Their camp sprawled across a valley fifteen miles north of Flint's Hold.

  Eirik stood at the camp's edge, watching his men settle in. The adrenaline from their escape had worn off. Now came the pain.

  "Easy, easy!" Fisk's voice carried from the medical tent. Fisk worked on Helga's arm. "This will sting. Bite down on this."

  A scream, followed by a sharp silence and heavy breathing.

  "Commander!" Leif approached. Blood had dried on his temple. "First watch is set. Olaf's got the perimeter. Horses are secured."

  "Good. Get that head looked at."

  "It's nothing—"

  "That's an order, Leif." Eirik's tone brooked no argument. "We can't afford infections. Not out here."

  Leif nodded and headed towards Fisk's tent.

  Eirik waited until his lieutenant was gone. Then he moved into the trees, away from the firelight. He needed solitude for what the system has for him.

  He found a pine. He leaned against the bark, letting his shoulders sag.

  Eirik's eyes widened. Five thousand? On top of what they'd already earned?

  Ten thousand... The number was staggering. With management, he could maintain the Talons for months. Recruit more men. Buy equipment. The possibilities raced through his mind.

  But the system wasn't done.

  He focused on the talent. Useful. How many opportunities had he missed because he lacked knowledge of how businesses operated in this world? This would help level that playing field.

  The system messages continued.

  A settlement. Eirik's mind raced. Not just a camp. Not borrowed barracks. An actual holding.

  But thirty days?

  He pushed the concern aside. One problem at a time. First, he needed to understand what "obtaining a settlement" meant.

  Conquest is obvious. Take someone else's holdings. But that means war. Real war, not just clearing out trolls. And the sixty men at his side weren't anything close to pull off something like that.

  Construction? Building from scratch? Where? With what resources? That would take months, maybe years. Not thirty days.

  Cunning though... His mind raced.

  That's an option. Inherit something. Marry into it. Get granted lands for service. But he'd have no control over where the holding would be, if he could find a match and get the marriage done within thirty days — not a chance.

  There had to be more information about settlements.

  A thousand people minimum. That looked unrealistic even if he had money now. But the other requirements… these won't be done close to thirty days if he plans to do everything from scratch.

  He was looking at either taking a settlement or building one from scratch. Neither option was simple. Both would take time, resources, and blood.

  He needed knowledge. Now.

  The sound of boots made him turn. Leif emerged from the treeline, a bandage wrapped around his head.

  "Commander? Everything alright?"

  "Things are fine," Eirik said. "What's our supply situation?"

  "Decent enough. Fisk says we've got medical supplies for maybe two weeks of injuries. Food for a week, maybe ten days if we're careful. Weapons are in good shape after Flint's armory, but we're burning through arrows fast." Leif shifted his weight. "The men are wondering where we're headed, Commander."

  Eirik nodded. They needed a base. A real one.

  "Tell me about the northern territories, Leif. What's up there beyond Flint's influence?"

  "Dangerous country, mostly. The mountain passes, the Skarl war bands prowling around…" Leif frowned. "Why? What are you thinking?"

  "I'm thinking," Eirik said, "that we need more than just a warband. We need a home base. Somewhere defensible."

  "That's… ambitious, Commander. Building a fort from scratch would take—"

  "Not building," Eirik interrupted. "Taking. Or finding somewhere built but abandoned." He turned to face Leif. "Those Skarl raiders you mentioned. They've been hitting settlements, haven't they? Some must have been overrun. Abandoned."

  Leif's expression grew cautious.

  "Aye, there's been damage. But most of those places…" He shook his head. "They're ruins for a reason, Commander. Either the Skarls are still using them as bases, or they're too destroyed to be worth salvaging."

  "But not all of them?"

  "Well…" Leif scratched at his bandage. "There's talk of some places that got hit but not destroyed. Places the Skarls abandoned after they finished looting." He paused. "But Commander, even if we found such a place, occupying it would be asking for trouble. The Skarls know those ruins. They'd come back."

  "Let them come," Eirik said. "We'll be ready."

  Leif studied his commander's face in the light filtering through the pine branches. "You're serious about this."

  "Dead serious. We can't keep running forever, Leif." Eirik pushed away from the tree. "Gather Olaf, Harkin, and Yorick. I want to know everything they know about the northern territories."

  "Commander," Leif said, "even if we found the perfect ruin to occupy, we'd need more than two hundred men to hold it against raiders."

  "Then we'll recruit more men," Eirik replied. "But first, we need to know what's available. Information, Leif. That's our first priority."

  Leif nodded and headed back toward the camp.

  Eirik waited for a while, then made his way back to the fire where Leif was gathering the men. Olaf, Yorick, and Harkin were present.

  "Right," Eirik said without preamble. "I need to know about the northern territories. Places that have been hit by Skarl raiders but might still be salvageable."

  Yorick straightened. "Commander, you're not thinking of—"

  "I'm thinking of establishing a base," Eirik cut him off. "Somewhere we can recruit, train, and launch operations from. Somewhere that's ours."

  Olaf grunted. "About time. I'm tired of sleeping in other men's halls."

  "But the risks—" Harkin began.

  "Are manageable if we choose the right location," Eirik said. "That's why I need information. What do you know about the positions north of here?"

  "Well," Yorick said, "there's the defensive triangle. Three strongholds guarding the main mountain passes."

  "Triangle?" Eirik prompted.

  Yorick picked up a stick and began sketching in the snow beside the fire.

  "Here's how it works, Commander. The mountain chain runs like a wall." He drew a line. "Only two decent passes for any sizeable force. Each one guarded by a stronghold."

  He marked three points.

  First point. "Flint's Hold here. Blackstone Pass."

  Another point. "And Frostholme here. Icefang Pass."

  Last point. "Stormkeep here. That's your father Cedric's seat. Further back."

  "Three strongholds watching two passes," Eirik mused. "Mutual support?"

  "In theory," Yorick said. "If one gets hit, the others can swing forces to help. But…"

  "But?" Eirik prompted.

  "But it only works if all three are manned and supplied," Yorick finished. "And from what traders say, Frostholme's been struggling."

  "Struggling how?"

  "Lord Varn's drowning in debt," Yorick said. "Been selling everything that isn't nailed down. Cut his garrison to the bone."

  Eirik's interest sharpened. A weakened stronghold in a position. "How weakened?"

  "Bad enough that the Skarls probe Icefang Pass," Yorick said. "Testing his defenses. Waiting for the right moment."

  "And if Frostholme falls?"

  "Then the whole triangle collapses," Yorick said. "The Skarls could pour through Icefang Pass and hit the other two from behind."

  Eirik nodded. A settlement quest, and here was a stronghold on the verge of collapse. But taking Frostholme would mean war with Lord Varn, and the other stronghold lords.

  "What about places the Skarls have hit?" he asked. "Ruins that might be rebuilt?"

  Yorick gave him an uncomfortable look.

  "There's Fellstone Keep," Yorick said. "Between Flint's lands and Frostholme. The Skarls burned it last year."

  "Destroyed?"

  "Near enough. And the Skarls still patrol the area. It's contested ground."

  "Anywhere else?"

  Another pause. Then Leif spoke. "Fort Abercrombie."

  The name seemed to make others flinch.

  "What's Fort Abercrombie?" Eirik asked.

  "Was Varn's forward position," Leif said. "Guarded the main approach to Icefang Pass. Half-day's ride northwest of Frostholme."

  "Was?"

  "Varn abandoned it," Olaf interjected, seeing Eirik's interest. "Damn shame if you ask me. Planted right atop the main approach to Icefang Pass. First line of defense. Any war band coming through Icefang had to get past Abercrombie's walls."

  "The Skarls… they hated it," Yorick continued. "For years, it stood. Stone walls, double gatehouse, towers manned by Varn's best. Archers, boiling oil, sallies… it was brutal. But…" His voice dropped. "Brutal cost too."

  "Cost? What do you mean?" Eirik pressed.

  "I mean that the Skarls ain't stupid. That they adopted to play the long game instead of trying to taking it by force. They'd hit it. Not with one siege, but waves. Smaller bands. Probe the walls. Sap a corner. Lure a sally party too far. Every fight chipped away Varn's chests."

  "And after?"

  "After?" Yorick gave a laugh. "After every raid, Varn poured silver like water. Masons. Smiths. Carpenters. Wagons of timber, stone, iron bars dragged up the pass. Paying mercs to guard the repair crews. Paying bonuses to the survivors holding the line. Money ran out faster than men died." He shook his head. "For years. Every season. Abercrombie held… but it drained Varn's finances. So he abandoned it."

  Eirik felt a spark of interest. "Abandoned, but not destroyed?"

  "The Skarls wrecked it some when they found it empty," Yorick said. "But they didn't burn it. Why bother? It was abandoned."

  "So it's still sound?"

  "Sound wouldn't be the word I use, Commander." Yorick said. "But should be some sort of walls and towers left."

  Eirik stared at the map Olaf had sketched in the snow. Fort Abercrombie. A forward position controlling access to a pass. Abandoned due to financial constraints, not military defeat.

  "How big is this fort?"

  "Big enough," Yorick said. "Could house maybe two, three hundred men when garrisoned. Good walls, defensible position."

  "And it's just sitting there empty?"

  "Well," Yorick said, "empty of Varn's men. But the Skarls…"

  "What about the Skarls?"

  "They use it sometimes," Yorick said. "As a base when they're raiding the area. Not permanently, but…"

  "But we'd be taking it from them if we occupied it," Eirik finished.

  "Aye," Olaf said. "And they wouldn't like that one bit."

  Eirik studied the map in the snow. Fort Abercrombie. Strategic position. Defensible. Large enough for his needs. And unoccupied by any authority.

  It was perfect. Except for the matter of the Skarl war bands who considered it their territory.

  "How many Skarls use the fort?" he asked.

  "No idea," Yorick said. "But based on what I know about Skarls, they may occupy razed or abandoned settlements with a war band. Maybe a hundred, two hundred warriors."

  About triple the size as Eirik's force. And the Skarls would have the advantage of knowing the terrain, and they could call for reinforcements from other bands.

  Still, it was a possibility. A real possibility.

  "Any other options?" he asked.

  The men looked at each other, but nobody spoke up.

  "Right," Eirik said. "Fort Abercrombie it is, then."

  "Commander," Leif said, "are you sure about this? Taking on the Skarls for a ruined fort?"

  "It's not ruined," Eirik corrected. "It's damaged. There's a difference. And yes, I'm sure." He looked around the circle of faces. "We need a base. This is our option."

  "When?" Olaf asked.

  "Soon," Eirik said. "But first, I need more information about the fort itself. Layout, defenses, condition of the walls. Everything."

  He stood up. "Yorick, you seem to know the most about it. I want a description. Every gate, every tower, every weakness."

  "Commander, I've never been inside—"

  "Then we will scout it out," Eirik said. "Together."

  ———————————————

  Eirik moved into the pine thicket, finding a clearing where moonlight filtered through the branches.

  Time to conjure a telescope.

  by Yezar

  He left the spotlight behind. But some stories don’t let their extras walk away.

  Blessed Bloodlines, he was never meant to matter.

  But he’s still here—and he's watching it unfold from the dirt.