The next morning saw them marching through the gates when the sunlight was more a notion than reality. But the tents were packed and the men fed a hot meal that they didn’t have to cook. A far sight better than doing it themselves and if the middle of the band now sported a line of wagons pulled by a decade of men each, why, at least it was better than carrying it all on their backs.

  The pulling team switched every hour and with four decades per wagon, the pace slowed a bit, but not by much. Part of the time was made up at meals, with a team of men taking filled stew pots out to each century on the move. Another wagon held a set of crafters, already at work repairing suits of tattered and torn armor. Even adding a layer of demon scales, each the size of a human hand, fingers extended, to the front and back to elevate the armor into something fit for soldiers, not mere fodder.

  A full day, and as twilight was setting in, they marched into another palisaded caravansary, hot fires already lit and hot quality food cooked and waiting on them. Then they did it again, two and a half days, nearly three with the time it took to get to the first camp.

  But with the sun beginning its descent on that third day, the expanse of the Rheingold spread before them. The perspective was right, somehow. The man-made cliffs of the Capitol's walls against the 10-mile-wide river, its placid current giving rise to waves fit for surf and beach, not flowing fresh water. Or, Ethan reflected wryly, core made walls.

  It was of a scale with them, somehow putting things even farther out of perspective. As if both were really normal-sized objects, and they the ones to small to fit.

  He shook his head and pushed that bit of whimsy aside. The capital was larger than life, but it wasn’t his life. His eyes turned to the west, to the mountains he’d never seen but was already dreaming of. Soaring white swept expanses that glinted with expanding balls of flames and the sound of repeated lightning strikes. He shook his head again. Letting the odd dreams fade as he focused on present needs.

  Leofsige was galloping back towards them, framed by a dozen matchstick masts graced with billowing sheets. Ethan tightened his legs around the barrel of his horse, ignoring the familiar pressure of the high cantled saddle and the pull of the leather thongs that tied him to it. Horseback riding was an art and not an easy one at that. But a good saddle did make it easier.

  “Milord.” Leo tapped a fist to his chest, “I’ve arranged the ferries, but had to pay extra to reserve the full set. Seems a bit of a waste…” He said the last part very quietly. A personal opinion, not bucking Ethans authority in front of the men. Ethan nodded at him in understanding, if not agreement. Yes, men were more dangerous than a clever enemy. He was happy to have his men ask questions, just so long as they didn’t damage morale or his authority in the asking.

  “Spending a bit more on the front end will save us far more on the back, Sir Leofsige. How long do they reckon?”

  “Two to four hours to load, another three hours to cross the river and unload. Then they’ll come back for a second pass. With the extra coin I promised, they swear we’ll be over tonight, even if it’ll be past sunset.”

  Ethan grunted. He’d hoped to do it in one go. But with 1550 men, horses, mules and wagons that was asking for a lot. Even for the largest ferry station in the empire.

  “Then we’ll need a camp on the far side, did you..?”

  “Yes Milord. Sent a decade across as soon as I got here to get us a spot and lay out the camp. Depending on what’s available, they might be able to get us a bit more than that.”

  That was possible, Ethan allowed. Veilfurt might not be a city proper, but it wasn’t a small town either. Besides, even in a small town, it was a rare goodwife who wasn’t ready and eager to make a few extra coins by cooking for a passing caravan. Armies were a bit more chancy, but coin still spoke loudest.

  “Sir Andrew! Sir Conner!” His voice carried to the ears he intended without having to raise it. A useful skill, Golden Order. He tapped his heels to his horse’s sides, leaning forward as it moved quickly into a light canter past blocks of marching men. He didn’t have to wait long before those two worthies galloped up to join him.

  “Milord!” They barked, saluting hand to chest as they came abreast.

  “Sir Andrew, take the first ferry and some men across the river, cavalry if they are going to keep up with you. Sir Leo has ten men getting us a camp on the other side. Find them, support them and-” He dug into his saddle bags for a few moments, then came up with two purses, One significantly larger than the other. Conner got the larger, Andrew the smaller. “-see if you can’t make the camp a bit more comfortable for the men.” He saluted, and turned his horse to trot back towards the block of lancers at the middle of the moving column.

  “Sir Conner, get us out ahead of the incoming cluster fuck.” Getting this many men, beasts and wagons organized and loaded was going to be a job, and he’d just as soon it not turn into a morass. Not that it would with Conner on top of it. The man could organize long hall sailors into the most efficient use of a brothel.

  While only half awake.

  And possibly drunk.

  “Take what you need of the labor and an escort, but get it done. Leave us a stiff reaction force on both sides. Just in case.” It was highly unlikely that they’d need it here. In the heart of the empire, but if you always treated it like it would happen, then when it finally did, you’d be ready.

  “Yes Milord.” He saluted and trotted forward, already barking for the 9th century of the Labor, already without packs as they were in the rotation for the wagons, to advance at a trot along with two decades of Hastati.

  He nodded and brought his horse back to a slow walk. Doing his job. Which at the moment was merely to look confident and unconcerned. It was a highly undervalued skill and one that he practiced as often as possible. Those who hadn’t the skill often descended into micromanagement. Once you’d given the necessary orders, you had to trust your men enough to let them complete them.

  Or you wouldn’t have competent men around you for long.

  Besides, he’d likely be too busy to deal with any of it soon enough.

  He hid a sigh as dust and flaring crimson tabards foretold new visitors. Of the officious nature, no doubt. And a knight leading them from the pennant and heraldry. The Crimson Count’s River and Oar quartered with a River Snake on a spear. A relative, then, though not of the main line.

  He sighed softly to himself, but didn’t let it show in his posture as he continued his slow amble, adjusting his line away from the column and towards the newcomers. Approaching them was polite, but as the superior noble, hurrying would be ill-mannered and beneath his dignity. Just so long as no real fight was in the offing at least.

  Not that a brand-new Baronet was much above an established knightly house. But then, the army behind him was its own kind of legitimacy. Somehow, that didn’t sit right. Something deep inside rebelling at the obvious truth.

  He shook it off and raised his right hand, fist closed, tapping his chest in greeting and an acknowledgment of nobility. “A good day to you, sir knight-?” He opened the dialog without the fuss and wait he was entitled to.

  “And to you Lord Baronet. I am Knight Rodrick, by his graces decree warden of the southern bank.” He said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Hard to blame him with an armed column approaching his bailiwick. The fact that the count’s forces across the river could likely splatter the Band like bugs wouldn’t save his life if things went south here. “I regret that I do not recognize your coat of arms, Lord -.” He trailed off meaningfully. No hint of doubt filled his tone, nor expression, but Ethan would bet gold that was a good poker face, not trust in human nature.

  “I am Baronet Ethan of Alfwin Pass, Sir Rodrick, and there is no reason you should. I was raised less than a month ago for merits rendered by my family in the ending of the Demon threat.”

  He perked up at that. “Ah, an Imperial Herald rode through with the news, though with few details. I will confess that I even now have trouble imagining that it is finally over. But perhaps with a bit more of the story, my imagination can be taught. Might you do me the honor of laying out the battle Lord Baronet? I would, of course, reciprocate by setting some of my men to smoothing the way.”

  “A fine offer, Sir Roderick, and I don’t mind feeding the beast of curiosity. As for training your imagination, that I am less sure of. I confess my own is a trifle insubordinate. I keep expecting to wake up.”

  “I should think you would prefer to keep dreaming, Lord Baronet. I would not mind such a dream myself!” He said with a dry twist to his mouth. Then stiffened slightly and continued in a much more official tone.

  “I regret that My Lord is not in residence.” Ethan hid a smile; the man made no mention of the lord in question welcoming him. Somehow he liked the man better for forgoing the obviously bull shit, even if it was a standard pleasantry. “I make you welcome, but ah –“He paused and waited, making a show of searching for the right words. A fiction, no doubt, but asking for what he wanted from a superior noble would be a trifle rude. Not egregiously so, but Ethan tipped his helm, mentally at least, to the man’s forbearance.

  Then reached into his saddlebag and removed the Imperial Writ of Passage, he did not pass it over; one did not give up a writ from the Emperor, but he did roll it open, his arms stretched with the right above his head and the left at his saddle bow.

  A fact the knight could be forgiven for missing, as the light suddenly shining forth from the Imperial Crest, a Phoenix bursting aflame from the wreckage of civilization with the Capital's walls vaguely recognizable as a crown upon its head, gleamed bright enough to blind.

  Sir Rodrick pulled the fast-release ties on his legs and slid to the ground, kneeling briefly before the Imperial Crest, as did the decade of men behind him, before remounting, if with difficulty in full armor and without a mounting block. He took a moment to retie his leg braces, getting an appreciative nod from Ethan in the doing. Military readiness was a habit that had to be regularly fed.

  “I believe your theory of a dream is most thoroughly disproven, Milord. With such a touchstone at hand, I would call your imagination a trifle more than insubordinate.”

  Ethan grinned, not caring if it conflicted with some elaborate act of dignity that he should be keeping to. He grinned and grinned widely. “You are not wrong, treasonous it just might be. But that is beside the point. Ride with me and I’ll lay out the battle. It started with the usual. Imperial legions to the center, bandsmen and the Noble muster to either side. Blocks of heavy infantry rotating their front lines every half hour while ranged troops of a hundred sorts lobbed missiles overhead. Cavalry in infrequent double lines behind them both.”

  Sir Rodrick nodded easily, that was indeed the usual approach. Killing demons wasn’t like fighting men and Ethan didn’t try to describe it as such. He painted the picture as he saw it. Not as charge and countercharge. Of flanking maneuvers and the rock-paper-scissors of pike vs horse, archers and mobile infantry to counter pikes and horse to shatter heavy infantry lines and slaughter archers.

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  No.

  It was the tide he described. The ebb and flow of specific greater demons. The way morale shifted and how the line of humans shook when the demons put in a breach, even when it was often beyond sight. The feel of it as men flinched away, one into another in a minor wave that could be felt by the skilled.

  And he was that.

  Demons didn’t have order, they didn’t have discipline, but they did have momentum, direction and purpose.

  Like the ocean beating against the cliffs, there was a logic and timing to the assaults. You could adjust for it, or force the tides to occur a bit faster or slower. For eddies to pulse where needed. But only a fool fought entirely against the current.

  He described how ordered lines of humans fought the swirling maelstrom of fecund vitality and chaos. And as he did, he reflected on where he could have done better. Opportunities missed and charges slightly mis-timed.

  He didn’t let guilt or regret linger; he had no use for such self-serving nonsense. The past could not be changed, but by learning from it, the future could be. He made mental notes, even as the story continued.

  The telling took quite some time, though not nearly so long as the doing, and they had reached the river's banks, overlooking quick marching columns of men making their way onto the flat-bottomed, sail and oar-equipped boats. He had to stop the recital several times to deal with small bureaucratic issues like paying fees and affirming his troops were merely moving through, but under Sir Roddrick's impatient eye, the questions were few and widely spaced.

  At last, he described the shattered core and Sir Roderick sighed, his eyes wistful. Too much a fighting man not to see the costs involved. But also too much of one not to wish, or perhaps wonder, about being there himself.

  “Haaa. The end of an age.” He muttered. Then turned to look at the lines of men, now sitting down and with their pack stacked beside them, waiting for the ferries to return. “What will the next bring?”

  “More chaos,” Ethan spoke bluntly, having formed a fairly good impression of the knight beside him. “For you, perhaps more than for me. I’m merely the first to get here. And by no means the largest. The men you have, on this bank at least, will struggle to maintain control.”

  “I’ve some knowledge of your Liege and I’d not bet against him being unaware of the problem, but you might impress him by getting a head start on it.” Ethan hid a grin. Arrogant though the Count had been, Ethan had made out quite well in their exchange.

  And Ethan paid his debts.

  And if he could also help a good man in the doing? One who’d helped him minimize dealing with bureaucrats? Why, providence will provide.

  The man gave him a glance, one that had far more depth to it than Ethan could account for. Then again, this wasn’t a fresh-faced knight. He’d been born to politics and the interplay of feudal obligations and responsibilities. He understood them far better than Ethan did.

  Not that it mattered here. Nothing he said was wrong, nor biased to get any particular gain. He hid a grin. Truth and sincerity were fine weapons when you got the chance to wield them, and if they were weapons many long-term nobles were incapable of recognizing? Why, that just made them all the more effective.

  Sir Roddrick nodded slowly, considering. “Perhaps Milord. I’ll consider doing exactly that. Let me repay the favor.” He glanced at his men and flicked his hand in a dismissal. Ethan raised an eyebrow, then glanced backward at Eric and Valest, his current bodyguards, before doing the same.

  Roddrick waited a moment for them to get beyond earshot, then pointedly looked away from Ethan, speaking softly almost as if to himself. “A new noble taking the ferry, must be heading west.” It wasn’t a question and considering where the empire’s more dangerous borders were, it was an easy conclusion to come to. “And beyond Veifort County to the west lies the Barony of Rhaedestus. It is a troubled place, made worse by the passing of Baron Walfried five months ago. His son will no doubt put things to rights. The new Baron Lubin.” He paused, leaving Ethan to hold back a groan.

  He knew the then ni-Baron Lubin. At least by sight and reputation. Black hair with an impressive mustache, olive skin, medium height, with piercing blue eyes. His retinue was a bit unbalanced, if Ethan remembered it correctly. Heavy on feudal levies and light on seasoned, quality troops. But for all that, and the high casualties it cost him, the man had held the line and did it reliably.

  As he’d done in the final battle.

  With the father passing on, the son should have returned home to put things in order. But none were released when the final push was in the offing. Everyone and everything had been pushed to the breaking. And beyond at times. Borrowing against the future, be it with delayed maintenance to fortresses, roads and equipment or unsustainably high taxes. Everything had been stressed to pay for a victory. Now the bill was due.

  And that meant they were riding into a right mess.

  “The late Baron’s daughter, Adelheid, a remarkably beautiful young lady of good breeding and refinement, has put her full effort into maintaining the lands for her Noble Brother.” He trailed off. Then shrugged uncomfortably.

  Good breeding and refinement were fine traits in a trophy wife. But the lack of compliments in other directions were glaring in their absence. As were any comments about succeeding with that effort. Mess was upgraded to quagmire in his head.

  “My thanks for the warning.”

  Sir Roddrick stiffened slightly and gave him a glance that was considerably less friendly. “I gave no warning, Milord. Good luck to you in your travels.”

  With a brief salute, the one required of a knight to a Baronet and no more, he set his mount to a light gallop and moved away.

  Now what did he say wrong?

  __

  “-a warning implies that he degenerated a fellow noble, Milord. This is not done. A noble is always a skilled manager of his fief.”

  “Surely some fail.”

  “Not that I have ever heard of Milord.” He spoke softly, but with a tinge of fear in his tone. “Nor do I know of any who have stated such and are still around. With that in mind, and as I am not a noble, I must assume all nobles are competent.”

  He considered for a moment then grimaced. “Officially and whenever you are in public. It is the duty of every noble to ensure that anyone who implies otherwise is dealt with. Be they noble or common.”

  “It is the foundation of our system. Those who are in charge are there both by right and ability. Now, Sir Roddrick, a Riverland Knight born, bred and immersed in the great game will play with that line. For his own benefit of course, so take what he said with a grain of salt. But even so, he knows this dance. He knows exactly how far he can push it, and in front of whom. You. Another noble, and a new one at that.”

  “I highly recommend that until you do know where that line is, you avoid it entirely. If you want to give a not-a-warning then simply describe the conditions. Bad roads, hard to source supplies, bandits. Be careful of implying the existence of those conditions is in any way connected to those in charge.”

  “Should you do so publicly, it would fall to the bloodline in question to answer the insult, a challenge and not to first blood, or stand in danger of complete destruction as their neighbors take the opportunity to cleanse the name of nobility from such a slur. Profiting in the doing and going forward to describe the conflict in glowing terms of last stands and honorable deaths.”

  “But honorable or not, the end would be swift and merciless. A noble is competent My Lord.” He reiterated with a raised eyebrow.

  Ethan gave a nod of ascent. A chain of command, though a viciously competitive one. It made a sort of sense when he considered it in that light. Shake-ups to the chain should never be visible to the common soldiery. Men could not be permitted to question the lines of authority. Or when battle came, they’d hesitate to obey the calls, and that way lay disaster.

  “The young lady, should the things he has not stated or implied be true, is in a great deal of personal danger when her brother gets home. Sent permanently to take orders as a lay member of a priesthood at best. Quietly disappearing is equally likely. Taking poison is a popular option. And the voluntary nature of such things might be in question, but again, never publicly.”

  “That seems a might extreme. If she wasn’t trained for the position –“ he froze, unable to think of a way to end the statement without insulting the father.

  Master Rainer nodded with a sympathetic smile. “Exactly Milord, that cannot be said either. What matters is that she is currently in charge. And with all that implies.”

  Ethan shivered slightly. That was… unforgiving. Merciless even. To use your sister’s life to keep your father's honor, and thus your own… Or was it a sacrifice? That someone needed to pay for a failure of duty. Blood to protect the bloodline? He mulled the concept over as he rode the last ferry, surrounded by thirty fully armed and armored Bandsmen, across miles of water, lulled into an almost meditative state by the slow but steady splashing of the oars and the river water against the side. Not even the warning call from the Harpooner stationed to starboard rail could shake it. He simply gestured a decade of men to assist.

  It had been so busy recently that he hadn’t had time to really internalize the changes. Plan, march, learn and even celebrate. But for the first time in a while, he had nothing immediately to do. Just time to think.

  The harpooners made their casts as the serpent lunged from the water. Dragging the trailing lines through cleats and jerking its lunge short. Not that it mattered as a block of spears lunged forward to meet it. Driving 16-foot spears into its head and open mouth.

  Prepared soldiers hauled on lines and dragged the still twitching beast, all of 25 feet long and a couple feet around, out of the water. Or at least its head. The remainder was dragged behind the boat. They’d butcher it later.

  Riversnake was good eating, but whether it could be cooked tonight or not... He gave the dwindling daylight a glance. Should be well after full dark by the time they landed.

  He was no riverman to judge better than that. He shrugged, tonight or tomorrow, he’d still get a taste.

  He let the thought fade and returned to the real question. What did it mean to be a noble? Rights and responsibilities ran through his head in a list, but it lacked the heft and finality. Lecture vs the truth of a blade used, even in practice.

  It wasn’t just what he had to put in and what he could expect to get out. Being a noble might start with a simple exchange of obligations, but the dressing around it was quite a bit more elaborate. And it wasn’t just lace and fluff, but lethal, practical truths. He needed to ‘be’ a noble. And he still wasn’t sure exactly what that entailed, much less how to pull it off.

  He shook his head. He wouldn’t solve either question by naval gazing. He’d just have to fake it till he made headway. He snorted at the tired old saw and stretched. Popping out his back and twitching his shoulders in just the right way to get his lorica squamata to settle correctly.

  Enough of that. It was a time for doing now. He’d not ignore the questions, but just getting where they were going would take all of his attention. And perhaps then some.

  They landed while the sky was still grey rather than full black, but not a patch of the actual sun remained. A few lit torches shepherded them to an unfortified campsite a few hundred yards from the walls of Veifurt. The hairs on his back stood on end at the thought of going without so much as a berm, but Veifurt wasn’t the capital with its towering fortifications.

  The Count’s much more reasonably sized 40-foot curtain walls made them somewhat cautious of sappers and obstructions in the half-mile-wide killing fields. It was uncomfortable, but Conner- No, Sir Conner, he reminded himself- had far more guards out than was normal. It would have to do.

  He rode through the checkpoints, giving the read and response calls as expected, and between lines of neatly identical tents before pulling up and dismounting in front of the command tent, surrounded by six burning braziers, a dozen men and a small dead zone to prevent eavesdropping.

  Passing his horse to a page, he strode inside, already pulling at a few straps to loosen his armor. Another page was quickly kneeling at his side, completing the removal of his leg plates and pteruges.

  He snagged a filled plate from Gretta, with a thankful nod and appreciative grope, before making his way to the command table.

  “Any issues?” He let out a relieved sigh, dropping onto a pillow and starting to shovel some unidentified mash of vegetable and meat into his mouth. Then blew out a harsh breath at the heat of it. The spices were a surprise but quite good. If a trifle hotter than he was used to. It didn’t stop him from scooping up a second bite. A quiet, but pointed throat clearing to his side changed the large scoop to a more mannerly portion.

  No point in having a good advisor present if you didn’t listen to him. The slightly awkward poses around the table, and the prevalence of food still lingering on plates told him that at least he wasn’t alone in it.

  “Middling, My Lord.” James, after glancing around for objections, kicked it off. “The count must have sent word ahead ‘cause the price of grain is about half again what it should be. But whoever he sent it to doesn’t have much imagination. I got some very good prices selling a few cores and some extra hides. I also managed to purchase close to a ton of short-life vegetables. They’ll last a week or so and be a pleasant treat while they do.”

  Ethan nodded. Standard fair was heavy on beef, beans and flat journey bread. It kept well and provided dense fuel for heavy activity. But it could become a might repetitive.

  “I also made a few inquiries for younger sons of tradesmen.”

  “Carefully, I hope, Sir James. We don’t want to be viewed as poaching.” Master Rainer broke in. Still somewhat cautious sitting at the table as a newcomer.

  “Indeed.” James answered easily. “That’s why it's younger sons. Ones who won’t inherit and might be on the ambitious side.”

  “A narrow slice of the pie, that.” Andrew opined. Looking doubtful.

  “True.” James shrugged. “But throw enough bait out, you’ll get a few bites. Three leatherworker apprentices, a blacksmith's apprentice, a cooper’s apprentice and a up and up brewer a might too enthused with his own product. Had to pay his way out of the gaol and they were suspiciously happy to see last of him.”

  Ethan started to speak, then didn’t bother. Of course James would have him watched. And trouble or no, he had skills. Stick him with some robust new trainees of good character and they’d get something out of it. Even if they had to hang him for cause afterward.

  “There were some worrisome reports from a few traders about road conditions upriver –” Ethan nodded, leaning backward to let the discussion continue while addressing his dinner. Interjecting where it was appropriate, but mostly just enjoying the camaraderie. These were good men, and he would need them all the more going forward.