Ethan sat on a chair against the keep's outer wall. Carving slices from an apple, and one that had aged considerably better than yesterday's, while in front of him 50 men stood beside their horses. Armor burnished and festooned with ample weaponry. At their head, Sir Valamir stood resplendent in his ancestral plate, burnished to an eye-searing shine and with a gem encrusted spatha sheath to his side. Though the blade itself looked to be of honest tier 2 iron. To either side stood two other knights, in equally burnished, if somewhat more recently forged suits of plate.

  And while all and sundry stood quietly, the anger, nay, the rage in the air was nearly palpable.

  He nudged Leo, sitting on a stool beside him with his own apple.

  “Classes, Tier?” He breathed.

  “Forty-three tier 1 Equites.” He offered, nodding towards the men in the back ranks, though they made up the majority of the force. Armored in lorica hamata tunics. Short-sleeved and dropping in a skirt to mid-thigh and supplemented with hardened leather bracers, pturgis, greaves and an iron open-faced helm. Their mounts were smaller and lighter beasts, festooned with a shaped leather pad of a saddle, different then a civilian model only by a strap across the horses’ withers and chest to secure it.

  That and two quivers of horsemans' pilum, one to either side and to the front. Their only other weapon was a gladius at the waist. The short sword was a poor cavalry weapon, but it wasn’t meant to be. An unthrown pilum would serve better. It was a weapon of last resort, or for when dismounted.

  They were light, skirmishing cavalry. Highly mobile and good for harassing slower cavalry or infantry. Often softening them up before the heavies charged in. And for chasing down runners. You’d waste half the unit or better in a charge against an intact infantry line.

  “Seven Tier 2 Equites Singulares.” Heavy cavalry, and decent ones at that. Sporting a mix of newly purchased lorica segmantata, older squamata and three sets of actual plates over chain. With each man at that level responsible for sourcing his own armor, the quality was high, even if there was no uniformity. Tabard livery did for that.

  They also sported a decent selection of weapons. Longer horseman’s spathas, 12-foot lances and the occasional quiver of pilum left over from their own days as Equites.

  But other than the pilum, there was little resemblance. Their saddles boasted large wooden backs and fronts, covered in leather and a small amount of padding, but fully gripping the rider up to his waist. That, along with a mesh of leather ties, would secure the man and let them handle the heavy recoil of a lance charge pressed home.

  The horse itself was also a different animal. Taller, heavier and covered in their own armor. A plate covered the chest and the horse’s forehead, while a light coat of chain or a scaled skirt covered most of the body and neck. A short coat that left most of the legs uncovered. Not like the Cataphracts with the large skirts that nearly reached the ground. These were not simple troops. But practically knights without the title. In fact- “Three of them Knighted.”

  Ethan nodded. He remembered his own days as a lancer, before he earned his place before the phoenix. And without that opportunity, he’d have taken the class a second time as well.

  He considered them for a time. They were good troops. Well-trained and blooded. But he’d never cared for Equites. It was a good class to train horsemen, a flaw the band often suffered from, but they were far too delicate.

  Weak to archers. Weak to tight spaces. Terrible in rifts. Frankly, they were prone to massive casualties if used without kid gloves. He shrugged.

  And yet they were some of the most popular troops in castellated domains. They weren’t meant for rifts, nor the shock of the line of battle. They were a way to project power over a large area. To skirmish and bleed opponents before retreating back to castles and bleed them more from the battlements.

  Or uses like the coming campaign. If it could be called that. They were not looking to fight a demon swarm nor a long slog of an infantry battle. They were hunting bandits in the wilds. Speed was key. And with a solid core of tier 2’s to form about, they weren’t helpless in the face of a true pitched fight.

  The keep's doors shot open with a resounding bang, and the Baron stomped out. Not jolly. Smiling, but with neither joy nor welcome in it.

  Only teeth.

  “WE!” He spat. “Have been insulted. On our own lands! We have been looked down on! And not even by a proper army. Bravo’s! Snatchers!” Spittel flew from his mouth with every other word. His eyes were cold and shining under the core lighting.

  “There will be BLOOD!” He growled.

  “HOU!” The men yelled, stomping in time.

  “There will be FIRE!”

  “HOU, HOU!”

  “And there will be a RECKONING!”

  “HOU, HOU, HOU, HOU, HOU!”

  “Sir Valamir, you have the command. Do me proud.”

  “My Lord, it will be done! Mount!”

  Men threw themselves into the saddle, then streamed through the gate at a gallop. Theater, but the useful kind. Ethan mused. They’d not be able to hold that gallop for long. But long enough to get through the town, its streets cleared by runners. Long enough to get a point across.

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  He gave them time to clear the lower gatehouse, then calmly stood and walked over to the Baron. An angry Baron yes. But not a fiery one now, or if it was, it was a cold rage.

  “What odds do you give them?” He asked quietly.

  “To win?”

  Ethan snorted. The only risk of that was if the neighboring Baron was in on it. And even if he was, he’d be a fool to announce it so. No, even should he be involved, good troops under an experienced commander. They’d not be easy to trap.

  “To find the next link then, or to find the source?”

  “Yes.”

  Now it was the Baron's turn to give him an unimpressed look, too dignified to snort. “Better than even to the first, maybe one in five to the second. If I’m being generous.”

  “One in five? This wouldn’t be the first time a bit of bad luck or overeager ears undid a schemer. It only needs a single Pawn who knows more than he should.”

  “That, the chance at pure incompetence and the fact that Sir Valemir is very motivated is why I gave it one in five. Else I’d have more luck playing darts with your Knight Andrew. Blindfolded.” Well… he had cleaned up the other night. But after he and the Baron had retired to the battlements.

  “Very motivated?”

  “He’s pressing a suit for my second daughter Belphina. A chance to kill one wolf as a warning to the rest? A chance to find a bit of glory and improve my opinion of him? If it can be done, he’ll do it.”

  He paused, then offered a bit more. “Thank you, by the way.”

  For what in particular, Ethan wondered?

  “For leaving this task with him. You’d have been well within right and custom to take the lead.”

  Ethan waved a hand easily. “Your men needed this. Besides, they’re your neighbors. I’d rather not be the one trespassing with half an army.” He glanced sideways with an eyebrow raised in invitation.

  “Baron Ator is my first cousin.”

  Ethan was unmoved. Blood may be thicker than water, but for nobles, power was thicker yet.

  Baron Theodric gave him a look, the doubt shouted from his face and smiled. “Fine. We also have a reciprocal military passage treaty signed in the temple of Brunti. It allows limited passage in the pursuit of malefactors, criminal or of the more organized varieties. The number of pursuers I can send is limited, but it will suffice.”

  Huh. That. That made sense. Agreements and oaths. He wasn’t fool enough to assume they’d always hold, but it would take a brave man, or a fool, to casually insult the god of justice and war. He made a mental note to look into it later. If it was that easy to do, then why weren’t all agreements done before the clergy?

  “And how is Lady Ermina handling this scare?”

  “A bit shaken, of course, but not badly so. She’s ready to pick up where she left off. One cannot let opponents scare you into inaction.”

  A truth. “Will you restrict her to your Township? Or send a considerably larger guard detail?”

  “The second of course. Not reacting in fear and not reacting at all are completely different concepts.”

  Also true. “Then let me volunteer a guard detail for our next outing, should my company not be unwelcome.”

  “It is most welcome, and your offer of assistance as well. I believe she might take you up on it later this very day.” Ethan nodded easily. He’d take a decade of Lancers this time. And his lance!

  “I shall await it eagerly.”

  “Yes, yes. But in the meantime, I wonder if you’ve seen the report my seneschal and your Knight James' wife put together?”

  “I did. I was somewhat surprised I’ll admit. With such a longstanding barony, I would have thought a bone working class would be available.”

  “Tanners I have a number of. Even Furriers could be poached from Auenland. But those who can handle carapace? It’s a niche skill. And one that I’d sell rather than use should it crop up.”

  Ethan nodded slowly. Reassessing his assumptions in terms of resource scarcity and abundance. Cost he’d long thought about. But class availability? Any class the band found they kept. Because they had so few choices, any new one was of immense benefit. That wasn’t the case for those with a firm and longstanding foundation. “I find the situation surprising, I’ll admit. But how do you propose to solve it?”

  “Why, by using your Scrimshawers, of course, to turn the wealth of material into usable sets of armor.”

  Ethan raised an eyebrow. “Poaching, I believe you called it earlier, is hardly a neighborly thing to do.”

  “Now, now. It’s not poaching when you offer a fair price. It’s called trade. And for all the reasons I mentioned earlier, it is a temporary state of affairs. The need for them dies with the materials you are offering.”

  “What then do you see as a ‘fair’ price for such a unique class?” He asked, with a toothy smile.

  The baron didn’t snort. But he did look down his long patrician nose. His daughter did indeed come by that feature honestly. “Unique? Not hardly. And with the war camps breaking up, I could source a few such classes.”

  “If you had the time.” Ethan pointed out.

  “Indeed, but as the goods you wish to sell are useless without such classes, why, I don’t think that improves your position any.”

  He raised a hand and flicked the gesture for a touch.

  The baron sighed and glanced about. “The arena is oft attended by all ranks of the nobility, Baronet Ethan, but the gestures and mannerisms within are for the common classes. You need to restrict yourself to the knightly variants,” He drew the word out for a moment, then continued with a twinkle in his eye. “-even if they are quite clearly derivative of the same.”

  “My thanks for the correction. I will endeavor to learn the differences.”

  “Do. But to continue with our earlier conversation, I’ve arranged for workshops in the city for them. My core’s Enhancements may not cater to such work, singing at the material is rather rare after all, but general production enhancements will still apply. With that, and a large number of Craftsman assistants, I’m told the armor should be finished by mid-winter.”

  He nodded easily. He had read the report. They’d sold about an eighth, or 200 raw sets worth of materials so far. That left around 1400 raw. Four hundred of which he’d earmarked to keep. That was north of a thousand sets of finished armor left for trade. How many north was a question. The report seemed a might optimistic to Ethan at 1200 lorica chests and shoulders. The pturgis, greaves and bracers would be made with local materials.

  Ethan tapped his fingers against his legs. “Mid-winter…” He mused. “I doubt we’d be able to arrange their return through the snows. So… Hmm. A deal perhaps. To leave all the carapace here. A set number reserved for me to be delivered with my men in the spring. Plus whatever other bits and pieces of work they might do for you. There is something there.”

  “Something.” He agreed, giving Ethan a considering look.

  “Of course, we’d need to work out some collateral.”

  “My daughter isn’t enough for you?” He offered, a glint again in his eyes.

  “I’ll ask her that.” It worked with Miro.

  The baron winced. Then made a flicking pass with his hand. Not the chop off the arena’s first blood. But like he said, definitely derivative. Just more… flighty. He’d say elegant no doubt.

  “Let Sir James and Miro work out the details with your Seneschal, Jarvin, was it?”

  “Indeed.”

  They chatted lightly about the kinds of tradesmen they might, well, trade. Weavers, Herders, Tanners, Quarrymen, Stone Mason, Tamper Mason and an Agriculturist. That last was a hire famed for his skill of fitting the right plants to a given plot.

  That, along with rolls of cloth, wool and linen, food, tools, animals… the list was long and seemed to only be getting longer.

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