The spear made a squelching sound as Ethan pulled it from the hook-nosed, green-skinned figure half his height and even frailer than that might imply. A bone-tipped spear dropped from its lifeless hands as it collapsed.

  He tried to breathe only through his mouth as he carefully wiped the green-threaded red blood from the weapon with a handful of almost equally nasty leather.

  Damn goblin rifts!

  Bad enough they had nothing of value, on or in them, but did they have to foul the very land around? A pungent, nauseating stench clung to them and everything they touched. Even the small mineral nodes that spotted the winding cave tunnel’s lichen and moss-covered walls.

  "You didn't need to do that." Leo appeared at his elbow with a bit of disapproval on his mostly impassive face.

  Ethan shrugged. He really didn't. This run wasn't about him. It was a test run for the Pahadi.

  And indeed a dozen men were working weapons with confidence, precision and a high degree of lethality as they waded through the seemingly endless flood of the little green shit stains.

  Weapons that were little different than those the Band had been using for generations.

  Oh, not entirely, sarrisas were too long to be effectively wielded in winding tunnels no more than 3 men wide. They'd been replaced by the new standard, an iron-shod, leaf-bladed, seven- or eight-foot-long weapon with a buckler strapped tightly to their left arms, leaving the hand free to work the spear, climb or any of the many necessities of mountain travel.

  It was a new style, and while the men were clearly proficient with both items, working through thrusts, slashes and bludgeoning blows of the haft or shield, the cooperation between men, and the rhythm of both spear and shield together needed some work.

  The former Hastati had no such problems. Tower shields and short spears worked quite well in the cramped conditions, if not when patrolling the mountains, and their teamwork didn't need discussing. They more than made up for the occasional missteps and awkward spacing of their former Phalangite comrades.

  And when even that didn't quite work, well, they were all still wearing full armor. The same old squamata made from demon hide and the scales of creatures they'd killed. The helm, greaves and bracers had to be replaced with boiled tier 2 hide, but the rest fit the bill for the new armor skill as well as the old.

  New skills and new weapons took time to rank up, but that didn't mean the old skills and weapons didn't still work. Nor the skills and tactics developed to go with them. And that was a blessing.

  They needed the free-ranging warriors to scout and control the heights above the valleys. Skirmishers and far travelers were desperately needed. But it was formations and discipline that won battles. And there were plenty of those on the horizon.

  Leo and Blake between them had found no less than 6 minor rifts they’d have to handle in the spring. And he prayed to the Gods that a small rift wouldn’t crop up for at least a year. But even if they granted that prayer, it would still come. Just like inter-fief warfare. It was a question of when, not if.

  Still, when those larger-scale fights occurred, they did have a few surprises to unveil. He glanced at the bone-reinforced leather bow cases worn by each of the men. A volley from those composite bows was a hell of an opener.

  Especially from ambush.

  "Didn't you say I needed the exercise?" He offered. Giving his spear a second wipe down with a ragged, but much cleaner, piece of scrap leather. One pulled from his belt rather than the foul piece of clothing he’d ripped from a dead goblin. Which piece was best left unexamined.

  "On low tier 1 goblins?"

  Ethan shrugged. The man wasn't wrong, but there was a need in him he didn't want to vocalize. To put the damn paperwork, the training and guard schedules, the resource and food inventories and build point projections, to put it all down for a while and kill something that needed killing.

  And goblins, for all their many faults, fit that bill.

  He snorted and immediately regretted it, nearly gagging on the horrid smell.

  Reluctantly, he stepped back from the front. Letting the men push forward, pausing here and there to push out a buff or to mark a wall with a bit of chalk. To mark the path in this maze-like warren, but also to mark mineral nodes. Smell or no, they really needed ore. Hardware for new buildings, tools for the spring and a hundred and one other places where metal was critical.

  And they didn't currently have a source. He absently batted a thrown rock away with his buckler. "Watch your spacing." He reminded the former Phalangites. As he had two dozen times already and would have to a great many more than two dozen times in the future. Trained habits and instincts weren't so easily overcome.

  If they hadn't out-tiered and outgeared their smaller opponents so severely, there would have been wounds. Severe ones.

  Of course, if they didn't have both advantages, he'd not have taken troops with unfamiliar weapons into combat!

  He watched carefully as they worked through the new adjusted tactics and combat style. Making mental notes about common mistakes or missed opportunities. The haft work was a problem in such tight conditions, the bladed tip sliding off armor more than a few times, but a hip-high slash with the shaft pinned between the arm and side was surprisingly effective. Especially when it followed a thrust. They needed to work more on when to choke up on the blade. Turning a spear into almost a sword with a too-long haft when conditions got tight.

  They stepped out of a tunnel and into a smaller cavern, former Hastati leading the way and blocking a fusillade of thrown rocks, before charging forward, size, weight and tier combining to throw the little bastards rolling back into their companions and opening up space to fight. Space that was quickly filled with thrusting and slashing spear blades.

  Not unopposed though. A continuous stream of rocks and crude battle darts struck at the Bands upper chests and heads as goblins farther back in the cave took advantage of their comrades’ shorter heights. Comrades who were too small and frail to form any kind of useful line, and even more uninterested in trying to. Instead, they dived in, fearlessly seeking holes to get inside the human formations. Short, fast figures with bone or chipped rock knives, hatchets and spears moved with weasel-like speed, bonelessly twisting around blows as their crude weapons, unable to pierce through the quality armor, sought the gaps in and around it.

  And of preference, Ethan mused fighting the urge to cross his legs, they preferred the ones they could reach. And, as he'd shown Ermina what felt like half a lifetime ago, the armored skirt, or pturgis, was flexible of necessity. Good when men needed to walk or run. Not so good when blades sought to slide between or under pleats

  Not that it was a safe place for the goblins either. The few that made it past spear tips and shield bashes faced stomping boots and armored knees to the face. Few made it past both sets of defenses.

  But few wasn't none, and Ethan pretended not to notice when Leo's hand flicked and a goblin war dart sent a Goblin skidding backward right before it could drive a knife into the back of a man's leg.

  They pushed on, steadily working their way through the warren, having to turn back to handle attacks from both directions regularly as additional goblins boiled out of hidden tunnels or seemingly cleared areas.

  Miserable, nasty place!

  Ethan found himself reminded once again how much he hated goblin warrens, wiping his boots fruitlessly against a small wooden table edge as the men spread out, dodging or blocking small balls of green liquid that sizzled and hissed, marring and pitting the rock ground, shields or in one very unfortunate case, chest armor, flung from a bone wand wielded by a small green figure with a wood and feather mask riding a warg as it bounced and darted around the room.

  For a few moments at least. Then half the men pulled bows from their cases and, even with lacking skills, proceeded to feather the small bastard. Even if they missed two arrows out of three, it was a volume game in the end. And the Band had more.

  Ethan gave the body a look, then, with a sigh, pulled a rough sack from behind his belt. Moving forward and with the sack material pushed inside out, grabbed the mask and wand from the dead goblin, holding his breath all the while, then quickly wrapped and tied the bag shut. The things he did for his brother.

  "Anything else useful?" He asked, though with little hope.

  Which made Leo's response all the more surprising. "Good-sized node." The scout pointed to the right side wall of the largish cave, its mostly flat floor covered in rushes that went beyond terms like dirty or soiled.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Ethan bit down on a curse. They desperately needed that metal, and it was a good find.

  But it also meant he'd be stuck in this shit hole for a lot longer.

  "Break out the pick axes then." Ethan hid a sigh, pulling the implement in question from his back. A few of the men had Labori as their first class and could at least have a tier 0 level skill with the tool, but they weren't Basics anymore. And the least Ethan could do when asking these men to do such menial labor was to set a good example.

  This was going to suck.

  ___

  They slept the night in small caves made from packed snow. Surprisingly warm for the well below freezing conditions. Then made for home in the morning, dragging sleds heaped with chunks of red-tinged copper speckled with the bits of sandstone they hadn’t been able to remove, through the bright, but angular first light. The air was sharp and crisp without a cloud in the sky, above or around them. It was blessedly free of the harsh, biting winds that were so common and free of falling snow as well. Though that last was a mixed blessing. In one of those odd quirks of nature he still had trouble wrapping his mind around, snow made for a warmer day.

  The temperature dropped like a rock on these clear days, and the sun reflected from the powder in front of you could leave a man sunburnt and blind with very little warning.

  Ethan wrapped a thin, loose-weave cloth over his eyes and a few times over his mouth and nose, but even so, every breath hurt going down and he still closed his eyes to mere slits, trusting the men around him to keep an eye out for the never-to-be-sufficiently-damned wolves or Monsters.

  They weren't exactly enjoying the cold, even wrapped in as many furs as he was, but they were enduring it without obvious pain or complaint. And without nearly blinding themselves by wrapping their eyes as Ethan had. Hell, they also weren’t risking enough lung damage to warrant a healing when they returned.

  A fact Leo's mocking eyes seemed to take particular glee in noting. The only portion of the man's flesh that was exposed, he could make them speak volumes. And today, they were pointing out that Ethan had done this to himself. And against considerable objections at that.

  Ethan turned his face away. It wasn't a new argument and he wasn't going to change now.

  And he repeated that line of thought to himself, for quite some time, with ever-decreasing certainty as they dragged the heavy sleds on their wide wooden skis through the snow.

  It was beginning to sound a bit petty by the time they stepped through the plane of warmth and he had to fight back a sigh of relief.

  He blessed the forethought, daily, that let him pick the mountain option. He hadn't appreciated just how cold, cold could get. It was one thing to hear about it, and quite another to live in it. Without that fief wide buff... he didn't want to think about it. Even inside the keep, he'd probably have to double up on Build Points for heating or risk frostbite on the lowest levels.

  At least for this first winter, he had to admit. After that, a bit of fire in a hearth would go a long way in a cave. If you had the time to cut sufficient timber to feed it and a core to keep the air clean.

  He pushed the thought aside. It wasn't important. They had made their choice, and he remained grateful for it.

  Two dozen hands grabbed the sleds, and, after a few uninspiring coughs to clear his cold-ravaged throat, Leo took pity on him and directed them to drop the ore off at Industry Square.

  It was a good excuse to finish the Smithy for that matter.

  Still coughing hoarsely, several minutes later found Ethan leaning back in a large stone carved chair, wrapped in a thick fur throw and with a clay mug of steaming broth in his no longer shaking hands, manfully ignoring Ermina and James's disapproving sniffs. He didn't need healing this time. An improvement! He snorted softly, taking a small, careful sip. They were getting better at this winter thing.

  One mistake at a time.

  “Was it profitable at least?” Ermina’s voice jerked him from his musings, followed quickly by its owner as she gracefully slid into a seat across from him, quietly followed by Miro and James.

  “Four nearly overloaded sleds of ore. Red Copper to, though you’ll have to ask Sir Leosige about its quality.” They’d been a bit rushed earlier, and he’d have taken the worst bog iron gladly. It might or might not make a useful axe, but a latch wasn’t that picky. Nor a pot, rake or tanner’s knife.

  “Bout half’n’half tier 0 and 1.” The voice spoke from right behind his right ear and Ethan damn near levitated out of his chair.

  “Gods d-“ He bit it off quickly, rapping his knuckles on the table as he turned his head to glare at his completely unrepentant face and its highly amused eyes.

  James, the bastard would have seen Leo arrive and hadn’t bothered to warn him, snickered softly, while Miro covered her mouth a bit too obviously with her cup. Ermina merely smirked.

  “Flexes without breaking. Decent metal, can use it without smelting.”

  He glared for a moment, then let it go. No point, he hadn’t changed in ten years and he wasn’t about to now. “Do we want to? A smelt could add a quality modifier.”

  “A tier 0 smithy is limited to tier 0 metals My Lord.” Ermina chimed in. “Definitely worth a few points to finish the construction there, but the tier 1 metal will get no benefit, if it can be used without help, then might as well.”

  “You haven’t smelled it.” Ethan pointed out wryly. “We dug it out of a Goblin warren. Nothing, or perhaps everything, there should be smelt.” He smirked at the pained glare Ermina gave his pun.

  It would not be that easy, of course. Better metal was harder to work. But that was a problem for the blacksmiths, not him. He spent a moment trying to guess exactly how much usable metal that left them.

  “400 pounds. Or near enough.” Leo supplied without Ethan having to prod him, pouring himself a cup of broth from the usual soup pot. It wasn’t wine, but it was better than water.

  That was… much better than he’d thought. He brought up the core interface and double checked his points, somehow hoping there would be more than he’d left.

  No such luck, of course.

  He glanced at it again. Eighty-six points… A Cook House, A Tannery and The Bir’ding Gate. Not bad at all compared to the stated price, but still an expense. With 56 left, he could finish the remaining industry buildings. At seven or eight a piece to finalize and the Smithy, Pottery and Leatherworks that was at most 25 points.

  It was never a bad idea to get a bit more space.

  But there was another option available as well.

  They could afford it… but.

  Where would ‘nearest’ be? How much would he have to spend to get a tunnel to it? Or would it even me in the mesa proper to tunnel to? From the resource nodes noted in the core’s lists, it had to be a tier 0 iron mine at least, but the node richness wasn’t something he’d even no without a high rank relevant inspection skill.

  He flexed his fingers and made the screen visible to the room at large, shutting down Miro, James and Ermina’s rapid-fire discussion about where best to use the windfall in metals.

  “Ethan, the industries-“ Ermina began, cautiously but with a certain straightening of posture, more sensed than seen, that he’d come to recognize as her gearing up for an argument.

  He shook his head and tossed up the available build points as well. “Will only take 25, and that’s being exceedingly generous. And even that might not be needed. The smithy sure, but will they finish the Pottery or the Leatherworks by the end of the month?”

  “Bit of a Gamble, even so.” James pointed out, leaning back in his chair and tapping at the table.

  Ethan waved his agreement. More than a bit really. But a hell of a payout if Lady Luck rolled with them. Or a complete waste if she turned her face away.

  “How much metal is 5 units?” James mused.

  Ermina shrugged elegantly. “Depends entirely on the mine. Think of 20 of your basalt bricks only each is made of rocks lined with metal. Richer mines have more metal and less rock. Some metals are easier to extract, like your copper, mostly metal with very little rock left. They say gold is similar, not that it matters to the likes of us. Still, copper might get seven or eight parts metal in ten. Iron isn’t so kind. Maybe one in five. In a decent mine.”

  “A brick of iron then?” At near 200 pounds of stone, what was that in the heavier metal? Double? “That's… quite incredibly.” Ethan gaped at her.

  “What? Oh no. No. That’s one brick of pre-smelted iron. You’ll lose a good bit more before it's usable. Depending on the quality of that ore and the skill, and skill, of the smelter, between three parts and six parts in ten is lost in the furnace. It's still a great deal of iron, but it also has a residual BP cost that many a lord is unwilling to pay.”

  “And why is the cost so high? I understand the discount for workers.” Ethan asked, the ‘now’ going unsaid. “But five just for existing seems steep.”

  “It’s in the purpose, My Lord. Preservation. Of the node in this case. If you don’t exceed the allotment, it will keep producing that amount forever. It will even build up to an extent if you under-harvest for a few months.”

  He opened his mouth, then closed it again. That was a hell of an option. But he wasn’t sure it was one he wanted to get tied to now. They had options, come spring. The ore mine they’d spotted a few days down the valley could be mined with only workers involved.

  He leaned back in his chair. Listening as a debate ranged back and forth.

  But it boiled down a few simple questions. Could they wait for spring for a new metal harvest? And if they couldn’t, then what would they do if the gamble failed? And come spring, could they lay in enough ore to keep the smithy fed through the next winter?

  And perhaps just as important, how many points did he need to have saved for farms, pastures, fishery, the copse and who knew what else come spring?

  They were, unfortunately, not questions he had an answer for.

  ___