The Forest was already green.

  She’d expected it to be so, and yet it still rankled. After the long winter of snow, ice and general blandness, to see small piles of snow on still green leaves towering in the distance seemed somehow insulting.

  The smaller trees at the Forest’s edge weren’t so season-defying. But even on its outskirts, spring had come with a vengeance. A riot of green buds graced the skies above while early ferns and bushes broke up the browns of the forest floor below. All exploding outward with a verdant vigor that seemed to push past the bounds of nature and into something more.

  The Forest Provides.

  She carefully bowed towards its hypothetical center, then removed the palfrey’s bridle and let the poor, slightly malnourished horse free to nibble along the other chargers. They kept a close lookout, as the spring air had brought more than plant life out, but there was also a glory in ditching her heavy fur cloak and seeing something other than endless shades of blue, grey and white!

  She turned her head after a deep and enjoyable breath of spring and nearly jumped.

  Leo was standing beside her, for how long she couldn’t say. “It’s..” she stuttered for a moment. Then, taking another deep breath, and not for the scent this time, she forced her jittering heart to slow. “It’s beautiful down here.”

  Leo grunted looking around. “Prefer the peaks.” He offered. Then after considering gave a soft nod. “But it smells nice.”

  “Do we, ah, need to move out?”

  “Yes, but not fast. Not yet.” He patted her arm, and if it was a bit awkward, she at least could feel the good intent. “Walk the rest of the day, and let the horses graze. Then we can ride tomorrow.”

  That made sense and the group of not quite 30 put it into practice. Walking at a slow, but steady pace downriver with frequent pauses for the horses to graze on the early growth. And to handle an angry hog, fully 400 pounds of rage and suicidally poor sight.

  It made for a wonderful luncheon! And with more than enough left over for an early supper. And for the horses, as they reached the edge of the true forest giants, a single leaf the size of a man’s torso and with considerable thickness perked them right up. No wonder the Auenlanders could range so many beasts on so little land!

  The next morning, they were riding onward. And not slowly either. Letting the horses stretch out a bit and enjoy a bit of spring energy as well. They made Wegend Baronial seat before midday, and by grace of Leo’s knightly status, passed through the gates without issue. Though certainly not without notice.

  Leo gave her a raised eyebrow, and she nodded. Splitting off with a pair of guards while Leo went to call on Baron Clovis. Distaste or no, there were proprieties between traveling nobility that had to be observed.

  Her own goal was significantly less noble, but no less powerful. In its own way at least.

  “Announcing sa-Sir Miro of Alfwin Pass.” Lancer Cnaeus called at the door to a well-used and somewhat cluttered office.

  “Ah? Welcome then knightly mistress. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Steward Malcus stood abruptly from his desk, giving her the courtesy of her courtesy rank. Tapping a fist to his chest lightly. She waved him down and moved to a seat across the desk. But even so it was several minutes and several more pleasantries before they could get down to business.

  “I have the honor of handling the minor matters of trade for My Lord Ethan.” She offered, sipping happily from a steaming cup of mulled wine.

  He raised an eyebrow. “While that noble position is indeed an honor, sa-Sir, I am afraid our Lords do not appear to be on, shall we say, the best of terms.”

  “Indeed true, Master Steward. But short of declared contest, trade still goes on does it not? We could of course make our trades at the next barony…” She trailed off with a meaningful smile.

  “Also true, sa-Sir, also true and no need to move along. What trades did you have in mind? I did hear something about furs?”

  She waved off the sally. He’d be a fool indeed to have no word of their coming. “They will sell far better to the south. No, I am interested in arranging a different sort of trade. In a month and a half, or thereabouts at least, we will be back this way with goods from the Riverlands.”

  “A good distance, and somewhat dangerous.” He offered noncommittally.

  “I am sure your guards could count Master Steward. I have the martial currency for the route.”

  He nodded, with reluctant admiration. “Nearly 30 tier 2 heavy cavalry under the command of a Knight of considerable repute? I believe you quite wealthy in, what did you call it? Martial coin? Somewhat suspiciously so.”

  She waved it off. “That is for Sir Leosige and Baron Clovis to say. Not for the likes of us.”

  “You have me there.” He admitted easily.

  “And hope to do so in another way. I am in the market to buy wine. A great deal of it.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “As much as I would love to praise my homeland, your request makes little sense. You must know that Auenland proper has far better wine then we can provide.”

  “You misunderstand. I’d not say no to a bit of nicer vintage for My Lord's table. But most of what I purchase is for the masses. The posca end of the stick, and in concentrate if you will not the ice wine.”

  He coughed to hide a laugh. “That… well that is a rather foul brew, you understand? I’d not say no to selling, as The Forest does provide and provides quite well in the wine department. We do have considerable stores made from good Forest greens. And a considerable amount of posca or defrutum acetum if you want a lighter trade good.”

  “But, ah, such is beneath even the Common class for drinking. Good for cooking and preserving perhaps. Or for the poor among the Basics. It’s beneath the dignity of a noble house to buy.”

  “Let me offer you bauernwein at the least.” Vinum rusticum as she’d call it in The Capital. Basic table wine for common households. It was a cheap but palatable wine for the masses, but considerably more expensive than posca. And she had to make the coin stretch. Not that she would admit as much.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “I asked the same question, and am grateful for your consideration. But Posca is the desired drink. A large number of soldiers, and former such, you understand. They have a taste for it.”

  “Ah. Yes. That is a common problem, one even our own returned speak of. But with time and effort, we have taught their taste buds better.”

  “The mountains are not The Forest. I am afraid wine of any kind, or even beer, was hard to come by by spring. Posca will be a nice treat.”

  “My condolences.” He shuddered slightly at the very thought.

  “It is what it is, now. About price.” She waved him down before he could make an offer. “Let’s not speak of silver. Not yet, but of barter.”

  “Your hides?” He offered, a gleam in his eye. She hid a smile. So they had gotten a glimpse. Mountain hides from a far colder winter were of a far higher quality than anything they could find in the Forest.

  “Grain.” She countered. He froze, the wine glass, and no posca here, halfway to his lips. Giving her a wide-eyed look over its rim.

  “We are heading all the way to the Riverlands, after all. And made arrangements last fall for a significant spring purchase.” And she was already rubbing her knuckles, figuratively of course, at the thought. “We can, of course, trade grain to many of the other nobles along the river road, but we are neighbors. It wouldn’t hurt to cut you in on a bit of trade.” And having to carry the wine a shorter distance was of course not mentioned.

  He smiled at her sally and leaned forward.

  “Well now, let's see. Five measures of good wheat for wine, perhaps?”

  “Five!? I want posca not landwein! Would you put the highwaymen out of a job? One for one would not be unfair for a liquid you admit is little better than swill!”

  “One? sa-Sir you wound me-“

  They settled on 2 wagon loads of wheat for a wagon of amphorae most of an hour later. Along with a shipment of letters and to provide escort for a set of spring travelers.

  It was a very pleasant luncheon!

  ___

  They left two hours later, and their small caravan had grown by half. Thirteen men and two women, well mounted and with a few pack horses, joined them. Ten obvious guards, though not horsemen, guarding two Mercators and a skilled craftsman along with wives. And as like as not, most of them were spies. Of opportunity if not of class or training.

  It didn’t bother her, nor Leo. And pushing the now rested horses on an excellent road got them to Auenland inside of 3 days. An impressive distance, and one that left Ermina barely able to walk by the time they stopped each evening. But neither she nor the even less experienced craftsman and Mercators complained.

  Not after watching the unit of Lancers casually slaughter the frequent beasts or monsters that wandered onto the road. Providing them meat and, in a bit of serendipitous luck, a number of decent hides. The craftsman was a Furrier. And after the first few hides were quickly skinned and given a very basic scraping, his travel gift, a knight and near 3 decades of Lancers were not Mercators to sell their services, was quietly given back.

  The cheaper hides, even half prepared, were sufficient to pay for wine and a rented room at each stop, though Miro privately thought she could have gotten much more if they’d let her bargain, and that made even the fast pace a bit of a vacation for the Lancers.

  They didn’t enter the city at Auenland, only pausing outside its gates to see one of the two Mercators, his wife and 4 guards off, before continuing onward through the meadow and back into the forest to Glendorn where Baron Sigmar received them at the town gates.

  Leo rode up to the man, with a fist to chest salute, then leaned down to offer a scroll. He nodded, glancing briefly and, if Miro was any judge, with a degree of longing at the rolled message. Then he placed it in a belt pouch and nodded. “Sir Leosige was it not?”

  “Indeed Baron Sigmar, and I bear the good wishes of My Lord Ethan to you and yours.”

  “And bear my good wishes to him when you return. But from your direction, I think that might not be soon.”

  “Indeed your Lordship. Down to Rivervald for grains, recruits and the like. Then back up. We’d carry messages south if you have them. Or goods back, should we have the space.” Miro hid a grin. That many words seemed to physically pain Leo. But he managed not to choke on them.

  “Recruitment?” The Baron looked up sharply. “You must have survived the winter with some margin to risk more mouths.”

  “We did quite well. Though it was… harsh.”

  The baron snorted at the clear understatement. “Well, you have the freedom of my demesne. Take your well-earned rest. If I have messages or trades to make, they will be delivered to you before morning. Now, by all means, enjoy your rest.”

  He waved off the final salute and walked back across the wide green towards his giant vine wrapped keep, already removing the scroll from his pouch and breaking the small seal, a carved woodchip glued on with sap as Miro well knew, and not the traditional wax. But you made do with what you had.

  The Baron made good on his word. No less than eight scrolls were waiting for them in the morning, along with 20 men, mixed warriors and more Mercators. Well mounted with both pack horses and a remount each. It was a considerable addition but one that managed to keep up, if with difficulty, as they continued south.

  The next Barony, Tannenfeld, brought a nice surprise. “Is that yous, Sir Leosige?”

  Seated in a raucous inn yard with beer and fennar stew spread before them, nearly half of three long tables turned to stare at an approaching adventurer, his metal helmet in hand. The man froze for a moment like a mouse before a dozen cats under the well blooded tier 2 stares, but after that stutter step continued to approach, if slowly and keeping his hands well clear of a belt knife.

  Leo gave him a long, careful glance. “Gareth was it?” He offered at last. “The lucky. Adventurers out of Glendorn?”

  “Yes Sir. Or I once was, and we once were. Moved here after your Lordship’s excellent suggestion.”

  Leo nodded. Then scooted to his right leaving an empty space at the table and gesturing to it with his chin.

  Somewhat bashfully the man sat. And Miro’s well-trained ears caught the sound of this stomach growling as he did. And if she heard it…

  Leo pushed an unused bowl in front of the man and filled it from the pot in front without asking. An additional cup was passed down from the right and was soon filled as well. No one spoke for a time, as men devoured the stewed greens and meat. And after a few moments of hesitation, Gareth joined them. Polishing off the meal with perhaps undue haste.

  He’d missed a few meals. Miro would judge. Not starving. But not as well fed as he could be. Winter could do that to the best of men. And an adventurer’s life was hardly a certain one.

  As the bowls emptied, and the first cup of wine too, men began to settle back on their benches. Milking the second cup for taste rather than to wash down the good food.

  Leo took a sip, then with a sideways glance asked, “You’ve looked better. You made good coin on that spear. Would think it would last longer.”

  Gareth sighed. “True Sir Knight. But moving a family ain’t cheap. Nor getting a place and a portion of a shrinking pie. The adventuring game has gotten a bit overcrowded of late. And locals are, hmm, leery of more competition. That they is.”

  He looked down at his somewhat ramshackle armor. Patches on top of patches gracing its tier 1 hide reinforced with a few well-used plates.

  “But never mind that. Be welcome to Tannenfeld. It's grateful I am for food and brew, but can I be of service in any way by means of paying?”

  Leo glanced at him for a time. Then smiled. “You can help Miro with her shopping after if your conscience demands it. But for now, drink! And put that talented tongue to work, yes? Can we have a story from a storyteller?

  He perked right up. And with little prompting beyond a bit of wine in his cup, exploded into a story about a twelve-point hart, a rabbit and 20 hunters’ hats pinned to trees by arrows. It was absolutely absurd, ridiculous… and Miro laughed for nearly half an hour as the man told it with ever-growing vigor.

  He practically came alive under the attention. Cares falling from his shoulders and stress wrinkles from his face. He sat up taller and smiled more. Transforming to a different, more confident man.

  But as the lights began to burn low and the wine ran dry. His tale ended to stomping feet and fists pounding on the table in appreciation. And not just their tables either. Miro found herself caught up in the jokes and ‘did you catch that one part’ for a time.

  But as men moved about, a name caught her attention. A name and a description.

  “Atlerest, the mountains of bountiful rifts.” Leo’s voice said.

  “Bountiful… what’s that mean Sir Knight.”

  “Like the Forest Provides or the Riverlands farm, it means what it means.”

  Then their voices dropped beneath her hearing. She wouldn’t be so crass as to move closer… nor could she without Leo noticing. But she made a mental note to ask him about it later.

  And unfortunately, later became much later.

  ___