Chapter 64: Orders Beyond the Academy (Part 2 of 2)

  The departure details were handled without ceremony.

  Routes named. Distances marked. Hand signals clarified. What mattered was said once, clearly, and never repeated. The guards spoke in shorthand—half sentences, shared references. The students listened and said little. No one asked questions that didn’t need answers.

  Selvarn lay southwest. One hundred and twenty-five kilometers by road.

  Four days out. Three back. Two in place.

  “Carriage stays central,” Captain Corin said. “We don’t rush it. We don’t drift.”

  He glanced at the students—not as a challenge, not as a test. Just inclusion.

  “You keep pace. You don’t range. You don’t freelance.”

  “Yes, sir,” came the response. Cleaner this time.

  The Orvak were brought out last.

  They were larger than the academy stock—broad-backed, thick through the neck, patient in the way of animals bred for distance rather than speed. Leather creaked as harnesses settled. One of the guards murmured to his mount, palm resting against its flank until the animal stilled.

  Laurent watched the hands, not the animals. How easily they moved. No wasted motion. No checking to see who was watching.

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  This was routine for them.

  Ms. Eira stood off to the side, observing without comment. She corrected nothing. Offered nothing. Her role here was already finished. That, more than her silence, made her presence feel temporary.

  She caught Laurent’s eye once.

  Just long enough to register him.

  Then she looked away.

  By the time the sun dipped toward late afternoon, the escort was assembled in full. Formation drawn in chalk on stone. Positions assigned. No names raised. No speeches given.

  Captain Corin stepped back and nodded.

  “That’s it. Get rest. We move at first light.”

  The guards dispersed immediately—some toward rations, some toward tack, some simply sitting where they stood. The students lingered again, instinctively, as if waiting for instruction that would not come.

  Cael broke first. “Guess that’s it.”

  Aila nodded. “Structure’s clear.”

  Joran said nothing. He hadn’t looked up since the spar.

  Laurent shifted his weight, feeling the quiet tension settle deeper—not in his chest, but lower, nearer the spine. This wasn’t anticipation. It wasn’t fear.

  It was responsibility without authority.

  They were strong enough to matter. Not strong enough to decide.

  That line felt thin. Important.

  As dusk fell, lanterns were lit along the outer yard. The academy behind them glowed softly—stone warmed by routine, by repetition, by safety earned slowly over months.

  Ahead lay road, weather, distance, and people who didn’t care what block you trained in or how clean your form looked on stone.

  Ms. Eira left without announcement.

  Laurent noticed only because the space she’d occupied was suddenly empty.

  The academy bell rang again—end of day.

  Tomorrow, it wouldn’t matter.