + free clinic day; serves soup 1 hour• Prize: Novaterra chooses first cross-training module; Fox hosts second• Injuries: bruises, pride… nothing that soup and linen won't fix.

Lucien joined Aiden at the plank. He had paint on his good boots and did not mind. "Name your lesson," he said.

"Hinge manners," Aiden answered. "Our yard tomorrow morning. I want my people to feel how to wheel without opening their teeth."

"Done," Lucien said. "And the following week, you send Elara and your riders to us. Fox serpentine needs better students."

"Also done," Elara said, pleased against her will.

He leaned in just far enough to make a secret without secrets. "Your After-Sight—you did not use it."

Aiden shook his head. "Not for a friend's lesson. I'm saving it for after." The word tasted like iron; he didn't flinch.

"Good," Lucien said softly. "Save your knives for meat."

They stood a moment with the good noise of a town being pleased with itself around them. Baptiste and Ameline wrapped a trainer's wrist and laughed like people who like being useful. Jory let two children blow two short at an empty basket; the basket was very forgiving. Renard made a show of being bad at soup and was only mostly bad. Mara forgave him after his seventh bowl. 😏

Ras watched the crowd with new eyes and did not look at the brush-mats near the wadi; he didn't need to. He had marked them in his bones.

Elara tapped Aiden's arm. "We stole a better wheel," she said. "They stole a better hinge. Tomorrow we'll both be worse friends, which is to say better neighbors."

"Good arithmetic," he said.

— System: Cross-Training Unlocked• Module I (host: Novaterra): Hinge & Anchor Step (shield wall cadence; don't-chase aura practicals)• Module II (host: Duvall): Fox Serpentine & Flag Feints (light cav screens; no-greed egress)• Regional trait: Courtesy Skirmish — when horn rules shared, panic chance −10% at markets.

Dusk brought the breezy kind of tired. The Knoll folded its tables; the flags breathed; the children practiced being small standards and were too loud about it. Clove drifted past with an empty bowl and the faintest of smiles. "Bridges that play are harder to sell fear to," he murmured, which for him was applause. 🍲

Back at Novaterra, Oakwatch showed a squarer shadow. The horn cairns hummed the same note when Jory tapped them on the walk home. Thorn pretended she wasn't listening and failed.

Aiden stood at the half-gate-that-wanted-to-be and let the day file itself.

"Novaterra," he told the road that had just learned a game and a law in one afternoon, "we learned to wheel without teeth and to bow with flags. We took coin for rope and pride for soup. We'll use both. No heroics. Just work." 🙂

The wind went down the gourd and came out as two short—make way. The road obeyed.

— Evening Summary — Novaterra / Neutral Knoll• Standards at the Knoll completed (Novaterra 4–3 Fox)• Wager paid: Duvall funds rope week + free clinic day; served soup (1h)• Cross-Training: Hinge/Anchor (Nova), Fox Serpentine (Duvall) scheduled• Market panic −10% persists; Bridge Law affirmed (debt vs tools precedent cited)• Morale: Warm, competent, a little proud 🙂