“Brace!” Ethan barked as the gold light shot outward to line three decades of Phalangites right as the massive forest Aurock struck their line of glowing spears. At two men high at it’s snake scaled shoulders and with wide spread horns of the same length, it’s blood already flowing freely down its sides and bovine flanks from a half dozen pilum and two protruding lances, the beast didn’t just strike them, he bent the massed spear shafts nearly into a bow, skills, buffs and all.

  But the bow didn’t break.

  Ethan let out a breath of relief, if covertly.

  A moment later, as the beast's momentum ebbed to a low point, the spring-like staves, with their butts braced against good clean earth unbent with force! Tossing the multi-ton beast backward, if by just a little bit. Backward and at last to collapse on the ground.

  It's heaving sides falling quiet at last.

  Leaving wide-eyed men gasping for breath, staring at the carcass with respect, caution and maybe a bit of fear.

  Ethan wasn’t far from it himself, but training told. He wasn’t about to let it show. He clucked his tongue lightly and his horse moved forward easily, detouring around the gasping spearman in a mild arc before stopping beside the beast. Reaching out, he grabbed his lance, giving it a hard tug.

  And nearly pulled himself from the saddle, ties or no.

  His mare side-stepped to stay beneath him and he patted her side gratefully. That would have been… embarrassing. Yes. That was definitely the word.

  Ethan shook his head, lowering his center of balance and leaning sideways such that the horse was between that center and the beast. Braced as such, he lightly clucked again, and she began to prance sideways and forward, until, after a snorting neigh of annoyance, the lance slid free.

  Free but not very clean, Ethan mused, raising the weapon up to look down its length in a rare mean of sunlight leaking through the cover above. Checking the grain for flaws, splinters or cracks against the faint light and unable to see much of anything through the thick coating of deepest red.

  Good thing he had a squire now. He quirked a small smile at the thought.

  Hunters from the surroundings, their small hunting bows having proved themselves nearly useless in the previous fight, trickled out of the trees and surrounding bushes, skinning knives already emerging from sheaths.

  “Save the Horns for me.” Andrew called as his horse rode up slowly from the direction of the main column.

  “Ohh? Taking trophies now?” Guile called. Tugging his own lance free from the other side of the beast. By bracing one foot against it, still mounted and with little apparent effort, the ass.

  “Trophies?” Andrew asked, sounding baffled. “That’s a bow fit for a Hero that is!”

  Ethan gave the wide spread and forward curving horns a second look. “They’re what, a man long each?”

  “Some men are longer than others.” Guile offered with a chortle.

  Andrew gave him a slightly confused look. Ethan only refrained from covering his face with his palm by dint of long experience. “Fit for a giant maybe.” He opined.

  “I don’t use bows, but yous have the right idea!” Guile shot back, managing to do a hip thrust while still strapped into his saddle. A difficult move that.

  Ethan sighed. Andrew finally got it and blushed a solid red. “I’d only use one.” He allowed, choosing to ignore Guile. A good choice for the most part. If he’d let you. And with that blush? Not likely.

  “Half mast isn’t really my thing. Go big or go home, and de ladies, they don’t choose the second.”

  Ethan turned his horse. Nodding at the snickering hunters and riding slowly from the clearing. Leaving the two men bickering behind him.

  With a pair of Lancers trailing him, Ethan walked his horse back to the main column. This wasn’t the first difficult encounter today. Nor even the 5th. 2nd tier monsters and beasts were appearing far more commonly.

  Ethan smiled suddenly, picturing the scaled Auroch hide and the core that it likely contained, not always for ill.

  But as the sun began to drop towards the horizon, it also became more and more visible. The trees had begun to shrink an hour or better before. The massive Forest giants giving way to still towering pines and fir. Then more typical pines.

  And at last in front of them, it was mostly scrub brush and bushes, before the mountains truly began to rise up in broken sheets of stone and slopes of gravel like scree, interspaced here and there by pockets of short hardy grasses, small shrubs and the occasional patch or field of moss.

  It was an awe-inspiring sight, rising quickly upwards to either side of the river and the narrow valley that held it till, even now at the ragged end of summer, snow fought with clouds on untamed peaks.

  Ethan let out a long, deep breath. Grateful, suddenly, that there was a valley about the river and no snow showed itself this low!

  “Sir Leosige.” He spoke first. Letting his horse walk forward a short way before drawing up. Letting the rest of the column catch up. That and “Collapse and return.” He offered, mentally picturing the Lancers assigned to each dispersed party.

  It wasn’t a long wait, with wagons emerging steadily from the forest and being slowly drawn up, side by side.

  “My, Lord?” The scout offered, spacing the two words out slightly awkwardly as he emerged on his sure-footed mare around a bushy evergreen.

  “I’ve a mind to camp here. Then start the climb tomorrow. Any objections with the site?”

  He looked about, studying the hills above. Then shrugged. “Move back a bit. Scree could slide. Good enough otherwise.”

  Ethan nodded. Having seen the same thing, but unwilling to quibble about it. “A couple hours of daylight left. Think you can get a look ahead. Safely?”

  He considered for a time, then dismounted. “Best do it on foot. Take the best of my scouts.”

  Ethan nodded and, knowing the man, turned away to ride back towards the wagons.

  Sure enough, he disappeared. Only to reappear for a brief moment in a knot of 7 men on foot as they moved into the chest-high grass with barely a ripple.

  In the meantime, with Andrew, Conner and Andrew each taking a side, the four of them quickly walked off the boundaries of the camp. Placing small sticks and twigs into the ground as markers as squads of men, Basic and Bandsmen both, appeared behind them with shovels.

  In under a half hour, they had the rudiments of a fortified camp thrown up. Spiked ditches and packed berms. In another half hour, they had wooden watch towers up, smoothed archery platforms and gates.

  At the same time, tents went up by the decade. Few, with each group responsible for buying and maintaining their own, were of the same size, color or make. But despite that, the results were organized and orderly.

  Latrines were dug, horse lines laid out, corals kludged together, and the beasts offered a bit of extra feed, courtesy of foraging in the fading forest.

  Not just for the beasts either. Fires were lit and the great soup pots placed upon them while a circle of goodwives set up their boards, dicing any and anything into the pots.

  And that was just the first blush of any camp.

  With the early stop, it was so much more. Life in its many varied forms exploded into motion.

  Socks needed darning, armor cleaning and polishing, weapons needed sharpening and a small market popped up to trade or sell the special bits and pieces gleaned during the day.

  A district to one side of the various tradesmen was already setting up to practice their crafts. Carpenters carving new spear shafts, blacksmiths reforging and repairing weapons, while tanners and hunters worked together to handle the day's take.

  Ethan looked over it with a soft smile. It was already more than just a military camp. It was partially a town. Even on the move.

  ___

  The tent flap jerked open about an hour after dark. “About time Leo, I was about to send-“

  The man ducked inside, carefully holding the flap open and well clear of his body with his good right arm while his left hung limply, dripping blood over a demon hide vest that bore marks of its own. Four wide-spread white lines drawn neatly across his ribs and thank Brundi they didn’t penetrate. Brundi and good armor.

  Ethan placed his chalice on the table “Blake, I need you now!” He spoke even as he rose to catch the weaving scout.

  “What did this to you, Leo?”

  He grunted, slightly pale-faced, but with a vicious gleam in his eyes that foretold a great deal of pain. For someone or something.

  Another four scouts half-carried two more into the tent even as Blake came running in behind them.

  Four plus two did not equal seven.

  “Aclius?” Ethan asked softly, already knowing the answer but hoping to be wrong.

  “Dead.” Leo spat. His eyes glittering with rage, though you’d have to know the man to see it behind his deadpan delivery and mask-like features.

  “Place it here!” Blake ordered, pointing to the woven wool carpets without the slightest concern. Wouldn’t be the first time they cleaned blood from them. Or the last. Two Hastati came in carrying the 2-foot-wide wooden disks covered in circles and runes. The two who should be guarding the tent Ethan reflected with an inner sigh. His brother meant well. And frankly, had personally saved at least a quarter of the band. It was a more than fair trade when he walked on duty schedules and chains of command.

  He began to gesture and chant while Leo, with the ease of far too frequent practice, pushed one of his men into the circle.

  “Wolves, Milord. Only a few when first we saw them. Didna stay dat way. Fought them for a bit, then ran. Then did it again. They kept following. Might still be.”

  Ethan’s brows rose, he held up a hand for a pause and stepped from the tent. Glancing around… ah!

  “Milo!”

  “Milord?”

  “You’re on guard duty here.”

  “Lord.” He agreed, setting down the clay jug and pulling the leather guard from his spear. His off-hand grasped for a shield that wasn’t there, then he shrugged and moved to stand by the Tent door, eyes carefully scanning nearby, and woe be to any man or beast, even friends or squad mates, that approached without given leave.

  Ethan nodded in approval, already speaking. “Sigismund. Up and at them. Tripple the guard and every third man sleeps in armor tonight. Leo says to watch for wolves.” He changed his mental image and repeated the message another three times while Milo listened with growing worry.

  Finally done, he nodded sharply and turned back towards the tent.

  “Milord? Is it bad?” The voice stopped him, for all that it was hesitantly asked.

  “Bad enough Milo. But we’ve been through worse. Frankly, I hope we get attacked tonight.” He smiled calmly at the man. And it wasn’t a lie either. A large number of mobile enemies attacking a prepared and fortified position? He’d dance naked for Tycelus under the full moon for that kind of fortune.

  Milo grunted, his face back in its usual smile. In his simple soldier's outlook, the captain, now his Lord, was on top of things, and all was right with the world.

  If only it was that simple for Ethan. He half laughed. Na. The world would be a very boring place.

  He stepped back into the tent and the glowing green light of a healing ritual. One that had Ethan grimacing. Leo was in the light now, but his two men were far from healed. That was crisis mode. Seal the wounds and keep the men alive while you played for time. They’d been hurt worse than it looked then.

  “You with me, Sir Leosige?” He asked, pulling an ewer from a stand and filling a chalice with wine and leaving the water ewer beside it untouched.

  “Aye, Milord.” The land rises quickly, it does, but not bad land for all of that. Da river valley is a hundred maybe hundred an fity feet wide for most of 5 miles and covered in waist to head high grass. Great fer da flocks to eat, not so much to keep em alive.”

  “Mountains come down sharp like to near meet on either side passed that, like interlaced fingers they is. Wit the river twisting back and forth, snake-like between them.”

  Ethan handed him the cup of wine and he took a grateful gulp of it before continuing.

  “Draws and arroyos break through the cliffs here and dere. Maybe three or four on our side of the river. More on the other. Some peter out quick-like into the goat paths and rock piles. Others cut back into snowmelt valleys covered in life of all kinds.”

  He considered, then spat to the side. “Most of it mean.”

  “You did a fair bit of exploring in what, four hours?”

  “Na. Get up high enough and yous get a good view. About 5 miles up, it pinches down and da river goes right up again a cliff on da right. Have to cross over an I’s doubt tas de only time. Didna go any further.”

  Ethan drew a map in his head with the ease of long practice. “Sir Conner?”

  “My, Lord.” The older man, having joined them a quarter of the way through Leo’s report responded. The two distinct words still sounding awkward in his mouth.

  “We split the men into two primary and five blocking forces. With the cavalry as a mobile response-“

  He began to sketch out the next day's travel. Hoping against hope that he wouldn’t have to use it. That the wolves would attack in the night. Not that hoping changed anything.

  Plan for the worst, then enjoy it when it didn’t happen. Of course, you planned for the best, too.

  And everything in between you could think of.

  Then, when life or the Gods threw you a real curve, you at least had something close-ish to start from.

  The wolves didn’t attack that night.

  _____

  The morning dawned bright and cheerfully. And if many a Bandsman was less rested than they could have been, why, that was just part of the job. As grampa always said, it’s not the fight you want, it’s the fight you get.

  They tore down the camp with the usual alacrity. Delaying a bit to cut some timbers, and filling two emptied wagons with them. Emptied onto the backs and carry-polls of a century of Labori.

  Not optimal. But it would do. And from what Leo had seen, they’d need it later.

  Then, with triple teams of Labori on each wagon, they started the push up the mountain. Six large formations of troops dominated the shape of the column. Each made around forty melee Bandsman in the usual mixes of Sarissa to tower shields backed by another 20 of assorted archers. A mix of Bowman and Hunters with another 40 Labori, spears and lighter armor, acting as guards. Or bait.

  Another smaller group was the 26 Lancers. Not dimed out as leaders or stiffeners. But held back as a flexible response force and a hammer if the world, and the beasts or monsters in it, provided an anvil.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  The formation to the fore commanded by Conner, one to the aft with Guile watching over a younger Decurion. With the remaining four split between Andrew, the two remaining bandsmen centurions and the most experienced remaining decurion, acting as flexible and roving blocking forces for the frequent breaks in the mountain face. To the center, James commanded the remaining Labori, Craftsman, children and any other unoccupied hangers on.

  Even they were arranged neatly in armed ranks around the flocks of goats and sheep. Armed with spears, slings, bows and whatever other weapons or tools they were most comfortable with. Even the children sported knives and had at least a rudimentary level of training with them.

  Noncombatants! Ethan found the unfamiliar term floating into the back of his mind and had to stop himself from spitting at the ludicrous concept. Like the wolves would care?

  Even Blake stood ready. Or rode ready rather. Right beside the standard and its 10-man guard detail. His personal guards and a score of Labori bearing prepared ritual platforms with him.

  Ethan gave it all a once-over as he rode on at the head of the Lancers.

  It would have to do.

  They pushed onward, responding to nearly constant harassment as they forced their way through the territories of beast after beast. A nest of rage weasels. Knee-high berserker rodents that knew neither fear nor pain. One, impaled, crawled up a Labori’s spear to savage the man before it finally died.

  A foursome of mountain harpies struck from the sky with a burst sound that had the closest men blacking out for a few seconds. Those a bit further away filled them with arrows. A packet of wild Boars nearly savaged a hastate as they appeared from a hollow hidden under chest-high grass.

  A scaly four-legged figure leaped from the shallow water to bite a goat with a savage pair of fangs, before dragging it back into the water. A flight of pilum and nearly a dozen arrows pin cushioned it in the shallows, but that didn’t save the goat. At least it would make a decent addition to supper.

  “River Kelpie” Ermina offered. “I’ve read about them, though never seen one. Said to be the unholy offspring of a horse and a fish. At night, they can appear as the most beautiful of horses, enticing poor fools into a ride. And if you willingly mount, they’ll run along the river bed, and devour your drowned corpse when the ride is done.”

  Ethan shrugged. Wondering how the scaly, slimy-looking creature could ever be mistaken for a horse. Magic, he supposed. Not the strangest tale he’d heard of. Or experienced, really.

  They continued onward, forced to burn out a grotto of goblins that had dug a burrow beneath a willow on the riverbank. Then a snapping whip from the water snagged a lamb. To fast for its caretakers to get more than a glimpse of it.

  “A fishy milord. Huge one!”

  “A fish with a whip?”

  “On its lip loike, Milord. Loike a catfish, only bigger an uglier.”

  He sighed and moved more Labori between the river and the flocks. Moving onward and forcing himself to accept the occasional loss.

  Because with the amount he had to cover, he just didn’t have the men to protect it all.

  Whoo-twoot!

  Ethan’s eyes snapped over and up as the whistle shattered the crisp alpine air. Formations turned, shifted and tightened down instinctively.

  Then all hell broke loose.

  Wolves boiled from every draw, fold in the ground and even began to jump, slowly and carefully down the rock faces.

  The first few slammed face-first into a forest of braced and waiting sarissas. Accomplishing nothing other than dirtying the spearheads. Or so it seemed. Even as they kept the front busy, others from the long grass leapt to worry the sides and flanks of the blocks of long spearmen.

  Ethan nodded. “Stand Firm.” He offered. Golden buff rolling across the entire column. He didn’t bother to issue additional instructions to the beset Formations. They knew their jobs. Instead “Sir Andrew, extended the line and sweep upriver!” The only formation that wasn’t currently blocking an opening and thus mostly unengaged.

  Mostly.

  They turned at Andrew’s shouted instructions, spreading from a large block into a 2-man thick skirmish line beating through the tall grass and slaughtering the few wolves hiding inside of it.

  “Brothers of the Lance, With Me!” Ethan set heels to mount as his raised lance gestured to either side. They shifted from column to line at a gallop in the opposite direction, but to the same purpose. Dressing lines on the fly as they set lances and swept down river. Crushing the scattered, but more numerous beasts under hoof as much as spearing them on lance.

  A stolen glance showed archers, firing as they found shots on the agile beasts rather than the trained volleys so useful against humanoid opponents, covering the flanks of the larger formations and cleaning up those that leaked around his or Andrew’s cleaning forces.

  And now mostly unbothered by flankers, the blocking forces stabilized, doing exactly what they were supposed to. Acting like giant plugs in the largest openings in the steep rock wall.

  The hidden beasts and wall leapers were a tiny portion of the overall numbers. Not enough to be a true threat on their own. But if they could distract or panic the blocking forces? The swirling mess of beasts trying to break into the valley quite exceeded his most wild of expectations. They could not be allowed to swarm freely.

  And so, the distractions must be put down.

  And they did so.

  Cutting, piercing, crushing with unstoppable momentum, till his lance finally over penetrated as he misjudged a strike.

  He let it go before it could lever him from the saddle and unsheathed his horseman’s spatha, without slowing. Shifting his attention from the front to the sides and rear. Defending his mount as its stomping hooves and powerful momentum continued to dominate the mostly level ground.

  The bottom of the valley was the kind of land Lancers dreamed of. So long as they kept moving at least. A sitting horse would soon be hamstrung. Shock, awe and momentum were a Lancers’ weapons, and they wielded them with skill!

  Conner, Andrew and Guile’s voices echoed above the din, in measured, confident orders and instructions as their individual blocks maneuvered. With few attackers from the rear, Guiles was moving to meet Ethan, while Conner, without that benefit, was backstepping slowly, maneuvering into a narrower section of the valley and forcing the beasts to charge a wall of spear tips, or not bother as Andrew moved steadily to meet him.

  Screams and blood-curdling howls filled the air.

  A charger went down in a squeal that scraped Ethan’s ears like claws on slate, even as his horseman’s soul cried at the loss. Was it a wolf, goffer hole or simple ill luck? He might never know.

  The Lancer rolled free of the collapsing animal, his lance lost in the process. He took but a moment to recover himself, then dove back towards his downed mount and the wolf moving to take advantage of the situation. Biting into its struggling flank.

  Then the Lancer was there, both armored fists raised high, then slamming down in a double-handed hammer blow that crushed the lupine head. He flung the beasts carcass away before lunging erect, his belted gladius arcing free as he stood over the mare’s screaming form.

  “Wheel and return!” Ethan barked. Guile was close now and both man and animal were far too valuable to lose. Not if he had any way to help it!

  They wheeled in a sharp arc, then raced back through, stomping and slashing their way around the beset man.

  “Ware!” A voice screamed, a small thread of panic it in snapped Ethan’s head around even as he flashed a hand signal and Centurion Sigismund took command of the Lancers. Barking orders even as Ethan fell behind and felt out the flow of the battle. It was ebbing heavily, but a rushing knot spoke of a pivot point. A change, for good or ill.

  And his eyes found it as easily as his sense.

  A stone-fringed wolf stood proudly on a ledge overlooking the battle. It raised its head in a long, drawn-out howl that Ethan felt as an echo of his own golden aura complete with a light tinge left behind on the wolves that were suddenly moving considerably faster.

  Then as its head fell, something else rose. Small rocks, pebbles and shards of spree rose in a halo, glittering with a thick brown light, then one at a time, began to launch down into the formation of men that held back the greater tide of its minions.

  A shard, moving little faster than a man could throw it, struck and the brown light exploded outward, launching the armored figure flying, tangling and throwing a portion of the formation into confusion.

  “Brace!” Ethan bellowed, as his eyes searched for tools close enough to intervene. He bit down on a curse as another rock struck, and another man flew, probably dead. But worse the formation around him was beginning to teeter.

  Braced with skill and buffs, he didn’t fly quite so far, but it was more than enough to throw the men around him into further disarray.

  “Andrew, close up and reinforce forward break! Sprint!” They wouldn’t get there in time at this rate, but maybe soon enough to pick up the pieces. “Sigismund! Wheel and prepare to bloody them. Buy me time!”

  “Sir!” The senior Lancer barked, already turning his mount and beginning to build up speed.

  Ethan hid a grimace. So many skills and buffs in a short time period… it felt like a hammer to his head. A weakening in his base self that left him wanting to simply lie down and let it be. He ignored it with the ease of long practice.

  For now. There would be a reckoning.

  “ID VETO!” A voice spoke, and Ethan flinched, cringing instinctively to cover his ears. An impossibility with a helmet on, and a lance in hand, but one he found his hands halfway to trying anyway.

  Blake stood, a small core in his hands that was visibly melting away as he waved it through the air, leaving a trail of glittering smoke behind that both drew Ethan's eyes and roiled his stomach. He jerked away in time to see the shields of the Hastati, not all of them, the original Bandsman, light up with glowing lines and symbols.

  Symbols he’d seen before when they’d stopped greater demon’s fire breath. But without the embedded minor core that supported that magic! A glittering plane of force expanded, one shield to another, uniting and rising up into a barrier that extended to fully cover the formation.

  A thrusting spear, already in motion, shot through the plane to no effect. Men stared for a half moment, then cautiously continued the fight, thrusting, stabbing and blocking as if the magical construct didn’t hang over their heads. Mostly. For the rocks winging their way weren’t blocked either. But the glowing brown light was. It stuck, writhing on the face of the construct.

  Leaving a thrown rock as but a rock. It pinged off a helmet, rocking the man’s head back, and likely leaving him with a ringing headache, but he didn’t fall. Merely tottered, slightly dazed.

  “Rally!” Ethan bellowed, letting the skill pulse free as he watched the formation teeter on a jagged edge. It wasn’t a skill he used often, Gods be blessed. And when he did, it rarely meant things were going well. Still, any tool that worked was a good tool.

  The dazed man stumbled forward, not back. Placing his shoulder into the back of the man in front of him, bracing him even as blood and stars clouded his vision too much to use his sarrisa. Even as the man behind did the same, his sarrisa poking forward, but more importantly, both men became part of the chain holding the front upright. The weight of massed bodies holding that all-important shield against the weight of crashing beasts.

  Then another to his side did the same.

  And another.

  The formation reformed, as men grabbed their brothers in arms, held true and fast, trusting in each other, and in Ethan to see them through this.

  Rocks pinged off armor and yet the men held true. Beginning to do more than just hold, but return to the slaughter in waves of carefully timed thrusts.

  The Alpha above snarled mightily and raised its head, light boiling around it as it prepared some new devilry, arrows pinging around it uselessly against the disk of circling stone and scree in front of it.

  Then a shadow stepped off the mountain above it, falling silently for a moment. Then Leo’s spear sank through the thin waist of the wolf in a choked-off howl of pain. The spear levered it off its feet to one side even as the man rolled to the other, darting in with a gladius appearing briefly in a short, savage arc of iron that opened the beast's stomach from testicles to diaphragm. Blood and organs slid out even as the cloaked form rolled away and to his feet. Stepping lightly away and off the ledge, bounding downward from little-seen ledge to protruding rock, to a bit of grass growing from the side of the mountain. While above a pain-filled howl became a high-pitched whimper, then long, grating seconds later, silence.

  As Leo’s feet hit the valley floor, that silence finally crossed a threshold. The wolves broke and ran. At first a trickle, then a stream, then an avalanche that ran heedlessly for the heights.

  Arrows, spears and pilum chasing them till all that remained was the bodies of the dead, wounded and the gasping survivors.

  And Leo, standing tall before the Band, raised his head and spoke.

  “For Aclius!”

  “HO!” They screamed and stomped in approval.

  ___

  They buried two dozen men among the sparse willows. Taking a moment to see them off, though the feast would have to wait. Kiron would surely welcome them and his scales would tilt to glory. This Ethan believed.

  But the dead had all the time in the world. The living did not.

  Summer was over, and fall at these altitudes would be short. So, as the wounded were sewn up, bandaged and coated in foul-smelling salves, Blake having collapsed after seeing to a few of the worst wounded, they didn’t delay clearing the field.

  Tier one wolves for the most part, with a not inconsiderable number of larger tier twos dotting their ranks. Around two hundred dead beasts made for a harvest that only after Miro’s prompting, Ethan realized was worth half a year’s output of a good-sized barony.

  Even with spear, sword or arrow holes in them, the hides remained spectacular. High fashion in the forest and, at the tier’s involved, both prime cold-weather gear and armor in their own right.

  The meat alone would feed the band for most of a month, with the higher tiers meat being more filling too.

  And yet, it had very nearly cost them far more than they could afford to lose! Ethan stared at his brother’s comatose form. There were a half dozen more of the wounded that he doubted would live out the night without his brother’s aid.

  And he’d not recover in time to give it. The finality of that thought struck him like a club to the stomach. But he would not allow wishful thinking to defy experience.

  They’d do what they could for them anyway. Sometimes a man could live through a lethal wound. The corollary was, and sometimes they died from a shallow cut.

  The God’s humor could make fools of the strongest mortal.

  You merely did your best to weight the die in your favor. And here, that meant a comfortable bed in the wagons, care and a large dose of praying.

  From there? What would come, would. As a Captain and a Baronet, he could not escape certain truths. These men were replaceable. Even a blood-related brother could and would be sacrificed for the Band as a whole.

  But Magister Blake was irreplaceable.

  There might be 25 Magisters in the entire great Forest. And none of those had any reason to aid the Band.

  He should not have been allowed Blake to push this far. And if another half dozen men had to die so that he could get the rest he needed, then they would damn well die.

  A dozen, two dozen deaths today was less than a drop in a bucket of the lives he could save over the coming year, much less decade. He heaved a relieved sigh when the sweating, twitching man relaxed, sinking into a less fitful sleep.

  He made a point of singling out a half dozen men to keep an eye on him. Both unconscious and when he finally woke up. Giving them a piece of his mind on value. On the future and the danger of an overworked Magisters before moving away.

  ____

  Finally, the field had been policed for broken or damaged weapons, armor and loot. The column was packed and the wounded as comfortable as they could manage.

  “Move Out!” He bellowed, refusing to acknowledge the sledgehammer of insecurity even that little command caused. Riding forward slowly and with as much of a mien of unconcerned certainty as he could manage.

  They pushed forward, for once, through an uncontested mile of ground before they pulled to a stop once more.

  Ethan stared out over the valley and, despite the troubles of the day, gave a small smile.

  “What's got you happy?” Guile groused softly. “It’s a cold, wet task ahead o’ us.”

  “That it is, Sir Guile. That it is. But it’s also a temporary one. Long term? I see a toll bridge and a fortress. A knight’s holding here.”

  Ermina rode up beside him, giving the land a solid look. “A bridge is a good start, but it’s a minor living, My Lord. Not enough to support a knight or a hamlet. Not with as little trade as were like to get.”

  He considered that for a second. He’d been thinking of defense more than coin, but the one didn’t have to forbid the other. “Grass is good and it opens up a bit on the other side. Good grazing.”

  She gave it a look. “I can’t really tell from here, but herding would indeed fill the gap. Throw in a bit of fishing and forage…” she trailed off, considering. “I’ve seen worse sites for a hamlet. If it can be defended.”

  “It’s going to be a right task to cross this river without a bridge, My Lady.” Andrew offered. “With archers on the other side? Be a hell of a ford to force.”

  She nodded. “I meant against the mountain beast and rifts, Sir Andrew, but I guess both need to be considered.”

  Ethan nodded. Giving the terrain a solid look.

  “But we won’t build the bridge here, will we?” It was a flat, wide spot along the river. For various values of both of those things. It was still sloped and not all that wide. But by comparison to spots both upriver and down less than a mile away, it was both by a landslide.

  “No, Milady.” A diffident voice offered. Ethan gestured the thickly set Stonemason forward. “Ah, Boldrick, just the man we were waiting for.”

  “Milord. Downstream and close to the cliff face there.” He pointed behind them as he spoke. “The spot Sir Leosige marked will do. The river narrows down considerably and the rock facings around it will provide a fine foundation.” He hesitated a moment, then drove on cautiously. “Not as much as it does ahead of us, though.”

  Ethan nodded. “Strategic concerns, Master Stonemason. Having the heights overlooking the bridge be on our side is a far sight safer than giving it to an invader.”

  The man nodded cautiously. Unwilling to comment on matters so far beyond his bailiwick. But Ermina nodded abruptly, staring upward at the surrounding cliffs, and no doubt imagining what a squad of archers up there would do to them. Or even Labori flinging rocks.

  Or at least that’s what Ethan was picturing. And it wasn’t a pleasant picture either.

  “Get started.” Ethan offered quietly, and waiting men snapped into motion. Removing goods from wagons and dragging them towards the riverbank.

  Another dozen men stepped off into the shallow water, ignoring its frigid temperatures as they prodded and poked at the water, baiting out and killing a few aquatic monsters in exchange for a broken leg and a severely lacerated arm.

  “How long do you think?” He asked the stone mason as another decade of men began removing their armor.

  “Depends, Milord. If we could get a couple larger trees dragged up here. We could bridge it in one go, and from the wood have a place to stand while we set stone. With that? A month for a walking bridge. Another two for a cart.”

  “Without? Double it at least and throw in a few lives lost to the river.”

  Then they’d have to get those timbers. Not hard with The Forest so close, and the giants within it. But a far sight of work to cart them up here. Might have to have a go at them with adz and ax first, make big beams.

  But that was for later. “You’ll have your timbers. Study it while we get the crossing set up. You won’t start till next spring, likely. So you’ve time to plan it out.”

  “Spring?” Ermina asked quietly.

  “We won’t be trading before then, and I’d just as soon not help any as is chasing after us.”

  She chuckled. “By the Gods, that is true enough. Spring then. You do have an appointment at Rivervald, you recall? A matter of armor and the men you left behind.” She reminded him.

  “I do. And no, the bridge won’t be ready by then. No choice, we’ll have to rig a boat or some such on the way out. Combine it with retrieving those timbers even and the bridge might be ready by the time we get back.”

  “It’s a pleasant thought.” She offered, raising an eyebrow.

  “But too far away to guarantee anything.” Ethan agreed, turning back the river where the ten volunteers were finally out of their armor and standing in their loincloths, manfully trying to look unconcerned at the river before them.

  Well, most of them at least. The giant at their head was flexing and hamming it up with a half dozen giggling goodwives and maids. Ethan shook his head with a small smile as the men tucked sheathed knives into the small of their backs and lifted coils of rope over their shoulders.

  “Guile.” Ethan offered, barely moving his lips. “Stay alive.”

  The lout grinned easily, then turned back to the cold flowing river. “With me lads. We’ve it to do.”

  He pushed out into the water easily, moving through small shallows and past the armored spearmen standing there.

  Taking the offered chunk of hardwood in hand and beginning to kick his way across, followed by a trailing v of other swimmers. Andrew and a dozen picked archers stood on cobbled together towers overlooking them.

  And soon enough, his great bow drew back and with a meaty twang, launched an arrow at a fast-moving wake. Blood bubbled up and mixed into the flow. Then another arrow was launched.

  Then they were firing as fast as they could notch, draw and release. A man yelped as he was drug off his chunk of wood and under the water. Only to emerge a few moments later, a bloodied knife in hand. Then Guile was in the shallows, finding his feet for a brief moment before diving back into the rapids knife in hand. He emerged a few seconds later with several bleeding scratches over his pecs, but seemingly unbothered by it.

  Ethan let out a breath. All ten made it across? The gods were merciful this day. Ethan grimaced. That or they’d gotten their fill earlier.

  Lines were drawn tight to both sides and tight to whatever brace made itself available. Scrub brush and braced men for the first trip.

  A wagon, its wheels removed and its sides sealed up as best they could, was pushed into the water. 10 armed and armored men, with another ten sets of gear filled it, pulling themselves hand over hand along the tied lines while the wagon was pulled from upstream on both sides to fight the current.

  It made it across without issue. The men inside rushing out with a corked clay jar even before the armor made it off.

  Soon enough, a fire pit was prepared and a hot coal emerged from the jar. Men stood shivering around the fire, toweling down quickly before beginning to re-equip themselves.

  Then another wagon made it across with another decade of armored men and thicker ropes.

  Soon enough, they had a steady stream of men and goods traveling across. With only the occasional arrow from Andrew speaking to the river’s inhabitants.

  Not bad.

  Not bad at all.

  ___