Ethan sat his horse, gazing back along the column and at the heavily laden wagons at its center. Almost double the number of wagons, too, though the newer additions were a far cry in quality and capacity from the originals.

  The last three weeks had been good to the band. The pay chests were plump with the proceeds of their unexpected delve. A bit from the Baroness, but she’d not been willing to let go of much in the way of coin. Making up for it with relatively lightweight luxury goods. Polished gems, jewelry and amphoras of Great Wall wine from the capital. They only sold about a thousand a year and were highly sought after by nobles everywhere. These were a mix from 5 to 10 years ago but that made them all the more valuable. Such wine was a mark of sophistication. A sign of class.

  He shook his head. It wasn’t just a trade good anymore. But a door opener.

  Doors that he, as a New Noble, could not otherwise open. An advantage he couldn’t afford to ignore. Rainer had been most insistent on the subject.

  The jewels were a similar blind spot. Oh, there wasn’t a Bandsman alive who couldn’t estimate the worth of high-tier metals and jewels to a fair accuracy. Even more so when they were shaped in pleasing ways. Wearable wealth was both practical and a tradition. A visible sign of success as a Bandsman. But with a mercator's eyes it became something even more.

  The serf lords of the Riverlands didn’t have a great relationship with the Falxman. Slave lord in all but name versus new nobility whose roots weren’t much different than those slaves. A relationship constantly agitated by the Falxmen’s ever-present need to import food and Obstergartenfeld using and abusing that need as a political weapon. In return, the mines of the Falxman didn’t just provide much of the empires iron. It also produced a not inconsiderable quantity of gems. Far too pretty not to bedeck the rich Riverland lords and ladies.

  So, being held hostage for food, they returned the favor on the sparkles. Limiting the quantities sold each year, and prioritizing anyone but the Obstgartenfelder nobility in the sale. An opportunity for traders who didn’t mind completing the 3rd leg of that particular sordid triangle. In both directions, though it wasn’t a route without risks.

  An opportunity the Band was more than happy to take part in.

  At the manors and small castles of the nobility, all the way from the fortresses that graced both bridge ends across the Nebelstrom to those that guarded the trade routes along the river proper, Miro’d peddled their wares.

  A few full suits of armor had sold very well and with them as an example, small quantities of the carapace too. The luxuries were handled with a lighter touch. A small amount offered at each stop to keep their value high, and with the understanding that they would be worth as much in Obstgardtenfeld itself, even in large quantities.

  Even here, it was half coin at best. Expensive Wines, small amounts of Tier 2 and 3 metals, rolls of quality wool and linen cloth made up the other half, and if they were occasionally bulky, they never weighed more than what was offered.

  It wasn’t just the nobles they traded with either. The frequent small farming Hamlets had even less coin but were more than willing to trade fresh vegetables, cordage, hides, bread, cheap wine and vinegar for dried mushrooms and carved wood. It took very little effort for skilled Craftsmen to shape a cracked 15-foot spear shafts into a couple shorter, uncracked handles for hoes, sickles and shovels. Objects that were always in high demand, with only a few widely spaced small timber stands dotting the landscape. There were large forests a week or more to the north, upriver too. And while vast quantities of timber made their way towards the Capital, by log floats on the river or timber wagons on a few larger roads, that didn’t help these hamlets much.

  It took very little effort, but he wasn’t sure if he’d have even thought of it without Miro’s prompting. A bit of work with a saw or carving knife, change the name and barely useful scrap became a valuable trade good.

  Perhaps Blake should take lessons, because that was real magic!

  And yet.

  It still hurt. Every piece of carapace, every spare spear shaft or would be pilum, it scraped at him. An opportunity lost. He’d much rather have every member, Band and Basic, wearing a set of good armor than another filled pay chest in the wagons. Money was money. It came and it went. But well-equipped, trained men were power. And despite all of Miro’s arguments, he couldn’t quite force himself to equate the two.

  You could pay Bandsman to fight for you. But without troops of your own, how would you enforce the contract? You could buy food, but without troops how could you transport it past thieves and roadmen? You could buy women and wine, but when that coin ran out, strength of arms was what would earn you more.

  He sighed softly, turning his mare and bringing her up to a canter, quickly followed by a quad of Lancers. It didn’t help that he knew he was at least partially wrong. It wasn’t all or nothing. Plentiful Coin could both lead to and was necessary to develop power. It didn’t change how he felt.

  But he’d be damned if he let feelings get in the way of good sense!

  To a point. He chuckled softly. He’d seen enough of nobility to know that the core of his feelings were true. Power still lay in armies and fortifications. And while it took coin to keep both of those operating, the final goal was power, not coins.

  But looking at the walls of Obstergartenfeld rising above the seemingly infinite fields, he was just as glad that they had that coin. The men would appreciate a chance to spend their pay.

  Not to mention the darker side. There were lines of men working those fields under the direction of a few dozen mounted, and armed, men.

  This was the seat and origin of what was called latifundium. The great farms. Not merely a Farmer and a handful of Labori renting and working a plot of land for a generation in return for large portions of the harvest. But an organized army of workers under the direction of a pyramid of specialized classes. Planters to plant, Farmers to fertilize till they collapsed, Overseers to buff and direct the workers, Harvesters to increase the harvest. And that was just the visible part. Rumors and myths spoke of far more exotic, specialized classes and Magister-led, blood-fueled mass fertility rites.

  Mostly rumors, no doubt, but he didn’t doubt there was a core of truth to them. The Large City in front of him had started as an agricultural core, and what specialized classes they’d gained from tiering up weren’t public knowledge.

  However they did it, the yields spoke to its success. They were by far the highest in the entire Empire. Like a proper army, overlapping tiered buffs and skills could synergistically empower the results.

  But if this was an army, it was an exploitative one. And the bottom-level workers who held up the pyramid were piteous indeed. Generational Basics went without saying, but it was also an oft-used threat to poorer city dwellers. Work hard and gain a good class, because if you don’t, the fields are always waiting.

  And those that fell very rarely escaped. Not unless they were willing, and lucky enough, to risk their lives as soldiers. And even there, underfed and trained to timidity, few indeed were fit for it. The war and the Labori regiments were the best thing that could have happened to many of this lot.

  Then again, the war might be why the emperor let it get this way in the first place. Ethan snorted. Who was he kidding? Pretending to know how it all fit together. Only old blood nobles could see enough of the grand picture to say, and they weren’t telling!

  Still, it was a lesson on the consequences of having no coin.

  He considered it for a moment, then had to sigh. Or power.

  Nothing was simple.

  It took a couple minutes to get to the front of the column but he was there well before they reached the massive gatehouse. As one of only three ducal seats outside the capital itself, Obstgartenfeld hosted walls that rose up a hundred feet with frequent U-shaped towers expanding outward and above that by another twenty. Both manned and ready as he saw a significant number of helmeted heads peaking through. From arrow slits and between merlons.

  Sentinels in such numbers? Ethan gave the walls a second confused glance. They weren’t on a war footing or the gates wouldn’t be open, even with the outsized guard detachment that stood before them. Why would they have so many guards?

  He mused on it, but came to no definite conclusion. Maybe to keep the Basics in line? But they’d had the fight beaten out of them generations back!

  Or perhaps… They weren’t the front-runners anymore. The delays with the rift and heavier loads had seen a few bands rush past them. While he was tempted to think so, it just didn’t hold water.

  Most of the new Baronets would have headed south at the Gischtstrom river a few days back. For that matter, they, and he, accounted for a very small number compared to the nobility of the realm at large.

  And even there, how many nobles lived west or north of here? Well… when he put it in those terms, it was a fair number. The Silberstrom was heavily populated on the east bank and the headwaters of the Rheingold to had several major towns and more fiefs.

  But even so, it didn’t sit quite right with him. He’d not seen any of the greater nobles’ colors passing by yet. Nor did he expect to. Large numbers and speeds rarely went together. Troubles caused by a passing army had a particular smell to them, and he wasn’t smelling that here.

  It didn’t feel right, he confirmed internally, but he had no better answer. And much as his suspicious mind told him to avoid it, it just wasn’t possible.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  This wasn’t the capital. There was no circumventing road here, and attempting to cross the farmlands would end, well, badly. Obstgardenfeld was a trade hub almost as much as it was a farming one. Securing their piece of the pie by forcing every path through their gates was only the least of the tricks they pulled. And while they could have detoured a day or so back, it would have been a cross-country detour along a few peasant paths. Not to mention missing out on the trade opportunities they hoped to find here.

  He let the worry fade, not gone, but at least pressed into a corner of his mind, as he approached the gate guards. Fully 50 men were spread about the gates. Searching carts, checking road tax banners and pressing the occasional stand out back into line. Or rather lines.

  There were several. One for local farmer carts, one for small merchants with a wagon or two. One for large merchant trains and an empty queue for nobles. It was a pleasure, despite not being the first such, to finally be in this coveted, no-wait line.

  A decade of guards moved out from the gate as he neared, bracing to attention and slamming a fist to their chests in salute.

  He handed the writ of safe passage then opened it slowly. The blinding light of the Phoenix stamp shocked the surrounding crowds into silence. Everyone present, from his own knights to the Basics from the fields, dropped to one knee. And if that took jumping from a wagon to do, they did it and fast.

  The genuflection accomplished, they rose and continued about their business, if with an eye kept squarely on the band. Whether for signs of trouble or a desire for gossip, he couldn’t say. Ethan closed the scroll and waved Rainer forward.

  A quick, quiet conversation progressed between him and the guards. Gesticulating wildly for a time, before briefly grasping the man’s forearms in agreement and turning away.

  Remounting, he trotted back to Ethan and explained in a very low voice. “They are, of course, pleased to grant free and safe passage at the Emperor’s behest, but request a gratuity for the maintenance of the roads and a public safety bond. The amounts of both come suspiciously close to what the gate tax to the city might be.”

  Ethan kept his face straight. It wasn’t like he was surprised about it. Rainer had hinted at such practices on the first day they’d met. Nor was he fool enough to try to fight it. It wouldn’t pay to be a pushover, but having couched the tax in suitable terms, they’d let him keep his honor, if not his coin.

  It was an exchange he could accept, if not like. Just so long as that was all the shit they’d have to eat. And he wasn’t at all sure it would be.

  “Conner.” He whispered while a decade of Hastati surrounding a single Labori carrying a large purse walked forward and surrendered it to the Officer of the Guard in exchange for a new set of road banners. Well, city banners really. But it amounted to much the same thing.

  Rainer, road forward again, passing a few words before turning to wave.

  “Forward March!” Ethan ordered easily, leaning forward slightly in the saddle to move his mare into a walk. Behind him, over a thousand feet stepped off in unison, a deep throbbing beat that rattled around Ethan, fit to shake his very heart from his chest.

  At the Band’s head, he rode forward slowly into the dark, open mouth of the city. A mouth whose walls were slit for arrows and roof hatched with murder holes. The shine of blue witch light gleamed through and around them. Shining from helmets and blades of the band, but also from the same half hidden behind those slits and holes. A silent reminder and a quiet voice of power.

  A voice that threatened to swallow the stamp of the Band’s feet. Threatened but never quite managed as the deep thumping echoed about him for a time. A minute of marching beneath several raised portcullis and at last another open gate before the light of day peeked at them again. Peeked, then gave way as it opened into a wide and noisy world.

  Wide stone streets lined on either side by even wider stone-floored courtyards and open squares separated by thin walls and dotted with large fountains. Though neither were all that open now.

  Instead filled by a sea of pavilions and stalls in colors fit to make the eyes bleed and scents to make the mouth water. Buskers sang and hawkers called their wares to the wide world while knots of Guardsmen marched about in decades.

  The Circulous Sordidus. A hive of scum and villainy if there ever was one. Ethan felt his brows raise as his mind supplied the odd phrasing, but let it go.

  His eyes rose above the mass of awnings and tents to the second ring. City walls rising up to prevent the less pleasant realities of industry and city life from intruding on the true residents of Obstgartenfeld.

  Out here with the riff-raff livestock mooed, clucked and squealed fit to deafen from roped off corrals while their excrement perfumed the air. And he still felt blessed, for at least the tanneries were farther to the east.

  His eyes tracked over a large taberna, one of the few permanent structures in the area used to a more transient population. Women of unquestioned virtue, which was to say none, shook mugs of posca, wine and even the ale that only northerners really preferred along with revealing drapes that let other things shake as well. Displaying the wares with abandon while calling out promises and invitations to the troops. Ethan chuckled softly. They’d not have to work too hard to bring them in either.

  But not yet.

  He raised an eyebrow at Rainer, before following along behind a local guide. They turned from the gate and marched west. Marching boots, creaking wagon wheels and the clicking of horse hoofs on stone followed along behind.

  One set of horse shoes a good bit faster than the others. “Milord.”

  “Sir Conner.” Ethan offered his greeting. “Who’d you leave with the rearguard?”

  “Centurian Sigismund.”

  Ethan nodded. The old Lancer would handle what needed to be handled. Enough of that. “Notice anything about the walls and gatehouse?”

  He gave him a long, level look. An insulted look even. Ethan had to hold in a chuckle. “Fine, fine. Of course, you noticed.”

  The man gave a sharp nod. A worried light in his otherwise blank face.

  Ethan continued, “Hostile or unfriendly doctrine?”

  He thought about it, chewing away. Then he leaned over and spat before replying. “Unfriendly. Lads need a break and so long as they stay in at least decade strength…” He let the sentence trail off. Hostile doctrine would keep them restricted to camp, something he was tempted to do even so. They could bring the party to the men, but it just wasn’t the same thing.

  He shrugged in reluctant agreement. “Rotate out men for a reaction force.” Armed and armored, they’d have to stay in the camp unless they wanted to pay massive fines, but still worth it for the peace of mind. “And restrict the men to two miles.”

  With the bazar and at least six taberna in sight range that should be more than enough to give them a bit of variety. “A few dry squads roving? Low key?’

  “Unarmored but armed? You want the lancers on it then?” Ethan grimaced. One of the negatives of focusing so hard on the spear was its utter uselessness in more clandestine situations. A sword could be worn at the hip. A fashion and class statement as much as a weapon. A spear was just a weapon and the longer variants were damn awkward ones at that.

  “Not enough of them, nor is it fair to keep them all from the party. Obvious will have to do.”

  And obvious in this case was unarmored men carrying four to eight-foot ‘walking’ sticks. And just because it lacked a point, didn’t mean spear skills and proficiencies didn’t apply. Without spearheads or armor, they’d not stand off actual troops, but for city bravos, strong arms and pimps, it would do the trick.

  “Not a problem, My Lord.” In a moment of whimsy, Ethan wondered if he would forget his own name eventually, with the way none of his oldest friends used it anymore.

  Then he shook it off.

  “Master Rainer, I believe you said I could forgo the usual courtesy visit here?”

  “Ah, yes My Lord. But only so long as you, personally and not your representatives, stay in the outer ring. Custom allows those passing through to, well, simply pass through. But should you enter the next ring, that would be a sign that you are not doing so. Then you must make yourself available at his grace’s pleasure, or more likely, one of his courts. You simply notify the Reave of whichever district you are in and make yourself available should the Duke or his court send for you. Should they do so, that does imply hospitality, but I’d hesitate to call it safety.”

  Ethan grunted an agreement. Just because swords weren’t drawn didn’t mean blood wouldn’t be shed. Sharp plotting tongues were a danger all of their own.

  Rainer paused, then shrugged. “Of course, staying out here doesn’t mean you weren’t noticed or watched. I’d not bet on any notable party entering without the duke being made aware. It is his city. Even when the walls aren’t quite so… so well manned?” Ethan glanced at him sharply. When even civilians noticed… “Yes. That will do. Well manned. Safe or unsafe, should an invitation be offered, it would be churlish, not to mention dangerous, to decline.”

  Ethan waved for him to continue. He didn’t need to be told that ignoring a duke wasn’t going to end well.

  Not that it would likely matter. A Riverland duke inviting such as him for a visit? He snorted softly. But quickly forced himself to listen and absorb the steady stream of custom and reciprocal expectations that his new position entailed.

  Most of an hour later and two sets of spoke-like walls and accompanying fortified gates, they turned off the main road into a gated courtyard dominated by a rather large Taberna. Multiple floors of food, booze and company, along with enough beds for the entire band, while the Basics would pitch their tents in the courtyard with the wagons.

  And would be forced to stay with them for the duration. It was not a safe town to be an unaccompanied Labori in. Not by a long shot. Local laws allowed any official to order them about with the assumption that if they weren’t accompanied, they were probably running away from their assigned work.

  And while the Empire officially forbade slavery, there were a number of ways the locals got around that. Debt peonage, indenture and prison labor, to name just a few. There was a rather famous story of a Labori who’d somehow come into a windfall moving to the city in search of an upgraded class. He was picked up by the guardia on suspicion, then when his story checked out, he was told he was to be released… after he paid for the investigators and guardsman’s time.

  Needless to say, he was back in the fields by the next day, pockets bare and back well striped.

  Who was to say what truth was in the story, but if the details were wrong, Ethan at least believed in the broader shape. And what’s more, his Labori believed it.

  Throw them a bit of alcohol, food and some company of their own and they’d not stray from the camp.

  The Bandsman though. And Guile for that matter!

  Well, he’d have to hope for the best. Not being slaves or fools, they were entitled to make their own mistakes. All he could do was attempt to mitigate actual directed malice.

  “James.” He whispered beneath his breath. This time he hardly had to wait a minute before that worthy trotted up with his lady bouncing a bit badly on a mount beside him. He’d approved her use of the tier 0 riding (horse) skill stone, but that didn’t mean she’d immediately picked up any ranks in it. Nor at tier 0 would it take her past rank 9. Even that level would do a great deal to improve her seat and reduce the pain she went to great lengths to hide at the camps at night.

  “Sir James, Miro.” He offered, remaining mounted while watching the camp take shape around him. “Am I correct in assuming we will get the best prices on luxury goods here?”

  “Mostly so, My Lord.” Miro offered after James gestured to her. “We might do a bit of business with the noble manors heading north, or even at Auenland proper. But that’s a much smaller and poorer city. While the manors could be a bit hit or miss and delay us a considerable amount. Even those that have coin and a desire to spend it won’t buy but a small portion of what we have for sale.”

  “If we want to purchase supplies for the trip too, then this is by far the best place.”

  Ethan nodded. It was good to have other options, but he’d just as soon not need them. Now if only it didn’t feel like waiting for a headsman’s blade to drop.

  “Take a decade of guards with you,” He lifted a hand and stopped James mid-protest. “That is not a suggestion. Something is going on, I doubt we’re important enough to be the targets of it, but I’d also just as soon not find out I’m wrong when a knife pierces my back. Or yours. Take the men and keep your eyes peeled.”

  James’ face firmed up and he shot a quiet, considering look at the woman beside him and the camp. He half opened his mouth when-

  “No.” Miro spoke. A mulish cast to her face. “Don’t deny me what I’m best at, husband mine.”

  He sighed, then nodded reluctantly.

  Ignoring the byplay, as only a fool would interfere between a man and his wife, Ethan waved them off and turning his horse and riding towards the stables. What was supposed to be a rare break was turning into a right headache.

  ___