As they returned the way they came, it was with considerably more of a burden than when they went out. The wagon was piled high with expensive fabrics, armor, silver cutlery and chests of fisc. The only reason the Labori weren’t equally piled was that they’d taken the contents of Poisenridge’s stable with them as well, and they and the wagons from the same source bore the rest.

  A double benefit that. They could always use more carrying capacity, but denying the still living members of the manor a quick way to notify their liege of the situation was even more important.

  The band was tough, skilled and well-equipped. But a simple bit of math easily put paid to any unreasonable arrogance. 40-odd men at the border, another 30 at the manor and likely several other small detachments spread about the local villages, mines or other resource points. That meant the better part of a hundred men under a single knight.

  He might be the exception, what with a busy border being under his watch. But… Ethan didn’t believe that. This was hardly the only border. Nor even the only border along the high road. An established baron should have six or seven knights, even without counting the baron's personal troops. That put his total forces somewhere in the region of a full legion of solid troops. Not counting the levies he could call up.

  Now, better than half of that was likely behind them, not yet returned from the battle front. Another quarter or better was likely tied down with defensive obligations and peacekeeping.

  But those were assumptions, and while fairly reasonable assumptions, they still left an almost equal force free. Without levies being called up. And if they were willing to strip garrisons to bare bones… they could potentially see a fairly stiff fight.

  If forced, he’d bet against such a draw up and that the free troops were limited. For the first, it would cost far more than they could hope to regain. And for the second, the pathetic-looking hamlet to his right wouldn’t look so desperate if they had so much slack in the Baronies' budgets.

  The sunken-cheeked inhabitants moved about with all the verve and hope of the walking dead. Throw in the ever-present rumors of bandits and… No. He’d bet they didn’t have much left to go hunting with.

  But it was all guesswork and bets. He’d just as soon rig those in his favor. It was why they’d left most of the manor alive behind them. And why they’d moved out with a will, the few wounded bandaged and getting a ride in a new wagon until a healing ritual could be applied later.

  If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  It was also why he sent a rider ahead, and as they returned to the high road, a column assembled and ready to move out was waiting for them. It was a bit of an ask, for men so recently emerged from combat to march another half day after.

  An ask, but not a hard one. It hadn’t been much of a fight! And his men were used to far harder days.

  The idealic days of the past week were soon to disappear. They pushed, and pushed hard. Eating on the move, no villagers cooking them a gentle supper, and only stopping when they had to, with the last rays of sun providing faint light to guide their shovels.

  The morning came with a bit of cheer, at least. Just over thirty of the Labori were Labori no more. Two in three became Phalangites, the rest Hastati. Ethan hid a small smile at their wonder. The band had raised many a conscript into their ranks over the years. Available classes, a bit of training and a chance to participate in a bit of actual combat was nearly a sovereign remedy. If they survived it.

  There was no time for a proper party, but he saw to it that each was given a double ration for breakfast, a shiny silver dinar from his own hand along with a loaned set of weapons, refurbished armor and a shield for the Hastati. They could buy it from the company, and many would, or if the loot was plentiful and they were lucky, something better. In the meantime, just carrying a full kit was an excellent start to their training.

  It was a welcome thing, untrained, underequipped and raw though they were. An increase in their numbers. That hadn’t held true since before the start of the final push, most of a year before.

  Besides, Conner would cure the first, and time and loot the second. The third though? That took shed blood and lessons learned from mistakes. Not all of them would survive it. But that was as the God’s decreed. If anyone could do it, they’d not pay the Bands!

  Still, it was a fine omen for the morning that saw them marching again at first light. Labori toting pots of travel mash, and their former brethren marching in full shiny kit, proud fit to be tied, in small groups directly in front of each block.

  Something to look at throughout the day!

  He glanced aside as the sun rose directly overhead at yet another wretched little hamlet. There would be no friendly villagers cooking hot meals this day. Even if they’d had the time, these poor bastards didn’t have enough food for themselves, nor the trust, be it in the law, noble protection or the generosity of strangers, to gamble that the band would replace what they’d use.

  He looked at them in passing and forced himself to look away, gritting his teeth as he did. He was no philanthropist. No hero willing to sacrifice his last dinar for another. But there was only so much suffering a man could look at without losing his stomach.

  Even if there was nothing he could do about it. Especially if there was nothing he could do.

  A man took care of his own first in this world. If you had a bit extra after, why that was up to you. But more often than not, there just wasn’t any extra to be had.

  As day was drawing towards its inevitable end, with the sun a handsbreadth above the horizon, Ethan could practically hear the dice rattling about. A messenger in the Baron's colors waited beside the high road. It was time to see how the bones would fall. What would be won? What would be lost?