Chapter 24 Verr
VERR
The ground shifts under my weight the moment I step past the outer barricade, the damp earth giving just enough to remind me it isn’t stable, that it won’t hold clean movement if too many bodies press into it at once.
The river has pulled back from its banks, leaving behind a slick layer of mud that looks solid until it isn’t, and I angle my foot slightly, testing it before committing my weight.
It sinks a fraction.
Enough.
I drag the edge of my boot across the surface, scraping away the top layer to expose the firmer soil beneath, then straighten, scanning the stretch ahead where the bank dips and rises in uneven waves.
“If they come through here,” I say, lifting my hand slightly to indicate the slope without looking away from it, “they lose their footing before they reach us.”
Kareth steps up on my right, his boots staying on the higher ground, his arms folding across his chest as he studies the same stretch. His eyes move slower than mine, measuring instead of testing.
“Or they widen their approach,” he says, tilting his head toward the tree line, “and avoid it entirely.”
I shake my head once, crouching briefly to press my fingers into the soil again, feeling the looseness beneath the surface. “They won’t,” I say, rising.
He glances at me, one brow lifting slightly. “That’s confidence.”
“That’s assumption,” I reply, brushing dirt from my hand against my thigh. “Different thing.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
I finally look at him.
“Then they adapt faster than I expect,” I say. “Which means we do the same.”
He watches me for a second longer, then exhales through his nose, something like reluctant agreement settling into his posture.
Behind us, the village is still moving, but the rhythm has changed.
The frantic edge from earlier has been stripped away, replaced with something tighter, more deliberate.
Wood strikes wood in uneven bursts as barricades are reinforced, voices cut through the air in short, efficient exchanges, and somewhere near the center a child cries before being hushed quickly.
Everything is compressing.
“Routes,” Kareth says, pulling my focus back.
I turn slightly, dragging the edge of my boot through the dirt again, sketching rough lines as I speak, not looking at him.
“Road,” I say, carving a straight line forward. “Fastest. Most obvious.”
I shift my foot, marking another path.
“Tree line. Cover, but uneven footing. They’ll need to break formation to use it properly.”
Another mark.
“Riverbank. Slows them. Breaks momentum.”
Kareth leans slightly, following the rough map.
“So we split.”
I shake my head, grinding the heel of my boot over the lines until they blur.
“No,” I say. “We layer.”
He straightens.
“How?”
I look back toward the village, then out again toward the approach.
“We make the road look like the priority,” I say, my voice lower now, more focused. “Visible reinforcement. Obvious structure.”
“And the real defense?” he asks, his tone tightening slightly.
I meet his gaze.
“Doesn’t sit still,” I reply.
Something shifts in his expression.
“You’re not holding the line.”
“I’m not losing it,” I say.
That lands.
Harder than the words suggest.
Training them is worse than I expected, not because they can’t move, but because they don’t move the same way twice.
Five villagers stand in front of me, each holding a weapon like it might change its mind and bite them if they grip it wrong. One man keeps adjusting his stance every few seconds, shifting his weight like he doesn’t trust the ground to stay where it is.
“Stop,” I say, stepping forward.
They freeze.
Not cleanly.
But enough.
“You’re not fighting alone,” I continue, reaching out to push one man’s elbow higher, correcting the angle of his spear. My hand lingers just long enough to make sure he holds it. “If you break, the person next to you breaks with you.”
The man swallows, nodding quickly, his grip tightening too much.
“Loosen it,” I say, tapping the shaft once. “You choke it like that, you lose control.”
He adjusts immediately.
“Again.”
They move.
Too slow.
Too hesitant.
“Faster,” I snap, my voice cutting sharper this time.
They flinch, then try again, stepping forward together, uneven but closer.
Better.
Still not enough.
From the edge of the group, I can feel Lyria watching. She doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t step in, but her attention is there, tracking every movement the way I am.
I move down the line, adjusting a shoulder, shifting a foot, forcing them into alignment through contact instead of instruction.
“You don’t need strength,” I say, stepping back just enough to see all of them. “You need timing. If you hit alone, it doesn’t matter how hard you swing.”
One of them shakes his head, breath uneven. “We’re not soldiers.”
I look at him.
“No,” I say. “You’re not.”
His shoulders tighten slightly, like he expects the rest of that to land harder.
“You’re worse,” I add.
That gets a reaction.
Confusion.
A flash of offense.
Good.
“Soldiers wait for orders,” I continue, pacing slowly in front of them. “You don’t get that. You move or you die.”
“That’s not helpful,” another mutters under his breath.
I stop in front of him.
“No,” I say quietly. “It’s accurate.”
He doesn’t look away.
Good.
“Again,” I say.
They move.
Cleaner this time.
Still uneven.
But learning.
Lyria steps in then, brushing past one of them to reposition another without asking.
“Switch them out,” she says, her voice lower than mine but cutting just as clean. She doesn’t look at me, just nods toward the group waiting behind them. “They’re burning out.”
“They’re improving,” I reply.
She finally glances at me, one brow lifting slightly.
“They’re shaking,” she says, tilting her head toward the man whose hands are starting to tremble. “That’s not improvement. That’s exhaustion pretending to be focused.”
I follow her gaze.
She’s right.
Of course she is.
“Rotate,” I say, stepping back.
The group exhales, stepping away, replaced by another set—less tired, more uncertain.
Lyria moves with them immediately, adjusting their grips before they even settle.
“You’re pushing them too tight,” she says quietly as she passes me.
“They’re unstable.”
“They’re scared,” she replies, not slowing. “Different problem.”
I watch her correct a stance with a light touch, her voice low but steady as she speaks to them.
And I adjust.
The first warning doesn’t come from sight.
It comes from the ground.
A low vibration runs through the soil beneath my boots, subtle enough that most wouldn’t notice, but steady, rhythmic, wrong.
I still.
Kareth feels it a second later, his head turning sharply toward the tree line.
“That’s—”
“Movement,” I say.
Not scattered.
Not random.
Structured.
“They’re early,” he mutters, already shifting his stance.
“Yes.”
I turn toward the outer edge of the village, my gaze cutting across the unfinished barricades, the partially set lines, the places that should have had more time.
“How long?” I ask.
Kareth doesn’t answer immediately. He’s listening, measuring.
“Minutes,” he says finally.
Too fast.
I exhale once, steadying the shift before it can become hesitation.
“Signal,” I say.
He moves immediately, turning, his voice cutting across the village in sharp commands.
“Positions! Move—now!”
The reaction is instant.
Not clean.
But fast.
People scramble, soldiers snapping into place, villagers shifting toward the positions they were given, some moving too quickly, others freezing for half a second before being pulled along by someone else.
I step forward, eyes scanning the approaches again, recalculating in real time.
“They’re not probing,” I say.
Kareth steps back beside me.
“No,” he replies. “They’re committing.”
That changes everything.
I look toward the road.
Too exposed.
The riverbank—
Too unstable for a sustained hold.
The tree line—
Too open if they break through fast enough.
I exhale slowly.
“Adjust,” I say.
Kareth turns toward me.
“How?”
“We don’t hold the outer barricade,” I reply, already moving as I speak.
His expression tightens as he falls into step beside me. “We just built that line.”
“And it will break,” I say, glancing at him. “So we use it to slow them, not stop them.”
He hesitates for half a second.
“Fall back positions?”
“Already in place,” I reply.
“They’re not ready.”
“They don’t need to be ready,” I say. “They need to exist.”
That lands.
He nods once.
“Understood.”
The first shapes appear at the edge of the tree line just as the last light fades, dark forms moving between shadows with a cohesion that makes my jaw tighten.
Too clean.
Too fast.
Krago’s.
No question.
Lyria steps up beside me, her shoulder brushing mine briefly as she stops, her breath just slightly uneven.
“That’s too many,” she says, her voice low.
“Yes.”
“You knew it would be bad.”
“I didn’t expect this.”
She doesn’t respond.
Doesn’t need to.
I turn slightly toward her.
“When they hit, you don’t stay here,” I say.
Her head turns sharply.
“That’s not—”
“You coordinate,” I cut in, holding her gaze. “Fallback, movement, keeping them from breaking.”
“And you?” she asks, her voice tightening.
“I slow them,” I say.
Her jaw sets.
“That’s not a plan.”
“It’s the one we have,” I reply.
A beat passes between us, heavy, unspoken.
“Don’t die,” she says quietly.
I almost smile.
“Not today.”
The impact comes fast.
Hard.
The outer barricade shudders under the first hit, wood groaning, shifting, then splintering as the force behind it drives through.
“They’re through!” someone shouts.
“Fall back!” Kareth roars, his voice cutting through the chaos.
The line buckles inward, not collapsing, but bending, bodies moving back under pressure instead of breaking completely.
Good.
That’s enough.
I step forward instead.
Of course I do.
“Verr—” Lyria’s voice cuts through the noise behind me.
“Go,” I say, not turning.
A pause.
Then movement.
She listens.
Good.
Because if she doesn’t—
This ends here.
Steel meets steel.
The sound cracks through the air, sharp, immediate, the force of the first clash running up my arm as I meet the initial strike head-on. The impact grounds me, centers everything into a single, clear line.
They’re stronger than the villagers.
Faster than most of my soldiers expected.
But not tight.
Not controlled in close quarters.
That’s where we hold.
Not win.
Hold.
Delay.
I shift my stance, adjusting to the push instead of resisting it outright, letting the momentum carry just enough before redirecting it.
Time.
That’s all this is now.
Time.