Ethan’s buckler, strapped to his fully extended left arm, flicked sideways. Not powerfully, that would leave an opening he couldn’t afford. No, just enough to deflect the incoming spear tip, letting its own momentum drag his opponent off balance while his own spear shot forward in a deceptively gentle thrust.

  In theory, at least.

  Clang. The spear slammed into the small round shield and thrust it, and Ethan’s shoulder with it, to his right.

  And where one shoulder went, the other went too. His thrust slid off center, and a quick slap of his opponent’s shield sent it even farther out. The originally blocked spear flipped upright and its haft slammed towards Ethan’s now undefended groin.

  With an awkward twist, he launched backward, saving his testicles, but without stable footing and with shield and spear off-center, he was meat on the chopping block.

  “Yous done better there, My Lord.” Conner offered, as the swing turned into a thrust, slamming his spear haft into Ethan’s gut with an audible crack and knocking him fully onto his ass in the still dew-slick grass. He gasped for a moment, physically unable to respond.

  “What made yous think that trick would work on me?”

  Ethan let out a few shallow, gasping breaths. Forcibly keeping his lungs expended till the shock of the gut blow passed. Then with a grumble and after spitting phlegm that tasted suspiciously of stomach acid to the side, struggled back to his feet.

  “If you don’t throw out lines, you’ll never catch a fish.” He offered, if less strongly than he’d like with his still quivering lungs.

  “Yous threw it out alright.” Conner offered drily. “Flailed you might call it.”

  Ethan sighed, leaning on his spear. “Who pissed in your morning brew?”

  The older man grunted, moving to correct a pair of fighters to his left as soft laughter rang from the surrounding fighters. Tier 2s to a man, Pahadi with seven-foot spears and bucklers vs Principes with Tower shields and three-foot spears. The elite of the Stone and those who were more than worthy to practice regularly with their Lord and his knights.

  Nearly 40 tier 2’s just here. And half again the same spread between here and Promise. And that was just the elites!

  An archery range off to the side, a full range that, not the upgrade to the Practice Field that gave a few targets, was fully occupied with a hundred men standing in disciplined rows, launching shafts down range in volleys to fill the increasingly pincushion-like targets.

  Pahadi of course and a few Bowman, but most of them were Arcane Hunters. More of the same worked out with spears on the practice field behind him, interspaced with Hastati and Phalangites, but even here there were 3 regulars for every pure warrior class.

  Men, women and even a small knot of children. Improving their odds of advancement, learning some self-protection in a dangerous world, or in the case of the children, trying to improve their options on their upcoming awakening on their tenth birthday.

  Ethan looked out over it all and smiled fit to split his face. He didn’t even have to force them! The spots were limited by space and the availability of trainers. Their presence here was a trophy to be fought for, not a chore to be done. A privilege and one hotly contested. The best workers in each field, those who stood out for performance, luck or by sheer perseverance.

  And in the background, framed by knee-high grasses and bushes in the dim morning light, wagons were already trundling by on the packed dirt road. Dragged by squads of Labori and filling the post-dawn clear mountain air with pulling chants and songs. Timber carts, iron ore from the southern mine, stone carts dragging large basalt blocks for the fortifications downriver and provision carts piled high with freshly harvested mustard greens or hanging sides of meat.

  More workers of a dozen types were spread all over the vale working at the Timber stands, farms or lakeside gardens. And out on the water a Fisherman and his Apprentices tossed round nets from long, narrow boats.

  All this in less than a year as Baronet. He allowed himself to glory in it. To truly feel the pride and sense of accomplishment the scene deserved. Then leaned to the side to spit. Trying to get the taste of vomit from the back of his throat.

  Pride. Sure. He laughed softly, then hefted his spear and shield. Moving through a few passes to make sure his armor hadn’t ridden up, his breath at a stable, easy rate again, and took a step back towards the practice ring.

  A voice called out, loudly, if from a distance. “My Lord!” Ethan’s head snapped around in time to see five men, armed and armored but with little more than belt pouches at their waist, running down the road towards him.

  Running. Not marching or jogging. Messengers and to be as exhausted as they looked, they’d have run half the night.

  Ethan turned and quickly untied the leather practice sheath from his spear tip. Tucking the leather straps around it and into his belt, taking the opportunity to check the Gladius was loose in its sheath before snagging a water skin in his left hand and jogging towards them.

  They didn’t stop running till they reached him, and without taking the offered waterskin, gasped out their message.

  “The forward scouts spotted Sir Leo’s group returning! Riverboats on tow ropes and Lancers leaving The Great Forest!”

  Finally! Something in his chest that he hadn’t realized was tight loosened. They were home!

  “Sir Conner, an honor guard! Runners –“ He was barking orders immediately, taking a moment to hand the man the water skin and direct a few of the younger trainees to give them a hand, before beginning to sort out the hundred and one tasks that needed to be delegated before he could go see for himself.

  To see just how successful the trip had been. Gods willing, it would be good news.

  ___

  It was not a short trip down the valleys to Promise, especially on foot. They had a few chargers at the Stone, five to be exact, but they were the personal horses of Ethan and the remaining knights. Even Ermina’s palfrey had been loaned to Miro for the trip.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Hardly enough for a reasonable guard detail. Besides, Ethan did need to work on his stats. Tier 3 wasn’t that far away. So like the messengers, they ran. Ethan, James and 10 Tier 2s, half and half Pahadi and Principes, in full armor and weapons, moved down the packed dirt road at a ground-devouring lope.

  Forced to stop every now and then for an overambitious beast or monster, but with the road heavily patrolled, it wasn’t often. As the noon sun began to beat down on them, they passed over a temporary wooden bridge, merely two long logs split in half and securely tied and spiked to a set of stabilizing cross beams. Enough for men to pass easily, and wagons with care. They passed over it and short way downstream before they came to a guard tower overlooking what would one day be the river road and with the full river acting as a moat in front of it.

  Or half of one at least. The square block of a room made from thick basalt bricks, its walls a full two feet thick, stood barely over a story tall at the moment. The black core cut bricks broken by a single small arrow slit on each wall and capped by the wooden floor of the next quarter-built story above it.

  Workmen were moving another large basalt brick from a waiting wagon as they arrived. Winching the heavy brick upward on a crane made from heavy hawsers, a single massive timber with a metal-strapped wooden pulley at the top and a large wooden wheel with a man walking inside of it below.

  Ethan left them to it. Moving to the open doorway and waiting guard detail with a word of thanks. The detail was a half-decade strong and with another half-decade taking it easy inside. The messengers from the night before hadn’t run the full distance from Promise themselves, but in a relay of half the guards from each tower running to the next.

  Ethan waved them back down as they started to struggle upright. “Sit, sit. You had a workout I hear? And in the dark at that.”

  “Yes Milord. Or mostly. Wes carried torches.”

  And made the run that much harder, Ethan noted. But he didn’t say much. merely patting the man on the shoulder and, after setting his spear into a waiting weapons rack, accepted a plate of food and a mug of water. Taking both outside and eating them on the move as he walked around the tower several times. Careful to stay out of the way of the busy workmen while his muscles cooled down and with a string of men following along behind him for the same reason.

  Still, it didn’t take long to finish, and then he ducked back inside and took a waiting bunk. Stamina regen spiked with food, water and rest. But a short nap after the above did it even better. He didn’t have to look to see the rest of his men following his example.

  Veterans knew the value of every extra minute of sleep.

  At least after they double-checked the alertness of the guards outside and barred the door. They were bodyguards after all!

  An hour later they were up again, giving thanks to the guards and moving out again at a run. A half hour to the south the waiting ferry cast off as soon as they came aboard. Ten Labori worked the oars as they moved with the current across what many were already calling Ferry Lake. It was both faster than running, and a welcome, if unneeded, rest.

  But all good things had to come to an end. They were dropped off near the mouth of the lake, a mess of rocks and rapids preventing any further river travel, as was unfortunately very common along this section of the Silberstrom, and they were back to traveling via old shanks mare.

  It was nearing the supper hour that they passed another half-constructed guard tower. This one in the process of being built onto a mountain spur 30 feet above the river and overlooking a section of the valley that wasn’t much wider than that.

  But while the spring air carried the smell of simmering meat to them, they didn’t stop. Not yet. They continued onward till the sunlight began to fade along the valley bottom. Shining brightly overhead on the mountains, but leaving them in ever-growing shadows before they hit the next tower sitting at the top end of Promise Lake and with the town of the same name barely visible across the water through the dim evening light.

  Still a good six or seven miles away along the lake shore, but by boat it would be a short and relatively quick trip.

  Into an uncertain security situation and with their lathered looks giving far more away than Ethan would like.

  No.

  They devoured the remainder of a well-filled stew pot and bedded down in the floor-to-ceiling wooden bunks. They were up again before the morning light. Taking a short, brisk scrub in the river before toweling dry and, with the help of the local guard decade, donned their armor and weapons, both given a cursory scrub with river sand and a cleaning cloth, and boarded a waiting boat for a leisurely ride downstream to Promise.

  ___

  It wasn’t long after first light that the boat coasted into at Promise’s pier. The town before them was a far cry from the empty meadow they’d seen from across the river while fighting the damnable wolves the previous fall.

  A grid of low-lying huts that looked like brown heads complete with hair from a distance resolved themselves into rammed earth structures faced with fired reddish brown clay and topped with a thick layer of sod. Even the doors and arrow slit like windows threw him off at first. Being sized for a child to step or see through.

  Until you got close enough to see the steps leading down to them. The houses were dug into the valley bottom as much as they were built up above it. And with the earth below mixed and packed as tightly as the walls, it was a dry, warm structure that fit the dreadful winter conditions to a tee.

  Even the larger storage halls and craft lodges were of similar construction, though many were cut back into the hillside rather than into the valley floor. Everywhere Ethan looked there were men at work, slamming large wooden rams at dirt piled between wooden or stacked stone forms, caring for a few small flocks of sheep, fishing on the lake or kneeling between rows of a few already bustling farm plots.

  Short of the boulder-strewn river mouth, visible across the length of the town and framed by two three-quarters complete guard towers, lines of men pulled sacks, amphorae and crates from four large riverboats.

  The entire town abounded with life energy and industry. And despite all that, Ethan couldn’t help but call it an… eccentric look. He’d heard the reports, but it was another thing entirely to experience it.

  But what were looks in front of effectiveness? If his neighbors took him for a rustic rube, why, he didn’t mind being underestimated. It wasn’t a hard label to throw. Give them a solid beating and suddenly they would become noble mountain savages! If they were rubes and won, what did that make the defeated?

  They would change their tunes soon enough.

  Between them, Sigismund and Tiberius had done him proud.

  As had another pair that were waiting. Ethan lept ashore to half pick Leo off the ground, slapping his back hard enough to hurt Ethan’s hand.

  He set him down with a grin, ignoring the other man’s sour expression to give him a look over. “You’re unhurt at least.” A good first sign.

  Leo snorted, tilting his head back to look down his nose. Ethan grinned, in any other man would have been hamming it up and demanding to know who could possibly harm him. “It is good to see you. And you Miro.” He offered, turning to where the smaller woman was finally being allowed to breathe by a husband who’d been far more worried than he’d ever admit.

  “Thank you, My Lord.” She offered, her blushing face nearly split with a smile and a flash of white teeth. “It is good to be alm-“ James’ arm tightened about her waist. “-ready home.”

  Ethan let his eyes range. There were a number of sailors about, and suspiciously curious ones at that. Ethan caught James' eye with a raised eyebrow. He smiled back, and it wasn’t a nice smile. But that of a cat looking out over a field full of mice.

  All for me? Yes please!

  “Well, let's take a look at what you brought. The rest will have to wait a bit.”

  “Yes My Lord. But I am afraid I brought a few more people back then we were expecting?”

  “A few?” Ethan offered with a snort. He’d gotten the scouts' updated reports last night. “You call 400 few?”

  “Halfway to 500 My Lord.” She admitted without shame. “And better than a third of them common classed.”

  A third? Damn. “I trust you made few enemies in acquiring them?” He offered. He’d take a few willingly for desperately needed people. But to many could bury them.

  “None that admitted to it My Lord. Quite the opposite. We gained a few favors.”

  “Favors?” For absconding with their subjects?

  “Turns out a lord can get favors of his own by finding a suitable position or opportunity for 2nd and 3rd sons. Not to mention the Adventurers… but I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning My Lord.”

  “You see, we’d just made the base of the mountain, and I have to say we could do some real trading on sleds and the frozen rivers in the future, when we-”

  ___