The yard smelled of damp earth and iron.
Bradley arrived before the sun cleared the eastern wall. Mist clung low across the courtyard, softening edges, turning steel helms into dull halos.
Captain Hadrik stood at the center of formation.
He did not look surprised.
He looked as if he expected this to fail.
"Form up."
The guards shifted into two clean lines. Bradley stepped into the open space at the far end.
A few glances slid toward him.
Quick. Appraising.
Not respectful.
Drunk Bradley had attended drills before.
Irregularly.
Hungover.
Late.
Bradley rolled his shoulders slowly. The bruise from yesterday's sparring and the deeper ache from impact settled into place.
Persistent.
Useful.
Pain outlined limitations with honesty.
Hadrik walked down the line, boots grinding lightly against gravel.
"You will run the perimeter twice. Full gear."
He stopped in front of Bradley.
"You will run once."
A restrained ripple moved through the formation.
Not laughter.
Expectation.
Bradley inclined his head.
A public collapse would be difficult to correct.
"Begin."
The first stretch was stone.
Cold beneath boots.
The second, packed dirt along the inner wall.
The third climbed toward the eastern watchtower where wind cut sharper.
By the halfway mark, his lungs began to protest.
The body lacked conditioning. Breath shortened. Shoulders tightened. Calves burned faster than they should have.
Two guards passed him with steady rhythm.
One spoke without slowing.
"Careful, my lord. The ground remembers you."
Dry.
Not cruel.
Just history.
Bradley adjusted pace instead of pride.
Longer stride.
Measured breathing.
Conserve.
Finish cleanly.
The incline near the watchtower pressed harder than expected. His vision narrowed at the edges. Sweat gathered at his collar.
He did not stop.
Stopping would become precedent.
He crossed the final stretch and returned to formation without bending at the waist.
His legs trembled despite effort to steady them.
Hadrik watched.
Expression unreadable.
He handed Bradley a wooden practice blade.
"Again."
Not running.
Sparring.
The opponent stepped forward before being called.
Broader shoulders. Easy confidence. Scar across his jaw.
Weight forward.
Aggressive.
"Ready."
The first strike came fast.
Bradley blocked late.
The impact jarred his wrists and sent a dull shock through his forearms.
Second strike harder.
He stepped back rather than countered.
Retreat cost less than ego.
The third strike clipped his shoulder. The bruise from yesterday flared hot.
The guard pressed, sensing advantage.
Bradley let him.
Distance.
Breathing.
Pattern.
The fourth swing came wide.
Overextension.
Bradley pivoted and tapped the ribs lightly.
Contact.
Clean.
A murmur moved through the line.
The guard reset with narrowed eyes.
The next exchange was faster.
Bradley's reaction lagged by half a breath.
Wood struck his thigh.
He absorbed it, adjusted stance, and shifted weight lower.
The bout ended shortly after.
Loss on points.
Clear.
But he remained standing.
Hadrik stepped forward.
"You are slower than I remember."
"Likely accurate."
A few guards smirked.
"You are also more careful."
"Experience," Bradley said.
"From what?"
He considered.
"I miscalculated."
Hadrik held his gaze.
Then nodded once.
"Report here daily."
Permission.
Not endorsement.
The horn split the yard before drills resumed.
Short.
Urgent.
Hadrik moved immediately.
"Positions."
Routine vanished.
Archers broke toward the wall. Two guards grabbed spears.
Bradley followed without instruction.
From the top of the eastern wall, the treeline stretched across rolling fields.
Movement flickered near the brush.
Small shapes.
Low to the ground.
"Distance?" Hadrik called.
"Three hundred paces!" the watchman replied. "Six confirmed!"
Goblins.
Closer than yesterday's tracks.
One stepped partially into open ground.
Lean.
Grey-green skin.
Head turning, scanning.
Another crouched beside it.
Not charging.
Watching.
"They were near the goats again!" a farmer shouted from below.
Hadrik raised a hand.
"Archers ready. Do not loose unless they advance."
Bradley counted the visible guards.
Not all present.
Not all rested.
The goblin at the front tilted its head slightly, then retreated.
The others followed.
No arrows.
No clash.
Just pressure.
Testing.
When they descended, the courtyard felt smaller.
The farmer waited near the gate; hat twisted tightly in both hands.
"Captain, we can't keep losing animals."
"We increase patrol," Hadrik replied.
"With what?" the farmer shot back. "Half your men already walk the fields."
No one corrected him.
Bradley stepped closer.
"How many goats?" he asked.
The farmer blinked, surprised to be addressed.
"Three this week."
"Any left alive after attack?"
"No. They don't fight long."
Bradley nodded.
"Bring them inside reinforced fencing before dusk," he said. "Double the posts. Thicker timber."
"That costs coin."
"Less than replacing livestock weekly."
Hadrik's gaze shifted toward him.
Measuring.
"And who funds thicker timber?" the farmer asked.
Fair.
Bradley considered quickly.
Merchant support had weakened.
House funds were not infinite.
But visible neglect would erode confidence faster than coin loss.
"I will speak with my father," Bradley said evenly. "Until then, consolidate."
The farmer hesitated.
Then nodded.
When he stepped away, Hadrik spoke quietly.
"You give instructions easily."
"I give suggestions."
"Based on?"
"Erosion."
Hadrik looked at him more directly now.
"Explain."
"Livestock disappears. Farmers worry. Worry spreads. Spread weakens confidence. Weak confidence invites risk."
Silence.
Then Hadrik said, "Confidence is not measured in goats."
"No," Bradley agreed. "But it decays alongside them."
A pause.
"If this escalates," Hadrik said, voice lower now, "we cannot hold extended skirmishes without reinforcement."
Reinforcement meant the Baron.
The Baron meant delay.
Delay meant exposure.
Bradley looked again toward the treeline.
Six months to prove stability.
Instability was accelerating.
He felt no surge of heroism.
No urge to chase goblins into the forest.
Reaction was predictable.
Predictability could be exploited.
"After drills," Bradley said, "I would like to review patrol routes."
Hadrik's brow lifted slightly.
"Why?"
"Because they are being tested."
"And you have a solution?"
"Not yet."
Honesty again.
Hadrik studied him longer this time.
"After noon meal."
Another door.
Bradley inclined his head.
As he crossed the courtyard, fatigue settled deeper into muscle.
His shoulder throbbed.
His lungs remained tight.
Good.
Weakness defined baseline.
Baseline defined improvement.
The horn did not sound again.
But the eastern treeline remained too quiet.
And something beyond it was measuring distance to the wall.