The four paces of cold limestone cobbles between Kezra Venn and the two Cairn Host guards were marked by a single, straight chalk line dusted over the chiselled boundary groove. The chalk had been snapped against the stone with a taut hemp line, marking the exact upright plane that divided the fixed bedrock of Alderfast from the movable foundation of Stonewake Citadel.
The two spear guards, Vane and Kellen, stood with their backs against the rough cut stone blocks of the citadel’s eastern service wall.
They were soldiers of the third infantry company, seasoned border fighters whose faces were weathered by years of wind and smoke. Their iron breastplates were strapped tight over boiled leather brigandines, their shin guards buckled over heavy woolen stockings. Around each man’s right wrist, the copper-and-linen travel bracelet sat snug against the cuff. Its polished metal face reflected the pale morning light.
Both men had pressed their tags to Kezra’s bonded notebook during the second company muster at dawn. They were voluntary passengers, sworn to ride the castle to its new assignment. Captain Hest Vale had posted them here in the upkeep lane with explicit orders. Witness the map maker’s activation, ensure no sabotage is tried against the outside anchors, and step back against the wall. Just then, the warning chime begins.
