Chapter 33 - Herding expedition (18 Jan 25)

The room was thick with the metallic tang of fresh iron, grounding the gathered group in the moment. Each thud of the iron nails being hammered into the wooden table seemed to echo with purpose, pinning the map in place as if anchoring their mission. The terrain model had been replaced with this map, a rough piece of paper procured from the forum. Hale stood at one end, posture squared, fingertips resting on the edge. Mark was to his left, jaw tight in concentration. The others were already seated: Margaret, arms folded, sharp-eyed as always; Caldwell, still chewing something that looked like a root; Garrick had joined for this morning as he was being left in charge of the remaining garrison; and Beth and Josh, sleeves rolled and streaked with charcoal.They wouldn't have made it this far if Caldwell weren't making the trades he was making through the Stele. It was probably the greatest thing that allowed humanity to survive this long. Thankfully, trades over the forum would be available for a while, ensuring humanity would be stabilized much sooner than otherwise.Harold leaned forward, palms flat. "Walk us through it."Hale didn't waste time."We've got a confirmed herd of at least one-fifty Tatanka," he said. "Dense and healthy, as far as we could tell. Grazing in a small valley surrounded by broken forest. Terrain favors us — the slope funnels movement naturally toward a choke near the river bend."Margaret narrowed her eyes. "A natural fence?""Exactly," Mark cut in with a note of enthusiasm that seemed to sharpen his tone. "The lay of the land, the noise control, and our staggered sweeps work together like the gears of a clock. We can steer them without causing a stampede. Or at least, without a stampede heading our way." Caldwell raised a brow, his skepticism carrying through his voice like a gritty undertone. "Will we lose any of them?""We will," Hale said. "The goal is containment, not perfection."Beth glanced over. "And once we have them?""We have a holding field cleared northeast of the barracks palisade. Temporary fencing is going up now. Teams will rotate on watch and herding until permanent pens are built."Harold looked up. "How many are you taking?"Hale answered without hesitation. "One full century. Almost 100 men. Four Optios or our new squad leaders. We are going to go with the Roman rank structure. Two from the original squad leaders, two of the veterans that came through the recruitment portal in the last couple of days. They've drilled together."Margaret didn't blink. "And the adventurers?""Five full teams. Mixture of roles. Two we already vetted. The others volunteered after the last post about our hunting efforts and the silver that one team gained by bringing back that grain."Harold's brow lifted slightly. "Reputation's useful, then."Caldwell snorted. "But bad for my treasury.""Which is why this will move fast," Hale said. "No hunting detours and no lingering. They will travel light, herd and gather fast, and return heavier."Beth leaned back. "This means food, hide, and bone. This changes everything.""And milk," Caldwell added. "If we get females in decent health, we can start early domestication.""Noted," Beth said dryly.Harold glanced toward the edge of the map. "And what about the threats?""The same predator that tracked our last runner is still out there," Hale confirmed. "It's a big and fast cat, from what we've seen. The force we're sending is strong enough to handle it; the adventurers already said they'll be looking to hunt it. I think one team pooled their resources with another to buy a net."Harold stayed silent a beat longer. Then nodded slowly."Alright, no one dies for cattle." He said. The words landed with weight."Copy that," Hale said."Get it done," Harold continued. "But remember, this is only worth it if they come back."He stepped back from the table."I want a report through the relay every day. If anything delays you, let me know. Losing most of the garrison makes me uncomfortable."Hale nodded. "Understood."Harold looked at Mark. "You'll coordinate response if they call for help.""I've already assigned the runners."He turned to Caldwell. "You'll track the barter outputs. If this works, we scale."Caldwell scratched his beard. "Already lining up another chicken trade. Some poor bastard on the forum is offering goats."Harold gave him a look. "Live?""Hopefully," he laughed. "We are doing better, but we could be doing more if we had more potions."The meeting began to dissolve as chairs scraped and slates closed. Optios would already be forming ranks outside.Hale lingered at the edge of the room. Mark was beside him, rechecking the route etched into a map roll.Garrick moved to follow but stopped beside Harold. "You coming to drills?"Harold gave a half-smile. "That's the plan."Garrick's eyes glinted. "Don't fall behind again. The lads still talk about that time your helmet flew off."Harold groaned."I told you the chin strap was loose.""Sure you did," Garrick said.The last voice in the room belonged to Caldwell, who was poking at the leftover bread someone had forgotten on the table."You have no idea how much silver I can squeeze out of leather and tallow right now," he said, almost to himself, a little too pleased."As long as what we need is satisfied," he said.________________________________________________________________________The path east wasn't a road. It was a rut. A long, trampled smear in the ground, wide enough for carts to pass single-file and worn deeper each time another expedition trudged through. In places, stagnant puddles gathered, shimmering with a metallic sheen, harboring life forms unknown and hinting at hidden threats. Scavenger tracks crisscrossed the mud, traces of creatures opportunistically trailing each caravan. Grass had been beaten down to dirt. A hundred boots had kicked stones aside. But no one had laid logs, no one had dug drainage, and no one had time. Every scrap of lumber in the settlement had a purpose: walls, shelters, kitchens, scaffolds.A full century of soldiers assembled in staggered rows, armor patchwork but functional, shields slung across backs. They weren't uniform, but they moved like they'd learned to be. Hale stood at the front, speaking in a low voice with his four Optios. Each wore a strip of dyed cloth wrapped around one arm. Red, green, blue, and yellow. Hale's idea was to keep field commands clean.To the side, five adventuring teams gathered in uneven clusters. They were armed, alert, and loud—no matching colors. No real ranged weapons, either — those didn't exist yet. The few that had ranged weapons carried packs of short spears or crude javelins. Most of them wore leather scavenged from goblins or crudely worked from early hunts.One group passed around a large wooden club still dark with drying sap. Another was arguing over whose pack weighed more.Harold watched it all from beside the barracks, Garrick at his shoulder."That's more people than we've ever sent out at once," Harold said quietly."Twice over," Garrick agreed. "And you're sending the good ones."Harold nodded.Below, a pair of carts creaked under awkward loads. The bundles of rough cordage twisted from bark and dried vines groaned with tension as the wheels rolled. Rolls of canvas sewn from salvaged clothes rustled with each bump, while bundles of sharpened sticks clattered ominously, as if ready to spill across the ground like brittle bones. No part of this ramshackle array seemed like it belonged in a real herding operation. Every sound hinted at fragility, as though everything was moments away from falling apart.Hale turned, made a sharp gesture. Soldiers snapped to readiness.Harold noticed some villagers pausing nearby. Watching."They're nervous," Garrick said."They should be," Harold replied. "We're gutting our defenses for a herd of animals.""Yeah," Garrick said. "But if we don't start thinking like a real settlement, we'll stay a refugee camp forever."That earned a nod, and the carts began to move.Hale walked a few paces ahead of the column, pace steady. His Optios called the march; each voice staggered down the line. The soldiers followed without complaint.Adventurers fell in behind, more casual, but still moving as a unit. Some of them waved to villagers as they passed. One whistled, loud and out of tune.Then the chickens escaped.A blur of feathers darted under one of the carts, then another. Squawking. Flapping. A second bird followed, then three more. In seconds, a half-dozen chickens were everywhere."Shit!" someone yelled. "Get 'em!"A young soldier tripped trying to avoid one and caught himself on a cart wheel. One of the adventurers actually drew a knife, paused, and reconsidered. Another tried to chase a hen and got pecked in the shin for his trouble.Harold blinked. "Why are they—""Caldwell's chickens," Garrick muttered. "Forum trade.""They were penned.""Were," Garrick said.Three villagers sprinted after the birds, baskets and curses in hand. One soldier snatched a flapping hen out of the air and tucked it under his arm as if he'd just claimed a trophy. Somewhere down the line, someone cheered.Harold let out a breath. "I can't decide if that was a bad omen or a good one.""Let's call it morale," Garrick said.The noise faded as the column moved farther down the trail. Soon, only dust and bootprints marked where they'd passed.Garrick was already checking names off a slate."Fifty-one still here," he said. "Most are green—four proper veterans. I'll rotate double patrols through the inner fields. You'll get your night shift volunteers again."Harold nodded. "Keep them moving. If the village feels busy, they'll feel safe."Garrick made a noise halfway between agreement and resignation."You want me to give a speech?" Harold asked."God, no," Garrick said immediately. "Just show your face once or twice. That's worth more."They walked a short distance together, boots crunching over dry soil. The sky was clear, but cold was coming in on the wind."No real wall," Harold said. "Our only fallback is the half-built palisade around your barracks. Not even a damn gate.""We've got the barracks," Garrick replied. "If things go wrong, we fit what we can inside. Everyone else… runs or fights."Harold didn't answer right away.Then he said, "Tell the kitchen to prep extra broth for tonight. I want people to be warm."Garrick gave a short nod. "Alright. Still joining us for drills?""I said I would.""You'll regret that," Garrick said, smiling.Harold smiled faintly. "Already do."The barracks field was mostly dust by now. Whatever grass once grew there had long since been stomped to pulp. The dirt was packed down like stone in some places, soft and chewed up in others — the scars of weeks of drills, sparring, and exhaustion.Soldiers stretched in loose ranks. Some rolled their shoulders. Others checked the bindings on their makeshift padding — hide jerkins, scavenged leather, padded cloth stiff with sweat. They weren't uniformed. But they were shaping into something close.Garrick paced in front of them, dragging a bent stick as he walked."No using mana today," he called, voice sharp and dry. "You try and cheat, and I put you on night latrine detail for a week."A few grunts of laughter answered him.Harold stood three rows back, helmet tucked under his arm, sweat already sticking his shirt to his back. He wore no lord's colors. No officer's insignia. Just a blunt wooden shield and a sand-filled practice pole, same as everyone else.To his left and right: Ren and Corwin. The two former soldiers who'd once walked him to the forest edge and talked shit the entire way. They had been his constant guard since that day."Still remember how to hold that thing?" Ren asked, nodding at Harold's weighted pole."I've hit people with worse," Harold muttered."Hopefully not from the same side of the formation," Corwin added. "That's how you break a line."Harold just shook his head.They started with footwork. Garrick barked cadence as the rows shuffled forward, shields angled, poles held low. No striking. Just positioning. Balance. Moving as a wall."Keep the spacing tight," Garrick snapped. "Don't watch your damn feet — watch the man ahead."Harold kept his eyes up. He stepped when Corwin stepped. Matched speed. Matched angle.They rotated. Reversed. Practiced line turns. Twice, Harold's shield drifted wide and tapped Ren's. Ren said nothing — just nudged it back with his own.Then came pressure drills.Each man squared off with another. One held their shield. The other pushed.Garrick pointed. "Switch on my call. No stepping back. If you move, you lose. That's the rule."Harold squared off with Ren first. The older man grinned and stepped in close."No mana," he reminded. "You cheat, I bite you.""You'd like it." Harold smiled right back.The first impact drove Harold back a half-step. Not far. But it counted.Garrick saw it. "Reset."They squared again. This time, Harold braced lower. Dug his heels in. Took the hit.Then pushed back.Ren grunted. "Better."Switch.Now Corwin.He didn't charge. He leaned—applied slow, constant weight like a rising tide. Harold adjusted, teeth clenched, legs screaming.Corwin's brow didn't even furrow. "Get under it. Not against it."Harold bent deeper, pulled his arm in, and held.Switch again.By the end of the round, Harold's arms burned, and his ribs felt like they'd been boxed with bricks. But he hadn't moved.They ended with a mock formation push.Three ranks, shoulder to shoulder, poles braced across the second row's shoulders. Garrick walked the front, checking lines."You're not swordsmen," he said. "You're not mages. You're weight, pressure! Hold together or break and die."Harold was in the second row.Ren and Corwin were behind him, hands resting lightly on his shoulders.Garrick raised a hand."Advance."The line moved, and Harold moved with it.It wasnt clean or fast, but he didn't trip. He didn't lurch. He didn't fall out of sync. The shield wall ahead of him held steady, and he followed the rhythm. Left foot. Right. Press. Brace.The weight of the poles bore down across his shoulders, trembling from each tiny movement behind him. The distant cry of a wolf, barely discernible over the cacophony of drills, sent an involuntary shiver through the ranks, a reminder of the still-untamed wilds beyond the settlement's fragile boundaries. They hit the marked line in the dirt and stopped on cue.Garrick nodded once. "Acceptable."Which was as close to praise as anyone got.Later, sitting on a crate and peeling off his soaked shirt, Harold sucked in slow breaths and tried not to collapse.Corwin dropped beside him, tossed over a skin of water."You're not useless," he said.Harold raised a brow. "Thanks?"Ren leaned against the wall across from them, arms crossed."You're still soft," he said. "But you move like someone who knows what happens if he screws up.""I've had practice," Harold muttered, drinking deep."Mm," Ren said. "You're gonna make a passable Legionnaire yet."Harold snorted. "Let's not go crazy."They shared a few seconds of silence, broken only by distant hammering from the construction crews.Then Corwin said, "This way of fighting is different from what we learned in the city I came from. I was skeptical at first, but… I think I can see the thought behind it."Harold glanced at him. "And?"Corwin shrugged. "Takes discipline and trust. But it works."Ren snorted. "Mostly works. Unless the front line's full of rookies with soft feet."Harold stretched one leg out, wincing. "Soft everything, I think."They sat in quiet for a moment longer. Distant hammering echoed across the settlement.Then Ren nodded toward the training line. "Tomorrow's another round."Harold sighed. "Can't wait."