Kanieta stood in the center of her new bridge. She scuffed her foot against the marred stone bricks in a vain attempt to remove some of the black scorching left by the lightning. I should get someone to clean it up. Make it shine and gleam in the sun. Something new deserves to look like it.

She didn't care what anyone said, damn it. Kanieta liked her bridge. It was far better than the trash Jolten made. That thing was only held together by mana and prayers, and the moment the spell placed on it was broken, it collapsed. And it only took a single attack to break the stupid thing. Kanieta scoffed mentally at the dead, patchy-furred ass-sniffer.

And the bridge was her idea, so it was her's. The original plan was to throw the bricks into the fort to cause further confusion and damage. She was the one who came up with the idea to do something productive with them.

So, her bridge.

A bridge that can take more than a half-hearted attack before it crumbles, too. Kanieta didn't know about anyone else, but she did not have much time to think or look around when people were trying to kill her. Unless a structure was crumbling before her eyes, she wouldn't waste the effort to rip out a chunk of stone and throw it at her enemies, like you could do with a certain other bridge.

More to the point, her bridge should be able to take a beating by a knight, even before it was reinforced with mana and spells. The material is far better, but who cared about that. All that mattered was her bridge was better, and no one would remember the windbag's bridge.

Or even his name. Maybe I should name the bridge after him… as an honor to the dead and all that. Her lips curled up in vindictive amusement at the pleasant thought. The old man and all of his lackeys had been a thorn in her side for years, but that would no longer be the case.

Turning from the Middle Fort, she signaled the mage to her left with a slash of the hand to stop the spells. Kanieta had positioned herself to listen to the report Green gave to his superior. But that didn't work out well, as one of the knights had put up a barrier to block all sound.

Making it lucky that she could watch the whole exchange through a vision spell that looked like a circular window a few feet in diameter hanging just past the bridge's railing with indistinct, hazy edges. It showed Green and the Legatus as if she were standing ten feet away from them, and their expressions gave her plenty of information to work with.

From what she had seen, the leader of the legion was taking the warning and message seriously enough, even if he might not fully believe it yet. It was a good enough start for now, and there wasn't anything else she could do, so she turned away. From the corner of her eye, Kanieta saw Green lying on the ground, a couple people hovering over him before the window snapped shut as the mage cut off the mana supply.

A tiny flicker of concern for Green flared inside her when she realized he had collapsed. She enjoyed their short time together and felt kind of guilty for using him like she did and for all the suffering he was subjected to, but she squashed the emotions as soon as they reared up. Kanieta could not entertain such sentiments with the position she was in.

"Do you think he will seek peace?" Elder Lurta asked in a slightly distracted tone.

Looking over, Kanieta saw the old fox had browbeaten someone into fetching her a chair. And now she was having the gofer hold the yarn she was trying to knit into a… snake shirt? It can't be a sleeve. No one has an arm that long and narrow. Kanieta didn't know, and telling the old hag she was terrible at knitting only made one suffer the elder's wrath.

The young man had a crestfallen expression, like the world was ending, and all he could do was watch. His eyes were looking to the Northern Fort in longing as the beat of the party drums sounded. Anyone could tell he yearned to join the celebration.

Having a party when they were still technically fighting wasn't the best idea, but Kanieta had long ago learned to only fight the battles she could win. The best she could do was minimize the risk while retaining her authority, which meant there was enough of a force in place to repel any attack, unlikely as it was.

The Olimpians might be readying to throw back another assault, but attacking those walls was the last thing on her mind. They didn't have another siege spell prepared, so they would have to do it the hard way. There was no way the gains would be worth the cost. Her eyes traveled over the young man, who might just be Lurta's newest project, even if he didn't know yet. Suppressing the shiver running down her spine at the surfacing memories, she said a silent prayer to the Spirits for the young man before focusing on the elder.

"…He seems competent enough." Kanieta slowly said. "I think he would be open to negotiations once he sees we speak the truth."

"But it's not up to him." Stated Elder Lurta.

"No, it's not, but by the time those in power come to a consensus on what to do, it will be too late. The decision would have already been taken out of their hands."

"The hoards will be at their borders, pressing them hard, while the Letairry will undermine them from within?"

"Yeah, that too," Kanieta agreed, "but I was talking more about our defenses. Already, our mages are hard at work casting spells and reinforcing the battlements. In a few weeks, it will take the combined might of Olimpia to push us back. And if they do that," Kanieta shrugged like there was nothing she could do, "we will both be conquered and subjugated by the dark elves." Elder Lurta did not disagree with Kanieta's statement, only grunting in acknowledgment.

Looking past the elder, Kanieta looked at the river in contentment. Mana thrummed in the air, and beneath her feet, she could feel the bridge acting as the anchor for the spell stretched over the river, which obscured the line of barges from the Olimpian's sight. They might know we have boats, but no need to advertise how many or where they are.

On their decks were all the supplies their farmers would need to start their crops and all the tools the carpenters and masons required to build a city. Tanners, ranchers, woodcutters, miners, smiths, and every other required profession would follow in the next few days to set up their workshops. Workers who will put in days of hard labor so their families can arrive at something that can be called a new home.

Sure, Kanieta had not lied when she told Green that most of their army was acting as a rear guard, but that wasn't the whole truth. Veteran warbands were already sweeping through the Cradle to the east, establishing their dominance over everything north of the Twins and south of the Broken Peaks.

That lush, sweeping valley was basically the only major inhabited area the Olimpians had on this side of the river. The southern side bordered the Twins just east of the Triad and went north, roughly taking up a several hundred-mile rectangle. The northern edge became increasingly prominent foothills with only a few easy passes leading closer to the mountains. However, she did hear that the foothills leveled off after a point, forming something of a plateau, and while the area was still inhabited, they were far fewer in number.

But that really didn't matter to Kanieta. The Cradle was covered in orchards, massive wheat fields, cattle ranches, and many other vegetable farms in between. In short, all the food the Kin would need for the year of the building ahead of them.

Any farmers that still remained would be offered the chance to stay, and they would be given a fair price for their produce, but it was the illusion of a choice. Kanieta would have that food. While she would treat them as well as possible, she would not allow them to endanger her people's attempt at creating a new home.

"The Crescent Moon will be trouble." Lurta said, after a while of silence where Kanieta watched the people unloading the barges, "They won't take their plan being undermined and shown up well."

"…I know," Kanieta groaned in exasperation. "Couldn't let me enjoy the moment?"

"I have," the elder said in amusement, "but now you are just putting off calling a Conclave." Kanieta flinched from the accusation and felt her tails betray her nervousness. She really hated those meetings.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Lurta's lips pulled back, showing her fangs, "It's time to show those howlers the cost of breaking the Conclave's laws."

**********

Legatus Valee Panta looked at what appeared to be the normal — if high quality — black lacquered top of the table placed in the middle of the Command Room of the Southern Fort. The table came up to his abdomen, with a foot-tall railing ringing the edge. The perfect level to lean against while standing next to it.

When he first took control of the fort, he toured every nook and cranny of the place, taking in the depth of history the fortress exuded, which was something new to him. Panta had spent the vast majority of his time in the legion dealing with the politics of the Isles, a place very much lacking in history as it was only first acknowledged as a province three centuries ago.

As such, most of the islands were constantly struggling for influence. The only place he had met a group as cutthroat as those on the Isles was wading through the politics of Olimpia itself, and he would prefer to never do that again.

It was why he had accepted his assignment up here so readily. All he sought was efficiency and competence among his legionaries, but apparently, that was too much to ask for. While dealing with the Hoppers, as those who live in the Isles call themselves, he gained a significant level of respect and power.

A little too much power, apparently.

When Panta became the Consul in charge of the Isles, the senators of the Isles took notice. He did, after all, have the power to unify the Isles for the first time, possibly ever, by making himself a City Lord in control of the entire province. Doing such a thing would decrease the dozens of senators for the Isles to a mere handful. Panta had no plans to do it, but that did not negate the fact he could or that others were urging him to do so. Threatening the power of so many was not the type of attention anyone wanting a long life desired, a category Panta happened to fall into.

So when he was recalled to Olimpia — though if you thought about it, how can someone be recalled to a place they have never been? — and was offered wagonloads of empty titles and lands, all of which just so happened to be far away from the Isles — complete and utter coincidence, he was sure — Panta decided to be appeased. They could not strip him of his rank, as that was a legion matter, so he remained the technical Consul of the Isles, but they could prevent him from ever returning.

The stalemate lasted for years until a decade ago when he requested to be transferred to the Northern Line. It was the unofficial-official retirement posting. Panta was tired of politics. Spending his last years in the legions teaching new recruits while watching over a quiet border sounded nice.

Even now, commanding a position on the Northern Line had a certain level of notoriety, as it was only given to people who had served the legion with distinction for years. This was ironic because being posted up here in any other position was the opposite and implied being out of favor with someone important.

It was an amusing fact and something that would change soon, but not because of anything he did. A new war would bring new fame and the flies who feed off it. His gut told him the beastkin was being honest about the threat, even if half-truths were sprinkled throughout their message. But even if he took them at face value, verification would still be required.

Panta didn't have the same prejudice against the beastkins that many of his staff seemed to have, but he knew those with authority. "If they didn't know how to lie, they wouldn't be in power," Ponta whispered the old maxim of the Isles.

Eyes focusing on the table again, he studied its surface. If he didn't know better, Ponta would have sworn the grain on the wood was real… But it couldn't be because no two trees had ever produced the exact same grain, and while he had never seen them, he knew the table had two identical siblings. One was in Basetown, and the other in Cross.

The tables were a relic of the past. One of the many masterpieces that appeared when Olimpia was on the brink of collapse. A time in which every year was a scramble as dozens of legions were fielded to hold back the unending tide of beastkins. At the height of the Northern Line's influence, the tables could show the real-time positions of every legion in the field.

Those days were long since past, and the tables hadn't been turned on in centuries. The last commander who did was tried by the Senate for wasting legion resources, bankrupting her family when she was forced to pay off the sixty mind stones used to activate the devices.

Panta had never thought there would come a time that he would look at the table and know that its time had come again. That he would be turning it on…

Then again, he could be wrong.

Even now, the scouts and messengers he had sent out were gathering information, but he didn't need it. He trusted his gut. Even if he was wrong, he could cover the cost of the mind stones. If only barely. And the beastkins controlling two-thirds of the Triad was enough to rationalize my actions, right?

Right.

Done justifying himself one final time, Ponta moved to activate the table. With reverence, he slid open a panel on the side of the table. The bottom of the cabinet was a bronze circular tray whose edges rose an inch, making a small basin. From the three walls of the alcove, strands of what looked like copper, thick as the stem of a foot-tall blade of grass, poked out of the wood on all sides. The weird thing was they didn't look like they were pushed through a drilled-out hole but rather grown from the walls themselves.

The strands made a latticework that held twenty clear crystals, each as large as two fingers held together, positioning them into the rough shape of a cone pointed up. Panta placed the middle of his palm on the cone so his finger splayed over the collective tip before mentally readying himself. Hesitating for a second, he blew out a breath before he pushed out a single strand from his hand, gently feeding his psy into the crystal. The moment the psy entered the gems, the table's surface rippled like it was covered in a thin layer of water, and he kicked the table's leg.

With increasing speed, Panta dumped three-fourths of his psy pool into the crystal, finally realizing that it could take far more than he could ever offer in one sitting. With a slight mental pull, he started feeding the Command Table the psy of his legion. The energy he was feeding the device quickly built, and Panta could feel his cape flap in an invisible wind as the table released a massive pulse of psy that prickled at his skin.

What was once nothing more than a black surface became a far more detailed map of the northern border than he had ever seen. And it wasn't just a detailed picture. Sections rose, fell, and colored as the tabletop depicted mountain peaks, plunging valleys, and rolling forests. Legend said that if one ran their hand over the section of grasslands the table showed, it was like touching a million blades of grass at once. As Panta looked at the ever-increasing details, he could believe that myth.

The map showed a 500-mile wide section reaching the edge of the Broken Peaks to the north, the upper sections of the Plains, and the Step to the south. To the west, it showed the Great Lake Cross was sitting on and stretched a little more than 1000 miles to the Weeping Peaks to the far east containing Basetown. In the middle of all that land sat the Triad, overlooking the junction of two major rivers.

The life-like depictions of the map became a little different with a flick of Panta's will. It was basically the same, except for a sea of red that consumed everything north of the Rush and Twins rivers.

A crescent moon behind a wolf's paw was in the Western Fort, while a flicking red tail with a white tip was in the Northern Fort. Moving his focus from the table, he looked to the side to see his prefect standing there. Her face told him she had bad news.

Without being prompted, she said, "The knights scouted the Cradle like you asked. They found multiple warbands moving through the area. There are no signs of them slaughtering the inhabitants, but they appear to be setting up forts. None of them look to be going anywhere soon."

The Cradle flashed red. He wrote a few notes in the margins and then finished by adding a few more touches to the map. A red banner with a 15 standing before a background of black stood above the Southern Fort. Over at Basetown were the numbers 14 and 13. And far to the west were the numbers 16, 17, and 18. Six legions left to man a border that once commanded dozens.

Coming from the mountains, towards Basetown and Cross, were anticipated lines of attack. He did not know if they would see, but all of the tables were connected, and what happened to one happened to all. It was one of the greatest psy castings he had ever seen. And it was worth most cities, yet it was worthless when it lay forgotten.

"What are we going to do, domine?" Asked Prefect Pompi.

He stood momentarily, looking at the Mountain range to the north, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. "We are going to scout, prefect. Scout and prepare our fortifications. We can't take back what we lost, not without help… And most importantly, you are going to quietly find out if we have rats."

**********

A figure in a black cloak darted into an alleyway, disappearing into the shadows like it was the union between old friends. Seconds after the figure disappeared, five legionaries marched past the opening. Their helms cast shadows over their faces, but light reflected off their eyes as their heads swiveled side to side.

They were searching. Oh, they were trying to hide what they were doing. And doing a decent job… for a child.

But to anyone who knew how to listen, their minds were screaming out with suspicion. The figure wasn't even trying to listen, but the shift in the mood of the fort and the surrounding city was like an open book. Everyone knew the 15th Legion was searching for something. A search that started right after the Kin returned their prisoners.

It didn't take a genius to figure out the beasts had blabbed about the Letairry. And whether the Olimpians believed them or not, things were now going to get… complicated. Well, it would only really qualify as annoying. A complication that the Matriarchal Hegemony would remember and add to the beasts' debt for rebelling.

What looked like any other slab of stone silently lifted up and slid to the side, revealing a hole in the ground. Without hesitation, the figure dripped into the hole as soon as it was wide enough, and the cover moved back into place, never making a sound. The 7th Night Corps needed to know the Olimpians might soon learn of their existence.

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