Organizing the movement of a large body of men was a trial at the best of times. When organizing them away from a free party? It was a damn good thing they were loyal, well-motivated troops. Levies might have rioted.

  The morning sun after the disbursement saw them already a mile down the road. Two sixty-man infantry blocks framing the column at either end, with 26 lancers too the middle, able to deploy in either direction quickly. Blocks of bow and spear armed camp followers were spread out between them, wives, mistresses, trainees and children for the most part. Leading pack mules and extra horses and stiffened with a very few walking wounded.

  Thank Amaraia, Goddess of health and magic, for healing rituals. Else he’d be down another 40 with various wounds and injuries that would slow them down, and might or might not sour into something far worse.

  Spread between those groups walked much larger formations of 200 young, brown clothed men and a few women, shovels and mattocks in hand, with massive packs on their backs or carrying even larger packs on poles between them.

  Despite the loads, they moved lightly and with goodwill. Easily able to keep up with the walking cavalry.

  Scouts rode around them in a loose net. Younger boys and a few archers filling out the numbers around a core of actual Scouts, poached at considerable expense from the Imperial Army. They needed those extras. Screening a unit of 350-ish was a far cry from 1550. Even that number was a pleasant surprise.

  James had managed to pawn off the larger families, already uninterested in moving to the frontier, one for one. Children and all for young, ambitious levelers. 1200 total, they were short to a large extent on women, but that could be easily fixed in any of the major cities along the route.

  The wars had left a dearth of men to match the young woman, and what was left for them in the slums and rookeries was drudgery and far worse. Even the substantial risks involved in a new fief was a better option than that cesspool.

  The morning passed on and the noon-time sun began to pound down on them.

  But they did not slow or stop. Pairs of laborers ran up and down the line carrying large pots on poles between them. Marching in time while each squad dished themselves lunch before moving on to the next. Travel mash wasn’t much to look at, beans mashed with jerky and water, slow-cooked in the embers of the fires overnight, but it was filling and would give a man the energy for a heavy day of labor.

  Or travel.

  To set a good example, even Ethan trotted his mare forward, then leaned from the saddle to dip his bowl into the pot. Lifting it in salute to the men before pouring a bite into his mouth. There were far better travel rations available. And at times, he’d avail himself of them.

  It was an odd tightrope to walk, but observing the privilege of rank was as important for morale as occasionally ignoring them was. Sometimes he needed to drink expensive liquor to show his status and why he was worth following. Other times, he’d swill the rankest wine in solidarity.

  Or in this case, travel mash.

  He snagged a piece of flat bread from a trailing laborer and set to, using the bread as spoon and napkin. With the experience of long practice, he left a corner to clean out the bowl when he was done.

  And all the while, Ethan and a rotating pair of his knights paid close attention to Master Rainer as he lectured on noble etiquette. The steward had surprised them all by appearing at the camp well before dawn and sitting as fine a seat as any young noble on a fractious filly of prime breeding age. A fine bit of horseflesh and a status statement in its own right.

  He’d so far managed to make a classroom of an army on the march. Disdaining to notice the dirt, grime and general hardship of the march while maintaining a detailed and somewhat entertaining discourse that included the intricacies of politeness as it applied between different levels of nobility, of station and proper behavior. Making that driest of subjects interesting with frequent jokes, stories and small divergences that made each point somehow that much easier to remember. All without the slightest worry or bother in their surroundings.

  As if he were in a noble salon. And if, as night fell and they stopped to dig in a proper camp, he limped a bit when he stepped down, he gained further points by neither complaining nor so much as mentioning the inconvenience. Ethan pretended not to notice when Conner handed the man a small skin of salve and shared his wine skin.

  Still, even with this welcome distraction, the days of travel passed as such always did. With dreadful slowness and deadly boredom. A blurring of mile after mile that had to be fought, else an ambush or natural disaster would catch you napping. Every now and then, a corrupted beast or once a pack of such, reminded them of this fundamental truth.

  Not that these interruptions amounted to much, being quickly put down by the scouts for the most part, and one quick charge of the cavalry when it was beyond them. Be it with arrow, lance or spear. Each day, they stopped as the sun was half past the horizon, then a quick ditch and berm were dug, faster even than usual despite the larger footprint with the laborers around. If there was one task they had endless practice at, it was digging.

  Not that the Bandsmen were bad at it. These sorts of military encampments were standard in any kind of hostile territory, which was everywhere outside a city, and they could put them up in their sleep. A state he’d seen more than a few times when a fight lingered through the day and the camp still had to be built at night. On the positive side, it wasn’t a rewardless endeavor. Stats on your sheet were merely potential. Actualizing them took hard, constant use. And more, it took work that was in line with their class focuses.

  Exercise for exercise’s sake wasn’t a bad thing. Anyone could build their body stat that way. But it was slow. Do the same amount of exercise in a task that fit your focuses, and both skill and stats received an experience multiplier. The more focuses that applied, the larger the multiplier.

  Soldiers digging out a field for plowing? Little to nothing. Digging out a latrine for a military camp or temporary fortification? That was War, Training and possibly Melle if you had the right attitude. Three focusses at half again the gains, each.

  The exact bounds of how far you could stretch a given focus, and how to do so, were closely held military secrets. But after nearly 4 generations of raising soldiers, the 16-foot-long spear, the sarissa, armed Phalangites and the Hastati with their tower shield and one-handed short spears, the Band knew quite a few tricks.

  The men carried no belt knife as blade skill wasn’t core for Phalangites. If they managed to pick it up anyway, as a non-class skill it gained no learning multiplier and generated little class experience.

  It could be a class skill for Hastati, but it wasn’t one the band taught or emphasized. They’d learned this trick before his grandfather gained that second class and it worked for both. If everything you did resembled a spear, then it used the spear skill, and that was both War and constant Training. Stats and skills grew even as you ate at the company mess.

  Even for the Hastati, a decent blade and spear skill wasn’t as useful as a single superior spear skill. You could only use one at a time anyway.

  And it could indeed be stretched far more than most suspected. Belt knife? No, very short spear. Spoon? Nonsense, it’s a dull spear. It looks like a knife without a cross guard the recruit says? Ten laps, the recruit is wrong, it is clearly a spear and he can keep running till he can see it as such.

  Even a shovel could be considered a spear if you looked at it correctly. Sure, its head was a bit wide, but with a bit of sharpening, it still had a shaft and a point. Ethan shrugged off the familiar thought.

  It was military craziness. The kind that looked and sounded foolish, but it worked. Attitude and perspective changed every day, dull tasks into class-building opportunities. Everything they did was focused on that truth. And it had served them well through the years of war.

  A fact he kept in mind as a new Baronet. The rider on his class gave him new class focuses. Listening, and more importantly, learning how he should behave as a noble was providing a steady trickle to both skill and class. But it was in uniting many focuses together that real growth became exponential. Those were methods and opportunities they would have to develop going forward.

  The next week continued in the same vein as he mulled that thought over, arranging and discarding plans and strategies for every situation he could imagine as they rode.

  Then, at last, the fabled towers of Himmelstadt began to peak over the low rolling hills. The oldest core, and thus the oldest city in existence. The only human city to survive the last apocalypse and from which the entire Aclela Empire had sprung. The Emperor’s seat and the place where the finest equipment and classes in the empire could be found.

  The Capital.

  He called for James, then gave him a quick set of instructions, a five-man detail, a set of remounts and a fat purse. He’d pick up Loefsige on the way and pave the way for their arrival.

  An arrival that took the remainder of the day, despite sighting towers in the late morning and the walls themselves not too long after. And walls seen as a mere silhouette before noon, became ridiculous impossibilities by evening. Towering overhead like black stone cliffs, topped by battlements, siege engines, towers and squads of steely-eyed Arbalesters who could probably pick a head and take it off its shoulders at this range.

  James and Leofsige were waiting a hundred yards shy of the massive gatehouse and beside a large palisaded caravansary. One already bedecked in ribbons and with shops lining most of its length. A half dozen other such palisaded camps were visible, well separated and all easily covered and with little cover in turn from the towering city walls.

  A whispered conversation ensued before Ethan grimaced and gestured the band and its extras onto the Circum Valare. The outer road that circled the city, discounting the river which hemmed the city in on most of its north and east sides, and off of which all the various caravan staging and camping grounds were based.

  No armies, even small ones, were welcome inside the walls, of course. The men knew that as well as he did, but stopping at one of the many open camps in view wasn’t an unreasonable ask.

  They grumbled a bit, but Ethan didn’t pay it any mind. They kept marching with a will. Grumbles were the sovereign right of soldiers. Just so long as they kept them within reasonable limits. Limits that they got closer to but never reached as long hours passed, even as they had to light torches to continue on. At last, they turned in through a set of waiting torch-lit gates to a palisade little different from the dozens they’d already passed by.

  As far as permanent fortifications went, it wasn’t much. Little more than a thin outer wall of vertical, peeled tree trunks, thin ones, with four widely spaced towers. Each a small platform on top of four slanted logs. A couple log cross bars stabilized it, but they’d not survive a single ballista bolt, much less a 40-pound stone from an onager. Still, in sight of the city walls, they shouldn’t have to. They should do the job of keeping the beasts out and drunk humans in.

  The campground was a beaten plain of earth, stone and grass, well-marked and laid out with numbered arm-length flags by the advance party. Complete with a generous wood pile, already burning fires topped by great pots giving off enticing vapors and even a full roast ox being slowly rotated on a spit. A section of a small stream flowed through a grate in the wall and filled a decent pond for bathing and watering the stock. There was even a massive barrel on four wheels with a frothing cup burned into the side.

  The men marched in, exhausted but perking up quickly at the appetizing scents and prospect of forgoing the usual dig in. Ethan waited for the final elements to clear them, before gesturing the gates closed.

  “Alright! Well done, all of you. We made excellent time. A feat I promised to reward you for. I keep my word. There is hot, good food, ale, and …” he gestured to a set of four more wagons, where the covers were quickly tossed off to reveal a horde of professionals of the female persuasion. “Company. Enjoy. But be decent about it. Get your tents up first and I don’t mean the ones in your trousers!”

  Good-natured laughter rang out and Ethan waited for it to fade before continuing. “We won’t be here long, so make good use of your time. Still, not everything is roses. We need sentries and a reaction force. Picked the usual way, so expect your decurions to drop by with the lots. If you pull the short straw, it comes with an extra drachma and first choice of company tomorrow.” It wouldn’t quite square things, but so long as a man didn’t whine about it too much, his decurions would see that the scales leveled.

  “Now get to it!” There was a massed cheer, and the men broke ranks, following the flags and markers to their designated spots, while others quickly scaled the towers. In barely 10 minutes, the sea of 10-man tents were up, lines for the horses were established and manned, not to mention a few larger tents for the officers and a mess hall.

  Then the men descended on the food, drink and women. And not necessarily in that order.

  Ethan watched for a moment, then turned away with a satisfied smile. Gesturing for his command staff to follow him, he entered the largest of the officer tents. It was his, when it wasn’t also being used as the command tent. The tables were placed, the braziers lit and wine was waiting for them. They handed off the horses to a few trainees, removed a few pieces of leg armor and took a seat with happy sighs.

  “Sir Leofsige, well done with the camp arrangements. I trust it wasn’t too difficult?”

  “No Milord. They fought like pike over a chick what fell into the river for the contract. Only trouble was getting in to see them in the first place! Without this shiny new tin can,” He slapped a fist to the polished, obsidian black breast plate “-I might not’ve managed it.”

  This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

  It wasn’t going to do him much good while scouting, but damn was it as fine a piece of gear as Ethan had ever seen. Outside of a Praetorian or a Senior Noble at least. “They’re limiting entrants to passes and nobility. Without the armor, I’m not sure they’d have believed me. I barely believe it at times!”

  James shook his head to the side. “No Leo, they knew. But the trade fair before the front gate is likely cutting them a piece of the profits. As soon as you didn’t cave in, the matter was sealed. They’d not have the guts to actually stop a noble, and with the inspection skills any gate guards have, a knighthood’ll stand out like a bonfire.”

  Leofsige shrugged. “Anyway, the closer camps were reserved by the sleezy lot of cut purses outside. And they was cutting out the middlemen and smaller procurers. Once we made it inside to the souk, twer no trouble. Like you asked, we have it for two nights. Food, beer and women included. They’d be happy to have us longer, but I turned them down. Even if it seems a might rushed.” He hinted heavily.

  Ethan shrugged. “We’ve gone over this already. It is rushed, but I’ll waste healing rituals on lame horses before I let us fall behind. Else the coin you just saved us will seem like change from a beggar’s bowl compared to what we lose later. How about you James? Did you get our buying and selling arranged?”

  “Yes, Milord. But it wasn’t easy. The trade fair out front of the gates was just the most obvious sign of guild collusion. -“

  __

  James stepped out of the hundred-foot tunnel, its stone length generously lined with arrow slits and murder holes and into the light, such as it was, of Himmelstadt. Towering buildings, 6 stories at a minimum and many as much as 10, not only shaded the streets, but grew together above them. He couldn’t see it from here, but even the tops of those buildings were put to use with large gardens covering most of the space. Expensive garden space too, with a chance to see the sky proper.

  For the rest? The only sunlight they’d see in their entire lives might be here, for an hour or so at noon, with the sun shining directly down on the killing and mustering ground that separated the massive walls from the city proper.

  A 30-foot-wide expanse that was currently well dotted with corrals of mooing and squealing bovine and swine. Chickens and geese pecked the ground between them even as steely-eyed herdsmen kept a sharp lookout on the many greedy eyes peeking from the beckoning tunnels into the city proper.

  Tunnels that were not dark, despite the lack of sunlight. But shone with a light blue glow. Core light. Much gentler than the sun overhead or of some vulgar, and dangerous, torch.

  Blue was the light of civilization, or so many claimed. Magisters could manage it, but it wasn’t worth the demon cores. No, it was a proper city core that was needed to really keep things lit.

  He took a deep breath of the clean, fragrant air. That too was core magic. Otherwise, with all the people, animals and Gods knew what else, this place would have smelt like a demon’s asshole.

  He spoke a few quiet words to Leosige, then split away. Two men followed him as guards while the remaining three stayed with Leo.

  With a deep breath, more out of habit than need, he dove into the river of humanity that ever swirled through the arteries of the city. An artery that was filled with screaming, cheering people in the throes of a city-wide party. Entertainers, food stalls and carts peddling alcohol in many forms dotted the forty-foot-wide street. The raucous happiness, half relief from mortal terror and half disbelieving, but hopeful joy, echoed so loudly that James could barely hear himself think.

  He pushed through the throng gently, though with far less effort than he’d expected. Men and women pushed backwards to make way as much as they could. By virtue of both armor and more so, the noble colors his new tabard proudly bore.

  He took it with good grace, joining a circling dance for a few moments to get around it, downing a leather jack of cheap wine when it was offered and paying for a few mugs himself when a burst of generosity got the best of him.

  Even the hundreds of small shops lining the way were partaking in the extravaganza. Open and selling goods, drinks, food and whatever else they had with a merry will.

  A solid hour and a half of walking through the party, and not entirely unmarked by it with bits of ale and sweat rubbed off on his brand-new tabard, brought him at last to a large double set of doors, iron-bound hardwood, open and with a pair of guards in front of them. Guards who didn’t so much as blink at a trio of well-dressed and armed better than they were, men in noble colors, entered the fairly spacious shop.

  Leather goods of all kinds spotted rows of shelves, manikins and horse-like frames. From pleated Hestati armor made from Demon hide, to saddlery in simple bovine to wax and oiled rain cloaks of some jungle cat. The shop had it all, and behind the front lay a factory to make all that it sold.

  Master Cedric was an oddity. A high second tier craftsman wasn’t terribly common, but there were hundreds of them in the city. No, what made him a rare breed was his attitude. How many merchants could manage to be obsessively cheerful, fair and even generous and still be widely successful?

  James still wasn’t entirely sure how he managed it in the sea of sinners that swam outside his doors, but long years of fair dealings and good quality gear had made him the merchant of choice for the band’s demon harvests.

  He walked through the shelves, enjoying the present, but not overpowering scents of leather, oil and wax. Lanolin fought with neatsfoot oil, while beeswax paired off with cedar wood.

  Pleasant scents and good memories. He walked quietly through the semi-crowded shop, though despite his best efforts, his passing caused immediate silence and many a customer backed away.

  Nobles were not to be offended. Even the lowest members of that body.

  The five lines leading to the large counter ahead evaporated as he approached. Men and women stepping aside without prompting or apparent resentment.

  Giving a minor nod of thanks to the crowd, he easily stepped to clerk on the far left. The one closest to the opening in the counter.

  “Be so good as to let Master Cedric know that an old friend is here to see him if you please.”

  “Ahh, of course sir! Can I get you a seat and a cup of tea or ale to cut the dust?”

  “I’ll take the seat.” And he did, stepping back and to the side where a few comfortable couches, leather upholstered of course, sat for the top of his clientele. “And the ale, but after you’ve notified your master please.”

  “Of course, sir.” She quickly darted through a door to the rear, but not before tapping one of the other clerks on the shoulder and leaving a word. James held in a sigh as that worthy left a customer to bring him a jack of ale. Then, with a quick curtsey stood to the side waiting on any needs he might have.

  He considered sending her back to man the now overly busy counter. But had to let the idea drop. This was not his store, and its master would determine the proper behavior of its employees. Not an outsider.

  The wait wasn’t long. A mere five minutes before a burly man, with arms thicker than many a lesser man's thighs though his head barely topped James’s shoulders. He had a wide bushy beard that looked to have expanded at the expense of the hair atop his head.

  Partially balding and with a smile fit to split his freshly scrubbed and still wet face, he strode through the back of the shop with energy many a younger man could only envy.

  “Jame-, No. Sir James! My. Who would have dreamed it? Let me raise a mug to that!” And he did, snagging a jack and dipping it in a small amphora of ale, then quickly leaving the counter to join James on the chases. The lifted jacks were tapped together and both men drank deeply, before slamming the now empty jacks to the table, quickly followed by for arm to for arm.

  “'Tis good to see you, Master Cedric. You are well, I trust?”

  “Of course! Of course I’m well! How could I be anything else! Can you hear them out there? The city has been an on-and-off party for over a week now! And while I don’t mind admitting that I worry about new sources of quality leather, why, that is a worry for later! For now, Ennoblement! However did you manage it, Sir James?” He spoke the term again with a delighted smile. Rolling it in his mouth to get used to it.

  “Not just me, Master Cedric. Baronet Ethan, Sir Conner, Sir Andrews, Sir Leosige. Even Sir Guile, if you can believe it.”

  “Ahh,” he hesitated with a newly filled jack, giving the clerk a quick word of thanks before sending her back to the counter, though not before leaving the quarter amphorae of ale behind. “That… I...” he looked a bit lost.

  “No need, I saw it happen and I still find it hard to imagine.” James snickered.

  “Ah, that is to say, well. It’s not my place…” He fought with his words, but the smile on his face looked fit to burst.

  James waved it away. It really wasn’t his place after all. And even here, laughing at a noble could have drastic consequences. “How is Reginald doing?”

  “That old dog is as he ever was, lucky to find him sober, but still a dab hand at the tanning vats. I’d kick him out, but even drunk, he outperforms the rest sober, so what can you do?”

  The small talk continued for at least 20 minutes. Cycling through recent news and acquaintances before at last cycling to business. Business that quickly migrated through the shop and to an office back off the factory floor.

  “I can’t take it, Sir James. And I’m no happier about that asinine state than you are. It’s the Guild you see. They’ve set the prices and official buyers for all war goods to be through that farce of a camp outside the gates. For consistency and a proper safe way of trading with the war weary they say.”

  He stared at the man, breathless for a moment. Shocked. You think you have a handle on the depths of human stupidity, then something like this would crop up. “Are you serious? They’ve set their aim at veterans high off of victory! If only a few die over this, it’ll be a miracle.”

  “They can’t be that foolish, right?” Right?

  “Won’t be the first time I’ve called them as such. And as to lives lost, doubt they care. The lot outside the walls are hardly journeyman or masters. No, it’s a slopping of clerks with a few very quiet overseers getting hazard pay. There aren’t so many jobs around these days that poor men can afford to turn them down.”

  “So-ah!”

  The door opening interrupted him as a slim but shapely form slipped in. “Father, I heard James returned?”

  “Aye, but Sir James lass.”

  “Little Miro, is that you?” James almost choked on his ale. Barely seeing the girl he’d known for years in this radiant young lady.

  “Little? You’ve been gone too long, SIR James.” She arched her back as she said it, straightening her posture and nicely tenting the simple leather shop jerkin she was wearing. He did choke on the ale this time, not little indeed.

  And if her eyes had a satisfied glint to them at that result, why who could blame her? He took a second look, just to be sure, of course, her hair was a dark brown, not the red of her father, but she’d kept his eyes. Deep pools of blue that spoke of mystery and good humor. She had his smile too, good humor filling every line of a pert pair of lips and slender aquiline nose. She had the slim, supple build of a young woman, but the hips and chest lent emphasis to the second part, not the first.

  He realized he was staring and looked away to a mocking glance from Cedric.

  “Well then, Mistress Miro, tis good to see you again.”

  She nodded gracefully, gracefully walking over to fill both their ale jacks, and a much smaller mug for herself.

  “I was just explaining the guild's declaration-“

  “Fools.” She muttered half under her breath. He ignored her and continued.

  “And how we can’t buy his goods. His prime greater demon goods.” He ground out, with a pain-filled visage. A mien ill-suited to his cheerful face.

  “It leaves us in a bit of a spot Master Cedric, and puts profit into pockets as I’d rather was in yours.” James sighed. Taking another sip of the ale. Running other options through his head on the fly. They could keep the goods for Vilefurt, it was a large market too, but not a patch on the capital and not one he had any existing contacts in. They’d be fleeced a bit, and no mistake. Not robbed of them, just selling for less than it could be. And that hurt to the depths of his grubby little soul.

  The lass paused, then with a wide predatory smile spoke. “Oh? Is that all, is it? Such a small problem interfering with a new noble’s happiness.”

  “Lass?” Cedric managed, after snorting a bit of his ale, awkwardly patting at his nose. She ignored him, her attention fixed completely on James, and he felt a bit like a heart in a haye.

  “I can fix this little problem for you, but only if I get a boon in return.”

  “Now lass, if you know a way –“ Cedric coughed. Starting to look a bit put out, as well as a bit scared. Old friend or not, James was a noble now.

  James waved him down. Amused and somewhat curious. “I’ll bite. Sure Miro. You find us away around the banns and I’ll give your boon, so long as it's reasonable.” He tacked on the last sentence with a side eye himself. He was amused. Enough so to suffer a minor loss for her pleasure, even, but not enough to get hung out to dry entirely.

  Her grin widened all the farther and James knew that he’d just been suckered. But somehow, he didn’t mind.

  ___

  “-and that’s how I found Miro.”

  “And her boon?” Andrew asked.

  “Boon and solution were the same.” James spoke, a bit red-faced faced to Leo’s wide grin. “We can’t sell outside the banns, but reciprocal bridal gifts are a far older custom, and one a guild’s bann has no control over.”

  “Ha,” Conner barked after several moments of wide-eyed silence. “Now that is indeed a solution! And such a neat and tidy one at that. And you the one arguing against marriage too.”

  “Have a heart, Conner.” Leo smirked. “He said nay, but it twas the young lass wat did the hunting here. And she caught him right and proper.”

  “No exactly a knight's get is she? Sos I guess he no full hypocrite.” Conner quipped, with an amused gleam in his eye.

  James sighed, but took it with good grace. “You said to marry for advantage, Milord, and with this sale going through, I think I’ve done that. Plus her commercial connections are quite valuable on their own.”

  Ethan raised an eyebrow. “I’ll not stand in the way of a bit of happiness for you Sir James. But I’d rather the lass doesn’t rot a first-rate mind either. I’ll give you the sales, but how do you think capital connections will help us on the far side of the Empire?”

  “Ah,” he blushed a bit. “I was perhaps a bit hasty. But she gained her 19th level as a Mercator before her 18th birthday.” The mark of a talent to be sure. “She herself is a valuable connection.”

  Ethan waved a hand. “You don’t have to sell her to me. She is more than welcome and I’m happy for you. But….” He paused leadingly.

  “But we don’t have much time? I’m aware. I’ve arranged for the ceremony to be tomorrow. I would be, umm, honored if you would attend.”

  “O’ course wes going to attend.” Conner barked. “S’long as Is don’t draw the short straw for camp duty.” Ethan nodded; that went without saying. Both the going and the necessity of leaving someone behind. Though necessity being what it was, it wouldn’t be a straw that decided it. Poor Conner. He had plans for the following day, and the Master of Arms, that couldn’t wait.

  “Excellent, we’ll bring the trade goods in with the bridal parade as her bride price. And if her father happens to set her up with 20 wagons rigged for humans, 500 oak staves and 200 sets of Hastati armor.” Demon hide and a few Iron pieces, usually. Containing a hauberk, pauldrons, pteruges, greaves, bracers and a helm. It wasn’t high-end armor. But it was solid, good protection at a reasonable price and weight.

  “-and 10 tons of assorted foodstuffs, well, who is to deny a doting father a chance to set his daughter up right in marriage.” Less food than he’d hoped for, but he hadn’t expected any armor so…

  “For 1000 tanned lesser demon hides? Even adding the 8 greater hides that’s rather in our favor, isn’t it?” Andrew opined.

  “Well, she did the negotiating.” He said, with all the fatuous joy of the twitterpated. It was somewhat sickening to see such a level-headed man rolling beneath Aphrasia’s, the goddess of love, beauty and hunting, hand.

  “Ha.” Conner barked. “I likes ‘er already. But yous didna let her make an enemy out o’ old Cedric, did yous?”

  “Heavens no! The old man was so damn proud he was fit to burst.” Ethan chuckled at the image. Master Cenric always looked filled to the brim with life and cheer. How would that look turned to 11? But easy-going and cheerful did not make him an easy mark and him getting cleaned out by his own daughter… My, he’d have liked to have seen it.

  “Well, what’s done is done. Now, how’re we going to best use it? The armor and wood are simple enough. Once the labor start streaming over the divide, we’ll need it and more. But the wagons, that’s something fine James!” Conner grunted, scratching at the stubble on his face.

  Ethan nodded. “With decent roads and rotating ten-man teams, we should be able to keep nearly the same pace but increase out capacity by, what, 6 to 8 tons apiece?”

  “On the low end of that if we want to keep up the pace, milord.” James quickly interjected. “And that only on good roads. The axles can hold a full 8, but the wheels will start to catch on even good stone roads if you push it. On soft surfaces it’s even worse. Or so Master Cenric informed me. If we keep it to 5 or 6 on the imperial tow roads, it should do. But we’ll need to purchase some wide metal rimmed wheels, not an inexpensive purchase, or unload them further if we detour off the main ways.”

  “100 tons of capacity, that’s still a great help. Move the heavier, awkward supplies into the wagons first, like the anvil and other crafting tools. Then set up one wagon for cooking and feeding on the go. We’ll lose a bit of weight, but make up for it with time.” Conner suggested.

  Ethan nodded as did the rest as James pulled a well-used papyrus scroll, unhooking a rawhide thong and pulled the two rollers apart. A list of the Band’s luggage graced the cheap reed paper. They worked an hour or so, re-arranging the loads and planning the new marching order before calling it a day.

  Ethan saw them out of the tent, nodding to the pair of Hastati standing guard at the door and calling for a military apprentice. He’d have to start calling them pages soon, he snorted but made a mental note to do so. With the help of the page, he removed the rest of his armor, addressed a simple, if palatable hot meal and strode to the back of the tent, where a partition hid his camp bed.

  And the two women posing atop it. Gretta’s startlingly red hair against her pale, blue-veined and wholly uncovered skin and Anarita, olive-skinned and doe-eyed with the build, hips and grace of a dancer.

  He considered, again, warning them about his planned marriage.

  Then didn’t.

  Time enough for the tears and screaming later, when it was more than just an intention.

  He shrugged his shoulders and his tunic slid free.