The first rays of the sun saw them already on the road.

  Not just any road. The High Road. Twenty yards of stone followed by another ten of sod. Already busy with teams of men or beasts dragging barges back upriver with long tow ropes to the inside, wagons and carts to the middle, and horsemen taking advantage of the sod.

  Every couple of miles, there were work crews already at work. Peasants from the frequent small hamlets replacing cracked stones on the road, filling mud holes or puddles and even rolling massive stone cylinders along to even out the surface.

  Besides detouring every now and then to avoid one of the rollers or waiting for it to be pushed aside, the band made excellent unobstructed time. Such good time that Ethan called for a half-hour break for a noon meal beside an unexceptional, if picturesque, little hamlet.

  The men marched off the Highroad and onto a smaller tributary of packed earth before splitting into decades at the urging of shouting Centurions and Decurions. Trooping by a set of massive steaming cauldrons manned by wildly smiling goodwives. It was a rare opportunity, even this close to the high road, for Basics to make a bit of money on the side.

  Equally important, Ethan was relieved to see the Reave standing towards the back with an equally wide smile. 1500 people, even for one meal, was far more than a village of 200 could be expected to swallow so whatever magic James had worked to get this set up, it wasn’t a magic that would leave them starving.

  Or the count behind them annoyed.

  And in fact, Ethan carefully didn’t see a wagon open up to refill the granary with dried beans and journey bread while fresh loves streamed from a dozen huts and rich stews of carrots, potatoes, spring onions and even what looked like freshly butchered pork bones. Even as he watched a goodwife trotted out of her cottage with a large bowl of mixed assorted forage and the contents of her vegetable garden.

  The men weren’t picky, and a green that wasn’t mold was a welcome change. In fact, the only thing he didn’t see going into the pots, and the absence was glaring, was beans!

  That bore James' stamp for sure, he chuckled softly. The man often moaned the lack of good food in the staging camps. But was far too canny to pay the high prices for better. Then again, he wasn’t alone in that.

  With a smile, he squeezed his legs and urged his horse up to a canter, leaning deftly out of the saddle, and over the top of a man, to snag a filled bowl. He raised it high to no few cheers before taking a slurping bite.

  Not alone at all.

  Despite the fuss, enjoyable though it was, they didn’t linger over lunch. The leading elements had dropped their gear, eaten and were already forming back up before the back had started. A rolling affair that they repeated towards supper time before getting back on the road. Ethan didn’t ask, but he’d bet coppers against silver that it hadn’t been a strictly even trade of food at each stop either. What those hamlets were comfortable selling, James had no doubt bought. And if it wasn’t mentioned to the taxmen, well, Ethan hardly knew that it wasn’t!

  The fading daylight found them a double javelin throw from the Highroad, digging in on a flattened piece of land that bore the marks of frequent similar usage.

  Then up before light the next day to do it again.

  In a grind where every tree and bush looked nearly like every other tree or bush.

  Right up till it didn’t.

  ___

  The border stones were stark, grey titans, some 30 feet in height, carved into recognizably human statues. One in a tabard quartered with a road and a trade barge facing towards them, hand held up in a halt gesture. The other bore the river bridged with boarding pike and oar and faced the opposite way, but with the same posture.

  Their waist and down were carved from 20-foot curtain walls that surrounded a good-sized border post. Or rather 2 smaller posts. Once you got past the extensive moat work, walls and a rather flimsy-looking gate, complete with a spiked lintel that fell far short of the wall top, it became obvious that the only thing connecting two separate posts was the road itself and a gate at either end.

  A man-made canyon between the two, with armed men looking down on them. And worse, a significant number of war engines, rolling rocks and other such welcoming implements made sure travelers knew their place.

  But the statues were all wrong, Ethan mused and not for the first time. They should have had hands palm up!

  And indeed, two sets of toll men clustered beneath their respective walls. The first collecting the Count’s toll flags from those exiting his lands, and selling the same to those entering.

  The second doing just the opposite for the Baron. And at a significantly higher rate, judging by the yells and complaints he could already hear from a half dozen wagons ahead of them. But those complaints soon stilled.

  The thunder of boots pounding the pavement in time struck out before them, and channeled between the fortress’s walls into an even greater din properly announcing both their presence and their right of way.

  Men sprung into frenzied action, levering their wagons, by push, pull or main force off the road proper. To either side or beyond the gates it didn’t matter much to Ethan, but he approved of their good sense.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Ethan spoke a single quiet word and the standard, centered in a double decade of guards, was raised high, swinging back and forth gently to gain attention. Calls quickly followed its direction. “Century-” “Decade-”

  Then the standard slammed to the ground as it, and the men around it came to an abrupt stop. “HALT!”

  In blocks, regimented and with fine order, the long column rippled to a stop. Like a caterpillar, the front end significantly earlier with the aft rapidly closing the gaps that had been allowed to grow during the day's march, for exactly this purpose. Ethan nodded in satisfaction. There were few better ways to project power than disciplined men acting in concert.

  An intimidation tactic when needed, but mostly just good sense. Without it, marching this many men, not to mention the heavy wagons, would end in disaster. Still, the former rarely hurt either.

  With a light click of his teeth and clamp of his legs, he brought his mount to a canter, riding neatly and easily down the line with as unbothered and disinterested look upon his face as he could manage. Small unit pennants were raised in salute as he passed and the larger century standards in turn. He raised his closed, mailed fist to them as he passed.

  Men halfway to cheering quieted, and suddenly began checking armor and tightening straps. Not terribly obvious about it if you didn’t know what to look for.

  Ethan certainly did. His fist remained clenched and raised.

  Then he was at the front, bringing his mount to a walk first, then a full stop, with the jangle of a decade of cavalry behind him drowning out the less then polite conversation that had been going on, with Sir James and Sir Andrew facing off against a middle-aged man in light armor, but with little of the air of a fighting man about him.

  He didn’t dismount, looming over the trio. “Sir James, what is the hold up?”

  “My Lord, Percin si-Harville,” Si. So percin, voice of Harville. A knight at least or he’d not have the right to a loaned voice. The man had authority, but was no noble. “-has informed us that the road toll for armed columns is a silver dinar per head.” Ethans eyebrows shot up. That… was highway robbery at the best of times. But with an imperial writ of safe passage? Was the man unhinged?

  He glared at the man in question, who had the grace to look a bit sheepish. “Those are my orders Lord, and are posted as such.” He pointed to a large board on the wall, that did indeed indicate the same, along with a rather punishing array of tolls for trade convoys and a flat forbiddance for unaccompanied Basics. “I have no leeway to make exceptions no matter what writ of passage you have.”

  Ethan stared at him, baffled. Did the man really mean that? The Emperor’s seal held so little sway? “Call your master forward, man. Is there a senior tollman or..?” He’d not give the man the dignity of a proper sobriquet. If he wanted to act the fool, he’d be spoken to as one. A fact he did not miss as red began to climb up the sides of his unarmored neck.

  “No Lord, I hold the command of this post, and look directly to Sir Harville of Posinridge.”

  “Then by all means send for Knight Harville then.” Because Ethan really hoped the fool would realize exactly how foolish this farce was before he was forced to kill him for it.

  “Regrettably, Lord, he is not here, and I have orders not to disturb him.” Ethan stared, more and more considering a different, more permanent solution.

  A casual glance showed the wall to his left lined with bowman. Thirty men he’d judge. That along with the ten before him were likely all the fortress held. 40 armed men wasn’t a small number for keeping the peace, but against high-level, blooded soldiers that outnumbered them four to one? And several times that when tiers were taken into account? They couldn’t hope to win.

  The battle played out in his mind. A word and a gesture sending the mounted spears at his back forward. Little room to build up momentum, but a great deal of skill. That plus knights on the ground meant those ten men were doomed. Quickly and with little return.

  His phalangites rushed the wall, stretching upward to thrust 16-foot spears at the embrasures. Just barely within reach, they wouldn’t offer much threat to the archers, but could, and would, foul their aim and prevent them from leaning outward for better shots. Archers in neat blocks separated from the laborers, rushing to the right wall before turning to release volleys of arrows upward to join a flood of pilum while Hastati formed up a wall of shields. Deflecting many an arrow, but crumpling here and there beneath flung stones as large as a man’s head or spears from war engines.

  Arrows pinged away from heavy armor while a few found their way around it to lodge in vulnerable flesh.

  And that was on his front-line troops. Laborers and archers in their lighter or nonexistent armor faired far worse. And thrown stones smashed into wagon traces and wheels even as it pulverized men. Then, high-tier legionnaires made the wall top. Tossed upwards in triads, with two throwing a third or climbing up braced spear shafts. Landing unbalanced, or forced to climb over the battlements against swords and spears, they didn’t manage it untouched, but once up, superior gear and levels quickly finished the fight.

  He made a mental tally of good men dead and materials damaged and winced. Significantly costly. And that was without the real wildcard in the deck. He glanced the other way. At the wall that wasn’t nearly so heavily maned, but each and every one of those men stood beneath and was protected by the Crimson Counts banner.

  Ethan wanted to put this swine down; he wanted it badly. But how would the Count’s men respond? Haaa, he let the temptation go. It wasn’t worth the risk. And when he was honest with himself, even without their interference, it wasn’t worth it. The band would lose far more than they could gain. “Pay the man, Sir James.” The swine didn’t know how close he had come. Or then again, the man’s face was pale enough for a funeral shroud. So perhaps he did.

  A raised eyebrow was all the objection James made, before barking a few orders and sending a squad of men back to the wagons for 15 purses from the strongbox. Such a number of coins was not light, but James wasn’t about to pay the man in far rarer gold.

  The toll paid and flags acquired, large locking beams were withdrawn into the gatehouse, and the massive wooden leaves pushed slowly open. Commands to march rang out and the column rolled back into motion. Ethan kept a light smile on his face as he waved the men through, but inside.. ah inside was a different situation entirely.

  This was an insult. Both to the band, the Emperor, and, if his recent lessons were to be believed, to nobility in general. With the three united, he could not simply take it lying down.

  Oh no.

  But he wouldn’t charge prepared men behind significant fortifications in a rage. Action was demanded, but what action was up to him, and he had far better options available!

  “Sir Leofsige, find me this Poisenridge, aye? Is it castle or what. Run down or opulent?” Leo’s grin let him know that the message was received loud and clear. There was indeed more than one way to skin a cat. But if it wasn’t a full-sized leopard, it wasn’t worth the effort. They’d have to see what this knight had squirreled away to pay his debts.

  “Ahh, Your pardon Milord.” A voice spoke up from behind them. He glanced backward.

  “Labor Centurian Otto, you have something for me?”

  “Yes Milord. That is Decurion Guma has. He was born not 5 miles from here. I can point you to Poisenridge manor, I was assigned here for the harvest 2 years back, but he’ll know the particulars.”

  Ethan smiled widely. Manor was it? Not castle. A good start already. “Then call him forward Centurian, by all means, call him forward.”

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