In the final hours before the council adjourned for the night, the draft from the valley grew colder, stirring the edges of the master pass chart upon the Alderfast community table. Kezra Venn and Yseld Arken remained standing together at the southern end of the board, their fingers tracing the outer courtyard contours of Stonewake Citadel.
Behind them, the hearth fire had burned down to a thick bed of crimson ash. It cast long, steady shadows across the whitewashed timber beams. Outside the high windows, the vast tiered arena of Alderfast Basin slept in silence. He was broken only by the occasional bark of a guard dog along the outer edge wooden wall and the steady, rhythmic rush of the meltwater water chute around the terrace piers.
‘We have accounted for the ninety-one civilians and the three hundred and ninety-two soldiers,’ Kezra said, her voice quiet but sharp with the rigor of her craft. ‘Now we must address the living creatures who carry neither names nor military commissions. Rule seven of the class charter is total. If a single untagged animal larger than a human hand remains inside either boundary prism when the circuit closes, the parcel volume rejects sign-off.’
