The disk of stone spun easily, lightly. Only giving off a slight grinding sound as stone spun on top of polished stone. Far less noise than Ethan had expected. The potter threw a lump of clay on the center, then with one hand occasionally dropping to keep the stone spinning, pushed firmly down and pinching with the other.

  The clay spun, spreading out as a central void formed under clever fingers and a minute or two later, a deep plate, half a bowl was formed. A blade was passed through the clay base and the still soft vessel transferred to a waiting stone kiln. Unheated as yet, and yet another draw on his build points.

  Then the man began again with two other potters to either side doing much the same. It wasn’t pretty work. It was simple, practical implements. Plates, cups and pots.

  Exactly what was needed.

  Ethan nodded and spun on his heel, ducking slightly beneath the arched entrance, one that stood suspiciously without a door in the way, and out into an open, if low-ceilinged, square.

  A wide fountain stood at the center, filled by hand from snow melt at the moment, but with cisterns on top of the stone, there was a great deal of work that could be done in time.

  In time. He mused. Something he had endless amounts of, and correspondingly never enough. As a noble he had to think in dynastic terms. Generational considerations. But as the man in charge now, he had to make sure they survived to reach those later generations. A contradiction, and a knife-edge to walk, balancing one against the other.

  He snorted softly and kept moving. Far too philosophical this early in the morning.

  A step into the smithy was a step into sweltering heat and noise. Hammers hammered, bellows pumped and sparks shot into the air from furnaces where flames lept from bare stone. On right side of the shop molten copper was pouring from the bottom of a behemoth of stone and clay into ingot molds made from wet sand.

  But here too, it wasn’t swords and armor being made. But door latches, scraping knives for the tanners. Plow heads, hoes, rakes, shovels and other tools. Everything they would need come spring. Or rather all the types of things.

  They were still short of usable metal and would have to substitute brute force and extra hands for more than a few tasks. But new metal would come in and the tasks would get done.

  He moved on. Checking on the Tanners hard at work scraping flesh and hair from hides, lime pools to one side and filled stretching racks of nearly finished hides to the other.

  The Leatherworkers next door, a cheap but useful building unlocked with the completed Tannery, cutting and stitching hides and leather into clothing that was half light armor. And sometimes significantly more than half. But for the most part, it wasn’t for their soldiers. But for the hunters, herders, prospectors and everyone else who’d have to move beyond the bounds of the close-in valley and into the wild, and dangerous, world beyond.

  It was a loud, busy square, their hub for industry. With a dozen unhoused professions lined up on simple benches and tables in between the buildings.

  Though perhaps not for much longer, he mused, popping up a familiar blue screen.

  And it wasn’t the only such. When they got the copse up in the spring the Woodshop’s and saw pit would unlock. Once six industry buildings were complete, they’d unlock the crafts workshop. A grab bag of tools and generic bonuses for all the other trades that still needed doing. From soap and candle makers to basket weavers. It would give many of them a place to work, and for the rest, upgrades would eventually give them a place.

  A woodshop could upgrade into a bowyer’s hut. The tannery into a Furrier’s shop, a vellum making Parchminer or continue on focusing on leather. The smithy could become an Armorer Smithy, a Weapon Smithy or a Toolshop.

  The Builder’s Hut itself, a set of slowly growing stone walls in the back right corner, was another example of options. Build it in stone, and they’d get a Mason's Hut. In wood, it would become a Carpenter’s Hut. In bone and hide and it would become a tentmaker's tent. Each giving very different effects and bonuses. Each costing additional BP/month.

  Enough that he wasn’t willing to build more than one.

  For now.

  The Mason’s hut made the most sense, and it would unlock several large-scale constructions that they needed. Or at least wanted. The Great Hall Ermina had her eyes and heart set on, Bath House, Watch Towers, Bridges, Temples and Walls, castle or town, to name just a few.

  More than that, even she couldn’t say. A fortress core was not an agricultural core. Her family’s histories and the generational knowledge they’d accumulated was a valuable guide, but it wasn’t directly applicable.

  At the very least, he was expecting far more, and hopefully better, troop training buildings. Another reason he agreed with Conner on the practice field. It just wasn’t possible.

  Yet.

  He left the square and smiled as the noise from it seemed to disappear behind a dozen glowing runes set outside the door.

  A quick turn to the right allowed him to check on another three-quarters-complete building. A Storehouse this time. Not terribly relevant at the moment, with the ice and snow outside providing all the preservation they could want, but it was yet another piece in the puzzle of unlocks. Ice house, aging caves, armory and so much more. And those were just upgrades to the original. It would also unlock a granary, once their first crop was in the ground. And a mill to go with it.

  Each piece leading to another and another. On the way up a ladder whose end lay, well, the capital he mused. Though how high, and how long, they’d have to walk the ladder to get there, he couldn’t say.

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  He turned down the tunnel to what might one day be the noble district, nodding at the salutes of a pair of bandsmen standing guard.

  A dozen steps in and The Bir’Ding Gate appeared on his right, a much smaller group of people waiting around it. Witnesses as much or more than applicants.

  They’d passed through the cream by now. Leaving mostly the foolish. But he didn’t stop them. Instead turning to his left and pausing briefly at an entrance leading down a short flight of steps, fully the width of the six-foot-wide arch, as much short a door as the rest of their buildings, and with a two-foot-wide tread on them. They dropped elegantly, down 10 feet to the proto-Great Hall itself.

  With neither the unlocks, nor likely the resources it would require, they still had at least an open space. The peak of a barrel vault lay 25 feet above, its wide arch starting ten feet off the ground to either side and rising in an even, mirror smooth surface that only a core could produce.

  Tables were a make-shift affair. Stacked stone bricks to eat off, and more such stacked for seats. All spaced in a U shape with the central bar up on a raised dais at the far end of the room.

  It wasn’t the most comfortable of places, but even so, invitations were earnestly sought by all and sundry. For food that was a small cut above the usual, and more importantly, Entertainment.

  Amateur performers and a few hobbyist musicians, voice and woodland pipes more often than lyre or lute. But played with enthusiasm and goodwill, if not always the greatest skill.

  A godsend, as the combination of boredom, too little room and too many people in it was showing itself to be a recipe for sporadic violence. Oh, it was rarely meant as such, but only the smallest of sparks was needed to set off dry tinder.

  Ethan hid a sigh as he strode down the stairs into the mostly bare room, glancing to the sides at the small crowd within. Nearly 100 people were crowded within. Two full village seeds and two decades of Bandsmen to watch them.

  And at the center of it all, just in front of the dais and the stacked stone table atop it, stood two poles. Leather ties circling the top and a man before each of them.

  Ethan paid them no mind, marching forward easily as the crowd instinctively and respectfully drew back from his armored form. He soon made the dais and took a seat next to Ermina, pausing only to drop a kiss on her extended hand.

  “The usual?” he offered quietly, though from habit rather than need. The faint ripple in the air showed that her privacy skill was already in use.

  “Yes, and it shouldn’t be. We need to set up the Alderman, Bailiffs and Reaves.”

  She complained softly. He just nodded. Not bothering to bring up all the reasons that was a terrible idea. After all, she knew it was. She was the one who had explained the situation. They didn’t have the ability, yet, to frock the chosen men with a rider, nor were they really sure they had the right men and women for the jobs.

  And this was indeed one of the ways they checked that last fact.

  “Let the headmen approach.” Ethan offered as soon as the distortion faded from the air around them.

  Two men, not any older than the rest of their would-be villages, and a fact that added some worry to the mix, approached the dais. The distortion reappeared behind them. “Well?” Ethan prodded them when the two men glanced awkwardly at each other and the nobles in front of them. “Basilius you start.”

  “Just a few lads as has too much time on unbusy ‘ands, milord. Getting into a fight o’er a lass.”

  And it really was that simple. Ethan hid a sigh. The building projects helped. But there was only so much space for even workers to work. “Anything to add Varo?”

  “Just in severity Milord.” He gave his fellow a disappointed glare. “Yon Walther laid hand to a hoe afore they was pulled apart.”

  Basilius balked a protest but quickly silenced himself at a glare from Ermina. “Did he brandish it?” She asked and Ethan half held his breath. Grabbing a weapon was one thing, raising it threateningly though, that had some very specific, and draconian, punishments attached. Ones he’d prefer not to apply. Workers were valuable and he’d not see them dead or broken without a severe need. Though preventing men from murdering one another was such a need.

  “Ah, No Milady, didn’t get that far.” He released a breath, glancing at Ermina to see if she had any more questions or objections. She shook her head gently.

  “And your recommendations?” A chance to see their character, and to teach as well. Both them and Ethan, though he didn’t make a show of the latter.

  Basilius nodded towards Varo, ceding him the floor. “Ten stripes each, Milord?” A glance at the other revealed a reluctant nod.

  Not a bad answer, but not a great one either. “A reminder might be necessary, Masters. One stripe perhaps. But ten is not called for. Not yet. What we have are young men with too much energy and to little sense. The first needs to be worked off, the rest beaten in. And we are all in want of entertainment.” Ethan supplied and raised an eyebrow, waiting.

  Basilius got it first. “A fight, Milord?”

  “Yes. We’ll draw the ring on the floor and let the two hot heads work out their anger in a spectacle for dinner tonight.” A bit of cloth wrapping on their hands, padding and to prevent clawing, grabbing or eye gouging, and they’d do a job of pain on one another. But with little risk to their lives. Not with Blake just around the corner, though he’d prefer not to waste the cores on non-emergencies.

  “Ah, that is, thank you for your mercy Milord.” Varo bowed, and with Basilius a half beat behind. Both began to back away when Ermina cleared her throat, stopping them cold.

  “And the young lady at the heart of this fight?” She asked, and Varo winced while Basilius’s eyes twitched guiltily away. Oh? What was this?

  “Ah, that would be Gisela, milady.” Varo offered, then quickly followed it with, “But she’s no involved here. Just pretty enough to make men want more than they can have.”

  Ethan leaned back with a small smile. Not likely with their reactions. And Ermina no more bought that than he did. Throwing out several more piercing questions and revealing a picture, though one he doubted the men in front of them intended, of a gorgeous young miss that twisted many a man about her fingers. Including these two.

  Young men, even hard-working and otherwise canny ones, had some blind spots when it came to pretty women. Ethan hid a grimace as a memory of Adelheid sprang into his mind, he was not exempt. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t have to pay for the moments of foolishness. As he had.

  “The young Lady will join me,” Ermina finished, a sharp look in her eyes. “-for dinner tonight. That will be all Masters.” It was normally an honor. Though somehow Ethan didn’t figure the young miss would enjoy it this time.

  The distortion dropped and with a glare from Ethan, the two men announced the sentence. “Grab the leads goodmen, and hold tight. A stripe for each as a reminder-” A rustle circled the room at the light sentence. “-and tonight yous both will fight for the entertainment of the hall.”

  Ethan sighed. They’d need to work on that a bit. “If you have too much energy to hear the inner voice of good sense, then I’ll supply work to bleed it off. A fight that you likely both want this time. A light punishment for a light crime.”

  “Don’t let there be a next time, goodmen. We will need a great deal of roadwork to be done come spring and I’ll take your exuberant energy as volunteering for that labor.”

  The hall was silent, as men and women looked awkwardly at the walls and floor. Hard work needed to be done, but that didn’t mean it should be sought out! And carting large stones and digging out a roadbed on top of their normal duties would leave them noodle-armed and aching by day's end.

  “Headmen, do your duty.”

  The young men pulled tunics over their heads, not willing to see their limited personal clothing damaged, and willingly grabbed the leather ties overhead. Holding tight while the headmen accepted a woven leather thong from a Hastati guard.

  The makeshift whips gave out angry crack as they struck bare backs, leaving bright red marks behind. And men, teeth tightly clenched and shuddering beneath the lash. Good blows, Ethan mused, as a few drops of blood were all that beaded to the surface. They were in need of a reminder, not a wound that might go bad.

  Ethan gave them a few moments to collect themselves, then. “Dismissed.”

  The crowd saluted together, fists tapped to chest, rather than the harder strike the military men effected, and turned to pour from the room.

  Ethan gave Ermina a glance and a sympathetic smile. “How many more today?”

  “Three.” She offered with a sigh.

  “Three isn’t so bad. And they are learning.” He offered.

  “Yes. Yes, they are. Hopefully enough by spring that they can keep a lid on it when they’re off on their own.”

  “They won’t really be on their own, My Lady. At least at first, every one of them will have at least a half-decade of Bandsmen. And for the rest, you already have observers selected to ride a circuit. It will be enough.” It would have to be.

  “Perhaps.” She offered, taking a sip from her cup. “Perhaps.”

  ___