Ethan stood still in the chilly predawn. His breath billowing out in a white cloud onto the wooden handles of a plow before him as he watched the ridge lines to the west.

  With near 300 people standing as still as statues watching them with him.

  Then the peaks began to brighten beneath dawns first rays. A sigh echoed out from the crowd as old Man Marcus moved out and knelt on the bare earth, the speckling of gray in his thick, unruly mane of blonde hair hardly giving him the right to such a title, but in a community of the young, the middle-aged man was old! He dug his hands deeply into the soft earth, holding them immersed for a moment, then lifting free a clod to crumble lightly between his hands. He opened them and with a casual brushing motion, removed most of the remaining earth.

  He was checking how warm the soil was, Ethan knew from prior conversations, and its wetness. Marcus looked up, and nodded to his contemporaries. A piece of hide, and not a cheap one was carefully unrolled and a pair of Tier 2 beast bones revealed. Each carved full length with hymns of praise.

  He ritually picked them up and tossed them onto the overturned soil. Not randomly either. It was spring, the bone carved to Boreas of the North Wind and Winter fell beneath Demesner of the Land and Growing things.

  “The time is ripe!” He called loudly.

  “We beg the Lord to plow the earth and set his land with seed.” The crowd chorused in response.

  Ethan whistles softly, setting his feet and grabbing the waiting plow handle. Pushing down, as he had carefully not done earlier, to let the plow's iron-shod wooden plowshare cut into the earth for the first time. Into the earth and a thick layer of small roots beneath it. The traces tightened and a decade of Armsmen in full kit, armor and weapons strapped to their backs, began to drag it forward. Ethan hid a wince as, immediately, the damn thing tried to jump sideways. Having to use, and abuse, his second-tier stats to keep it moving mostly straight.

  He took a step forward, pushing down a bit, but mostly controlling its desire to move to either side. It was moving, and not slowly with the elite of the armsmen, tier 2s all and a mix of Pahadi and Principes, pulling with a will.

  And the crowd stepped with them. Beginning a slow, solemn chant.

  "The sleep was long." The men offered.

  "But it is over." The women replied.

  "Wake to Joy." The Men called.

  "Wake to Life." The Women responded.

  "The birds sing." Men tempted.

  "The brooks babble." Women entreated.

  And all together, they called. "Awaken! Accept our offerings, accept our seed. And bear fruit!"

  They did not repeat the lines, but in a slow, stately affair, each of the watchers stepped up to the steadily extending furrow of earth and pushed a ritual seed into it, along with their hopes for the new year.

  ___

  A half hour later Ethan was standing to the side, breathing in the surprisingly pleasant scent of fresh turned earth. He’d handed the plow over to an actual Farmer, who with less than half his stats, was managing the plow with, if not ease, grace. Skill triumphing over brute stats. A truth that it didn’t pay to forget.

  “Did you see Andrew leaving?” Conner asked, appearing at his side with an offered waterskin. Ethan took it with a nod. Both thanks and agreement. He had seen the man leaving earlier, a familiar large bundle on his back and a dozen Alpine Hunters with him for his ‘patrol’.

  It wasn’t a new sight, and while he hadn’t bothered to say much, it wasn’t hard to divine his purpose. Nor were they so short of fodder now that he begrudged the man his bribes.

  He leaned back, squirting the water into his mouth, then bringing it down with the ease of long practice. “Leave him be. It’s not hurting anything, and he is filling in our maps.” And closing a number of rifts for that matter, Ethan mused, trying to contain his jealousy. While he plowed a field. Haaa, Lordship had its perks, but responsibility also had its costs.

  Conner just grunted, an eyebrow raised.

  “Enough old man,” And Conner at least deserved that title far more than Farmer Marcus. “We do have those Minor rifts to close still, why not work out a bit of rust with me instead of complaining?”

  He smiled. “I thought yous never ask!”

  It took about half the day to arrange for supplies, carts and a sufficient force. And expecting a mid-tier 1 rift for their next expedition, one that was up into the mountains to the west, but south of the Aetherhorn meadow, they made sure to bring along a third veterans to stiffen the ranks.

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  A reasonable precaution, but as it turned out not a useful one.

  Kobolds.

  No overlarge or overtiered boss monster here. Just a full-on wave rift. With two to three hundred bipedal lizards, each about chest high on a man and wielding crude stone axes and spears, throwing at themselves at the human lines.

  They stood at the opening of a sand-bottomed canyon, bits of green emerging from the towering walls above them, and with hundreds of small holes in the same leaking kobolds like an ill-closed sluice.

  Ethan sighed as he kicked the last body off his spear. And then resisted the urge to slap himself. It was an excellent rift for training men in formation work. Requiring discipline and endurance more than reaction times and a sharp awareness for ambushes.

  Just because he found it rather formulaic and boring didn’t mean he should tempt Lady Fortune's attention.

  The God’s liked nothing more than making mortal lives ‘interesting.’

  A fact he kept in mind as they crushed the rift core, and two, slightly glowing eggs the size of his doubled-up fists appeared in its place.

  “Chickens, milord.” Old Man Marcus offered with no small excitement in his voice several hours later. “Tier 1 at least at this size!”

  “A chicken?” He repeated, trying to keep his face blank.

  “Oh yes sir! And if they can be hatched-“ A surety with a rift reward, Ethan allowed. “-at tier 1, they’ll be a new source of eggs, feathers and even improving the common blood lines. Oh yes, if even one of the two is a Cock, then we won’t have to wait just for them to reproduce. Acquire a few tier 0 hens and they’ll slowly breed up to match. No’ to mention their farming benefits.” He nodded with assurance.

  “Farming?” Ethan asked, his eyebrow twitching.

  “Oh? Ah, nothing you should beware of, Milord.” The Farmer offered quickly, clearly misreading his expression, though Ethan didn’t bother to correct him. “They eat bugs you see. Set them loose in the fields and they’ll keep aphids, grubs, crickets and cutworms down. And their s-, ah that is, they’ll fertilize the fields too.”

  Well… it was no tier 1 metal or skill stone. But at least someone was happy.

  ___

  It was several days, and another minor rift closed (and yet another opening!) before the plowing and planting was finished. Peas, beans, turnips, beets, carrots, onions, cabbage and mustard greens were planted and even a few fields showed green sprouts peeking up. And as it warmed up a bit, they’d fill in the rest of the space with buckwheat.

  Nor was it, as Ethan had somehow expected, one crop per field. They were carefully mixed and matched. Onions would chase off bugs that targeted carrots, and carrots would break up ground for onions. Beets and peas, beans and turnips. There were far more synergies available in farming than he’d ever been aware of.

  And as they were farming for variety and health, rather than straight grain for coin or to fuel human toil, they could take advantage of it.

  But that was why he had Farmers. He didn’t know how, when or what to plant. They, and to an extent, Ermina did. A man could only be an expert in so many areas. Beyond that he required the expertise of others.

  Like now.

  “It is a rare view, Matron Bestra. Well done.” Ethan stared up at the no longer blank expanse of red undertoned black stone. Instead, a forest of idealized stars broke up its impassive expanse. Compass roses of white with a silver center against the black or to the northern side of the Great Hall's barrel vault, nested veils of yellowed emerald green and purple, a redder shade than Imperial and thus acceptable.

  Six suns were outlined in bright yellow, each with the symbol of their given month and with their celestial tracks traced across the barrel vault of the sky. From East to west across the length of the hall at the Equinoxes and with the two extremes of north east to north west at mid-summer and south east to south west in mid-winter.

  With elegantly painted mountain peaks to either side, it gave a stunningly beautiful, but also useful view. One that would teach the men and women how to navigate by time of years and shadows, even when the sun wasn’t visible.

  Not to mention laying out their farming situation rather bluntly. The northern valley bent to the north-west, gaining the full light of the sun late into the evening during the summer, but down to 4 or 5 hours of light at either equinox.

  His eyes dropped down across the wrought iron sconces that lined the 10-meter brick walls, down across the four massive wooden trestle tables, two on each side of the halls and the much finer hardwood high table on the raised dais at the east end. Across fur-strewn benches for the low tables and elegantly carved chairs at the high.

  And given pride of place, two arching great chairs of sung tier 2 bone. Elegantly arching antlers that would rise well above his and Ermina’s heads. Curved and bent just so to give a comfortable seat without spoiling the barbaric splendor of their twined construction. Even before the luxurious fur padding was added.

  It wasn’t what he’d call perfect. There were a number of refinements needed from completing the brick work for a full ceiling to linen table cloths and pewter place settings. Silver for the high table.

  He could see it done, with stacked kegs along the back wall to dispense as rewards alongside more iron braziers for light and warmth. A wood-planked central flooring for duels or performances.

  Even the doors needed iron strapping and more elaborate carvings.

  But it was what they had, and frankly, it was far better than he’d expected.

  “Well done indeed.” He offered again.

  Yes. He winced. That was the most BP spent at one time so far. And it hurt.

  He smiled. Ermina was going to have a field day with that slot and the apprentices it would bring. He just hoped it wouldn’t turn into the Imperial Bureaucracy any time soon.

  A noose had nothing on red tape.

  Still, things were coming along.

  ___