Chapter 152 A Clean Cut

Chapter 152 A Clean Cut
VISCA -

Visca walked back into the training yard with Dax's parchment folded inside his coat. The autumn wind in the south was not as harsh as the wind in the north, but it still bit through to the bone, and it had sharpened during his meeting with Dax.
Wind slid across the courtyard as trainees drilled beneath another instructor's voice. He saw every mistake, but he also saw that the yard had continued without him.
This isn't an exile. Dax's words rolled through his mind.
The post as commander was still his, Dax had said as much. Yet leaving at dawn would put another man in the center of the yard while Visca rose toward forgotten roads and dead places.
A shout drew his attention toward the supply shed.
The girl from earlier stood beneath one of the rafters with her injured hand wrapped in uneven linen. Her pack hung high above her, wedged across a beam. Two older squires stood nearby pretending not to watch.
The girl jumped, caught the lower edge of the beam with her fingertips, and slipped down hard enough to jolt her knees.
One of the squires snorted under his breath.
Visca stopped walking, and the laugh cut off almost immediately.
The girl turned as the silence changed. The strip of linen around her palm had already bled through. She looked at Visca, then at the pack, then back at him. Her chin lifted again.
"I was retrieving my things, sir."
The effort behind it was familiar enough that Visca felt it between his shoulders.
He looked at the two squires. "Bring it down."
The taller one pushed away from the shed. "Sir, we were only-"
Visca turned his head toward him.
The boy stopped speaking, reached up, and dragged the pack down from the beam. Dust and straw fell with it. The pack hit the ground at the girl's feet, and one of the straps snapped loose from where it'd been cut halfway through.
The girl's face didn't change, but her fingers curled once at her side.
Visca crouched and lifted the damaged strap. The leather hadn't torn from wear. A knife had done it. The cut was clean, mean, and meant to fail when weight was added.
His grip tightened on the strap until the cut edges pressed into his palm. Then the girl shifted her weight, just enough to pull his attention back to her. She was watching him, not the boys. Waiting, he realized, for the moment when his anger might turn in every direction and strike whatever stood closest.
He lifted his head to the yard and spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. "The Alpha has given me an important job to do, and I was to come to the yard and select a traveling companion." His eyes slid across the group, lingering longer on the two squires, causing quick smiles to lift their mouths in hope. "Thank you for making my choice easy." He turned to the girl. "Shall we?"
The stunned faces of the two squires felt better than it probably should have. He turned his gaze back to the girl. She stood frozen, her eyes wide for a single breath before she bent for her pack, but Visca got to it first.
It was lighter than it should have been. He opened the top and saw spare wrappings, a thin cloak, a dull utility knife, and one dry heel of bread wrapped in cloth. No proper gloves or winter oil. No second pair of socks or even a whetstone.
"Where's the rest of your gear, girl?" he asked.
Her eyes flicked to the pack. "That's it, sir."
"You're a squire in the royal training yard."
"Yes, sir."
"Then why are you equipped like a stable hand sent to fetch water?"
Color rose along her neck. "I make do."
He handed the pack back to her. "What's your name?"
"Anahi, sir."
"Can you ride?"
Her brow pulled in. "Yes, sir."
"Can you follow orders?"
"Yes, sir."
"Can you keep silent when silence is required?"
Her fingers tightened around the damaged strap. "I can, sir."
"Can you keep moving when you're cold, frightened, and certain you'd rather be anywhere else?"
This time, she didn't answer as quickly. Her eyes met his, and the guarded look in them shifted into something sharper. "Yes, I can, sir."
He should choose a seasoned soldier. Someone broad enough to carry a wounded man if needed. Someone who had seen blood and ruins.
"Pack winter gear," he said. "We leave at dawn."
Her mouth parted. Behind her, the nearest trainees looked over with open disbelief.
He should have told her she was simply available and nothing more. That Dax had ordered him to choose someone, and she had been standing in the right place at the right time. Instead, all he could feel was the tightness in his hand where the cut leather had pressed into his skin.
Visca turned to the quartermaster, who had appeared near the racks with the cautious expression of a man hoping not to be noticed. "She needs proper gloves, a lined cloak, winter socks, riding wraps, oil, a whetstone, and a blade that fits her hand. If I find her sent out with scraps, I will return them to the man who thought scraps sufficient. And Brom," He paused, making sure to catch his eye. "If I find other squires as ill-stocked as this in the future, you'll be giving up your own gear."
The quartermaster paled but bowed quickly. "Yes, sir."
The rest of the day moved too quickly. Visca left instructions for the instructors, reviewed the rotations, and packed without servants. By evening, his rooms smelled of leather oil and cold metal. When he opened Dax's parchment under the firelight, the marked locations spread across the page like old wounds. Some were near villages. Others stood along roads no longer used. The notes were thin, but fresh wax near the eastern border meant one thing clearly enough.
Someone was still using the shrines.
At dawn, the yard was blue with cold. Mist lifted from the horses' nostrils. Visca checked the straps on his saddle while Anahi stood beside a brown mare, her new cloak stiff around her shoulders and her pack tied too tightly behind the saddle.
He stepped over and loosened the knot without comment before retying it properly.
She watched his hands. "Thank you, sir."
"Don't thank me for correcting poor work."
Her cheeks colored, but she climbed onto her horse without help.
Visca mounted and looked once toward the training yard. Men moved in the distance, gathering for morning drills under another instructor's command. His fingers curled around the reins until the leather creaked.
Anahi's mare shifted beside him.
"Where are we going, sir?" she asked.
Visca turned his horse toward the old road. "To tear down what should have been torn down long ago."
She didn't ask another question.
The castle fell behind them, one stone wall at a time. Wind moved over the road ahead, carrying the scent of snow, pine, and distant smoke. Visca kept his eyes forward, though the weight of the training yard lingered between his shoulder blades like a hand refusing to let go.
Dax had called it trust, but as the road opened before him and Anahi's mare fell into step beside his, Visca couldn't decide if trust was lighter than punishment or heavier.