“Come again?” Ethan barked, staring at James in disbelief.

  “The Acting Baroness, Lady Adelheid, requests and directs you to visit her with all speed and military force by the Imperial directive regarding containment and isolation of threats to the empire.”

  “Plague?” He asked, still baffled by the strange turn. To be invited to speak with her? This he could see. To limit the guards, he would bring? This too would not be a surprise. He wouldn’t agree, of course, but it was almost expected that she would attempt it. But to come with all that he could muster?

  “No Lord. It’s the forbidden rift clause.” Raneir stepped forward. He paused, looking at Ethan, then continued at the waved invitation. “The wording for a plague begins with ‘by command of the Emperor’ and follows with a directive requiring all forces to hold fast until the wizards can set up cleansing rituals. This wording is used for a set of rift types that have been recognized as presenting a threat to the empire at large if they aren’t dealt with immediately. The demon portals are an example of such, as I’m sure you are aware?”

  Ethan waved him on, trying to hide his irritation. Of course, they were all bloody aware of that! Get to the point.

  And perhaps he didn’t hide it quite so well as he thought for Raneir quickly accelerated the telling. “Unfortunately, aside for the more obvious entries, like Demons, I don’t have the contents of that list memorized-“

  “I do.” Blake broke in, then at a raised eyebrow of the steward, shrugged apologetically and gestured for the man to continue.

  “Anything on the forbidden list requires the rift core be broken as soon as possible. But. Recognizing that sometimes it’s not possible and in the interest of the Empire at large, if you lack the strength to do so, you may request and require any noble to aid you. Until they show up, the threat must be contained. The requesting noble assumes heavy obligations for compensation and hospitality to the called.”

  Blake waited a few beats, then took up the thread. “For another and thankfully much smaller list, mostly amounting to floating tentacled beings that make your mind bleed or tall pale figures with pointy ears and an aversion to iron, the Emperor himself stands surety for payments and requires a full truce between all parties. Nobles are to fortify a ring at least 40 yards back from the entrance, and kill anything that emerges with ranged weapons, day or night, without allowing them to come within twenty yards. Then sit tight and wait for the Magisters.”

  “Ah.” James, his impatience at last getting the better of him, cleared his throat. “It’s neither fae nor elder spawn, Magister Blake. I’d have led with that, and proceeded to invoke both Gods and ancestors explicitly for several minutes. No, it’s just a minor insectoid rift.”

  Ethan winced. “Swarmers?”

  “Umbrals.” An image flickered in Ethan's mind. Man-sized, sometimes twice that, heavily carapaced, upright scorpions. Propped up by six three-jointed legs, with two large pincers to the fore, and an agile, poison-stinger-laden tail behind. They had mandibles as well, but for eating, not fighting.

  Ethan let out a breath in relief. Still nasty bastards, with a terrifying ability to convert the land around them into something only they could live in, breeding entire new generations in a single year while doing it. There could be an army in a few years instead of decades, but you could at least fight them with spear and sword.

  Not like the swarming millions of the palm-sized bastards. Those were more a force of nature, treated like a forest fire and fought with firebreaks, earthworks and channeled rivers.

  They didn’t sound like the best opponents for the band, spear-heavy as they were. The Phalangite’s Pierce skill would help, but hammers or maces sounded like a better fit.

  On the plus side, Umbral carapace made fine armor. And would even if they hadn’t just acquired the Scrimshawers. It was lighter and stronger than iron or brass and could be polished to a fine sheen. Fit for a parade ground glory with twisting grains of iridescent ivory in swirls of white and chocolate brown.

  It wasn’t a bad thing to focus on, considering he could not honorably decline the request.

  Rights did not come without obligations.

  “So do we take the full column with us, or dig the labor in here and rush ahead with most of the Band?” Ethan asked, gently slapping his mount's shoulder to calm it. Though he was to blame for giving it a fright in the first place. They’d be far faster, on the side roads, without the wagons. Not to mention the simple truth that smaller groups moved faster than larger ones.

  “Can’t leave ‘em.” Conner spat, then continued masticating a ball of shrue leaf, “Hospitality goes to them that answers, not thems we leave behind. I’d not trust a Riverlander to be generous with the definition either. And seeing as we’ve not made ourselves all that friendly with the locals…” he trailed off meaningfully.

  “We’d have to leave soldiers to guard them.” Andrew completed it for him. “Too many if we have to fight a hive. Not to mention a knight to lead them and you’ll need every one of us inside that festering nest. On the plus side, hospitality requires food to, doesn’t it? For our entire party if we are stuck there because of her.”

  Ethan nodded; he hadn’t thought of the food, and that wasn’t a small sum. With a minor rift taking a week or better to clear… Not a small sum at all. He glanced around, inviting objections yet received none. He shrugged. “All in then.”

  “Lord, I am unsure how to put this, but I would advise caution. Both law and code demand your help, but things are often not quite so… so straightforward. Should you suffer severe casualties in the acting Baroness' aid, well…” Raneir glanced between them, grasping for words and not finding them. It was … amusing.

  Conner took pity on the poor man and filled it in. “Our pay depends on how many fighting men as are left, not on what’s been done.” A low wolf-like, knowing chuckle ran through his knights. They’d been weaned on such tales. Every Band had suffered that fate at one point or another. Without the strength to demand it, pay could take some odd, and often useless, forms.

  Insipid gratitude didn’t spend in the bars and brothels.

  “Ah, far subtler than that, sir knight. But in essence, you have it. Nobles do not cheat each other quite the same as tradesmen do.” Ethan noticed he didn’t say they didn’t cheat, or even how they cheated tradesman, just that they did it differently to each other. No shit. “Still, this sort of situation is common enough that the code has adapted to handle it. You are required to aid her. Not do it for her. If she will not lead the way and the casualties, then by the code, and the Emperor’s, may his light ever shine on us-“

  “May his light ever shine on us.” They echoed.

  “-will, the bloodline that holds this barony will shift.”

  “But as Imperial Baronet and under the Emperor’s protection against inter-fief warfare, I cannot force, nor benefit from that shift, correct?”

  “Correct Lord, and likely why she requested your help. After all, she has several powerful neighbors nearby. Too powerful.”

  Ah. And that left him square in the middle of a turf war. With little to gain, no matter who won. He wished he could say it was a new experience, but that was nobility for you. They excelled at creating and leading others into no-win situations.

  Shame on him then, for being led. He’d have to work on that going forward. A lack of foresight was hardly a flaw he suffered under. But that was for later, for now…

  “I can’t honorably ignore her.” He acknowledged with a sigh. “Nor will I claim that we can’t handle a minor rift.” Umbrals were tier 1 insects. At base at least, though elites and bosses would be above that no doubt. It wasn’t a task they were unfit for. They’d done more with less. And not once or twice either.

  “It is indeed an awkward situation, Lord, but if I might suggest? She still cannot command you to enter the rift unless she, and not a knight under her command, leads the way with a force equal to or greater than your own. And if she had that, she’d not need your help in the first place. That leaves her with little true leverage here. She can suggest. She can hint. But you must, in the end, essentially volunteer.”

  “And that means you can request terms up front.”

  “And payment!” Guile snarked. Only for Raneir to pale rapidly, staring at the giant like a harlot at high mass.

  Ethan chuckled. “Nobles don’t do such things, Guile. But requiring her word of honor before can be done. And to much the same effect.”

  Raneir nodded haltingly. “Mostly, Lord. But while she will in no way be seen to break that word once given, when she decides to do so might not be on the same time scale as your expectations. If not explicitly stated, a promissory, noted or avowed, can become an untransferable IOU that waits on the pleasure of the payee. Sometimes, to the tune of years, or even decades. It will be paid eventually, but…” He shrugged, payment in 10 years would do them little good now. “And do be careful, adding such an explicit time scale can be taken as an insult.”

  “By those that meant to cheat you.” Andrew snickered.

  “Ah, I would not say cheat Sir Knight. No indeed.” As he nodded rather heartily.

  Ethan sighed. Comedians. Just what they needed. “It’s a river we’ll cross when we get to it. And getting there is what we need to focus on now. And fast. So. Fifteen-minute switch out for the wagon teams with an extra decade on each in case of potholes or ruts. Spread the word that most of the labor will get an extended rest at the end of the day, after digging in for the night, and we’ll run them ragged till then.”

  He glanced around the circle of mounted men. He didn’t need to give more details; they were damn fine men, and they’d fill it in as and when required. “Then let’s be about it.”

  The command staff split and spread out at a gallop, racing along the column, passing the word back as they went. Soon enough, the lead elements turned off the Highroad and headed north.

  ___

  Ethan knew how this was going to go.

  He’d mulled the issue over in the back of his head for half the day traveling and managed to arrange his priorities. The rift would be closed. For loot, for prestige and for his obligation to the Emperor, may his light ever shine, and the empire at large. They would close the rift. But he wasn’t averse to extracting an additional pound of flesh in the doing.

  Not so much as to create new enemies, but enough that they didn’t look like pushovers. 2000 silver drachma would be a nice opening bid. He’d take less because while she couldn’t force him into the rift, he was obligated to at least aid in containing it and he really didn’t want to sit around, wasting their head start till the Baron returned. Half would do if he was really pressed.

  Then he stopped in front of a regal-looking tent and looked inside.

  There are women who are pretty. Enjoyable to look upon. There are women who are comely. They make the day brighter when near and attract men like flies to shit. There are women who are beautiful. They stand out as objects of admiration and desire, dreams and forlorn hope.

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  Lady Adelheid did not fit these molds.

  She transcended them.

  Hers was a face and figure to inspire odes and epic poems. Her flawless skin like the finest olive-shaded kidskin. Her deep kohl-lined limpid black eyes were pools so deep, they defied the descriptions of depth. Pouting lips that graced the very air with their touch.

  She was a story made real. A woman such as this, ahhh. It was beyond him to possess such beauty, but he longed for it still. She would drive men to duel, to war. To become heroes and lay their deeds at her feet!

  And despite the ardent disagreement of his loins, Ethan wanted nothing so much as to turn away.

  Every gram of fading common sense said just one single thing.

  Run!

  Heroism was one name for what she would inspire. But the other side of that coin, and it was a weighted coin, was stupidity. To go beyond reasonable risks and court self-destruction.

  Odes? Poetry? Yes, but what were most of those written about? Tragedy!

  Ethan had no desire to be the star of this one!

  And yet, if true beauty could be defended against with so little a thing as foreknowledge and determination, then it would not so often be depicted in the launching of a thousand ships or the death of a dynasty.

  He stepped through pinned-back tent flaps and sank slightly into a plush carpet. A woven affair featuring a simple geometric design in greys, browns, and highly sought-after blue that almost, but not quite, hid deep red undertones. Luxurious, sensual, but not gaudy or crass.

  An atmosphere that the rest of the room emphasized. Brass braziers, richly carved but neither gem-studded nor gilded, cast flickering warm shadows onto the walls and wide, low, intimate couches of wood and stuffed hide. Equally low tables of carved hardwood sported bowls of fruit, olives and even honeycomb. Carafes of wine sat beside them, their fluted forms spotted with drops of condensation.

  Comfort and barely hidden, something far more primal.

  Fuck.

  Taking three even, easy steps forward, he could manage that at least; he gave the best bow he could. Not a bad one considering his significant body stat, but hardly the works of elegance he’d seen on lifelong nobles.

  Before this, he would have said that was a good thing. Rustic simplicity suited him better than pointless artifice. It didn’t seem quite so simple now as she beamed at him in approval, somehow validating his hard work. She hung waiting for his word, eyes wide and eager, as if promising that she would find them profound. That or he was a fool in way over his head.

  Probably the second.

  Fuck.

  He held the bow for a moment, determined to stay on the right side of propriety. As baronet to her acting baroness there was little difference in their noble seniority. But this was her home, and when the two were equal, the host should lead the way. And lead it she did, without the delays many a senior noble employed to put one in their place.

  “Baronet Ethan of Alfwin Pass. The story of your deeds precedes you. -” Her voice was warm honey, pouring ceaselessly in a low, pleasant drone. As much felt as heard and he lost more than a few words bathing in it. “-to have a proper war hero in my poor excuse for a drawing room. Alas, travel and duty. It is the best I can manage. Allow me, even in this unsuitable place, to salute your heroism, sir.” She bent her knees and head, giving him a heart-stopping view of a profound valley that he did his level best to ignore.

  His best failed him.

  Damn.

  Fuck!

  Forcibly stopping himself from swallowing, and exceedingly grateful for the heavy pturgis hanging about his waist, he ground out a soft denial, in a far raspier voice than he intended. “No hero, I am but a soldier. One of many.”

  She tutted briefly, giving him an aggrieved look, pouting even. That he would prevaricate so. The look that made a fair stab at unmaning him. He felt the urge to reach out and protect her against any and everything that might provoke even such minor sadness. Even himself.

  He bit the inside of his cheek. And not gently either. The taste of blood on his tongue was a shock that brought him back. Though he wondered at how glassy-eyed and foolish he’d no doubt just looked.

  FUCK!

  This, he decided, with both trepidation and excitement, was really going to hurt!

  ___

  Ethan stomped into the command tent, ignoring his knights, Blake and Raneir as he strode straight to the wash basin on its simple wooden tripod and thrust his head beneath the surface.

  He held it there, soaking in the cool water for a time, trying to suppress two very different fires.

  One burned down below and would not be quieting anytime soon.

  The other in his cheeks and neck, and this fire he’d have to address. Just as soon as he pulled his head out!

  He held his breath, petulantly he knew, but somehow delaying the inevitable, even for a short time, was worth even petulance.

  Then, his lungs burning, he jerked upright. His hair making a half-moon and scattering droplets of water as he took a few gasping breaths.

  “Went dat well, huh?” Conner’s voice grated on him. He could practically feel the man’s amusement.

  But he’d see if that amusement held up for long. He blotted his face on the towel, an apprentice, no, a page now held out for him, then sent him from the room. Along with the guards and a pair of servants. A gesture to James sealed the room.

  “I just got slaughtered. Whipped. Defeated.” He considered a few more adjectives, then shrugged and threw in the towel. Figuratively and literally as the wet cloth caught itself on an armor rack and hung there dripping.

  “-and what does that mean, Milord?” James' voice had caution in it. Concern even. It didn’t taste any better than amusement did.

  “I mean that if my tabard wasn’t far beneath her standards, she’d have that too!” He ground out, stomping over to the table and snagging a cup of wine. He stared at it for a moment, then, with a grimace, threw back half of it.

  Silence lingered around the table, though speaking looks flew fast and loose. Ethan considered the cup and regretfully put it down on the table with a deep sigh.

  “I’m pretty sure I just volunteered us to clean out the rift for her. For no additional compensation and I just barely avoided giving her part of the loot.” He grimaced. “Maybe.” He thought over the conversation, then grimaced again. “At least I hope I did.”

  “Milord!” Protest and alarm were paired in Andrew's voice. “Why would you-“

  “Because she led me around by my member like a blushing virgin!” He spat out, blushing all the more, embarrassment, rage and frustration mixing into something dark and needy. “Because that might be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, ever heard of! And she wields what the Goddess gave her with unmatched skill!”

  He sighed again, glumly and glanced around. No one met his eyes. The cup was in his hands and halfway to his lips before he caught himself, and with an oath, flung it at the tent wall.

  “Let it out!” He barked. “I played the damn fool and it won’t be just me that pays for it. Just say what you want!” He’d never denied them that right before, and wasn’t about to start now. Not in private, at least. Here, among those who’d he bled for and with, he and they could say anything. And he’d not be such a fool as to fail to listen.

  Guile snorted. “I didn’t think you were in the tent that long!” Laughter rang out as Raneir looked away, somewhat horrified.

  Conner sighed, ignoring the man. He’d hear far worse if he stuck around. “No much point. Done is done. Yous know what you are. And who yous acted like.” His eyes shied sideways to Guile and Ethan fought not to let out an objection.

  Snide comments of various stripes of rude, crass and insulting poured on from all sides. Ripe with amusement and a good-natured mockery not anger. Ethan took the barbs gracefully. In that he grimaced and cringed beneath them in good-natured admission. He could do little else, and he was damn grateful that they let him off this easily.

  It took a while, but eventually the ribbing petered out and they broke into planning for the rift assault. A minor rift was usually sized for a hundred active combatants. An insectoid rift would be a bit different, with a hivelike structure featuring tunnels interspaced with growing caverns, but for creatures that grew as big as Umbrals did, they would be wide tunnels and quite massive caverns.

  Blake's Lore skill contained some historical information on Umbrals and their dens, but it was spotty and left much to be desired when it came to tactics and capabilities. Blank spots they’d have to fill by doing.

  They went back and forth but eventually decided on bringing only the trained heavy infantry, most of 120 men. Then another 100 of the highest-leveled labori, though they decided against levying them. They’d not survive in melee, but there was always a good deal of carrying and harvesting in a rift. Traits fully within the class focus of a laborer. Without combat or training, they’d gain little from the Levy rider.

  The lancers, fully competent on foot and at Tier 2, better at it than the Hastati, would still be better utilized securing the camp and he even left the thirty-odd new soldiers to them for some additional training.

  The archers would stay out as well. They’d be of little utility inside twisting tunnels and against heavily armored insects. By contrast, they were fantastic from behind ditches, embankments and against other humans or wild beasts. Perhaps only Andrews' great bow would do much against an Umbral carapace and that was only a hope.

  Within the rift they’d rely on pilum volleys mixed with sunder or piercing skills for their ranged component.

  Still, tactics, weapon mixes and front-line rotations were discussed long into the evening.

  ____

  The next morning Ethan, already armed and armored, surveyed the camp. A simple ditch and berm topped with wooden spikes, carried along for exactly this purpose, surrounded the neatly arranged tents. And the simple structure of a one-night encampment was being rapidly expanded into a real fortification.

  The ditches were dug deeper, and more of them. The berm was piled higher, packed down and its front face lined with small rocks while timbers, both brought, bought and cut, were shaped and lifted into towers and platforms for the archers.

  Ethan nodded, lifting a hand in salute to Centurian Sigismund and his brother Blake. The 2nd Tier Lancer hadn’t quite made the cut for one of the limited knighthoods. But it had been damn close! He’d keep an eye on the camp while Blake would keep any nobles from interfering. He’d done it before, and while not the most suave of men, a Magister stood beside the ladders of status, not on them.

  All five knights were with him and he’d need them! Nor could he deny them the benefits available within. Not after fucking up the negotiations! Rifts were one of the few methods, outside of leveling, where a man could gain additional max stat points. Further loosening the limits of birth and mortality. Allowing them to grow to new heights.

  He let the thought go. Don’t count the loot before the battle. He looked outward, beyond the camp and to a different berm. One considerably higher and larger that bent away from him in both directions in a nearly unbroken ring. Soldiers- No – armed men, a mix of levied Basics and actual combat classers, many of the former and few of the latter, manned the top of that berm. And, considerably more impressively, they manned a large number of war engines. Mostly ballista and scorpions, but with a few onagers here in there to round them out.

  Not a great sign for the Band’s camp if things went south. At least they were all facing inwards now.

  “Move Out!”

  The column, 10 men wide and 22 deep, marched forward, his knights bracketing and himself leading it. Stepping in time, they made the earth rumble with their passing. Forward and through the quickly opened iron-bound gates that made it an almost unbroken ring.

  A ring around 200 yards in diameter and faced with stone through most of that. Both ground and walls. He couldn’t say how many Labori had worked and for how long to make it so, but neither was a small number. Nor was it an overreaction.

  Scars of past battles marred much of the stone-faced walls not to mention the men on top of them, and the gear on top of them. Even the paving stones bore evidence of damage and replacement. A necessity against a subterranean opponent. Let them dig in and they’d pay tenfold to get them out again.

  But while the defenses were considerable. The men manning them, though plentiful, at least 500 just from what he could see, were far from high in quality. Four out of five were levied Basics with sunken cheeks, scavenged armor and more than a few scars and bandages. And with them here, hungry and bearing wounds, what about the homes and fields they should have been tending to? No wonder the barony was troubled!

  “Sir James.” The quiet words were boosted by Golden Order, finding their way to the intended ears alone. The column cleared the gates and deploying steadily into a thick ring three solders thick with the laborers, bearing packs of food, replacement weapons and tools at the center.

  James appeared at his elbow like a magician’s trick. Ethan kept his eyes on the spherical distortion in front of them. Its pulsing brown and yellow lights were quiescent without the rapid activity that would indicate an imminent transition. Activity that would only occur for a few seconds in warning.

  “Why.” He asked still half under his breath. “This isn’t a new incursion.” But it was contained, however raggedly it was done. Why was she risking outside involvement now? “Her brother the Baron will be back soon, and even if he fields mostly crap troops in quantity, he still has more than enough elites to handle this. So why?”

  “Milord, there are two knights in the baronesses camp.” Ethan shook his head. Refusing to ask how he knew that. He’d long since learned that he didn’t want to know. “There were three but one died holding here before the walls were fully up. One of the others is well over 120. Even at Tier 3 his strength is declining. She doesn’t have the elite troops required to take a Rift Boss. Nor troops of a sufficient tier to avoid a blood bath.” He half gestured to the walls. “The cream of the Barony’s troops are with the Emperor. She has the dregs.”

  He hesitated, then continued. “Remember what Raneir said. Or what Knight Leopold implied. I’d lay good money that some of the ‘bandits’ have Crimson coins in their pockets. If not crimson cloaks in their bags.” Ethan nodded; she was no incompetent. He could attest to that! And her fiefsmen weren’t idiots either.

  Her camp was organized. Her men disciplined, and while not well fed or equipped, they didn’t appear hopeless or scared. They were invested in their current duty. Despite the wounds, and casualties they’d no doubt taken.

  “No excuses can be offered. No mitigating circumstances. The barony is in a mess and she is in charge. Payment will come due.” He half opened his mouth, then shrugged and closed it again but Ethan filled in the blanks. She was desperate. She had to ‘solve’ this. And it might not be enough. Depending on her relationship with her brother, she might have to solve some of the other issues as well. Because as soon as he returned to their ancestral manor, good relationship or bad, he’d have to act.

  Ethan sighed. He’d like to say it wasn’t his business, but they were squarely in the middle of this mess, one way or another, and desperate people could do foolish things. He said a silent prayer to Brunti on behalf of Blake and the Sigismund.

  But they had their tasks, and he had his. The ring finished forming, “Half Forward – March!”

  The ring stepped forward, holding formation and stepping slowly, but stably into and packed tightly within the distortions bounds. He gave the men a minute, tightening formations, taking a last sip from water skins and any other fiddling that would settle them.

  Yes.

  ___