Bloodline Plant Lord: Rise of the World Sovereign

A field station — the second route.

The wagon leader reached the works ahead of the cart.

He came down the sunken road and stopped at the stone lip, still breathing hard. The receiving supervisor drew a fresh sheet from beneath the board covering his papers.

”Where’s the load?”

”Coming. I ran ahead.”

”What happened?”

”Three people on the ridge above the junction. The escort found them while we were tying down.”

The supervisor began writing.

”One woman went back over the crest. The other two stayed. The escort went for the man, and one of the receiving crew circled round to cut off the woman who’d left.”

”Then?”

”The second woman hit him from the side. Knocked him down. When he got up, the man on the crest sent a cut across the slope. It caught his arm and leg.”

”The escort?”

”Fell on the crest. He wasn’t moving when I left.”

The supervisor asked for their descriptions and wrote those beneath the account. The wagon leader could give him three faces and the direction of the retreat, toward the mound beyond the ridge. He had heard no names.

”Where did you put the handover sheet?”

”In the junction box. Before the escort saw them.”

”Did anyone go back to it?”

”I didn’t see.”

The supervisor called a worker from the shelter and gave him the consignment references.

”Check the box. Find that entry and leave it where it is. Look for the escort too. Come back as soon as you’ve checked.”

The worker left along the sunken road.

The hand-cart arrived while he was gone. Two carriers brought it over the stone lip, with the wounded cultivator limping behind them. The supervisor sent him into the shelter for treatment and checked the sealed crates against the booking on his own desk.

Once the man’s arm was bound and his leg dressed, they helped him to a seat beside the papers.

”What did the man on the crest use?”

”An edge along his forearm. I saw it when I looked up after the cut hit me. He wasn’t holding a sword.”

”And the cut?”

”Came across the slope. Went through me and kept going into the scrub.”

He shifted his bound arm against his chest. The supervisor waited for him to settle.

”How strong?”

”Stronger than us. I couldn’t stay there.”

The supervisor entered the assessment beneath his account. By the time the messenger returned, the crates had been unloaded and the carriers were waiting under the shelter.

”The escort’s dead,” the messenger said. ”The sheet for that pair is gone. Older entries are still under the strip. I found the lid latched.”

The supervisor checked the references once more, then drew another sheet from the stack.

”No more handovers at the junction. The next load comes here. Its papers travel with the escort.”

He wrote out the instruction, kept a copy and folded the other for the messenger.

”Take this to the yard. They hold the next departure until both crews have the new route.”

The wagon leader remained beside the desk while the messenger started back up the road. The supervisor turned to the receipt for the crates now standing at the lip and entered their arrival beneath the booking.

Mei Lanhua — Unknown Location.

The cart passed during the heavier guard’s shift.

Mei crouched by the hatch and listened to the familiar hitch in its wheels. It continued past her door without stopping. Farther along the passage, the heavier door opened and shut. There was no scraping from beyond the wall beside her bed.

The meal came later.

When the hatch opened, she saw two pairs of boots. One guard supported the tray while she reached for the bowl. The other stood back, feet angled along the passage.

She took the bowl at her usual pace. The guard beside the hatch watched her hands until she had drawn them inside, then pulled the tray away.

Mei stayed beside the closed door until both sets of steps had gone.

Later, voices carried through the wall by her bed. Most of the exchange was muffled, but she caught two words: receiving note.

She thought of the paper tag folded against its strap. Someone might have noticed it. She listened until the voices moved away, but nothing else reached her clearly.

At the next meal there were two guards again. She watched the hand beneath the tray and the boots behind it, taking the bowl without delaying. The nearer guard kept his eyes on her fingers. The second stayed back throughout the handoff.

After eating, she dipped a finger in the basin and drew the hooked mark in a bead of water on the bowl. She closed its curve, then corrected the tilt.

She looked at it once before wiping it away with her thumb.

The Furnace Road — the last gate.

Kaelen waited in the recess with the writ open in his good hand.

He had counted the steps to the booth during the gap. The path was clear, and the slot remained exposed to the canyon. He pulled the wrapping over his face and kept his damaged forearm close against his body.

The instruction beneath the fifth stamp faced outward.

Present the stamped writ during a furnace surge.

As the walls brightened, he left the recess. He reached the booth with the heat building behind him and waited until the surge struck its face before feeding the paper into the slot.

The writ drew inward.

Kaelen stayed beside the opening with his sleeve over his knuckles. Heat pressed through the cloth across his face and along his back. He kept his breathing shallow beneath the wrapping and counted, watching the empty slot.

The rock’s glow climbed, held, then began to fade.

Paper appeared at the opening. He caught the writ by its edge and drew it free. Five stamps remained in the corner, with the same burned instruction below them.

Stone scraped beside the booth.

The slab inside the seam withdrew into the wall, revealing a narrow passage. Its floor lay level with the Road. Light from the canyon reached the first stretch, then faded into darkness farther inside.

Kaelen folded the writ and put it beneath his coat.

He flexed the hand that had held it, then checked the binding at his left wrist. The hard patch remained covered. He drew the sleeve back into place and opened the kit.

The grey vial was still half full. Eira’s instruction remained fixed inside the lid. He checked the stopper without opening it, then closed the bag and moved beside the doorway.

The slab stayed back. From the threshold, he examined the passage floor and the walls within reach of the light. He kept his boots on the Road while he looked.

The sealed system — a watch post.

The containment response missed its expected window.

The reader checked the interval card beside the instrument and watched the scale until a mark appeared. It stood above the upper limit.

”Late,” she said. ”And above range.”

The recorder came from the desk with the ledger. She gave him the arrival time and the measured value, then checked both against the instrument again while he entered them.

They compared the result with the posted limits and the recent entries. The earlier responses had arrived within their windows and remained inside the normal range. This one exceeded both allowances.

The reader checked the instrument’s setting against the procedure card. Nothing had shifted.

”Second instrument,” the recorder said.

It stood across the post on a separate measuring line. The reader checked its interval and range before waiting for the next response. The recorder stayed beside the first instrument with the ledger open.

The second mark arrived after its own window had closed. It, too, stood above the upper limit.

She read the time and value aloud. He wrote them beside the first result, and she came back to check the entry against what she had read.

Both instruments had registered the same deviation. The recorder copied the values and their times onto the reporting sheet, then checked the duty list for the receiving keeper.

He entered both readings and sent the confirmed deviation to the keeper on duty.